FORMED INTO FLESH

It’s Bethlehem, Time and Again C. Doug Blair, 2012

Every step in the Perambulation of faith;Every acquisition of the Beggar's hope;From out ofThe miry clay;From first blushOf the Living ChristWithin;To heroic outreachOf charitable heart;To donning of the vestmentsOf one giftIn the SpiritAfter another;

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To suffering His Reproach with dignity,At the hand of anySerf of darkness,Or disgruntledFellow-traveler;To hearing HisIngenious guidanceAnd uplift In the silence;To uttering wordsOf rescueAnd reassuranceBeyond our ken;To breathingGraciously one's lastAt the hairpinTurn in the road;And viewing a limitlessGreen and Glory.Will be a Bethlehem.Deposit of God.Plain and simple,Free and sure.Be it unto me.

(Painting by Ron Wilson)

The Quiet Man

He came to do his Father’s will,This quiet man of Nazareth;At thirty years he pondered still The mission that would mean his death.

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A carpenter of low estate,The quiet man lay down his toolsAnd turned to his appointed fateTo ransom sinners Satan rules.

The quiet man at Jordan’s flow,Approached the holy prophet JohnFor baptism, ere God would showThe Lamb the Dove would rest upon.

In wilderness, fasting in prayer,The quiet man withstood the testOf Satan’s smooth seductions there,Convinced this world was not God’s best.

In Galilee he met the cries Of every pressing human need;And healed their hurts, their hearts and eyes.This quiet man of bless’ed creed.

On holy mount with God’s envoys,Enwrapped in glory from above,The quiet man chose servant’s joys,Descending to the vale in love.

Descending, condescending, yes,To save and heal the sin-possessed;To preach a Kingdom truly blessed,This quiet man of God obsessed.

The quiet man, a prey to powers,With sweat like blood through all his pores,Prayed strengthening in dark night hours:“Oh Father, not my will but yours.”

Mid jeering crowds as nail wounds screamed,The quiet man hung from a crossAs sin, dismissed from God he seemed,Yet faithful, would not suffer loss.

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Into the very bowels of hellWhere Satan ruled with cruel delight;The quiet man heard death’s death-knellAs God pronounced him just and right.

Descending, condescending, done!For sin he bled and did atone.For life he battled death alone,This quiet man sent from God’s throne.

His body rested in the tombUntil the Easter morning light,When slipping off the sheets of doom,The quiet man arose from night.

Upon the Mount of Olivet,Alive again, by saints adored,And pledging Spirit comfort yet;The quiet man ascended Lord.

Oh there is yet another mornWhich angels will announce with pride,With trumpet calls for those twice-born;The quiet man shall claim His Bride!

The Puncher

The following is taken from the book "Twice-Born Men" by Harold Begbie. (1909 Fleming H. Revell Co.) It traces Gospel light coming to many hardened and desperate individuals in the slums of London thanks to the testimony of the Salvation Army. One chapter entitled "The Puncher" tells the story of a prize fighter.

"He says that while he stood drinking in the bar, feeling no other emotion than annoyance at the

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Salvationist's interference, suddenly he saw a vision. The nature of this vision was not exalted. In a flash he saw that his wife was murdered, just as he had planned and desired; that he had died game on the scaffold, just as he had deter- mined; the thing was done; vengeance wreaked, apotheosis attained — he had died game : he was dead, and the world was done with. All this in a flash of consciousness, and with it the despairing knowledge that he was still not at rest. Some- where in the universe, disembodied and appall- ingly alone, his soul was unhappy. He knew that he was dead; he knew that the world was done with; but he was conscious, he was unhappy.

This was the vision. With it he saw the world pointing at his son, and saying, " That's young , whose father was hanged for murdering his mother."

A wave of shame swept over him; he came out of his vision with this sense of horror and shame drenching his thought. For the first time in all his life he was stunned by realization of his degra- dation and infamy. He knew himself.

How the vision came may be easily explained by subconscious mentation. He had long medi- tated the crime of murdering his wife, he had long brooded upon the glory of dying game; an explo- sion of nervous energy presented him, even as it presented Macbeth, with anticipatory realization of his thought. In other words, we know all about the mechanism of the piano; but, the musi- cian at the keyboard? How did shame come to this man utterly hardened and depraved? And what, in the language of psychology, is shame? How does grey matter become ashamed of itself? How do the wires of the piano become aware of the feelings of the sonata? Moreover, there is

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this to be accounted for ; the immediate effect of the vision. That effect was " conversion," in other words, a re-creation of the man's entire and several fields of consciousness. And, he was drunk at the time.

Drunk as he was, he went straight out from the public-house to the hall where the Salvation Army was holding its meeting. His wife went with him. He said to her, " I'm going to join the Army." At the end of the meeting he rose from his seat, went to the penitent's form, bowed him- self there, and like the man in the parable cried out that God would be merciful to him, a sinner. His wife knelt at his side.

