MARTYRS FOR A MOMENT

Released Into Glory C. 2012, Doug Blair

Stephen, First of the Martyr Trail

We couldn’t resist his messageOr wisdom he brought to bearOr censure his grasp of historyNo Jew could defeat him there.

And none could resist his spiritUnmixed, and unbought by pride,And heeding only his MasterRight to the hour he died.

So what was the cause of our fury?Or what could excuse our rage?In stoning this miracle -workerWho visioned a brighter new Age?

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The gnashing of teeth and the madnessWere all in our quarter, you see.As rocks crushed the life from this giantWho knelt, and forgave even me.

Acts 7:59 And they stoned Stephen, calling upon God, and saying, Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.60 And he kneeled down, and cried with a loud voice, Lord, lay not this sin to their charge. And when he had said this, he fell asleep.

Stephen’s Power

Acts 6:

10And they were not able to resist the wisdom and the spirit by which he (Stephen)spake.

Conviction or contumely. Stephen's message and demeanour would provoke either one or the other.

We know that he was one of the seven deacons chosen in Jerusalem for church administrative activity, but that his ministry was powerful in the fruit of conversions and healings.

What sort of man was this? Full of faith. Full of power. Full of the Spirit. Full of wisdom and the remarkable story of God's dealing with His people (see Acts 7). Of honest report.

I am particularly interested in the significance of stating that his spirit could not be resisted. Many preachers have the facts. They have the wisdom of scripture. But they lecture. The fervour is missing. The confidence of calling. The boldness to state the truth even though it chafes. The certainty of present spiritual warfare. The certainty of present spiritual power. The fisherman's zeal for souls.

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Yesterday I uncovered some old cassette tapes of the preaching of R. W. Schambach of Tyler, Texas. Here also was irresistible spirit...

" We gotta have dances in the church to keep the young people together. Barbecues. Bowling leagues. Come on saints of God! They are the future hope of the Church. There is a devil out there. Get these young people full of the Holy Ghost and fire. Soak them in the Gospel account. Give them bottles of anointing oil and send them out to the hospitals to pray for the sick. Send them to the streets to talk to people. They will see Jesus at work. There will be no difficulty capturing their enthusiasm. Can you give me an amen, SOMEBODY?"

"Brother Schambach" was often heard saying, "Ah come to cut."

Exit With Conscience Clear

The Son followed two guards up the steps, as the crowd jostled with renewed excitement. His right foot gave him some difficulty. Thanks to nine hours in the "boot". The day was sunny, and his cell-darkened eyes winced in the glare. The sea of faces before and beneath him showed a variety of expressions. Some there to gape with a strange sense of superiority at the coming spectacle of death. Some, from the despised conventicle, who lowered their heads 'neath caps and shawls, but made the appearance for show of respect.

The noose was affixed. The Sergeant inquired as to any intended last words from this hillside preacher; also combatant in the struggle against His Majesty's prescribed Church.

"Yes I most gladly speak in loving thanks and confidence toward all-worthy Christ my Saviour. He sees my short inconvenience. He finishes my dwelling near His side. All my springs are in Him. He has heard my heart's prayers for the budding once again of true religion in Scotland; of unharassed assembly; of pleasant discourse between loving shepherd and flock. He will not stay His hand too long. Dragoons' curses and muskets will

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soon be silenced. "I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him against that day..."

The Sergeant motioned to the drummers to commence, so as to drown out the speaker and to heighten the sense of spectacle and deterrent. The noose cinched down. The hood. The final reading of the psalm. The yank of the lever. The rag doll dropped and stopped. The collective gasp.

But also the anguished cry of one senior voice. The Father broke ranks and bolted to the scaffold base. Nearly blinded by tears. With one leap he embraced the midriff of his struggling Son and held, whispering, "Go now, my blessed boy, my champion. Go to Jesus."

The added weight hurried things along.

Solemn Spires of Rock

With blood and breathThey sealed the Oath,Though parchment bore the gistOf Covenant with Christ their King,Whose court was moor and mist.

