George H. Morrison's Old And Beautiful Devotions

[nChrist]

Love's Wastefulness - Page 3
by George H. Morrison

Now do not say all that was long ago. And do not think the God of providence has changed. Even now, in every heart and home, He is still working with lavish prodigality. O brother, what opportunities that God of providence has squandered upon you! Come, to what purpose is this waste?—unsaved heart, you tell me that. Justice would long ago have settled things. Nothing but love could ever be so lavish in letting down from heaven these opportunities. And when I think of all the gifts of God that seem to be given only to be wasted; of sight that might have seen so much, and sees so little, and that little can be so vile; of speech that might have done such noble things, and does so little, and that little can be so mean; of hearing and of memory, of thought and of imagination, lavished so royally on worthless men; then dimly I realise the prodigality of providence, and feel my hopeless debt, and the hopeless debt of all this fallen world, to the seeming wastefulness of Him who quickened Mary to her wasteful deed.

In Grace

So, in the realm of nature and in the sphere of providence, we have observed a spirit akin to Mary's. But in the world of grace it is clearer still. Indeed, when Jesus said that Mary's deed was always to be coupled with His death, He must have recognised that the two were kin.

Now think: the death of Jesus is sufficient to pardon all the sins of every man. Why do we make a universal offer, and why do we carry the Gospel to the heathen, if we are not convinced of that? Yes, "God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on Him should not perish, but have eternal life." There is no soul so sunk, nor any heart so ignorant, but turning may be saved. And all the teeming millions of the continents, coming to Jesus Christ for mercy, could never exhaust the merits of His blood.

But tell me, are these millions coming? And do you really believe that the whole world is being saved right now? Are there not multitudes for whom life's tragedy is just the "might have been"? And souls unnumbered, here and everywhere, galloping down to the mist and mire? And there was room within the heart of Christ for all! And there was cleansing in the Saviour's death for everyone! O waste! waste! waste! And to what purpose is that wasted agony? And why should Jesus suffer and die for all, if all were never to accept His love? Ah, Mary, why didst thou break the alabaster box and pour the precious ointment upon Christ? That prodigality was just the Saviour's spirit that brought Him to the cross and to the grave. Love gives and lavishes and dies, for it is love. Love never asks how little can I do; it always asks how much. There is a magnificent extravagance in love, whether the love of Mary or the love of God.

If, therefore, you believe that God is love, if you take love as the best name of the Invisible, then, looking outwards to the world and backwards to the cross, you can never ask again, "To what purpose is this waste?" If you do that, come, over with the love as well, and go and find a calculating god who is not lavish because he does not love. Find him! and be content! Only beware! Be self-consistent! Never look more for strength when you are down. Never again look for help when you are weary. Never expect a second chance when you have squandered one. Seek not for any sympathy in sorrow, or any fellowship of love in loneliness. And never dream that you will find the Christ. Come, will that do for you, young men and women? And will that do for you, housewife or businessman? You want the loving arm and voice of God. You want the loving ministry of Christ. You, poor rebellious and staggering heart, are lost but for the lavish scattering of a love that never wearies, and will not let you go. And I believe that is mine in Jesus, and I believe that is yours. Claim it and use it. And when you see that love breaking the alabaster box, ask not the meaning of that waste again.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

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[nChrist]

April 22

The Cry for Companionship

What, could ye not watch with me one hour?— Mat_26:40

The Closest Disciples Sleep Most Often

The scene was the Garden of Gethsemane, and all three disciples were asleep. It is not the first time in the Gospel story that we have found these three disciples sleeping. When the Lord was transfigured on the mountain these same disciples were asleep, and neither there nor here was it a light and evanescent drowsiness. We are told that in the former narrative, and here, the moment Jesus ceased to speak they relapsed into their heavy slumber. One would have thought that the word of Jesus to them would have stabbed them wide awake. It evidently did nothing of the kind. The last syllable was scarcely uttered, when they were sunk again in profound sleep.

