The gift without the giver is bare

"It is the personal element that Christian discipleship needs to emphasize. ‘The gift without the giver is bare.' The Christianity that attempts to suffer by proxy is not the Christianity of Christ. Each individual Christian business man, citizen, needs to follow in His steps along the path of personal sacrifice to Him. There is not a different path to-day from that of Jesus' own times. It is the same path. The call of this dying century and of the new one soon to be, is a call for a new discipleship, a new following of Jesus, more like the early, simple, apostolic Christianity, when the disciples left all and literally followed the Master. Nothing but a discipleship of this kind can face the destructive selfishness of the age with any hope of overcoming it. There is a great quantity of nominal Christianity to-day. There is need of more of the real kind. We need revival of the Christianity of Christ. We have, unconsciously, lazily, selfishly, formally grown into a discipleship that Jesus himself would not acknowledge. He would say to many of us when we cry, ‘Lord, Lord,' ‘I never knew you!' Are we ready to take up the cross? Is it possible for this church to sing with exact truth,

‘Jesus, I my cross have taken, All to leave and follow Thee?'

If we can sing that truly, then we may claim discipleship.

Charles M Sheldon in "In His Steps - What Would Jesus Do" p237

The Long Silence

At the end of time, billions of people were scattered on a great plain before God's throne. Most shrank back from the brilliant light before them. But some groups near the front talked heatedly - not with cringing shame, but with beligerence.

"Can God judge us? How can he know about suffering?" Snapped a pert young brunetter. He ripped open a sleeve to reveal a tattooed number from a Nazi Concentration Camp. "We endured terror ... beatings ... torture ... death!"

In another group a Negro boy lowered his collar. "What about this?" he demanded, showing an ugly rope burn. "Lynched for no crime but being black!"

In another crowd, a pregant schoolgirl with sullen eyes. "Why should I suffer?" She murmured. "It wasn't my fault."

Far out across the plain were hundreds of such groups. Each had a complaint about against God for the evil and suffering he had permitted in the world. How lucky God was to live in heaven where all was sweetness and light, where there was no weeping or fear, no hunger or hatred. What did God know of all that men had been forced to endure in this world? For God leads a pretty sheltered life, they said.

So each of these groups sent forth their leader, chosen because they had suffered the most. A Jew, a person from Hiroshima, a horribly deformed arthritic, thalidomide child.

In the centre of the plain they consulted with each other. At last they were ready to present their case. It was rather clever. Before God could be qualified to be their judge, he must endure what they had endured. Their decision was that God should be sentenced to live on earth - as a man!

Let him be born a Jew. Let the legitimacy of the birth be doubted.

Give him a work so difficult that even his family will think him our of this mind when he tries to do it.

Let him be betrayed by his closest friends.

Let him face false charges, be tried by a prejudiced jury and convicted by a cowardly judge

Let him be tortured.

At the last, let him see what it means to be terribly alone.

Then let him die so that there can be no doubt that he died.

Let there be a great host of witnesses to verify it.

As each leader announced his portion of the sentence, loud murmurs of approval went up from the throng of people assembled. When the last had finished pronoucing sentence, there was a long silence. Nobody uttered another word. No one moved.

For suddenly all knew that God had already served his sentence.

Oliver Cromwell

Oliver Cromwell, who ruled England during the seventeenth century, once decreed that a certain young man should be executed at the ringing of curfew. The young man’s fiancée pleaded with Cromwell for his life; but Cromwell would not change his mind. “The young man you love will die at the ringing of curfew,” he declared.

The old and completely deaf sexton went up to the church that night to ring curfew. Unknown to him, the young lady who loved the condemned man had climbed up inside the great bell and was hanging on for dear life to the clapper. So every time the sexton pulled the bell rope, thinking it was ringing loud and clear, her body was hitting against one side of the bell and then the other without a note being struck.

When the sexton finished what he thought was the ringing of curfew, the girl made her way down, battered, bloody, and bruised. As she came stumbling down the hill, Oliver Cromwell was already on his way up to see why the curfew had not rung. Suddenly he saw her and realized what she had done. Looking her in the eyes, he said, “Curfew shall not ring tonight.”

The last known gladiatorial contest

Telemachus was a monk who lived in the 4th century. He felt God saying to him, "Go to Rome." He was in a cloistered monastery. He put his possessions in a sack and set out for Rome. When he arrived in the city, people were thronging in the streets. He asked why all the excitement and was told that this was the day that the gladiators would be fighting and killing each other in the coliseum, the day of the games, the circus. He thought to himself, "Four centuries after Christ and they are still killing each other, for enjoyment?" He ran to the coliseum and heard the gladiators saying, "Hail to Caesar, we die for Caesar" and he thought, "this isn't right." He jumped over the railing and went out into the middle of the field, got between two gladiators, held up his hands and said, "In the name of Christ, forbear." The crowd protested and began to shout, "Run him through, Run him through." A gladiator came over and hit him in the stomach with the back of his sword. It sent him sprawling in the sand. He got up and ran back and again said, "In the name of Christ, forbear." The crowd continued to chant, "Run him through." One gladiator came over and plunged his sword through the little monk's stomach and he fell into the sand, which began to turn crimson with his blood. One last time he gasped out, "In the name of Christ forbear." A hush came over the 80,000 people in the coliseum. Soon a man stood and left, then another and more, and within minutes all 80,000 had emptied out of the arena. It was the last known gladiatorial contest in the history of Rome.

Source Unknown.

Communist Committment

This is how a communist explained the success of his 'religion': 'Of salaries and wages we keep only what is strictly necessary, and we give up our free time and part of our holidays .... How can anybody believe in the supreme value of the [Christian] gospel if you do not practice it, if you do not spread it, if you sacrifice neither time nor money for it? We believe in our communist message and we are ready to sacrifice even our life. But you people are afraid to soil your hands.'

Quoted from Through the Year with David Watson p318

Louis Slotin

It was May 21, 1946. The place was Los Alamos. A young and daring scientist was carrying out a necessary experiment in preparation for the atomic test to be conducted in the waters of the South Pacific atoll at Bikini.

He had successfully performed such an experiment many times before. In his effort to determine the amount of U-235 necessary for a chain reaction scientists call it the critical mass he would push two hemispheres of uranium together. Then, just as the mass became critical, he would push them apart with his screwdriver, thus instantly stopping the chain reaction.

But that day, just as the material became critical, the screwdriver slipped! The hemispheres of uranium came too close together. Instantly the room was filled with a dazzling bluish haze. Young Louis Slotin, instead of ducking and thereby possibly saving himself, tore the two hemispheres apart with his hands and thus interrupted the chain reaction.

By this instant, self-forgetful daring, he saved the lives of the seven other persons in the room. As he waited for the car that was to take them to the hospital, he said quietly to his companion, 'You'll come through all right, but I haven't the faintest chance myself.' It was only too true. Nine days later he died in agony.

Get the point across - Graham Twelftree p 36

The Railroad Drawbridge

One summer day in 1937 John Griffith, controller of a railroad drawbridge across the Mississippi, took Greg, his eight-year-old son with him to work. About noon, John raised the bridge to let some ships pass while he and Greg ate their lunch on the observation deck. At 1.07 p.m. John heard the distant whistle of the Memphis Express. He had just reached for the master lever to lower the bridge for the train, when he looked around for his son Greg. What he saw made his heart freeze. Greg had left the observation tower, slipped and fallen into the massive gears that operated the bridge. His left leg was caught in the cogs of the two main gears.

With the Memphis Express steaming closer, fear and anxiety gripped John as his mind searched for options, but there were only two. He must either sacrifice his son and spare the passengers on the Memphis Express, or sacrifice them to spare his son.

Burying his face in his left arm, John, with an anguished cry, pulled the master switch with his right hand to lower the bridge into place.

Lord knows what anguish John Griffith had to go through, whichever decision he made. But I know this: God values us enough to sacrifice his Son that we too might live.

'For God so loved the world that He gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.'

(Taken from a sermon by Pastor Ian Sweeny which won The Times Preacher of the Year Award 1998.)

Sacrifice in the Bible

"Sacrifice in the Bible means that we give to God the best we have; it is the finest form of worship. Sacrifice is not giving up things, but giving to God with joy the best we have."

Oswald Chambers

The Empty Bird Cage

There once was a man named George Thomas, a pastor in a small New England town. One Easter Sunday morning, he came to the Church carrying a rusty, bent, old bird cage, and set it by the pulpit.

Several eyebrows were raised and, as if in response, Pastor Thomas began to speak. "I was walking through town yesterday when I saw a young boy coming toward me swinging this bird cage. On the bottom of the cage were three little wild birds, shivering with cold and fright. I stopped the lad and asked, " What you got there son?"

"Just some old birds," came the reply. "What are you gonna do with them?" I asked.

"Take 'em home and have fun with 'em," he answered. "I'm gonna tease 'em and pull out their feathers to make 'em fight. I'm gonna have a real good time."

"But you'll get tired of those birds sooner or later. What will you do then?"

"Oh, I got some cats," said the little boy. "They like birds. I'll take 'em to them."

The pastor was silent for a moment. "How much do you want for those birds, son?"

"Huh? Why, you don't want them birds, mister. They're just plain old field birds. They don't sing and they ain't even pretty!"

"How much?" the pastor asked again.

The boy sized up the pastor as if he were crazy and said, "$10." The pastor reached in his pocket and took out a ten-dollar bill. He placed it in the boy's hand. In a flash, the boy was gone.

The pastor picked up the cage and gently carried it to the end of the alley where there was a tree and a grassy spot. Setting the cage down, he opened the door, and by softly tapping the bars persuaded the birds out, setting them free.

Well, that explained the empty birdcage on the pulpit, and then the pastor began to tell this story.

"One day Satan and Jesus were having a conversation. Satan had just come from the Garden of Eden, and he was gloating and boasting. "Yes, sir, I just caught the world full of people down there. Set me a trap, used bait I knew they couldn't resist. Got 'em all!"

"What are you going to do with them?" Jesus asked.

Satan replied, "Oh, I'm gonna have fun! I'm gonna teach them how to marry and divorce each other, how to hate and abuse each other, how to drink and smoke and curse. I'm gonna teach them how to invent guns and bombs and kill each other. I'm really gonna have fun!"

"And what will you do when you get done with them?" Jesus asked.

"Oh, I'll kill 'em," Satan glared proudly.

"How much do you want for them?" Jesus asked.

Oh, you don't want those people. They ain't no good. Why, you'll take them and they'll just hate you. They'll spit on you, curse you and kill you!! You don't want those people!!

"How much?" He asked again.

Satan looked at Jesus and sneered, "All your tears, and all your blood."

Jesus said, "DONE!" Then He paid the price.

The pastor picked up the cage, he opened the door, and he walked from the pulpit.

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