It is a dangerous thing to seek the approval of man rather than obedience to Christ. And it is the hallmark of the Laodicean times in which we live.
Consider the words of Oswald Chambers:
Are you willing to be offered for the work of the faithful— to pour out your life blood as a libation on the sacrifice of the faith of others? Or do you say— “I am not going to be offered up just yet, I do not want God to choose my work. I want to choose the scenery of my own sacrifice; I want to have the right kind of people watching me and saying, Well done.”
It is one thing to go on the lonely way with dignified heroism, but quite another thing if the line mapped out for you by God means being a door-mat under other people’s feet. Suppose God wants to teach you to say, “I know how to be abased”— are you ready to be offered up like that? Are you ready to be not so much as a drop in a bucket— to be so hopelessly insignificant that you are never thought of again in connection with the life you served? Are you willing to spend and be spent; not seeking to be ministered unto, but to minister? Some saints cannot do menial work and remain saints because it is beneath their dignity.
For me, the answer is a resounding, Yes! Come join with me, will you?
For our citizenship is in heaven, from which also we eagerly wait for a Savior,
the Lord Jesus Christ. – Philippians 3:30
“I have given them Your word; and the world has hated them, because they are not of the world, even as I am not of the world. I do not ask You to take them out of the world, but to keep them from the evil one. They are not of the world, even as I am not of the world.” – John 17:14-16
Little boy, 6 years old,
A little too used to bein’ alone.
Another new mom and dad, another school,
Another house that’ll never be home.
When people ask him how he likes this place…
He looks up and says, with a smile upon his face,
“This is my temporary home
It’s not where I belong.
Windows and rooms that I’m passin’ through.
This is just a stop, on the way to where I’m going.
I’m not afraid because I know…
This is my Temporary Home.”
Young mom on her own.
She needs a little help, got nowhere to go.
She’s lookin’ for a job, lookin’ for a way out,
Because a half-way house will never be a home.
At night she whispers to her baby girl,
“Someday we’ll find our place here in this world.”
“This is our temporary home.
It’s not where we belong.
Windows and rooms that we’re passin’ through.
This is just a stop, on the way to where we’re going.
I’m not afraid because I know…
This is our Temporary Home.”
Old man, hospital bed,
The room is filled with people he loves.
And he whispers, “Don’t cry for me,
I’ll see you all someday.”
He looks up and says, “I can see God’s face.”
“This is my temporary Home
It’s not where I belong.
Windows and rooms that I’m passin’ through.
This was just a stop, on the way to where I’m going.
I’m not afraid because I know… this was
My temporary home.”
The following was written by a young man in Rwanda the night before he was murdered for his faith. In 1980 he was forced to either renounce his faith in Christ or face death. He chose the latter and was killed on the spot. His final words, found nailed to a wall in his home, sums up his faith and life and defines the courage that marked the early church and is conspicuously missing today. Read these words prayerfully and ask the Lord to move His church from lukewarmness to spiritual fervency.
I am part of the Fellowship of the Unashamed. I have the Holy Spirit power. The dye has been cast. I have stepped over the line. The decision has been made— I am a disciple of His.
I won’t look back, let up, slow down, back away, or be still.
My past is redeemed, my present makes sense, my future is secure.
I’m finished and done with low living, sight walking, smooth knees, colorless dreams, tame visions, worldly-talking, cheap giving, and dwarfed goals.
I no longer need pre-eminence, prosperity, position, promotions, plaudits, or popularity.
I don’t have to be right, first, tops, recognized, praised, regarded or rewarded.
I now live by faith, lean in His presence, walk by patience, am uplifted by prayer and I labor with power.
My face is set, my gait is fast, my goal is heaven, my road is narrow, my way is rough, my companions are few, my Guide is reliable, my mission is clear.
I cannot be bought, compromised, detoured, hired away, turned back, diluted, or delayed.
I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice, hesitate in the presence of the adversity, negotiate at the table of the enemy, pander at the pool of popularity, or meander in the maze of mediocrity.
I won’t give up, shut up, let up, until I have preached up, prayed up, paid up, stored up and stayed up for the cause of Christ.
I am a disciple of Jesus, I must go till He comes, give till I drop, preach till all know and work till He stops me. And when He comes to claim His own, He’ll have no problems recognizing me.
My banner will be clear!
“If ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love; even as I have kept my Father’s commandments, and abide in his love” (John 15:10). Jesus faithfully obeyed every commandment of His Father and He called that abiding.