He says that it is impossible to describe his sensations. The past dropped clear away from him. An immense weight lifted from his brain. He felt light as air. He felt clean. He felt happy. All the ancient words used to symbolize the spiritual experience of instant and complete regeneration may be employed to describe his feelings,' but they all fail to convey with satis- faction to himself the immediate and delicious joy which ravished his consciousness. He cannot say what it was. All he knows is that there, at the penitent form, he was dismantled of old hor- ror and clothed afresh in newness and joy.

Whatever the effect upon himself, the effect of this conversion on the neighbourhood was amazing. The news of it spread to every foul court and alley, to every beerhouse and gin-palace, to every coster's barrow and street corner, to every common lodging-house and cellar in all that quarter of the town. There is no hero to these people like a prize-fighter; let him come down, as the Puncher had come down, to rags, prison, and the lodging-house — still, trailing clouds of

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glory does he come, and the rest worship their idol even when he lies in the gutter. When the Sunday came and this great hero marched out of barracks with the band and the banners and the lasses, there were thousands to witness the sight — a dense mass of poverty- stricken London, dazed into wonderment by a prize-fighter's soul. " The Puncher's got reli- gion ! " was the whispered amazement, and some wondered whether he had got it bad enough to last, or whether he would soon get over it and be himself again. Little boys swelled the multi- tude, gazing at the prize-fighter who had got re- ligion.

He had got it badly.

His home became comfortable and happy. He appeared at all the meetings. No desire for to- bacco or drink disturbed his peace or threatened his holiness. The neighbourhood saw this great fighter going every night to the Army Hall, and marching every Sunday to the meetings in the open air.

Then they saw something else.

The wonder of the Puncher is what Salvation- ists call his " love for souls." This is a phrase which means the intense and concentrated com- passion for the unhappiness of others which visits a man who has discovered the only means of ob- taining happiness. The Puncher was not content with the joy of having his own soul saved; he wanted to save others."

Jeremiah 9:

23 This is what the LORD says:"Let not the wise man boast of his wisdom

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or the strong man boast of his strengthor the rich man boast of his riches,24 but let him who boasts boast about this:that he understands and knows me,that I am the LORD, who exercises kindness,justice and righteousness on earth,for in these I delight,"declares the LORD.

Show Us the Father

Have I been so long with you,Yet you still misunderstand?In the simple walksWhen I listened And you went on so.In the gazing reverentlyTogether at sunset.In the common mealWhich went down so well'Midst laughter and poking.In the common cup.The washings of handAnd conscience.Have you not seen meBless the wayfaring man,The ailing child,The fretful motherWith her last farthing?Chastise the hypocrite?Warn the self-assured?Heard me glean wisdomFrom the fields, the flocks,The fishnets, the pearl merchant?

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In all, I have heard from my Father;Seen my Father's pointing hand;Represented my Father.It is just that simple,That fresh, daily.I can be, I can sayNone other.Come unto me.Come unto Him.Brothers.

Stay on Train for Entire Trip

John 14:6

Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.

A great deal has been said about "One-Way Jesus". This refers to the second part of the passage. But let us look now at the former part.

I am the Way - If you watch how I live, move and operate you will have the key to successful living. Be humble, be helpful, be a good listener, be found in places of need, be forgiving, be full of good and reverent words about the Heavenly Father, be much in prayer.

I am the Truth - Gain the lessons from what I have said. Learn my ethic. Meditate on eternal reward and consequence. Place yourself in my parables. Heed my prophetic utterances. This will require a serious look at Matthew chapters 5, 6, 7, 13, 24 and 25. Also Luke chapters 10, 15 and 22.

I am the Life - I have something to give to you for the simple asking. It is not a creed or a subtle urging. It is rather the very life residing in me. It is meant to be distributed. It is the focus of my mission. Read John 15 several times (the Vine) and receive the revelation of impartation of my life's flow.

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This can be yours.

Are you prepared to take the whole Gospel trip? Do not get off at the first station with the walk, or the second station with the talk. Stay on board. Realize your need. Go for the life. That Christ be formed in you. And then distributed to the lost.

His Smile in Me

Yet it was well, and Thou hast said in seasonAs is the Master shall the servant be:Let me not subtly slide into the treason,Seeking an honour which they gave not Thee.

Never at even, pillowed on a pleasure, Sleep with the wings of aspiration furled,Hide the last mite of the forbidden treasure,Keep for my joys a world within the world.

He as He wills shall solder and shall sunder,Slay in a day and quicken in an hour,Tune Him a chorus from the Sons of Thunder,Forge and transform my passion into power.

Ay, for this Paul, a scorn and a reviling,Weak as you know him and the wretch you see,Even in these eyes shall ye behold Him smiling,Strength in infirmities and Christ in me.

(Oswald Chambers, So Send I You)

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