As a Man, Jesus Craved Companionship

One recognises in these words of Jesus His passionate yearning for companionship. In His hour of travail and of agony He craved the companionship of men. One might have conjectured that in such an hour the Master would have longed to be alone. Had He left His disciples in Jerusalem one could have understood that perfectly. And the very fact that He took these three disciples, and set them where they were not far away, shows how He craved for human sympathy and needed the companionship of men. Our blessed Saviour was no stoic. He leaned hard on loving hearts. He yearned for the fellowship of men as intensely as they yearned for His. And if today He is "the very same Jesus," unchanged by death and resurrection, then He still craves, with an unaltered longing, for loving human companionship.

He Craved for Their Companionship although He Knew It Would Be Inadequate

It should be noted that He craved this fellowship when it was utterly inadequate. How little could these disciples fathom all that was transacting in the darkness! There He was bearing sin upon His spirit, as on Calvary He bore it in His body. There He was giving Himself utterly to God's will in the redemption of mankind. Even had the disciples been awake, how little could they have understood—yet He craved an imperfect sympathy like that. What an exquisitely human touch that is! An old and faithful family retainer may know nothing of what her master has to bear. To her his troubles may be as great a mystery as the troubles of Jesus to His three disciples. Yet the loving sympathy of that old servant, even though she does not understand, is strangely helpful to her master's heart. Perhaps at the best all we can give to Christ is a sympathy like that of the old servant. There are depths in His being, His death, His endless life, that no human heart can ever fathom. And yet He wants our loving close companionship, just as, in the Garden of Gethsemane, He wanted that of these three sleeping men.

He Asked Them to Watch But One Hour

Another thought that meets us is how often it is in lesser things we fail. In order to fully appreciate that I ask you to put the accent on one hour. Had He asked them to watch through the livelong night with Him, that might have been a high and arduous service. But to ask their vigilance for sixty minutes surely was a very small demand, yet it was there that the disciples failed. In the last great service Peter did not fail Him, for Peter was crucified for Christ. James, too, laid down his life for Him, and John went to exile in the Isle of Patmos. Where they all failed was in the lesser thing, in the duty that was comparatively small—what, could ye not watch with Me one hour?

And perhaps it is there most often that we fail in our loving companionship with Christ. Perhaps it is there that love most often fails. In our fellowship with the Lord Jesus we may be ready and eager for the greatest sacrifice, and yet we cannot watch with Him one hour. In those infinitesimal self-denials which are possible with every passing day, in patience and appreciative sympathy within the shelter and secrecy of home, in the rendering of those little kindnesses which are more to many hearts than gold or silver, how often we fail as those disciples did. Great services reveal our possibilities; little services reveal our consecration. Jesus places the emphasis of heaven on him who is faithful in the least. Had these disciples watched for that one hour they would have rendered a service far beyond their dreams. That is true of everyone of us.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

Dist. Worldwide in the Great Freeware Bible Study package called
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[nChrist]

April 23

On Making Allowances - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak— Mat_26:41

To Forgive When Hurt Is Hard

There are times when it is very hard to make allowances for other people. To forgive them seems a counsel of perfection. Even if we do forgive we are haunted by a lingering resentment. Gusts of bitterness invade the soul when we remember how deeply we were wronged. To trust again when we have been deceived, with the simple and sweet trust of long ago, seems a victory beyond our powers. Love may abide through bitterest disappointment, for love is strong as death. But the love which has been hideously wronged is seldom quiet as a resting place. Flashes of suspicion visit it; harsh thoughts come surging to the surface; memories, sharp and anguished, break their blighting way into the soul. To make allowance when someone dear has failed us, to forget judgment in a great compassion, to go on trusting hopefully, after the shock of discovered infidelity, that, which falls to the lot of many people, though they very seldom speak about it, is one of the hardest tasks in human life.

Jesus Substitutes Mercy for Resentment

Now it was such a task that met our Saviour in the Garden of Gethsemane. The hearts on whose fidelity He counted in one blinding flash were found to be unfaithful. Who could have wondered if our blessed Lord had turned from these three men in stern revulsion? Who could have wondered if His instant thought had been that He never could trust them any more? In swift and righteous condemnation might He not have judged them unworthy of His love, and so barred them from His heart forever? That is the first swift impulse, let me say, of every woman who has been deeply wronged. She says (little knowing what she says) I may forgive, but I never can forget. And the beautiful thing is that our Master, pierced to the quick by dear ones' infidelity, rose to a loftier attitude than that. Judgment was submerged in pity. Compassion took the place of condemnation. The love that had been so terribly wronged wove the garment of mercy round the sinners. And so doing it saved their souls alive and led them onward to that brighter morrow, when infidelities were all to be redeemed.

