|
JD Wetterling’s MIDWEEKLY REALITY
CHECK
Danger Danger! The Croc Man, Steve Irwin, pronounced it “dine-ger dine-ger” in his inimitable Aussie accent before that very danger did him in at an early age. My grandchildren introduced me to his TV show and I enjoyed it as much as they and a few million other souls did. I recalled his warning voice as I read my devotions this past weekend. I never cease to be amazed at how often Divine Grace schedules my daily devotional readings, written years ago, with events occurring in my life today that require precisely those truths. I was basking in the afterglow of a successful summer camp program at Ridge Haven, remembering many precious moments and trying to tally in my mind how many young hearts were changed by God’s grace. It was also a time to catch up on some periodical reading, and World’s July 28, 2007, cover story caught my eye: Big Bucks Ministries. The story was an embarrassment to me as a Christian, to use a polite word, as it detailed the private lives of televangelists who lived the lifestyle of the rich and famous while refusing to publicly account for their stewardship of viewer donations. “How ready Christians are to be puffed up with success!” J.C. Ryle said in his Daily Readings From All Four Gospels, expounding on Luke 10:17-20. It could not have been more timely for my correction and sanctification. “Let it, however, never be forgotten that the time of success is a time of danger to the Christian’s soul…. Then is the time that the seeds of evil are sown in us by the devil which may one day astound us by their growth and strength. There are few Christians that can carry a full cup with a steady hand.” I rushed immediately to judgment of the puffed up big bucks boys (and girls). How dare they live such lavish, self-indulgent lives on the backs of many widows’ mites. Don’t they know that the lives they live drown out the words of the sermons they preach? But then Jesus’ words struck at my heart: The seventy-two returned with joy, saying, "Lord, even the demons are subject to us in your name!” And he said to them, “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven. Behold, I have given you authority to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice in this, that the spirits are subject to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven” (Luke 10:17-20). The seventy-two exulted in what they knew was God’s power given to them—…subject to us in your name. Jesus’ comment, I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven, was his way of saying he saw their success, then he reaffirmed that it was his power given to them that made it happen. Matthew Henry infers an “only” in Jesus’ next sentence—do not rejoice in this [only]… but rejoice that your names are written in heaven. Ryle explains it even better: “Gifts and [even] the power of working miracles are very inferior to grace…. The disciples were right to be thankful. But it was a far higher privilege to be converted and pardoned men and to have their names written in the register of saved souls.” Being used of God in the lives of other people is heady stuff, and the danger of self-exaltation and self-satisfaction is very real, as World magazine sadly details. But our own wisdom and might, absent grace, procure no victory. It is God’s Word, applied to hearts and minds by the Holy Spirit, that wins souls. Salvation, a gift for which no one is worthy, no one can earn, is of the Lord from first to last. That is what Jesus called his disciples, and televangelists and teachers today, to rejoice in (Luke 10:20). “In the midst of our triumphs let us cry to God for humility” (J.C. Ryle).
Four
Point Rolls Over Ridge Haven We are in the seventh and last week of summer camp at Ridge Haven. Teaching campers has been the most wonderful experience in my six years in this Wilderness Cathedral, which were already the best six of my life. I look forward to my classes this week as enthusiastically as the first. And of course the teacher always learns more than anyone else…on a subject I thought I already knew pretty well. God’s grace is amazing. His Word is living…sanctifying. The challenge this summer has been to effectively communicate with youth from age 8 to 18 simultaneously. This is the first summer we have tried combining worship for all age groups into one, and we were not without naysayers, some of whom chose to stay on the sidelines when we planned it. I’ll have to wait till the end-of-summer debrief to get the collective opinion of savvier folks than I as to its effectiveness. From where I stood, all ages seemed to be paying attention. Any experienced speaker can tell if he has his audience or not. Either there is roomful of statues or a fidgeting, whispering, elbowing milieu of uninterested adolescents. Once or twice this summer I noted a few cases of sleep deprivation winning out over my words, but on balance they were statues. And the comments after class or as I signed kids’ books were just worth more to me than 100% royalties in any currency. But retention is the acid test of teaching, and the votes on that may not be in till long after the T-shirts are worn out and the “scruffy-bearded codger” who taught has joined the church eternal…and it’s in God’s hands, not the teacher’s anyway. I worked at creating mnemonic devices with the objective that God’s word eternally etched in an 8-year-old mind may, God willing, one day be understood, even if it is beyond comprehension when heard. My own experience with catechism class and worship liturgies from the Psalms as a kid in a heartland Swedish Lutheran church has made me a believer in the classical model of learning. Interestingly, of all of Luther’s catechism I memorized, I remember none, but of Scripture, the memorized verses still come to mind right when I need them the most, without my immediately realizing they have been retrieved from 50-year-old grey matter archives. One device I used with the aid of my PowerPoint videos. I introduced the first one by explaining what a 4-point roll is in an airplane, then showed what it would look like from the cockpit of a jet fighter using aerial photographs of the Ridge Haven horizon. Then, at the end of each study of one of Jesus’ No one… quotes ,we did a 4-point roll with that quote superimposed on the picture from the cockpit. The kids then shouted out the quote every time it appeared on the screen You have to use your imagination now, as this is not a PowerPoint slide show:
Well, anyway, it seemed to hold their attention, and God willing it is in their hearts and minds for the ages. This Friday we’ll do our last 4-point roll over Ridge Haven and I’ll be doing victory rolls into some vacation time. That Super Sabre I flew so long ago has served me again, long after it ended up in the USAF bone yard in the Arizona desert. But, better by far, I’ll be spending eternity in the company of my Super Savior and—please dear God—as many of my 750 students from the summer of ’07 as your sovereign grace allows.