Some Christians think they can pick and choose which commandments of Christ to obey. If they don’t like what is commanded, they simply ignore it or explain away their disobedience with, “I just don’t see it that way; I don’t believe it like that.” If people do not like a pastor’s call to be holy, they just leave and go looking for a pastor who will accentuate the positive. That is why the terrible plague of apathy is sweeping over the church today. We have been so afraid of works, so riled up about legalism, that we have given obedience a bad name.
How is it possible for a branch in Him not to abide? Jesus said: “If a man abide not in me, he is cast forth as a branch, and is withered; and men gather them, and cast them into the fire, and they are burned” (verse 6). Can it be any clearer? Abiding includes rest and responsibility. It is possible to be in Him, connected to the vine, and not have a flow of life with which to bear fruit. Abiding has to do with absolute obedience to the commandments of Christ because every branch has a free will—a life force in it. The branch is not passive; it must draw out the life from the vine. “If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you” (verse 7). This brings out that the Word is the Father’s pruning knife. How can any branch bear fruit if the Word of the Lord is ignored, unknown, neglected?
We see the fruits of dryness springing up all over the Lord’s vineyard— adultery, fornication, drinking, drugs— because the pruning process has stopped with so many. The word of God is His knife, a two edged sword. The majority of Christians today do not know the Word of God because they do not read it. It is impossible to bear the fruit of righteousness without His Word abiding in you. Neglect of the Word is causing barrenness and bringing a terrible withering to God’s people.
The abiding believer is one who loves and fears God, who hungers for the Word and trembles at His power of conviction. He delights in having the Word prune away all hindrances, prays that the very life and likeness of Christ will be ever-increasing in him, and grows more and more mature in obedience and love.
Recently I have been pondering the events surrounding the birth of Christ. The Nativity, as it is known.
But I have not been pondering the stuff we preach about every December. You know, the supernatural side of that birth, the star in the sky, the annunciation of the angels to the shepherds, or the coming of the magi with gifts of great value. No, I have been thinking about a man and young woman. Tired. Alone. Rejected. Seemingly forsaken. They were frightened as Mary’s labor pains, sharp, deep and increasing in intensity and frequency, signaled that the birth of Messiah was drawing near. And they were terrified at all that wondrous birth would entail.
Two people. Two lives. Two different stories.
The following is a song that, for me, captures the heart of young Mary as she gives birth to her Son, our Lord, Jesus. It is written by Andrew Peterson and sung by Jill Phillips. It’s called, “Labor of Love.”
Listen and reflect on that night, from the heart of Mary.
It was not a silent night
There was blood on the ground
You could hear a woman cry
In the alleyway that night
On the streets of David’s town
And the stable was not clean
And the cobblestones were cold
And little Mary full of grace
With the tears upon her face
Had no mother’s hand to hold
It was a labor of pain
It was a cold sky above
But for the girl on the ground in the dark
Every beat of her beautiful heart
Was a labor of love
Noble Joseph by her side
Calloused hands and weary eyes
There were no midwives to be found
On the streets of David’s town
In the middle of the night
So he held her and he prayed
Shafts of moonlight on his face
But the baby in her womb
He was the maker of the moon
He was the Author of the faith
That could make the mountains move
It was a labor of pain
It was a cold sky above
But for the girl on the ground in the dark
Every beat of her beautiful heart
It was a labor of love
Little Mary full of grace
With the tears upon her face
It was a labor of love
And then we have the story told from Joseph’s side. This moving song is from Sawyer Brown titled, “It Wasn’t His Child” from their 19th album, True Believer. Listen to the Nativity as told by Joseph.
He was her man, she was his wife
And late one winter night
He knelt by her
As she gave birth
But it wasn’t his child
It wasn’t his child
Yet still he took him as his own
And as he watched him grow
It brought him joy
He loved that boy
But it wasn’t his child
It wasn’t his child
But like a father he was strong and kind and good
And I believe he did his best
It wasn’t easy for him but he did all he could
His son was different from the rest
It wasn’t his child
It wasn’t his child
And when the boy became a man
He took his father’s hand
And soon the world
Would all know why
It wasn’t his child
It wasn’t his child
But like a father he was strong and kind and good
And I believe he did his best
It wasn’t easy for him but he did all he could
He grew up with his hands in wood
And he died with his hands in wood
He was God’s child
He was God’s child
He was her man
She was his wife
And late one winter night
He knelt by her
As she gave birth
But it wasn’t his child
He was God’s child
