you can control the music by clicking on the above console OR click on the following link to learn more about controlling music/sound <sound> Do you recognized the song? It is identified at the end of the articles for the month. by telling a friend about this web site 2010 March 21 - The Seed of Choice . . . (back) The Seed of Choice He placed one scoop of clay upon another until a form lay lifeless on the ground. All of the Garden's inhabitants paused to witness the event. Hawks hovered. Giraffes stretched. Trees bowed. Butterflies paused on petals and watched. "You will love me, nature," God said. "I made you that way. You will obey me, universe. For you were designed to do so. You will reflect my glory, skies, for that is how you were created. But this one will be like me. This one will be able to choose." All were silent as the Creator reached into himself and removed something yet unseen. A seed. "It's called 'choice.' The seed of choice." Creation stood in silence and gazed upon the lifeless form. An angel spoke, "But what if he..." "What if he chooses not to love?" the Creator finished. "Come, I will show you." Unbound by today, God and the angel walked into the realm of tomorrow. "There, see the fruit of the seed of choice, both the sweet and the bitter." The angel gasped at what he saw: Spontaneous love, Voluntary devotion, Chosen tenderness. Never had he seen anything like these. He felt the love of the Adams. He heard the joy of Eve and her daughters. He saw the food and the burdens shared. He absorbed the kindness and marveled at the warmth. "Heaven has never seen such beauty, my Lord. Truly, this is your greatest creation." "Ah, but you've only seen the sweet. Now witness the bitter." A stench enveloped the pair. The angel turned in horror and proclaimed, "What is it?" The Creator spoke only one word: "Selfishness." The angel stood speechless as they passed through centuries of repugnance. Never had he seen such filth: Rotten hearts, Ruptured promises, Forgotten loyalties, Children of the creation wandering blindly in lonely labyrinths. "This is the result of choice? the angel asked. "Yes." "They will forget you?" "Yes." "They will reject you?" "Yes." They will never come back? "Some will. Most won't." "What will it take to make them listen?" The Creator walked on in time, further and further into the future, until he stood by a tree. A tree that would be fashioned into a cradle. Even then he could smell the hay that would surround him. With another step into the future, he paused before another tree. It stood alone, a stubborn ruler on a bald hill. The trunk was thick, and the wood was strong. Soon it would be cut. Soon it would be trimmed. Soon it would be mounted on the stony brow of another hill. And soon he would be hung on it. He felt the wood rub against a back he did not yet wear. "Will you go down there?" the angel asked. "I will." "Is there no other way?" "There is not." "Wouldn't it be easier to not plant the seed? Wouldn't it be easier to not give the choice?" "It would," the Creator spoke slowly. "But to remove the choice is to remove the love." He looked around the hill and foresaw a scene. Three figures hung on three crosses. Arms spread. Heads fallen forward. They moaned with the wind. Men clad in soldier's garb sat on the ground near the trio. They played games in the dirt and laughed. Men clad in religion stood off to one side. They smiled—arrogant and cocky. They had protected God they thought by killing this false one. Women clad in sorrow huddled at the foot of the hill. Speechless. Faces tear streaked. Eyes downward. One put her arm around another and tried to lead her away. She wouldn't leave. "I will stay," she said softly, "I will stay." All heaven stood to fight. All nature rose to rescue. All eternity poised to protect. But the Creator gave no command. "It must be done...," he said, and withdrew. But as he stepped in time, he heard the cry that he would someday scream: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" He wrenched at tomorrow's agony. The angel spoke again. "It would be less painful........" The Creator interrupted softly. "But it wouldn't be love." They stepped into the Garden again. The Maker looked earnestly at the clay creation. A monsoon of love swelled up within him. He had died for the creation before he had made him. God's form bent over the sculptured face and breathed. Dust stirred on the lips of the new one. The chest rose, cracking the red mud. The cheeks fleshened. A finger moved. And an eye opened. But more incredible than the moving of the flesh was the stirring of the spirit. Those who could see the unseen gasped. Perhaps it was the wind that said it first. Perhaps what the star saw that moment is what has made it blink ever since. Maybe it was left to an angel to whisper it: "It looks like ... it appears to so much like ... it is him!" The angel wasn't