One Woman’s Witness For the fifth year in a row it was my great joy, this past week at Ridge Haven, to serve missionaries just home from the field at the Mission to the World Summer Conference. I’ve made many friends through this conference and many other MTW gatherings (Go, Send, or Disobey, A Cloud of Witnesses, A Man’s Man Making Music for his Maker, YoWAW VI), but none dearer than Paul and Jan Kooistra. Paul heads MTW, one of the best run missionary operations anywhere and the most financially sound agency of the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA), while Jan bears a quiet but no less shining witness to her Lord and Savior. This is Jan’s story, told at the women’s luncheon while the men and children enjoyed a cookout:
First of all, I want to thank all of you for the prayers you have offered up on my behalf, as well as prayers for my husband and family. Those prayers have given us the strength and encouragement to keep on keeping on, to trust in the only wise God and to love Him the more as we walk through our Gethsemane. Because this is way out of my comfort zone, this is probably more a sharing of my life than it is a devotional. Everyone knows, I’m sure, that I’ve been living with metastatic breast cancer for almost 4.5 years now. It’s the one word, in any language, that strikes fear in everyone. The original diagnosis in 1995 was frightening, but after 2 surgeries and 5 years of oral medication life returned to what seemed “normal.” We had almost forgotten that I HAD cancer. But then…. A scan revealed a lump on my clavicle. A doctor palpated my neck one Monday afternoon and said, “I can tell you right now, you’ve got cancer!” And he left the room. I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. We went home in shock, returning the next week for more biopsies and scans. And he was right. It was metastatic breast cancer, which is incurable—I would be kept alive as long as possible. My mind was numb and at the same time in a whirl. I wanted to grow old with my husband. I wanted to see my grandchildren grow up to love and serve the Lord. I didn’t want my aged mother to have to watch her daughter die, nor did I want my children to have to watch. I wasn’t ready to leave this world. And the questions that raced through my mind…. Who would take care of my husband? Wash his clothes…iron his shirts…cook his dinner…pay the bills…make sure the taxes were paid…and on and on I would go. All that took about another week, but then the word spread and we started hearing from people all over the world. It was obvious they were all praying, for we found peace—peace in knowing we were in the loving arms of the Lord Jesus. Peace that could not be conjured on our own, peace that only He can give. Peace in knowing that God was in control. And so the endless trips to Winship Cancer Center, this doctor, that doctor, this scan, that scan, this chemo, that chemo. Some chemo’s worked, some did not. Cancer is tricky—it changes properties. There were hospital stays for blood clots in my lungs, a long bout in the hospital after finding that my liver did not have the enzymes needed to metabolize the chemo I was taking at the time. It destroyed the mucus membranes, from my lips and mouth all the way down through my intestinal tract. That was a very frightening time, though again, knowing I was in the hollow of His hand brought the peace that can only come from Him. There are those in the medical field who have urged me to join their support group and can’t understand why I decline. My family is my great support, and of course the faithful prayers of so many. Frankly, it has amazed and humbled me to hear of the people who have not tired of praying for me, so many that have prayed daily and continue to do so. Paul Jr., our son. moved his wife and 3 little girls from St. Louis to within 5 miles just so they could be near us. He is always full of questions about the latest treatment, cat scan or bone scan. He’s fed us many of his gourmet creations, gives great hugs and calls just to say, “I love you, Mom.” His wife is always ready to run errands for me or bring her famous chicken and cheese soup. And who can resist a 2-year-old’s sloppy kiss on the cheek, two chubby hands holding your face and the words, “MY gramma.” Or watching her 6-year-old sister push herself to the limit on her swim team to bring home a first place ribbon. Shary, in St. Louis, calls daily and keeps me posted on Sam’s Little League games and Maggie’s last craft project. Though I think she finds it difficult to talk about my cancer, I know