THINGS GET BROKE
Sometimes for the Better C. Doug Blair, 2012
The Broken Vessel
The broken vessel Strewn across the floor. Fragments scattered far. The pattern of original Gone forever. The shape, the symmetry Things of the past.
One asks: "What the mishap?
What the sudden, Shocking drop?"
As if somehow Reversing the loss Of earlier glory.
And what of that glory? Thing of men's fashion. Mis-spent resources. Calling for kisses Of praise. Pride of a pot. Others have not.
So let it shatter. Life of convention. Painful pretention. Now search for beauty, Most worthy duty, Living like Christ Pearl of great price.
Fragile Flower in India
I knew of the name of Amy Carmichael from having read a number of her inspirational poems. I did not know of her solid Ulster Christian upbringing. Her repeated attempts to enter missionary work compromised by fragile health. Her ultimate settling in the Tinnevelly District of southern India. Her establishment of the orphanage and school known as the Dohnavur Institute. Her adoption, almost entirely, of Indian culture. Her rich sense of family, though remaining unmarried. The rescue of many very young local girls from the practice of Hindu temple prostitution and servitude. The thorough and seemingly strict program of lessons, chores and religious exercise. The frequency of disease and untimely death for the children. The number of rescues proving the diligence of their attending "angels" (fevers, delirium, choking accidents, cobras, returning influences of the old dark life). The
falling accident which through complications rendered Amy bed-ridden for the final twenty years of her life. The change in assignment from meals, maintenance, lessons and admissions to writing, counselling and communing.
For all of this information and many more stirring words from Amy (18671951) I am indebted to Elizabeth R. Skoglund and her book Amma: The Life and Words of Amy Carmichael, 1994 Baker Book House Company.
What profound questions were asked by the rescued children, girls and boys! Where do the dead go? Is it a place of comfort or confusion? What is love? Is it only that which was offered to me by Hindu masters? Does the God Christ have power to change my angry ways? Where are all the flowers, music, parades and excitement in your religion? Such were the challenges faced by Amma and her dedicated staff, many of whom were orphans at Dohnavur in the first instance.
The author Skoglund makes very clear the understanding which motivated Amy in rendering comfort, "to come alongside and strengthen". There was to be no coddling or leniency, no unconfessed sin, no missed Hour of Prayer. But there were occasions of fun involving music, crafts, readings, outings in nature, swimming and the celebration of each child's Coming Day (the day of admission, birthdays often remaining unknown).
Of comfort, Amy made the following comparison:
"Who can tell how the parakeelia plant of Central Australia can resist wind, frost, heat, and in a tract of country where there is no surface water, remain green after three years' drought; so green, so full of life-giving water that horses and cattle feeding upon it need no water. We have a wonderful God, the God of all comfort, who comforteth us in all our tribulations, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God. He can turn the least of us into a parakeelia-or better, far better, for a parable cannot show everything, He can comfort us so that we know how to discover to others the parakeelia's secret Spring."
It is noteworthy that in preparing for her life of toil, hardship, care-giving, stamina and ultimate submission, Amy Carmichael drew heavily from the thoughts of Samuel Rutherford, Hudson Taylor, Geraldine Taylor, Charles
Spurgeon, F. B. Meyer, H.C.G. Moule and Andrew Murray.
Closing now with one of her poems:
Thou art my Lord Who slept upon the pillow, Thou art my Lord Who calmed the furious sea; What matter beating wind and tossing billow If only we are in the boat with Thee.
Hold us in quiet through the age-long minute While Thou art silent, and the wind is shrill; Can the boat sink while Thou, dear Lord, art in it? Can the heart faint that resteth in Thy will? (Edges of His Ways, London, S.P.C.K. 1955)
I think yet one more would be appropriate:
Not that He doth explain The mystery that baffleth; but a sense Husheth the quiet heart, that far, far hence Lieth a field set thick with golden grain, Wetted in seedling days by many a rain. The End, it will explain.
Twenty Bucks for a Ride
It was a cold and damp January morning and I was trying to kick-start myself for work with a coffee from a Timmy's in a harsher central district of the city. Six-fifteen A.M. on a Friday. Happily only a small line-up and then out the door to the car.
"I'll pay you twenty bucks if you will drive me to de-tox." "What was that?" "Excuse me sir, I need to get to the de-tox centre behind the hospital. I'll pay you."
She was in her young thirties. An outfit of slacks and sweater that had been worn one day too long. A thin autumn rain jacket. She nursed the last of her coffee for the warmth, on the sidewalk and under the night-light. Her makeup running. Trembling and stunned by the cold. Obviously a Thursday night outing gone very bad. An apologetic, eyes-downward expression for yet another fall off the wagon. Then she looked up imploringly with what appeared to be younger girl's eyes, and I knew that I had to provide this help.