speaking of the face, the features, or the body. He was looking inside - at the soul. "It's eternal!" gasped another. Within the man, God has placed a divine seed. A seed of his self (a seed of choice). The God of might had created earth's mightiest ... And the One who had chosen to love had created one who could love in return. Now it's our choice. March 28 - The Tree . . . (back) THE TREE He created the tree He molded and built A small lonely hill, That He knew would be Called Calvary. Then He made the seed, That would grow to be thorns That would make His Son bleed. Then He made a green stem Gave it leaves and then Gave it sunshine and rain And sheltered it with moss. With tears in His eyes, God looked down in time Saw Him spat upon, Beaten and mocked. Still, He grew the tree, That He knew would be Used to make The old rugged cross. Nothing took His life. With love He gave it. He was crucified, On the tree that He created. With great love for man God stayed with His plan He grew the tree, That He knew would be Used to make the old rugged cross. Author Unknown Received from: Laugh & Lift Daily Issue Subscribe to Laugh & Lift by sending an email with a subject of "subscribe" to: laughlift-subscribe@yahoogroups.com >< + <>< + <>< + <>< + <>< + <>< + <>< + <>< +<>< + <>< + <>< + <>< March Bonus – Good Friday . . . (back) The Crucifixion by George Konig This poem was inspired by an African-American Christian spiritual entitled "Were you there," which was sung by Rexella Van Impe during a television broadcast. The poem talks about our own responsibility for the rejection of Jesus as the Messiah when He rode into Jerusalem nearly 2,000 years ago. Many decades ago, on a Passover night In a garden called Gethsemane, my Lord was in prayer A crowd rushed upon, this precious Nazarite And He was betrayed by a friend, as shouts filled the air Yes when they arrested my Jesus, I was there Take Him to the Sanhedrin, we will charge Him in court This Man is not a king, but a Galilean Jew Give false witness against Him, to lies we'll resort Peter deny Him three times, before that unholy crew I was in that courtyard, and denied Him too We do not have the right, to perform the execution To Pilate we'll take, this Man from Galilee Roman justice will give us, the final solution This King shall be crucified, and Barabbas set free Did you walk with Jesus, to Calvary? Give Him thirty-nine lashes, with a three-pronged whip Fulfill the prophecy, by His stripes we will heal Let the barbs sink in, give His back a good rip Swing with your might, and watch the skin peel I heard every crack, and witnessed His ordeal Place our sins on His head, with a crown made of thorn Press down on the crown, and watch the blood flow Despise Him, ridicule Him, show Him your scorn Intensify His pain, witness the death throe And where were you, in that time long ago? Pull out the hairs of His beard, strike Him on the face In His right hand put a reed, in a purple robe let Him sit Bow in mockery to the King, make Him a disgrace Strike Him again, then cover Him with spit Yes I was there, and watched Him submit Let us journey now, to the place called the Skull Put the cross on His back, can He stand up to the weight? If You are the Messiah, then perform a miracle And get away from these people, who are filled with hate And I was in that crowd, on that famous date Stretch Him out on the cross, drive a nail through each wrist Fasten the feet together, with one long spike Through the enormous pain, He does not seem to resist Lift up the cross, lift it straight and high I watched the hammer swing, and heard every strike "The King of the Jews," nail over His head Crucify the others, on the left and the right Cast lots for His clothes, as His blood runs red Look up in horror, at this terrible site And what were you doing, as day turned to night? Watch Him raise up His body, and strain for each breath Listen to the screams of the crowd, hear the women wail It will be many long hours, before He is overcome by death And He thought about me, as He hung by the nails I stood on that ground, and saw every detail "Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do" See there's Mary and John, "Woman, behold your son" The rulers sneered, "You saved others, save Yourself too" But He held off His angels, until His mission was done He fought the good fight, and the battle He won The sun disappeared, from noon until three And the veil of the Temple, down the middle did split "My God, My God, why have You forsaken me" "Father in Your hands, I commend My Spirit" We watched Him breathe His last, as an earthquake hit Tombs were opened, and Saints raised from their sleep The soldiers feared greatly, as they felt the ground shake The Centurion stood amazed, a new feeling began to creep Could this Man be the Son of God, and not a fake? And I cried in anguish, as He died for my sake Take Him down off the cross, as sorrow fills the air Lay Him on a slab, in a rock hewn tomb Wrap Him with linen, prepare His body with care Seal up the entrance, of that sacred room Did you weep for Jesus, in that day of gloom? And behold the weeping is over, for the third day Became a time for rejoicing, the end of our woes An earthquake occurred, the stone rolled away And the tomb was found empty, Jesus had arose Did you see the angels, in their dazzling white clothes? He appeared to many, including the Eleven And fulfilled the prophecies, as He had sworn With His ministry now finished, He ascended into Heaven In a transfigured body, He does now adorn Were you there, when Christianity was born? Copyright ©1999-2005 George Konig www.konig.org April 4 - He Did It Just for You . . . (back) by Max Lucado When God entered time and became a man, he who was boundless became bound. Imprisoned in flesh. Restricted by weary-prone muscles and eyelids. For more than three decades, his once limitless reach would be limited to the stretch of an arm, his speed checked to the pace of human feet. I wonder, was he ever tempted to reclaim his boundlessness? In the middle of a long trip, did he ever consider transporting himself to the next city? When the rain chilled his bones, was he tempted to change the weather? When the heat parched his lips, did he give thought to popping over to the Caribbean for some refreshment? If ever he entertained such thoughts, he never gave in to them. Not once. Stop and think about this. Not once did Christ use his supernatural powers for personal comfort. With one word he could’ve transformed the hard earth into a soft bed, but he didn’t. With a wave of his hand, he could’ve boomeranged the spit of his accusers back into their faces, but he didn’t. With an arch of his brow, he could’ve paralyzed the hand of the soldier as he braided the crown of thorns. But he didn’t. Want to know the coolest thing about the coming? Not that he, in an instant, went from needing nothing to needing air, food, a tub of hot water and salts for his tired feet, and, more than anything, needing somebody—anybody—who was more concerned about where he would spend eternity than where he would spend Friday’s paycheck. Not that he kept his cool while the dozen best friends he ever had felt the heat and got out of the kitchen. Or that he gave no command to the angels who begged, “Just give the nod, Lord. One word and these demons will be deviled eggs.” Not that he refused to defend himself when blamed for every sin since Adam. Or that he stood silent as a million guilty verdicts echoed in the tribunal of heaven and the giver of light was left in the chill of a sinner’s night. Not even that after three days in a dark hole he stepped into the Easter sunrise with a smile and a swagger and a question for lowly Lucifer—“Is that your best punch?” That was cool, incredibly cool. But want to know the coolest thing about the One who gave up the crown of heaven for a crown of thorns? He did it for you. Just for you. From His Name is Jesus © (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2009) Max Lucado 2009 March 22 - I Lay It Down . . . (back) I Lay It Down In the Garden of Gethsemane I ponder, With a sorrow unto death, to You I cry. Though my calling leads me onward To the suff'ring of the cross, I pray this cup would pass me by. I'm alone for all my friends have grown too weary. In the darkness of the hour, I am undone. Yet again, I plead and pray, Dear Father, take this cup away, And spare the suff'ring of Your Son. Must I lay down my life in agony, Must I bear all the sin and shame? Must You soon turn Your face away from me, As the people mock my Name? There is nothing that You cannot do, So once again, I cry: My Father, let this cup now pass me by. Abba, Father! I cry, Must I be crucified? Must I shed my blood upon the ground? Must I be led to wear a thorny crown? Must I face the coldness of the tomb? Please, Father must I die? I awaken those who close their eyes in slumber. Now the hour has come; betrayal drawing near. Soon the soldiers will descend, And all the suff'ring will begin, And my disciples flee in fear. For this moment I was born; I cannot falter. As the Lamb I come to give my life for all. Since before the world began, My death was in our master plan, And I must answer to the call: If the shadow of death must pass this way, As the wages of sin are borne, Though the wrath and judgment I must bear Leave me battered, bruised, and torn, If the bearing of the cross must come Before I wear the crown, I yield my life to You; I lay it down. Though I dread the torture, death and grave, Though I pray my life somehow be saved, If the bearing of the cross must come Before I wear the crown, I yield my life to You; I lay it down! March 29 - I Was the Nails . . . (back) I was the nails that hung Him there, I was the sorrow that He had to bear. It was my sins, my