she is daily in prayer for me and would cheerfully run the vacuum or clean the bathroom for me if she were about 600 miles closer. Sidney, who is here with me today, was living with us from last Christmas until just a couple of weeks ago, when she and her husband found the house the Lord had for them to move into. She has been a great help with cooking meals, being my personal nurse, and ever my cheerleader. Their children have kept me smiling with questions like, “Gramma, is your hair falling off?” Or when 8-year-old Alysia, upon asking me to remove the scarf covering my bald head, gave me her most horrified look and then quickly wrapped me up in her arms and said, “You’re still beautiful to me, Gramma.” And of course my husband. THE example of “Husbands, love your wives as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” His constant prayers, love and encouragement have been unfailing. And he’s learned how to use the washing machine, where to find the vacuum cleaner, and has advanced his culinary skills way beyond peanut butter sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs. Other than my own salvation, he is God’s greatest gift to me. The Lord has given me a wonderful doctor. Though not a Christian, he is the most caring and compassionate man. He never enters or leaves the room without a hug…for both of us. Believe me, he has heard much about the Lord, and though he’s firm humanist, the seeds have been and are being planted. The nurse who has taken care of me week after week is a Christian and has become a dear friend. In the unbelievable maze of Winship Cancer Center, she has cut through many obstacles for us and made our trek through that maze a little easier. Unfortunately for us, she was recently promoted to Assistant Director and we are now left to God’s divine intervention in other ways. We’ve become friends with the pharmacist there, who is a Christian and very active in mission work in Kenya. Of course there are those around me in the other chemo chairs. Some know the Lord, others do not. We meet their loved ones, we share stories, we weep together, we rejoice together, we laugh together. We share terrible chemo jokes, like “Why don’t they have an express lane at the grocery store for cancer patients? After all, we don’t have as much time as other people.” Or, more seriously, we questions things like, “Should I buy a new pair of shoes? After all, will I be here to wear them?” It’s amazing the things you think and talk about when you have cancer. Sometimes I go in and find that one of those friends has died. Those are really bad days. I’ve known one who left life with no interest in the Lord whatsoever, another who claimed to once know Him but over time rejected Him, and one who was filled with the love of his Savior and was a testimony of God’s love and care until his home going. It is very fascinating as God weaves the fabric of my life, bringing His people, and some who are not, to minister to me in a variety of ways. And if God has used me in any way in that place, then it is my privilege to be there. So, how do I walk with cancer day by day, week by week, month after month and year after year? First of all, I take one day at a time. I remember the blessings throughout my life. I remember how good life has been…and still is. I remember that I was not created for this world, but for eternal life in heaven, with my God and King. As the old spiritual aptly says, “this world is not my home, I’m just passin’ through.” I remember Tim Keller once said, “Never, never, never think that God is not at work because you cannot see it. And never, ever, ever, ever think you can figure out what God is doing.” Do I ever have fears, do I have doubts, do I have anxiety? Of course…there are moments, hours, and sometimes days when I wonder if I can keep going. I am human, I am frail, I am imperfect and in constant need of the Savior. I need to begin every day anew with Jesus. He is my comfort, my strength, my peace. And I remember Psalm 139. “You formed my inward parts, you knitted me together in my mother’s womb…your eyes saw my unformed substance, in your book were written, everyone of them, the days that were formed for me.” I remember Moses telling Joshua, “be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.” I remember John 14:1-3. “Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.” I remember Isaiah 26:3. “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.” And I remember Psalms 31:14-15a. “But I trust in you, O Lord; I say, ‘You are my God.’ My times are in your hand….” Amen.