The shields of powerHad spewed a law:That every soul must heedThe pulpits of the puppet-priests,By worldly throne decreed.

But hearts enthralled By Spirit’s touch,And cleansed with Christ’s own blood,Must have the shepherd-hearted princeTo preach to them God’s Word.Now banned from kirksAnd presbyteries,

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The faithful shepherds fled;To holy haunts on heathered hills,To preach life from the dead.

And whispers thrilled The villages,And sought the lonely farms;As secret calls to worship meantA secret call to arms.

Though empty satThe kirks of stone,And empty sat their pews;The glens and rills were filled with psalms‘Neath grand celestial views.

And times would come Of sacrament,Of searchings-out of sin;And fateful times when king’s dragoonsWould scatter to the wind.

And legends grewOf gallant menEvading musket-fire;And matrons bold who harboured them,To raise some villain’s ire.

And prophets savedBy providenceFrom Bloody Clavers’ men,Would vanish into cave or fog,Or stream, to preach again.

And gallows bore The testament,And prison glooms the tale;And children saw the cost of truthIn those who walked death’s vale.

But still they sought

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The sacred heights,Where Grace did much abound;Where bleat of lamb and lilt of birdWere mixed with Gospel sound.

Still constant proved The shepherd-heart;And constant proved the flock;And faithful proved the King of Kings,‘Midst solemn spires of rock.

Palm Tree Gospel

John Williams was dispatched by the London Missionary Society to French Polynesia in the Pacific (@1827). Eventually he died at the hands of cannibals.

He relates one incident where he came across a farmer peasant, named Buteve, who through trauma had lost both his legs. Garden farming was a tedious matter of crawling around with the aid of some rudimentary assist. When assemblies were called by Williams, Buteve could only make it as far as the pathway by his lot, where he would inquire of passers-by as to a song, a scripture or any short message shared.

Williams heard of this simple, devoted man and paid him a visit in which he asked of the nature of his faith exercises:

Answer: “Oh yes, I very frequently pray as I weed my ground and plant my food, but always three times a day, besides praying with my family every morning and evening.”Question: “What do you say when you pray?”Answer: “I say, Oh Lord, I am a great sinner; May Jesus take my sins away by His good blood; Give me the righteousness of Jesus to adorn me, and give me the good spirit of Jesus to instruct me and make my heart good, to make me a man of Jesus, and take me to Heaven when I die.” (John

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Williams, The Martyr Missionary of Polynesia, by James J. Ellis, 1889, S.W. Partridge and Company)

The gardener got it! Simply by prayer, song, bits of scripture, meditation and dialogue. How much other “stuff” seems to occupy our pulpits these days. How many commentaries, testimonies and DVD’s keep us from the purity of this man’s experience of Christ?

Blind Warrior of Raiatea

My journey in the library stacks recently yielded a book by John Williams entitled "A Narrative of Missionary Enterprises in the South Sea Islands" (John Snow, Publisher, London, 1838)

In Journal fashion the martyr herald of the London Missionary Society retells some of his trials and victories among the native people of French Polynesia.

The elderly blind man "Me" loved to hear stories of the merciful, miracle-working Jesus. He always had time and compassion for the bruised, estranged ones along the pathways of the Holy Land. Me would ask friends for many accounts of the Gospel tale and of the preacher's messages. Without much hesitation he became a Christian.

This brought new joy to his tireless working of a field and occasional care of the little ones. But the day came when he was stricken with serious illness and bed-ridden. Others ravaged the crops of his field. Social custom suggested that this "useless one" be eliminated or starved.

Williams found his friend in this pathetic condition and wondered why other recent converts had not fed or nursed Me. The old man's response was that he dare not beg for help. Better to go hungry than to embarrass and hinder the recent inroads of the Good News.