wayward ways That held my Savior to the cross that day. I was the agony and the pain I was the one who brought shame to His Name. I was the one who couldn't care less. To bring the Son of God to a place like this. I was the one who spat in His Face, I was the one who brought this disgrace. I was the one yelling "Crucify Him," I was the one--had it not been. And yet He loved me. He looked at me with eyes full of love. He loved me in spite of all I had done. He gave me hope in the midst of it all, Letting me know He was indeed the Son of God . He saw past all the cruelty I did give, And knew in my heart that I was hungry for Him. He knew that I was just one in the crowd And that many more like me one day would bow. He knew. He knew that I needed Him so. And that is why to Calvary He was willing to go. No, I can't say that I am proud I did this to Him, But I am proud to share what new life He gives. See--you are standing there pointing at me And in your way of thinking I am all that you say. I know you are ready to condemn me insane, But what you don't know is He took my sins away... Yes, my sins are gone and yours too can be. All because Jesus did go to Calvary. He suffered willingly, So you and I both could be set free... He loved you and He loved me He proved it there on Calvary. -- written by Lisa Peter -- April 5 - The Tale of the Crucified Crook . . . (back) THE TALE OF THE CRUCIFIED THIEF by Max Lucado If anyone was ever worthless, this one was. If any man ever deserved dying, this man probably did. If any fellow was ever a loser, this fellow was at the top of the list. Perhaps that is why Jesus chose him to show us what he thinks of the human race. Maybe this criminal had heard the Messiah speak. Maybe he had seen him love the lowly. Maybe he had watched him dine with the punks, pickpockets, and potmouths on the streets. Or maybe not. Maybe the only thing he knew about this Messiah was what he now saw: a beaten, slashed, nail-suspended preacher. His face crimson with blood, his bones peeking through torn flesh, his lungs gasping for air. Something, though, told him he had never been in better company. And somehow he realized that even though all he had was prayer, he had finally met the One to whom he should pray. “Any chance that you could put in a good word for me?” (Loose translation.) “Consider it done.” Now why did Jesus do that? What in the world did he have to gain by promising this desperado a place of honor at the banquet table? What in the world could this chiseling quisling ever offer in return? I mean, the Samaritan woman I can understand. She could go back and tell the tale. And Zacchaeus had some money that he could give. But this guy? What is he going to do? Nothing! That’s the point. Listen closely. Jesus’ love does not depend upon what we do for him. Not at all. In the eyes of the King, you have value simply because you are. You don’t have to look nice or perform well. Your value is inborn. Period. Think about that for just a minute. You are valuable just because you exist. Not because of what you do or what you have done, but simply because you are. Remember that. The next time someone tries to pass you off as a cheap buy, just think about the way Jesus honors you…and smile. I do. I smile because I know I don’t deserve love like that. None of us do. When you get right down to it, any contribution that any of us make is pretty puny. All of us—even the purest of us—deserve heaven about as much as that crook did. All of us are signing on Jesus’ credit card, not ours. And it also makes me smile to think that there is a grinning ex-con walking the golden streets who knows more about grace than a thousand theologians. No one else would have given him a prayer. But in the end that is all that he had. And in the end, that is all it took. No wonder they call him the Savior. _____________________________________ from "No Wonder They Call Him the Savior" by Max Lucado, Copyright 1986 April 12 - This Is the Day . . . (back) This is the Day This is the day the doves returned, The greatest day on earth, The day the stone was overturned, The sign of man's rebirth. This is the day He left the tomb, The day the angels hailed, This is the day the Lilies bloomed, The day to lift the veil. This is the day that Mary's tears, Upon her cheek were dried, The day the angels quelled her fears, By singing He's alive! This is the day that Christ was seen, Walking on the road, In the flesh - no, not a dream, In a white and holy robe. This is the day He spoke aloud, Hear, see, touch - He's real, The day He rose up in the clouds, God's truth to man revealed. This month's song is "The Tomb Is Empty." (back) (home)
you can control the music by clicking on the above console OR click on the following link to learn more about controlling music/sound <sound>
Do you recognized the song? It is identified at the end of the articles for the month.
by telling a friend about this web site
2010
March 21 - The Seed of Choice . . . (back)
The Seed of Choice
He placed one scoop of clay upon another until a form lay lifeless on the ground. All of the Garden's inhabitants paused to witness the event. Hawks hovered. Giraffes stretched. Trees bowed. Butterflies paused on petals and watched. "You will love me, nature," God said. "I made you that way. You will obey me, universe. For you were designed to do so. You will reflect my glory, skies, for that is how you were created. But this one will be like me. This one will be able to choose." All were silent as the Creator reached into himself and removed something yet unseen. A seed. "It's called 'choice.' The seed of choice." Creation stood in silence and gazed upon the lifeless form. An angel spoke, "But what if he..." "What if he chooses not to love?" the Creator finished. "Come, I will show you." Unbound by today, God and the angel walked into the realm of tomorrow. "There, see the fruit of the seed of choice, both the sweet and the bitter." The angel gasped at what he saw: Spontaneous love, Voluntary devotion, Chosen tenderness. Never had he seen anything like these. He felt the love of the Adams. He heard the joy of Eve and her daughters. He saw the food and the burdens shared. He absorbed the kindness and marveled at the warmth. "Heaven has never seen such beauty, my Lord. Truly, this is your greatest creation." "Ah, but you've only seen the sweet. Now witness the bitter." A stench enveloped the pair. The angel turned in horror and proclaimed, "What is it?" The Creator spoke only one word: "Selfishness." The angel stood speechless as they passed through centuries of repugnance. Never had he seen such filth: Rotten hearts, Ruptured promises, Forgotten loyalties, Children of the creation wandering blindly in lonely labyrinths. "This is the result of choice? the angel asked. "Yes." "They will forget you?" "Yes." "They will reject you?" "Yes." They will never come back? "Some will. Most won't." "What will it take to make them listen?" The Creator walked on in time, further and further into the future, until he stood by a tree. A tree that would be fashioned into a cradle. Even then he could smell the hay that would surround him. With another step into the future, he paused before another tree. It stood alone, a stubborn ruler on a bald hill. The trunk was thick, and the wood was strong. Soon it would be cut. Soon it would be trimmed. Soon it would be mounted on the stony brow of another hill. And soon he would be hung on it. He felt the wood rub against a back he did not yet wear. "Will you go down there?" the angel asked. "I will." "Is there no other way?" "There is not." "Wouldn't it be easier to not plant the seed? Wouldn't it be easier to not give the choice?" "It would," the Creator spoke slowly. "But to remove the choice is to remove the love." He looked around the hill and foresaw a scene. Three figures hung on three crosses. Arms spread. Heads fallen forward. They moaned with the wind. Men clad in soldier's garb sat on the ground near the trio. They played games in the dirt and laughed. Men clad in religion stood off to one side. They smiled—arrogant and cocky. They had protected God they thought by killing this false one. Women clad in sorrow huddled at the foot of the hill. Speechless. Faces tear streaked. Eyes downward. One put her arm around another and tried to lead her away. She wouldn't leave. "I will stay," she said softly, "I will stay." All heaven stood to fight. All nature rose to rescue. All eternity poised to protect. But the Creator gave no command. "It must be done...," he said, and withdrew. But as he stepped in time, he heard the cry that he would someday scream: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" He wrenched at tomorrow's agony. The angel spoke again. "It would be less painful........" The Creator interrupted softly. "But it wouldn't be love." They stepped into the Garden again. The Maker looked earnestly at the clay creation. A monsoon of love swelled up within him. He had died for the creation before he had made him. God's form bent over the sculptured face and breathed. Dust stirred on the lips of the new one. The chest rose, cracking the red mud. The cheeks fleshened. A finger moved. And an eye opened. But more incredible than the moving of the flesh was the stirring of the spirit. Those who could see the unseen gasped. Perhaps it was the wind that said it first. Perhaps what the star saw that moment is what has made it blink ever since. Maybe it was left to an angel to whisper it: "It looks like ... it appears to so much like ... it is him!" The angel wasn't speaking of the face, the features, or the body. He was looking inside - at the soul. "It's eternal!" gasped another. Within the man, God has placed a divine seed. A seed of his self (a seed of choice). The God of might had created earth's mightiest ... And the One who had chosen to love had created one who could love in return. Now it's our choice.