The
Brook is Drying Up “And
it came to pass after a while, that the brook dried up, because there had
been no rain in the land. Some days the news is so grim I’m sorry I read it. Monday morning was one of them. Only Phil Johnson’s blog, Pyromaniac, on the above scripture rescued my attitude. The New York Times, in a front page editorial, declared with glee that the President is beginning to loose his own party’s support for helping a major Mideast nation nurture its precious American-blood-bought freedom. A fledgling USA had a second major war with England 36 years after its War of Independence, enroute to the world’s longest running experiment in government by the people, but a transition from decades of bloody despotism to democracy must happen in a relative heartbeat or liberal politicians want outta there at any price. God-forbid that Iraq joins Vietnam, Beirut, and Somalia on the list of American allies abandoned on the battlefield by the world’s greatest superpower. In some cave on the Afghanistan/Pakistan border there must be much laughter. The terrorists knew all along that the most potent weapon against a few hundred billion dollars worth of military might was the most basic of human attributes—will power. The most heinous attack on America in its history wreaked horrible death and multi-bullion dollar destruction with nothing more than cardboard box cutters as the highest tech weapon, at less cost than a load of GPS guided bombs on one F-16, and suicidal willpower. History reveals national prosperity breeds hubris, sloth, decadence and weak wills. That is overwhelmingly obvious to the most causal objective observer, friend or foe, of Europe and American culture today. Rome, the former great superpower, in the fifth century was rotten within when the barbarians approached the gate, making it a walkover for an inferior force with willpower far short of suicidal. Old Testament Israel was in similar self-induced straits when Elijah’s life-sustaining brook ran dry, but he had God-given willpower, a living faith chronicled in the Bible as a testimony to all mankind, that God’s grace is sufficient for the day, one day at a time. The MSM’s penchant for ballyhooing bad news ignores God’s grace still at work in the world. In spite of the liberal conceit that the Middle East is not ready for democracy, a tiny nation a few hundred miles south of Iraq and 100 miles west of Iran in the Persian Gulf is demonstrating otherwise. The small island nation of Bahrain, with a 98% Muslim indigenous population, a Shi’a/Sunni Muslim mix similar to Iraq—the supposed oil and water combination that ostensibly prevents freedom’s success there—and a 34% foreign population (half of whom are non-Muslim), is thriving economically as a constitutional monarchy, with both male and female suffrage and relatively persecution-free religion. The Heritage Foundation’s Index of Economic Freedom rates it “one of the most open economies in the world” over the last decade. A US military presence—US Fifth Fleet Headquarters—on 79 downtown acres in the nation’s largest city, lives in peace with the population. But long before the US Navy (in 1944) and even big oil companies (in the late 1920’s) arrived in Bahrain, a handful of Dutch Reformed American missionary doctors arrived in 1893 and built the American Mission Hospital in 1903. It thrives without headlines to this day. The Holy Spirit requires no MSM support—he is efficacious where he wills. AMH’s mission statement proclaims it’s power source, and it is not the point of a sword: “American Mission Hospital maintains a century-long commitment to provide quality, affordable medical services to all who seek our care, to carefully manage the process by which quality care is delivered, and to embody the Biblical principles of grace, truth and love.” It is demonstrating to the world that Christians can serve Muslims in love and work together in peace in the Middle East, that the greatest sermon a Christian can ever preach is the life he lives. If those pioneering Dutch Reformed missionary doctors could return from the grave they would not call today’s free Bahrain and AMH’s century-old compassionate commitment to Biblical truths an historic coincidence. America’s influence in the world may well wane, the ocean will ebb and flow, brooks may run dry, depraved mankind will kill with hate till the end of time, but God’s grace and truth and love will endure forever.