I held open the car door, not thinking of some of the possible consequences of this action with a strange woman in the dark. I was quick to turn on the heater full blast. "Don't worry I know exactly where the place is. It will be no bother at all. Put away the money."
She must have felt obligated, at least, to give some sort of explanation. I heard a truncated version of a night with "friends" who were no friends at all. Good old Thursday night in Kitchener, pub night, a night to let loose. Yeah, Kitchener the brewery town, the Oktoberfest town. The blight of it and the spiritual cloud hangs over us year-round. In the early dawn I have often seen its by-products - the unshaven man sleeping on the bench, the unfinished argument, the haggard girls after tricks on Cedar Street, the vomit and condoms in the parking lot, the frightened lass crying at the Seven Eleven Store, the black-eyed boy standing beside the police cruiser.
I assured this young woman that there were people who would understand and help at the centre. It was good that she was going there. There would be better days. I had known people who had needed special help at the hospital. It was an important first step to ask for it. As the Spirit led, I was also able to suggest that their real victory had come as they turned their lives over to Jesus.
She turned directly toward me, looked me straight in the eyes and gave a telling and abrupt nod of the head.
We were at the Centre. The lights were on. She said her thanks. I wished her well. A seed had been planted.
I am reminded of what the prophet Habakkuk said:
15Woe unto him that giveth his neighbour drink, that puttest thy bottle to him, and makest him drunken also, that thou mayest look on their nakedness!
16Thou art filled with shame for glory: drink thou also, and let thy foreskin be uncovered: the cup of the LORD's right hand shall be turned unto thee, and shameful spewing shall be on thy glory.
The Crumbling Clan
I can tell you how He helped me. I can tell you what He said. I consider each day gifted. I have lost my greatest dread.
I embrace a broader family. I have dropped my trust in self. I am focused on the treasure, Which transcends all earthly wealth.
I would love to take you with me On this Christ-embracing trek; But I know just how the Spirit First must leave your plans a wreck.
And the brokenness He looks for Seems a weakling's lot to you. And that list of natural talents, He will, every one, subdue.
It must rate a poor investment While the game is still at hand, And the friends still pull the levers, And your house seems sure to stand.
But if Love once grabs the heart strings And reveals the Cross in power, You may join the clan whose crumbling Has become their finest hour.
Are you sure that it won't happen? That this Gospel is a lie? Comes to mind another breaking, But the rebel, then, was I.
Pretty Good Sign
How many times have you encountered an individual who is meek, withdrawn, careful with words, observant, courteous, going through a knothole of difficulty?
Perhaps in your spirit you hear the suggestion, "That one is on My table. Notice the signs?"
You will do well to heed this leading and to pray for him/her. You should also consider affirming this one in whatever way seems appropriate, and without strain or awkwardness. A brief bit of conversation, a smile, a door held open.
How often have my wife and I commented that someone noticed appears very close to Gospel light. Of course nothing in our encounters should be brushed off as mere coincidence. God intends to use His servants through words, actions, expressions and demeanour. This Gospel is a very tactile thing. It spreads with the rubbing of shoulders and the pressing of hands. The Book of Acts makes this very clear. It is about being "living epistles". (2 Corinthians 3: 2,3)
I have some difficulty with "scattershot" evangelism. I do not see the imperative to "put it out everywhere", but rather where there is some leading or question asked. Remember Peter's admonition to be 'ready to give a
reason to the one that asks'. (1 Peter 3:15)
There are surprises of course. Hilary had an uncle who appeared quite crusty on the outside. A lawyer with bad habits, gruff exterior, cigars and hockey stories. He became seriously ill and hospitalized. My wife felt constrained to travel to Woodstock to visit and to give a testimony. He was surprised at her arrival, and seemingly angry when the matter turned to prayer for his soul. But she pressed on, re-affirmed her love, and was gone. That being a Sunday evening she found a little Pentecostal Assembly in progress and she went in and offered her burden concerning Uncle Lorne. A couple of days later two faithful women also went up to the hospital.
We were surprised to receive a phone call from Lorne 'that the strangest thing had happened. He had found Jesus. He was born again. His physical condition had improved significantly.'
Thereafter we enjoyed several delightful conversations and letters with a new brother in the faith. This one had been anything but obvious on the outside. There were difficult times ahead for him and his family, and he definitely needed the Lord. He had found the fountain.
Well, you might ask, doesn't this apply for everyone? The Cross is big enough for such a task, but God knows "many are called but few are chosen".
Challenging Novokuznetsk
This morning at a local pentecostal church we heard the moving testimony of Ilya Bantseev, an ordained pastor representing Teen Challenge in the community of Novokuznetsk in Siberia.