It Would Have Been Human to Be Done with Them, But It Was Heavenly to Continue.

Trusting Them

To understand that magnificence of attitude ponder a moment on the sleep of these disciples. It was not a venial fault of drowsiness; it was a heinous sin of infidelity. It is always a very grave offence if a sentry be found sleeping at his post. Often the penalty for that is death. And these men were not only there in comradeship; they were sentries at the post of duty; they were there to watch as well as to keep awake. I shall not say that had they watched they might have saved the Lord, for it was not the will of God that He be saved. But would not Jesus crave to be forewarned that He might have a last quiet moment with His Father. And He never got it—the armed rabble broke on Him, suddenly, with shouting and with torches, because these sentries were sleeping at their posts. A disloyal soldier is like a disloyal friend—it is supremely difficult to make allowance for him. The heart that has been wronged by infidelity haunts the margins of despairing bitterness. Yet Jesus, towards His disloyal soldiers, who were also His weak disciples, maintained a pitying love that was redemptive. It would have been easy to have done with them. It was very hard to trust them still. To condemn them would have been entirely natural. To keep them still within His heart was heavenly. So our Saviour points the better way for all who find their Garden of Gethsemane in the disloyalties of someone who is dear.

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[nChrist]

On Making Allowances - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

Their Lack of Vigilance Was a Sign of lngratitude

And then, mingling with disloyalty, think of the ingratitude involved. "What, could ye not watch with Me?" For a moment put the accent upon Me. Have not I been the best of friends to you? Have not I toiled for you and prayed for you? Have not I watched many an hour for you? Have not I lavished the riches of My love on you? All that they owed to Him in love and sacrifice, and in the uplift of unrecorded intimacies, was forgotten in that disloyalty of sleep. That is what makes infidelity so bitter. At the heart of it lies rank ingratitude. All the patient ministries of years are forgotten because the flesh is weak. And no one could have blamed our blessed Lord if, in the sudden flaming of disgust, He had torn these disciples from His breast.

He Remembered It Was Past Midnight

But He did not do that, however terrible the provocation. The others might forget, but He remembered. He remembered it was long past midnight; He remembered the awful strain of the past days; He remembered the sorrow that consumed them, and their burden of unintelligible mystery. And the condemning wrath that might have ruined them was swallowed up in an infinite compassion—the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. Never was there kindlier allowance. It was the consummate handling of heaven. It issued not in tragedy, but in the richer loyalties of resurrection days. So may like grace be given to all in perplexity through infidelites, that they may find a budding morrow in midnight.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

Dist. Worldwide in the Great Freeware Bible Study package called
e-Sword by Rick Meyer: http://www.e-sword.net/downloads.html
Full Featured - Outstanding - Completely FREE - No Strings Attached

(The goal of Rick Meyer is to distribute excellent Bible Study
Software to every country on earth in their own language FREE
of charge, and that goal gets closer by the day.)
____________________

[nChrist]

April 24

Jesus before Caiaphas - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

And they that had laid hold on Jesus led him away to Caiaphas the high priest, where the scribes and the elders were assembled. But Peter followed him afar off unto the high priest's palace, and went in, and sat with the servants, to see the end— Mat_26:57-58

Jesus Had to Be Tried Twice

Our Saviour had to undergo two trials, the one before the high priest, and the other before the Roman governor, and it is with the former of these two that our passage deals. Had Palestine been an independent state, the tribunal of Caiaphas would have given the verdict. There would have been no appeal for any prisoner from the decision of the college of the Sanhedrin. But Palestine had lost its independence. It was part of the great Roman province of Syria. Hence the last word, in cases of high moment, lay not with the Jew, but with the Roman. Now the Romans did not strain their own authority. They left a large measure of power with the provincials. Especially where matters of religion were concerned, they gave the conquered nations a free hand. But when the question was one of life and death, they took the final judgment to themselves, and that explains the double trial of Jesus. He is first brought before the Jewish council, and by it He is held guilty of death. He is then brought before the Roman governor, and in another message we shall find what happened there.

Why Was He Brought to Annas First?