To a
Wayward Soul I believe one can speak from the grave…if he is a writer. By God’s grace I have been far more edified by dead writers who loved the Lord than contemporary writers on any subject. During this intense harvest season at Ridge Haven, amid the turbulence of a fallen world, Robert Murray M’Cheyne, a young 19th century Scottish pastor, in his memoirs, has been stirring the depths of my soul and speaking to me right where I hurt. Perhaps you hurt in the same place, or know someone who does…. M’Cheyne wrote this letter to “a youthful parishioner, for whose soul he felt much anxiety.” “Larbert [Scotland], August 8, 1836
My dear G,
You will be surprised to hear from me. I have often wished to be better acquainted with you; but in these sad parishes we cannot manage to know and be intimate with everyone we would desire. And now you have left your father’s roof and our charge; still my desires go after you, as well as the kind thoughts of many others; and since I cannot now speak to you, I take this way of expressing my thoughts to you. I do not know in what light you look upon me, whether as a grave and morose minister, or as one who might be a companion and friend; but really, it is so short a while since I was just like you, when I enjoyed the games you now enjoy, and read the books you now read, that I can never think of myself as anything more than a boy. This is one great reason why I write to you. The same youthful blood flows in my veins that flows in yours, the same fancies and buoyant passions dance in my bosom as yours; so that when I would persuade you to come with me to the same Saviour, and to walk the rest of your life ‘led by the Spirit of God,’ I am not persuading you to anything beyond your years. I am not like a grey-headed grandfather,—then you might answer all I say by telling me that you are a boy. No; I am almost as much a boy as you are; as fond of happiness and of life as you are; as fond of scampering over the hills, and seeing all that is to be seen, as you are. Another thing that persuades me to write you, my dear boy, is, that I felt in my own experience the want of having a friend to direct and counsel me. I had a kind brother, as you have, who taught me many things. He gave me a Bible and persuaded me to read it; he tried to train me as a gardener trains the apple tree upon the wall; but all in vain. I thought myself far wiser than he and would always take my own way; and many a time, I well remember, I have seen him reading his Bible, or shutting his closet door to pray, when I had been dressing to go to some frolic, or some dance of folly. Well, this dear friend and brother died; and though his death made a greater impression on me than ever his life had done, still I found the misery of being friendless. I do not mean that I had no relations and worldly friends, for I had many; but I had not a friend who cared from my soul. I had none to direct me to the Saviour—none to awaken my slumbering conscience—none to tell me about the blood of Jesus washing away all sin—none to tell of the Spirit who is so willing to change the heart and give the victory over passions. I had no minister to take me by the hand and say, ‘Come with me and we will do thee good.’ Yes, I had one friend and minister, but that was Jesus Himself, and He led me in a way that makes me give Him, and Him only, all the praise. Now, though Jesus may do this again, yet the more common way with Him is to use earthly guides. Now if I could supply the place of such a guide to you, I should be happy. To be a finger-post is all that I want to be—pointing out the way. This is what I so much wanted myself; this is what you need not want, unless you wish. Tell me, dear G., would you work less pleasantly through the day—would you walk the streets with a more doleful step—would you eat your meat with less gladness of heart—would you sleep less tranquilly at night—if you had the forgiveness of sins, that is, if all your wicked thoughts and deeds—lies, thefts and Sabbath-breakings—were all blotted out of God’s book of remembrance? Would this make you less happy, do you think? You dare not say it would. But would the forgiveness of sins not make you more happy than you are? Perhaps you will tell me that you are very happy as you are. I quite believe you. I know that I was very happy when I was unforgiven. I know that I had great pleasure in my sins—in Sabbath-breaking, for instance. Many a delightful walk I have had—speaking my own words, thinking my own thoughts, and seeking my own pleasure on God’s holy day. I fancy few boys were ever happier in an unconverted state that I was. No sorrow clouded my brow—no tears filled my eyes, unless over some nice storybook; so that I know that you say quite true when you say that you are happy as you are. But ah! is not this just the saddest thing of all, that you should be happy whilst you are a child of wrath—that you should smile, and eat, and drink, and be merry, and sleep sound when this very night you may be in hell? Happy while unforgiven!—a terrible happiness. It is like the Hindu widow who sits upon the funeral pile with her dead husband, and sings songs of joy when they are setting the fire to the wood with which she is to be burned. Yes, you may be quite happy in this way, till you die, my boy; but when you look back from hell you will say it was a miserable kind of happiness. Now do you not think it would give you more happiness to be forgiven—to be able to put on Jesus and say, ‘God’s anger is turned away?’ Would you not be happier at work, and happier in the house, and happier in your bed? I can assure you, from all that I have ever felt of it, the pleasures of being forgiven are as superior to the pleasures of an unforgiven man, as heaven is higher that hell. The peace of being forgiven reminds me of the calm, blue sky, which no earthly clamors can disturb. It lightens all labor, sweetens every morsel of bread, and makes a sick bed all soft and downy; yea, it takes away the scowl of death. Now, forgiveness may be yours now. It is not given to those who are good. It is not given to any because they are less wicked than others. It is given only to those who, feeling that their sins have brought a curse on them which they cannot lift off, ‘look unto Jesus,’ as bearing all away. Now, my dear boy, I have no wish to weary you. If you are anything like what I was, you will have yawned many a time over this letter. However, if the Lord deal graciously with you, and touches your young heart, as I pray He may, with a desire to be forgiven, and to be made a child of God, perhaps you will not take ill what I have written to you in much haste. As this is the first time you have been away from home, perhaps you have not learned to write letters yet; but if you have, I would like to hear from you, how you come on—what convictions you feel , if you feel any—what difficulties, what parts of the Bible puzzle you, and then I would do my best to unravel them. You read your Bible regularly, of course; but do try and understand it and still more, to feel it. Read more parts than one at a time. For example, if you are reading Genesis, read a psalm also; or, if you are reading Matthew, read a small bit of an Epistle also. Turn the Bible into prayer. Thus, if you were reading the First Psalm, spread the Bible on the chair before you, and kneel, and pray, ‘O Lord, give me the blessedness of the man,’ etc. ‘Let me not stand in the counsel of the ungodly,’ etc. This is the best way of knowing the meaning of the Bible, and of learning to pray. In prayer confess your sins by name—going over those of the past day, one by one. Pray for your friends by name—father, mother, etc. etc. If you love them, surely you will pray for their souls. I know well that there are prayers constantly ascending for you from you house; and will you not pray for them back again? Do this regularly. If you pray sincerely for others, it will make you pray for yourself. But I must be done. Good-bye, dear G. Remember me to your brother kindly, and believe me your sincere friend, R. M. M. Memoir and Remains of R. M. M’Cheyne, First published 1847. First Banner of Truth Trust edition, reprinted from the 1892 edition 1966, ISBN 0 85151 084 1, page 47-50 .
The LORD’s Battle Ridge Haven summer camp is not yet half over—three weeks down, four to go—but I can say with conviction that teaching the Doctrines of Grace in Jesus’ own words to kids four days a week has been the highlight of my life at Ridge Haven. I will not soon forget the summer of ’07. The thrill of dancing the wild blue with a supersonic angel, the adrenalin rush of jinking in the crosshairs of the enemy, and the exhilaration of being shot at and missed, were never like this. To be used of God in the lives of children, to see in vivid, knee-knocking real-time the Holy Spirit’s power to change a life, is to be blessed by God beyond all expectation or deserving. Never has it been more apparent to me that the battle belongs to the LORD, that it is God’s Word, not mine, applied to depraved hearts, that transforms lives. Harvest time in full swing at Ridge Haven has drawn the attention of the evil one, as is often the case. The devil only counter-attacks where he is loosing the battle. Other responsibilities I have as a member of the family of God have intruded at the most inopportune time. The fruit of human shortcomings producing serious problems that appear to have no solution absent a powerful dose of Amazing Grace, have kept me sleeplessly staring up into the dark of the night from my bed and thwarted my focus in class. This week I stepped on my tongue, drew blanks in the middle of key points, mangled syntax, and contradicted myself, disrupting the flow of God’s truth to eager, enthusiastic young minds, and yet…and yet God used it all efficaciously for His glory. If only I spent as much time on my knees in prayer as I spent this week getting down on the kids’ level to write a verse of scripture and sign their copy of my book and give them a brief word of encouragement. It took maximum self-discipline not to hug every one, kiss every cheek, but even in a church camp such is not prudent in this darkening PC culture. I had hoped that after three weeks my presentation would be so set that I could relax between sessions, but such has not been the case. Thoughts for improvement flood my mind and I can’t wait till the next class to try them out. When lamenting the lack of a respite in the intensity and my constant editing of my lessons, my associate, Pastor Curt, relieved me of that naïve expectation. He said, “Of course! The Word of God is living!” Now I understand more fully what the Puritan divines were driving at when they spoke of the “experimental [experiential] acquaintance with the grace of God.” The week’s classes ended with my prayer that all the kids there—177 of them—might remember Jesus’ No one… declarations long after they had forgotten the old codger in the scruffy beard who taught them. After class a young lad came up, shyly stuck out his hand and said, “I would never call you a scruffy codger.” He received a man-to-man handshake and a watery-eyed “thank you” in return. * * * Note: The heart of my friend, Emery Bunn, quit hurting and his faith became sight last Thursday at 4 p.m. His daughter, Anne, told me he lived out what I wrote about him (Candy Man) to his last breath. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD (Job 1:21).
Dad’s
Day Grace Another week of amazing grace and kids—spiritual grandchildren in class all week, culminating with some hearts born again by God’s amazing grace, and five of my own flesh-and-blood grandchildren, all together for the first time in their lives for Father’s Day Weekend at Grandpa’s house in the mountains. I am truly blessed. God willing, some forever memories were made in more than just Grandpa’s mind.