Born in that city; receiving ministry credentials in North America; back in his home town these past sixteen years, and shouldering a charge with Teen Challenge for the rehabilitation of young drug addicts and disillusioned youth.
Together with his wife Janet, he is presently a life-line to two hundred young men and thirty young women from the community. This is the approximate ratio of males and females, suffering the bondage and hopelessness of drugs in his country and province. Death from this addiction takes its toll of 100,000 young lives each year.
But Ilya is there with his Christ-given passion and a mandate of strict and constructive discipline, a growing local church and a youth group on fire with the energy to hit the streets with food, gifts and the message that "Jesus saves, Jesus heals, Jesus baptizes in the Holy Ghost, Jesus is coming again."
He says that he is often reminded of Jesus' words, "I must work the works of him that sent me while it is day. The night cometh when no man can work." There is presently disturbing legislation under consideration in Russia to prohibit gospel churches from evangelizing publicly the youth, from distributing Bibles and helpful literature, and even from welcoming the youth inside their walls! It is as if the "honeymoon" of Gospel opportunity so apparent in the nineties is drawing to a close.
"Catch the imagination and ardour of the youth and you have the entire country!" We saw this before in the Germany of the thirties and forties. We see it presently in our own "Hollywood continent".
Ilya shared an ongoing burden concerning a neighbour next door to the church. Sergei is a proud and godless man of business with Mafia connections. He constantly objects to the local authorities and council regarding church program, numbers, traffic, schedules and much desired renovations. But Ilya is undaunted. He states that he has told Sergei face to face that the masterful Jesus has plans for him, and that people as far away as Canada have been praying for God to show mercy to Sergei. The "selfmade" man smirks and replies, "Canada. That's interesting."
Meanwhile the work goes on with Teen Challenge. The story was told of one youth whose mother brought a prayer request to Ilya's church. Her son had gone to prison on a thirty month sentence for robbery to support his costly habit in heroin. He had no use for the church and at one point told his mother to stop soliciting prayer. He was never going to change. Repeatedly he dreamed of getting out of prison and hooking up immediately with his old source.
But then a significant new development. A Bible-carrying new inmate with a straight- forward expression made the offer to talk and to lend the scriptures at any time the youth wanted. What followed, up on the third bunk in his cell (in an effort to avoid the mockery of his mates), was a genuine gifting of repentance, insight and a transfer of allegiance to Jesus. His mother's prayer was answered. His unchurched father eventually came to the cross as well, acknowledging that only a merciful God could have reversed his son's fate.
So the work continues in Novokuznetsk. Pray for Ilya and Janet. Pray for the youth being set free. Should anyone, anywhere be motivated to do more...and I'm talking money and ministry here folks, further details may be secured by going to Google and entering Europe Teen Challenge.
I should also add that Teen Challenge in the first instance was the vision of pastor-prophet David Wilkerson. David died in a car accident within the last year. He had no time for the multidinous playful programs of today’s churches. He was all about souls, life-cleansing and redemptive purpose.
Church Behind Chain-Link
I’ll have to think about it. Something is happening here. This morning, H Block’s exercise period, East-side fitness yard. Usual pick-up basketball, Games of catch, Half-hearted aerobics. Twenty minutes out. Kipper got into trouble. Dealer Kipper, old-timer, The Joint’s entrepreneur. Smokes, bandages, magazines, canned treats. (No rumours of hard stuff.)
Went long for a pass.
Still pretty fit. Lost track of where he was; Barreled into Dutch’s corner.
Dutch, the Man. Protection boss. Double-lifer. Hand in every trick in the Joint. Favours, payments, or else. No love lost between the two. (Something about a disputed “tariff”.)
Dutch’s corporals, Lonzo, Turk and Kruger Slammed him against the chainlink. Flurry of arms, feet and Shimmering steel.
Kipper, down, motionless, Twisted in frightening posture. Bleeding from the nose, throat, shoulder. Hands on the abdomen.
“Doc, get over here, now!”
Call me Doc. (Short stint as a para-medic In Philadelphia. Before the armed robbery career.)
The scene, heavy: Guts spilled, shoulder perforated. Expert shiv work.
Tower guards not moving. Kipper, unresponsive to my efforts. Five terrible minutes. Buddy pressing torn jacket against open wounds. No vital signs; plodding C.P.R. Somewhere behind me Voices- the guards? Sounds like praying. Parson Eddy on the scene With his hallelujah bunch. Bible class-“born-againers”. I step back.
Circle of prayer moves in:
“We rebuke death.
Devil, Kipper will not be taken! Raise him, Lord, raise him. For your glory.”
Variations on this rap continue. Hands on our fallen friend.
Three guards, Ed, Nelson and Donny
At the periphery, With the stretcher, Watching.