Caiaphas, then, was high priest at the time, and Jesus should have been led straight to him. But it was past midnight now, and some of the members of the court would be in bed—could not something be done with Jesus till all was ready? John tells us that Jesus was taken before Annas. This Annas had himself been the high priest, and just as we sometimes call a man provost, or bailie, though it is a year or two since he held office, so Annas, a man of most commanding influence, was still called, in Jerusalem, the high priest. He parleyed with Jesus, in an informal way, while the senators came hurrying into the council hall. And then, while all the city was asleep, and the children were dreaming of play and love and heaven, the Friend of the children was put upon His trial. It was an illegal council to begin with. The Sanhedrin was forbidden to meet by night. But if they waited until the city was astir, and the whisper ran along the streets that Christ was prisoner, might there not be a popular rising in His favour? They loved the darkness because their deeds were evil. Like Judas, they had a kinship with the night. It were well that the Roman soldiers should have Jesus, when the day lightened and the city awoke.

Jesus Patiently Stood His Hurried Trial

Then the trial began with the summoning of witnesses, and for a time it looked as if the prosecution must break down. Things had been rushed with such a nervous hurry that even the witnesses had not been drilled. There was no lack of witnesses, it seems (Mat_26:60). I wish we could always count on witnesses for Christ, as surely as they reckoned on witnesses against Him then. But though these witnesses had much to say, and repeated many a biting word of Jesus on His judges, the judges knew their own character too well, and knew what the people thought of them too well, to dream that Jesus could be condemned for that. There was a vaunt about the Temple, certainly, but you could not get Rome (that rude destroyer of temples) to sanction a Galilean's death for that. Caiaphas was baffled. The steady composure of Christ was like an insult. Everyone else was feverish, Jesus alone was calm. And it was then, as in half-frantic desperation, that Caiaphas put his question to the Lord. He conjured Him to tell if He were Messiah. Jesus answered immediately that He was, and "hereafter shall ye see the Son of Man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven." Jesus was very courageous in His silence; but He was also very courageous in His speech. That sentence practically sealed His fate, yet the hour had come for speech, and Jesus spoke. They called it blasphemy. He was guilty of death (Lev_24:15). They had triumphed, and self-control went to the winds. Their pent-up passions burst out like a torrent. They spat on Him, and they smote Him—how they loathed Him! And out in the court the Apostle John was sitting, watching it all in unutterable agony. Would not this hour come back to him again, when, long years afterwards, in the isle of Patmos, he wrote of "the Kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ"?

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[nChrist]

Jesus before Caiaphas - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

Peter Arrives to Deny Him

Meantime Peter had come upon the scene. Impelled partly by curiosity, it may be, and largely by his devotion to his Lord, he had followed afar off to the high priest's palace. Like other men who follow afar off, he was running into terrible temptation. Unbefriended and unknown, Peter might have been denied admission to the high priest's house. But John was there already, and John was a man of some little social standing, and it was at John's entreaty that Peter got in. There are times when we think we are doing our friend a kindness, and we are only making life the harder for him. Now, when we read about the high priest's palace, what do we understand? It was a large house built round a square courtyard, and with the windows opening inward on the court. It was in this courtyard, then, that Peter was sitting, chafing his cold hands at the fire, when one of the maidservants charged him with discipleship. And Peter was so utterly taken aback, that quick as lightning, he denied the charge. And then it dawned on him what he had done, and he rose up, and went to the dark gateway. He would stand in its deep shadows for a little, if only to feel the ground beneath his feet. But the lamp in the gateway swung and flared, and every now and then it lit up the face of Peter; and another maid recognised him there, and Peter once again denied his Lord. The first sin made the second easier. Meanwhile the news was spreading in the courtyard. There would be sport in baiting the disciple. It would put some warmth into their hearts on that cold morning to worry this bewildered Galilean. Poor Peter! It was too late to keep silence now, and to open his mouth was to be betrayed by his Highland accent. Peter denied again. "And immediately the cock crew." With a breaking and a penitent heart Peter went out. When Judas went out, it was darkening to midnight. But when Peter went out it was very near the dawn.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

Dist. Worldwide in the Great Freeware Bible Study package called
e-Sword by Rick Meyer: http://www.e-sword.net/downloads.html
Full Featured - Outstanding - Completely FREE - No Strings Attached