Bedside, the old man related an encouraging vision to the "eyes of the

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heart":

"I have been in great trouble this morning, but I am happy now. I saw an immense mountain with precipitous sides, up which I endeavoured to climb, but when I attained a considerable height, I lost my hold and fell to the bottom. Exhausted with perplexity and fatigue, I went to a distance and sat down to weep, and while weeping, I saw a drop of blood fall upon that mountain and in a moment it was dissolved...That mountain was my sins, and the drop which fell upon it was one drop of the precious blood of Jesus, by which the mountain of my guilt must be melted away."

Williams promised to return with food and medicine, which the old man agreed to accept. But he was quick to add that he was not looking for recovery but rather to depart and to be with the Lord, which was far better.

“…To Gain What He Cannot Lose”

(Taken from an article in Wikipedia on the best-selling book "Through Gates of Splendour")

"Through Gates of Splendor is a 1957 best selling book written by Elisabeth Elliot. The book tells the story of Operation Auca, an attempt of five American missionaries - Jim Elliot (the author's husband), Pete Fleming, Ed McCully, Nate Saint, and Roger Youderian - to reach the Huaorani tribe of eastern Ecuador. All five of the men were killed by the tribe. The book is Elliot's first book, and arguably her most well known work.

The title of the book is derived from the fourth stanza of the hymn "We Rest on Thee". This hymn was famously sung by the missionaries before the men left for Waodaoni territory in September 1955. The lines read:

We rest on Thee, our Shield and our Defender. Thine is the battle, Thine shall be the praise; When passing through the gates of pearly splendor, Victors, we rest with Thee, through endless days.

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Elliot wrote the book while still a missionary in Ecuador. She wrote the book at the request and cooperation from the families of the five men. She was given copies of letters and other writings which were extensively quoted from in the book. Interesting to note, is that the original edition of the book was first published in 1957, or one year before the first peaceful contact with the Huaorani was made. In subsequent publications of the book, epilogues have been added to tell about what has happened to the Huaorani tribe since Operation Auca, and what has happened to the missionaries' families."

Try to get a copy of this stirring account of selfless missions effort. The sad martyrdom of the five was the topic of conversation with many, wondering at the reason for such cost of life for souls.

It is interesting to add that the son of the martyred aviator Nate Saint was involved in the production of a follow-up feature film entitled "End of the Spear". We are told of progress in the Christian faith in the affected jungle region, and of the remarkable encounter of the son, Steve Saint, with the man who killed his father. Eventually good friends and brothers in Christ.

"With God all things are possible."

"A man is no fool who gives what he cannot keep in order to gain what he cannot lose." (Jim Elliot)

Don’t Call It Waste

(Taken from Streams in the Desert by Mrs. Charles Cowman)

Only Through Death

"Except a grain of wheat fall into the ground and die, it remains a single grain, but if it dies away in the ground, the grain is freed to spring up in a plant bearing many grains" (John 12:24).

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Go to the old burying ground of Northampton, Mass., and look upon the early grave of David Brainerd, beside that of the fair Jerusha Edwards, whom he loved but did not live to wed.

What hopes, what expectations for Christ's cause went down to the grave with the wasted form of that young missionary of whose work nothing now remained but the dear memory, and a few score of swarthy Indian converts! But that majestic old Puritan saint, Jonathan Edwards, who had hoped to call him his son, gathered up the memorials of his life in a little book, and the little book took wings and flew beyond the sea, and alighted on the table of a Cambridge student, Henry Martyn.

Poor Martyn! Why should he throw himself away, with all his scholarship, his genius, his opportunities! What had he accomplished when he turned homeward from "India's coral strand," broken in health, and dragged himself northward as far as that dreary khan at Tocat by the Black Sea, where he crouched under the piled-up saddles, to cool his burning fever against the earth, and there died alone?

To what purpose was this waste? Out of that early grave of Brainerd, and the lonely grave of Martyn far away by the splashing of the Euxine Sea, has sprung the noble army of modern missionaries. --

(Leonard Woolsey Bacon)

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