March 28 - The Tree . . . (back)
THE TREE
He created the tree
He molded and built
A small lonely hill,
That He knew would be
Called Calvary.
Then He made the seed,
That would grow to be thorns
That would make
His Son bleed.
Then He made a green stem
Gave it leaves and then
Gave it sunshine and rain
And sheltered it with moss.
With tears in His eyes,
God looked down in time
Saw Him spat upon,
Beaten and mocked.
Still, He grew the tree,
Used to make
The old rugged cross.
Nothing took His life.
With love He gave it.
He was crucified,
On the tree that He created.
With great love for man
God stayed with His plan
He grew the tree,
Used to make the old rugged cross.
Author Unknown
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March Bonus – Good Friday . . . (back)
This poem was inspired by an African-American Christian spiritual entitled "Were you there," which was sung by Rexella Van Impe during a television broadcast. The poem talks about our own responsibility for the rejection of Jesus as the Messiah when He rode into Jerusalem nearly 2,000 years ago.
Many decades ago, on a Passover night In a garden called Gethsemane, my Lord was in prayer A crowd rushed upon, this precious Nazarite And He was betrayed by a friend, as shouts filled the air Yes when they arrested my Jesus, I was there Take Him to the Sanhedrin, we will charge Him in court This Man is not a king, but a Galilean Jew Give false witness against Him, to lies we'll resort Peter deny Him three times, before that unholy crew I was in that courtyard, and denied Him too We do not have the right, to perform the execution To Pilate we'll take, this Man from Galilee Roman justice will give us, the final solution This King shall be crucified, and Barabbas set free Did you walk with Jesus, to Calvary? Give Him thirty-nine lashes, with a three-pronged whip Fulfill the prophecy, by His stripes we will heal Let the barbs sink in, give His back a good rip Swing with your might, and watch the skin peel I heard every crack, and witnessed His ordeal Place our sins on His head, with a crown made of thorn Press down on the crown, and watch the blood flow Despise Him, ridicule Him, show Him your scorn Intensify His pain, witness the death throe And where were you, in that time long ago? Pull out the hairs of His beard, strike Him on the face In His right hand put a reed, in a purple robe let Him sit Bow in mockery to the King, make Him a disgrace Strike Him again, then cover Him with spit Yes I was there, and watched Him submit Let us journey now, to the place called the Skull Put the cross on His back, can He stand up to the weight? If You are the Messiah, then perform a miracle And get away from these people, who are filled with hate And I was in that crowd, on that famous date Stretch Him out on the cross, drive a nail through each wrist Fasten the feet together, with one long spike Through the enormous pain, He does not seem to resist Lift up the cross, lift it straight and high I watched the hammer swing, and heard every strike "The King of the Jews," nail over His head Crucify the others, on the left and the right Cast lots for His clothes, as His blood runs red Look up in horror, at this terrible site And what were you doing, as day turned to night? Watch Him raise up His body, and strain for each breath Listen to the screams of the crowd, hear the women wail It will be many long hours, before He is overcome by death And He thought about me, as He hung by the nails I stood on that ground, and saw every detail "Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do" See there's Mary and John, "Woman, behold your son" The rulers sneered, "You saved others, save Yourself too" But He held off His angels, until His mission was done He fought the good fight, and the battle He won The sun disappeared, from noon until three And the veil of the Temple, down the middle did split "My God, My God, why have You forsaken me" "Father in Your hands, I commend My Spirit" We watched Him breathe His last, as an earthquake hit Tombs were opened, and Saints raised from their sleep The soldiers feared greatly, as they felt the ground shake The Centurion stood amazed, a new feeling began to creep Could this Man be the Son of God, and not a fake? And I cried in anguish, as He died for my sake Take Him down off the cross, as sorrow fills the air Lay Him on a slab, in a rock hewn tomb Wrap Him with linen, prepare His body with care Seal up the entrance, of that sacred room Did you weep for Jesus, in that day of gloom? And behold the weeping is over, for the third day Became a time for rejoicing, the end of our woes An earthquake occurred, the stone rolled away And the tomb was found empty, Jesus had arose Did you see the angels, in their dazzling white clothes? He appeared to many, including the Eleven And fulfilled the prophecies, as He had sworn With His ministry now finished, He ascended into Heaven In a transfigured body, He does now adorn Were you there, when Christianity was born?
Copyright ©1999-2005 George Konig www.konig.org
Copyright ©1999-2005 George Konig
www.konig.org
April 4 - He Did It Just for You . . . (back)
by Max Lucado
When God entered time and became a man, he who was boundless became bound. Imprisoned in flesh. Restricted by weary-prone muscles and eyelids. For more than three decades, his once limitless reach would be limited to the stretch of an arm, his speed checked to the pace of human feet.
I wonder, was he ever tempted to reclaim his boundlessness? In the middle of a long trip, did he ever consider transporting himself to the next city? When the rain chilled his bones, was he tempted to change the weather? When the heat parched his lips, did he give thought to popping over to the Caribbean for some refreshment?
If ever he entertained such thoughts, he never gave in to them. Not once. Stop and think about this. Not once did Christ use his supernatural powers for personal comfort. With one word he could’ve transformed the hard earth into a soft bed, but he didn’t. With a wave of his hand, he could’ve boomeranged the spit of his accusers back into their faces, but he didn’t. With an arch of his brow, he could’ve paralyzed the hand of the soldier as he braided the crown of thorns. But he didn’t.
Want to know the coolest thing about the coming?
Not that he, in an instant, went from needing nothing to needing air, food, a tub of hot water and salts for his tired feet, and, more than anything, needing somebody—anybody—who was more concerned about where he would spend eternity than where he would spend Friday’s paycheck.
Not that he kept his cool while the dozen best friends he ever had felt the heat and got out of the kitchen. Or that he gave no command to the angels who begged, “Just give the nod, Lord. One word and these demons will be deviled eggs.”
Not that he refused to defend himself when blamed for every sin since Adam. Or that he stood silent as a million guilty verdicts echoed in the tribunal of heaven and the giver of light was left in the chill of a sinner’s night.
Not even that after three days in a dark hole he stepped into the Easter sunrise with a smile and a swagger and a question for lowly Lucifer—“Is that your best punch?”
That was cool, incredibly cool.
But want to know the coolest thing about the One who gave up the crown of heaven for a crown of thorns?
He did it for you. Just for you. From His Name is Jesus © (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2009) Max Lucado
2009
March 22 - I Lay It Down . . . (back)
I Lay It Down
In the Garden of Gethsemane I ponder, With a sorrow unto death, to You I cry. Though my calling leads me onward To the suff'ring of the cross, I pray this cup would pass me by.
I'm alone for all my friends have grown too weary. In the darkness of the hour, I am undone. Yet again, I plead and pray, Dear Father, take this cup away, And spare the suff'ring of Your Son.
Must I lay down my life in agony, Must I bear all the sin and shame? Must You soon turn Your face away from me, As the people mock my Name? There is nothing that You cannot do, So once again, I cry: My Father, let this cup now pass me by.
Abba, Father! I cry, Must I be crucified? Must I shed my blood upon the ground? Must I be led to wear a thorny crown? Must I face the coldness of the tomb? Please, Father must I die?
I awaken those who close their eyes in slumber. Now the hour has come; betrayal drawing near. Soon the soldiers will descend, And all the suff'ring will begin, And my disciples flee in fear.
For this moment I was born; I cannot falter. As the Lamb I come to give my life for all. Since before the world began, My death was in our master plan, And I must answer to the call:
If the shadow of death must pass this way, As the wages of sin are borne, Though the wrath and judgment I must bear Leave me battered, bruised, and torn, If the bearing of the cross must come Before I wear the crown, I yield my life to You; I lay it down.
Though I dread the torture, death and grave, Though I pray my life somehow be saved, If the bearing of the cross must come Before I wear the crown, I yield my life to You; I lay it down!
March 29 - I Was the Nails . . . (back)
I was the nails that hung Him there, I was the sorrow that He had to bear. It was my sins, my wayward ways That held my Savior to the cross that day.
I was the agony and the pain I was the one who brought shame to His Name. I was the one who couldn't care less. To bring the Son of God to a place like this.
I was the one who spat in His Face, I was the one who brought this disgrace. I was the one yelling "Crucify Him," I was the one--had it not been.
And yet He loved me. He looked at me with eyes full of love. He loved me in spite of all I had done. He gave me hope in the midst of it all, Letting me know He was indeed the Son of God .
He saw past all the cruelty I did give, And knew in my heart that I was hungry for Him. He knew that I was just one in the crowd And that many more like me one day would bow.
He knew. He knew that I needed Him so. And that is why to Calvary He was willing to go.
No, I can't say that I am proud I did this to Him, But I am proud to share what new life He gives. See--you are standing there pointing at me And in your way of thinking I am all that you say.
I know you are ready to condemn me insane, But what you don't know is He took my sins away... Yes, my sins are gone and yours too can be. All because Jesus did go to Calvary.
He suffered willingly, So you and I both could be set free... He loved you and He loved me He proved it there on Calvary. -- written by Lisa Peter --
April 5 - The Tale of the Crucified Crook . . . (back)
THE TALE OF THE CRUCIFIED THIEF
If anyone was ever worthless, this one was. If any man ever deserved dying, this man probably did. If any fellow was ever a loser, this fellow was at the top of the list. Perhaps that is why Jesus chose him to show us what he thinks of the human race. Maybe this criminal had heard the Messiah speak. Maybe he had seen him love the lowly. Maybe he had watched him dine with the punks, pickpockets, and potmouths on the streets. Or maybe not. Maybe the only thing he knew about this Messiah was what he now saw: a beaten, slashed, nail-suspended preacher. His face crimson with blood, his bones peeking through torn flesh, his lungs gasping for air. Something, though, told him he had never been in better company. And somehow he realized that even though all he had was prayer, he had finally met the One to whom he should pray. “Any chance that you could put in a good word for me?” (Loose translation.) “Consider it done.” Now why did Jesus do that? What in the world did he have to gain by promising this desperado a place of honor at the banquet table? What in the world could this chiseling quisling ever offer in return? I mean, the Samaritan woman I can understand. She could go back and tell the tale. And Zacchaeus had some money that he could give. But this guy? What is he going to do? Nothing! That’s the point. Listen closely. Jesus’ love does not depend upon what we do for him. Not at all. In the eyes of the King, you have value simply because you are. You don’t have to look nice or perform well. Your value is inborn. Period. Think about that for just a minute. You are valuable just because you exist. Not because of what you do or what you have done, but simply because you are. Remember that. The next time someone tries to pass you off as a cheap buy, just think about the way Jesus honors you…and smile. I do. I smile because I know I don’t deserve love like that. None of us do. When you get right down to it, any contribution that any of us make is pretty puny. All of us—even the purest of us—deserve heaven about as much as that crook did. All of us are signing on Jesus’ credit card, not ours. And it also makes me smile to think that there is a grinning ex-con walking the golden streets who knows more about grace than a thousand theologians. No one else would have given him a prayer. But in the end that is all that he had. And in the end, that is all it took. No wonder they call him the Savior. _____________________________________ from "No Wonder They Call Him the Savior" by Max Lucado, Copyright 1986
April 12 - This Is the Day . . . (back)
This is the Day
This is the day the doves returned, The greatest day on earth,
The day the stone was overturned,
The sign of man's rebirth. This is the day He left the tomb, The day the angels hailed,
This is the day the Lilies bloomed, The day to lift the veil. This is the day that Mary's tears, Upon her cheek were dried, The day the angels quelled her fears, By singing He's alive! This is the day that Christ was seen, Walking on the road, In the flesh - no, not a dream, In a white and holy robe. This is the day He spoke aloud, Hear, see, touch - He's real, The day He rose up in the clouds, God's truth to man revealed.
This month's song is "The Tomb Is Empty."
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