“Devil, you have already lost. Our Lord whipped you at Calvary. We rebuke you, in Jesus’ name. We plead the blood of Jesus. Lord, now, like Lazarus. Bring him back.” And then it happened. I swear it.
Kipper inhaled. Long and beautiful. A smile graced the bloody lips. The rascal-eyes blinked open. Alive! Jesus!
Had to be thirty-five men around, Between us and Dutch’s Dark corner. Bible class will never be the same. Stretcher work underway.
Eddy’s hand placed on my shoulder: “Check out John Chapter Eleven, Doc, John Chapter Eleven.”
Veronica, You have much To be thankful for, As you boil your leftovers And wait for the Bathroom wax to dry.
The boy is out Doing his deliveries, And Connie is late At school with her project. Ted will phone Tonight from Calgary.
He has been so Tired these last few weeks. But the Company Has a new customer. Big one…out west. He’s the senior driver.
Still you’re lonely, Veronica. And the bills are there. In various colours. Beckoning. From the top of the fridge.
Hang in there, girl. Everyone will be home This weekend. And Saturday dinner Is planned with Kate And her fiancé.
Remember how your Sister came to your Kitchen table.
And cried that Frank Wanted to call it off, After eighteen months.
Remember how the Two of you Had really prayed. For guidance, for healing. (She the seasoned Career girl.)
Remember four summers Ago, Veronica. When you had had Your own doubts about Ted. The phone calls, late nights, And feeble explanations.
Remember at the Last school, your boy’s Circle of tough friends. The merchandise hidden In the basement. The constable’s visits.
How Ted had taken Him out of school To share a six- day run To Chicago, Kansas City And Saskatoon. How they had really talked.
Remember, Connie’s Trouble with the cysts. And she just getting Used to female issues. The scary first diagnosis. And the kind second doctor.
Remember your Dad’s
Last six months. Woeful widower. Deathly quiet apartment. Ted’s insistence on the many visits. Healing the old hurts.
Remember your Dad’s Hospital stay. The glorious Saturday When you finally shared “That Jesus stuff” He had so long rejected.
Yes, Veronica, Remember, would you? It hasn’t been easy, But it has been good. And it continues With God’s help.
In strange ways Young woman, You have been the glue, Holding it all together. Now, for your own good, Rejoice and be thankful.
The Simple Goods
God gave Moses the laws. Jews tried to keep them meticulously. The penalties were severe, if not fatal, for non-compliance. The triune Godhead knew that the Old Testament culture would be a flop. (any rule-keeping group will flop). The New Testament culture was not meant to be choice # 2, but rather phase # 2.
Then God instituted the program of Grace by Faith. The only perfectly obedient Jew would be Jesus. Never sinning, but tempted often like other mortals. When He died He would stand as the blameless sin-offering Lamb. There was to be no fracture or blemish ; otherwise Holiness would not be appeased.
But Holiness already had the plan. Christ would die. His resurrection would corroborate that He was Messiah. Now, we do not say "do this, and do not do that". Rather we say that it has already been DONE for us voluntarilythe suffering and the dying and the "fine paying".
It's as if the Judge has called you up on the carpet and said "You gotta be guilty. But here's a piece of Good News. My Son is down at the fines wicket with buckets of money. Simply believe this and go down and ask Him to do it for you. Then go free; and oh, by the way, I adopt you and give you the same privileges and honour as the firstborn. I see Him now in you. I expect to receive the loving respect of a Father. My Spirit will help you in all of this."
We can't countenance this . We are more used to rule-keeping. Gotta have something to do to prove ourselves. But not with God. He's the Giver. On His terms. And blood-letting is involved.
This is not harsh. This is free. Simple enough for a child. Repentance gains admission. But it cost that charismatic teacher/healer of Galilee so very much. He was up for it. For a family. And the mourning did not go on for too long. He is risen! Presently seated at the right hand of God the Father. Now who gets the privilege of sitting at the right hand of a king? His equal. His Son.
Many will hear all of this and retort, "It is too full of guilt, too full of bloodshed; people don't behave this way. I can't be all that bad."
Sorry, God sets the rules. He has also presented this way, this single way, for mercy to triumph over judgment, 'for righteousness and peace to kiss each other'.
Enter through this door. Receive increasing measures of the Holy Spirit. See how the lights turn on. He is love. His Son has embodied it for us...all the way.
But Still…
I have bottomed out. I have lost the day. I have pain within; I can scarcely pray. I have watched dreams pale In the time's harsh gale. I have few to help. I am gaunt and pale. But still I have the Lord... But still I have the Lord, And He picks me up With the thought of Him. And He brings His light Where before 'twas dim. And He makes me see With new eyes of grace; As His Kingdom comes, And I find my place. So sufficed, I have all.
James 5:
11Behold, we count them happy which endure. Ye have heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord; that the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy.