To Speak His Own Name: A Canticle of Parentheticals

Your life is a blur,
Hours melding, days rushing past,
But still there is joy,
Prayers ascending, God stooping close,
To speak his own Name,
Cherubim bowing, saints lifting praise,
In the ear of his slave,
Sometimes whispering, still giving cheer,
The voice that you know,
Softly calling, yet tenderly firm.

(c) S.A. Detwiler, July 20, 2012

Corbett & Fikkert on Poverty Alleviation

“Reconciliation of relationships is the guiding compass for our [Christian] poverty alleviation efforts…. The goal is not to make the materially poor all over the world into middle-to-upper-class North Americans, a group characterized by high rates of divorce, sexual addiction, substance abuse, and mental illness. … The goal is to restore people to a full expression of humanness, to being what God created us all to be, people who glorify God….”
-Steve Corbett & Brian Fikkert, When Helping Hurts: How to Alleviate Poverty without Hurting the Poor and Yourself

For a helpful review of this book, click here.

He’s So Young

I don’t exactly know where this short story came from—the thoughts kind of just fell together. I don’t know the interpretation either. It isn’t an allegory—the characters and symbols don’t correlate one-for-one with anyone and anything in particular. But it is perhaps an analogy, maybe even an analogy on my life right now. Mainly I just wanted to play with words. And I have met a lot of people in the past year, so I have regularly seen someone and had to stop and think long and hard on why they look so familiar.

—– —– —–

The young man stopped halfway across the little bridge. He stopped and looked around him. His eyes lit up, and the look of wonder and joy on his face was like that of a man stepping directly out of winter into full summer. His eyes darted around as he looked at the leaves on the trees, the insects in the grass, and the little green moss patterns on the sides of the bridge. The man turned and leaned against the railing, resting his elbows on this sturdy structure. The man’s chin was in his hands now, and the look of recognition had vanished from his eyes. Below him flowed a muddy little stream with bright green clumps of grass on its banks. Just a stone’s throw away, another bridge crossed the little stream. That bridge was not a footpath; it bore a railroad track. The man looked out on this scene, but he did not really see anything. Confusion was written all across his face. He was lost in thought.

An hour later, or maybe it was only a few minutes later, the young man was still standing there on the bridge. His chin was not in his hands anymore, but he was still leaning on the railing, still looking out toward the other bridge, still gazing inward. Suddenly, away in the distance, the whistle and roar of a train could be heard. The man was unaffected. The train came into sight and then began to lumber across the other bridge. Both bridges quivered. The man’s eyes drifted up from the stream, and settled on the windows of the cars as they wandered by. It was a passenger train. The cars were mostly full. It was a hot day, and many of the windows were open. The man’s eyes had drifted up to the train, but he really was not watching the cars pass by. He did not follow them with his eyes. He did not notice any of the details.

Many of the passengers on the train saw the young man on the bridge. The younger children laughed and pointed at the odd figure. Some of the men on the train looked away quickly—his furrowed brow and faraway gaze scared them, for it told them what was written on their own faces. Some of the men, however, followed him with their eyes, trying to get a better look at the young man; they knew his confusion, and shared it, but they wanted to break past his listless gaze and hear his story. Some of the women that saw him quickly looked away and attended to something else. A few of the women brushed away tears that had instantly sprung to their eyes. They also felt what he felt. “He’s so young…” whispered one white-haired lady to her daughter-in-law.

Suddenly the life flashed back into the young man’s eyes. They were fixed on the train now, dragging his head with them. He was following the movement of one of the cars. A face had suddenly caught the young man’s attention. It was a clean face with well-defined features. Her head was thrust slightly outside of the window. The white scarf on her head pulled and tried to flap in the wind that the train was creating. Her eyes were opened, but she did not seem to notice anything that was passing by. Her brow was gently furrowed, her mind evidently wrapped in deep thought. The man jerked himself up straighter and followed her face with his eyes. He stepped back and tipped his head to the side, trying to look between the trees beyond the path, trying to catch another glimpse of that face as it passed out of sight behind the trees. He knew that face from somewhere. Her features were so familiar. His mind raced as he tried to recall the names and faces of all of his female cousins on his mother’s side and then on his father’s side. He did not know all of them, and he had not seen most of them since he was a child—but her skin was too light for her to be related to him. He tried to think back upon all of his recent trips to the city and his interaction with vendors in the markets. Who was she?

The young man’s eyes drifted back to the muddy streamlet as the train rumbled into the distance. The man’s forehead was even more furrowed now. His eyes were open, but he saw nothing. He tried to remember her face. He tried to remember her name. He tried to remember if and how he recognized her. He stood on the bridge confused. As he stood there, a little white butterfly fluttered by in front of him. He looked at it and threw a hand out, as if to catch it. The little creature fluttered on, and the young man settled back into his musings.

McCheyne’s Counsel to A Young Man

“Do not forget the inner man, the heart. The cavalry officer knows that his life depends upon his saber, so he keeps it clean. Every stain he wipes off with the greatest care. You are God’s chosen instrument. According to your purity, so shall be your success. It is not great talent; it is not great ideas that God uses; it is great likeness to Jesus Christ. A holy man is an awesome weapon in the hand of God.”
-Robert Murry McCheyne

The Hound of Heaven

Here are the first few stanzas of a great poem by Francis Thompson (1859-1907). I read this poem a few years ago, and the beauty and truth that Thompson portrays has hounded me ever since. Do you also relate with this poet?

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbéd pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat—and a Voice beat
More instant than the Feet—
“All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.”

You can read the rest of Thompson’s poem by clicking here. By today’s standards, it is a long poem; but trust me, this poem is well-worth your time.

The Plow

My heart is a field, a fallow plot of old ground.
The Word is a plow, with a keen, double blade.
With thunder and lightning and a terrible sound,
While torrents of rain and soft dews have played,
The Lord of the this field has labored and toiled.
The plow is now tearing through soil half-thawed
—Too long this old land has lay barren and moiled
In weeds overgrown, in a thorn-spangled sod—
O, tear through this soil, all-victorious plow!
The trumpet has sounded, the year has now come,
Let Jubilee freedom, at the Husbandman’s clout,
Bring this field into submission, to yield a grand sum:
A hundredfold, sixtyfold, thirtyfold harvest!
O sow your seed, when my soul-soil is readied;
You, O God, above all are the greatest!
(I give thanks that your hand is by gentleness steadied.)

(c) Bill Fridl

The High Call of Marriage

A few weeks ago, I threw a bachelor’s party for my brother. It wasn’t a rowdy, rude event, but a time to encourage my brother and to celebrate with him. David W.—one of the guests at the party (he is also going to be one of my brother’s groomsmen)—wrote a letter to my brother for this event. This letter was really encouraging, and so my brother and I asked David if we could post it here.

May you also be encouraged!

It’s been a privilege getting to know you, and I am so thankful to our sovereign God for making our paths cross in His perfect timing. You’ve been an encouragement to me as I’ve seen your zeal and love for the Lord Jesus and your desire to pursue holiness for His glory. I have been particularly impressed by the prayerful, sober way you conducted your courtship with Melody, and how, lately, you have sought the counsel of godly mentors in preparing for the covenant of marriage. Your example inspires me, and it is a bright light to the many young people who know you, including my own children.

As I reflected upon the high calling of marriage, the scripture that came to me was Galatians 2:20, “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”

You cannot succeed in marriage without the cross of Christ. Your covenant relationship with your wife will become your primary opportunity for being crucified with the Savior, loving her as Jesus loved His church, and laying down your interests for hers. This giving of yourself is a fountain of deepest blessing, so don’t hold anything back. Strengthened by Christ’s love for you, follow His example of making yourself nothing, “taking the very nature of a servant (Philippians 2:7)”. This is the ultimate place of paradox. The servant-leader is the most powerful leader of all, for when you are serving, the power of Christ shines through you.

I am praying that God will grant you a Christ-centered vision for your home, so that your family will always be a City on the Hill (Matthew 5:14). And, again, this will happen by the way of the cross. For when an entire family sets aside its own interests for the interests of others, those in darkness are drawn to Christ’s light. So, don’t let this world distract you with its vain goals for families. Spend your time and resources carefully, strategically, for His glory. Be the visionary who is always on the lookout for those in need, and lead your family to be the powerful ministry tool that is always ready to serve a hot meal in Jesus’ name.

I say these things not as an expert, but as one who is striving alongside of you. Please know that the W. home is always open to you and your family as we spur each other on in the pursuit of knowing Christ and making Him known.

In the Savior’s love,

David

(David W. is a husband and a father of six children. For the past few years, he and his family have been a great source of fellowship, wisdom, and joy to both my brother and his fiancée.)