The night before Father’s Day we camped out with the oldest 4
grandchildren, one girl and Saturday afternoon began with a family hike to our favorite waterfall, followed by climbing Ridge Haven’s new “Bouldering Wall.” Supper was another outdoor adventure—brats and wieners roasted over an open fire using whittled maple branches (as opposed to those metal branding irons you get at the hardware store) followed by S’mores till there were no more. Exhausted little bodies and full tummies quickly overcame the excitement of the first-ever sleepover in the woods with grandpa and the cousins. Having a tent already pitched, part of Ridge Haven’s Great Adventure summer camping program was a significant part of the blessing for Grandpa. It seemed no time at all after hitting the sleeping bag atop the air mattress that all I heard was the night music of the woods and a babbling brook. God was gracious and I slept like the dead! Next morning I slipped out of the tent at twilight, got the fire and the coffee going and stretched out alone in a folding camp chair with footrest, an incredibly comfortable high-end ($15) piece of camp furniture. Looking up from my reclining position at blue sky through 100-foot-tall pines, their tops drenched in sunlight, while listening to an ecstatic avian choir of yodeling wood thrushes high above, accompanied by the crackle and pop of burning pine pitch at my feet, is about as worshipful a setting as you can find anywhere on a Lord’s Day dawn.
Then a small blond angel came stumbling sleepily across the forest floor
from the tent.
Heaven-sent Hope is the
most prayed over baby in the family tree. She arrived
three weeks
Dragging a well-used security blanket, she wordlessly climbed into my lap by the fire to get warm. All the worst days I ever had as a parent, combined, were worth it for that one cuddly moment by a campfire in the woods at dawn on Dad’s Day with my beloved grandchild. Thank you, Lord.
The
Voice of Angels I heard angels sing this week. What glorious music it was, and in God’s providence, what perfect timing! This week John MacArthur’s jolting National Day of Prayer message—“A Nation [the USA!]Abandoned by God”—got worldwide dissemination through the Focus on the Family daily radio program. Dr. Del Tackett’s blog, Truth Observed, headlined it with a three-day blog follow-up entitled, When God Abandons a People. Everyone who calls himself a Christian needs to hear and read these messages. No one who reads the Bible and follows the daily news can deny that the USA is going down the road of Old Testament Israel, or that our culture is a high-tech replay of Sodom and Gomorrah. And MacArthur anchors his assertion of Divine abandonment solidly in scripture.
MacArthur did not leave us without hope, Christians never are and good
preachers constantly remind them, but in my beloved Blue Ridge Mountains I
got an extraordinary antidote—the voice of angels. It was my first week of
teaching
Ridge Haven Summer Campers
I’m using a lot of PowerPoint visuals in my teaching, but without all the distracting bells and whistles and fancy fades and spins—just Jesus’ plain and simple language—a visual reinforcement to the verbal communication of God’s word to aid recitation and retention. Kids love stories—“felicitous illustrations,” Andrew Bonar called them—that illustrate God’s truth. The challenge is to keep the story short, vivid and complimentary, not dominant, to imbed truth by grace in nascent grey matter. Spurgeon is my mentor here. He could find Jesus in every verse of scripture and a vivid felicitous illustration in the most mundane detail of daily life. But the angelic visitations occurred after class and in the informal moments of the week, when, for example, a seraphic smile framed with black pigtails tentatively approached and said, “Mr. Wetterling, I like your class,” then proceeded to tell me how God was working in her heart, melting mine in the process. I got down on one knee to better look her in the eye…and because my knees were weak. My wife tells me I can be an intimidating codger. God willing, a summer’s worth of this angelic antidote will put an end to such off-putting arrogance. Perhaps I learned more than the children did this week…. John MacArthur may well be right that God has abandoned America, in fact I think he is—God has. There is abundant evidence pointing in that direction. But I also know this: He never vacates born again hearts. And God is still calling out His chosen from this depraved world. He is still regenerating hearts and opening eyes to His kingdom (John 3:3). We can never know for sure, but I am pretty confident I met several of His elect this week. I pray that God used me in their young lives as much as He used them in mine. Dear God, may the cup of cold water I offer these little ones (Matt. 10:42), living water from the spring from which I have drunk, water the seeds of your truth planted in their souls and produce a bountiful crop for your glory. In this growing season in the summer of ’07, may I be invisible as your covenant children at Ridge Haven feast on Jesus (John 12:21). In His name, Amen.
menõ J. D. Watson has been blessing my socks off this year. I’ve been reading his daily devotional, A Word for the Day, sandwiched between J. C. Ryle’s Daily Reading From All Four Gospels, and Martin Lloyd Jones’ Walking With God Day by Day. It’s world class theological company, but J. D., small-town preacher from deep in the Colorado Rockies (Meeker) more than holds his own with these two British titans from the last two centuries. His daily one-page exposition on a year’s worth of the most important Greek words in the Bible—a word a day—has convinced me of the importance of understanding scripture in the original language. English words simply do not carry the etymological clout, finely-tuned grammar or nuanced definition of the Greek language. Add to that the challenges of translation between any two languages and you have no trouble understanding why any seminary worth its salt sets Greek as a first semester required course. Here’s a daily sample from the June 3rd reading that, in God’s providence, I found particularly profound and timely in my life:
Another glorious application of the word abide [menõ, 3306, pronounce it like the little fish you use for bait. jdw] is that God abides in the believer. In other words, as the meaning of menõ indicates, God remains in the Christian; He’s always present there, and He never leaves. John 15 is the most graphic passage on this truth. This word appears to be one of John’s favorites, in fact, as he uses it twelve times in verses 4-16, and is also translated “continue” (v. 9) and “remain” (v. 11). The picture here, of course, is our Lord’s analogy of a vine that illustrates how He abides in us and we in Him. Verses 4 and 5 declare, “Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me. I am the vine, ye are the branches; He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit; for without me ye can do nothing.” As a vine gives life and sends nourishment throughout the entire plant, so Christ gives us life and sustenance. Another vivid example of this principle appears in John 14:16: “And I [Christ] will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you forever.” We’ll examine this verse in more detail June 5 and 6, but the wonderful truth here is that the Comforter (the Holy Spirit) abides in us and will always abide in us (since “forever” is a long time). God makes the same promise in Hebrews 13:5: “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.” This is actually a quotation of Deuteronomy 31:6: “Be strong and of good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them [i.e. your adversaries]: for the LORD thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.” What a promise! And we can be assured of the promise because “God…cannot lie” (Titus 1:2; cf. Num. 23:19). What peace there is in knowing that God is always with us! Scriptures for Study: John again uses menõ many more times in his epistles. Read 1 John 2:6-28, for example, noting each occurrence of abide and continued. [I would add that Crosswalk.com reports the word appears 34 times in the Gospel of John and 105 times in the whole New Testament in a KJV verse count. Repetition is a sign of importance in God’s Word. jdw]
The June 4th reading expounds on what it means for the Christian to abide in God (Abide in me, and I in you.), but you’ll have to buy the book to read that one. I urge you to do so. * * * I began my teaching from “No one…” to covenant children and their friends, from ages 8 to 18, here at Ridge Haven Summer Camp this morning (There are still some openings for your children and grandchildren!). It will continue every Tuesday thru Friday morning through the end of July. God willing, these children will say, with the hymnist, at summer’s end,
Thou on my head in early youth didst smile; I covet your prayers, dear reader, that I might be our LORD’s witness with all the passion and plain English He wills to provide. And I pray the Holy Spirit will take the words of a flawed old codger and do a mighty miracle in the hearts of these dear children, that they and their friends might go home abiding in God and He in them, with a joy that No one will take away…ever.
Read past months Read next months
|
When
Steve Collins asked me if I would give the devotional at this luncheon,
the answer came quickly and easily—No! I’m not a public speaker…getting
up in front of a group absolutely terrifies me! But the Holy Spirit
started talking to me just as quickly. In essence, He said, “Jesus went
to the cross for you, you know.” He did not have to say more and here I
am, in front of you. I could do no other.
three boys aged 6 to 2. The key to successful tent camping with young
grandchildren is exhausting activities, full bellies, dads along—my son
and son-in-law, better fathers than I ever was—for loving discipline at
bedtime, the acid test of parenting, and a big tent. In all, seven souls
in a tent made for 12. 
early,
after a few dry runs to the hospital, just before midnight on July 24,
2002, after a high risk pregnancy—prenatal tests indicated Downs Syndrome
and only one umbilical cord, an indicator of a dreadful list of possible
maladies. It was then that her prostrate parents called on their only
hope and proclaimed this tenuous life would be a testament to their faith
in her merciful Creator. Her name would be Hope…and God blessed us with a
perfectly healthy little girl. 