(The goal of Rick Meyer is to distribute excellent Bible Study
Software to every country on earth in their own language FREE
of charge, and that goal gets closer by the day.)
____________________

[nChrist]

April 25

Jesus before Pilate - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

When the morning was come, all the chief priests and eiders of the people took counsel against Jesus to put him to death: And when they had bound him, they led him away, and delivered him to Pontius Pilate the governor— Mat_27:1-2

Pilate the Last Roman to Manage Jews

By the Jewish law no sentence of death could be passed by night, and therefore, when the morning dawned (Mat_27:1), a second meeting of the priests and elders was convened. It was then that their formal sentence of death was passed on Jesus, and it was then that they deliberated how they should best present their case to Pilate, so as to ensure that Jesus would not escape. We know very little about Pilate, save from the Gospel story. He was a typical Roman, self-centered and self-seeking, not devoid of the Roman love of justice. But his love of self outweighed his love of justice; and his shameful past had so eaten the heart out of him, that in the great crisis of his life he went to ruin. He was the last man in the world to manage Jews. He had outraged their feelings in the most wanton manner. We do not wonder to read in an old historian that Pilate fell into disgrace in after years, and, wearied with misfortunes, killed himself. Those who have read Scott's story, Anne of Geierstein, will know the legend of Mount Pilatus—the mountain with the bare and jagged peaks, opposite the Rigi, at the west end of the Lake of Lucerne. The legend is that Pilate spent years of torturing remorse on that mountain, and at last drowned himself in the lake; and "a form," says Scott, "is often seen to emerge from the water, and to go through the motions of one washing his hands."

Accusation That Jesus Was Implicated in a Political Plot

Now the usual residence of the Roman procurator was not Jerusalem. Jerusalem was an intolerable city to the man who had revelled in the gay life of Rome. The usual residence was Caesarea, a mimic Rome down by the seashore. But whenever Jerusalem was thronged with strangers, as it was on the occasion of all the great feasts, it was the duty of the Roman governor to be there in person, to see that the peace was kept. So Pilate was in Jerusalem at the Passover, and he was living in the magnificent palace of the Herods, when the hour came that flashed on him a light that was to make him visible to all the ages. In the early morning Jesus was brought to Pilate, not into the palace (for to enter that would have been pollution to a Jew), but into the court, with its colonnade, in front of the palace. And the first question which Pilate asked showed how cunningly the charge against Jesus had been coloured. Pilate did not ask, "Art Thou the Messiah?"—what did he care for Jewish superstitions? But he did ask, "Art Thou the King of the Jews?" (Mat_27:11). The question indicates how craftily the priests had gone to work. They had given a political and civil turn to the spiritual claims of Jesus, in order to play on the Roman governor's heart. They had hinted that here was a rival to Tiberius, and Pilate would do well to silence him. Jesus did not deny the accusation. There was a glorious sense in which He was a King. And when the accusers began to heap charge on charge, and Jesus neither retorted nor retaliated, I think that Pilate began to feel His kingliness. He marvelled greatly (Mat_27:14). He had never met a Jew at all like this. There was something subduing in this silent Man. Pilate resolved to do all he safely could to get this strange, sad prisoner acquitted.

Pilate's Wife Attempted Intervention

A powerful influence now appeared to back his efforts—it was the unlooked-for intervention of Pilate's wife. Do you remember how she had heard of Jesus? Well, perhaps in the idle days of Caesarea the tale of His deeds had enlivened the dinner table. Or perhaps that morning, when Jesus was gone to Herod, Pilate had told his wife about the Man. And then, for it was still early, Pilate's wife had fallen asleep again, and God had visited her in a dream. Did God reveal the glory of Christ to her, so that she became a disciple of the Lord? Every Christian in Russia believes that, and the Eastern Church has made a saint of her. At least, while she slept, God touched her conscience, and she saw the unutterable horror of the deed in hand. She wakened in terror—could something still be done? She despatched a messenger to warn her husband. She bade him have nothing to do with that just Man. And again Pilate resolved to do all in his power to get this haunting prisoner acquitted.

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[nChrist]

Jesus before Pilate - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

With the Hosannas of Palm Sunday Fresh in Mind, Pilate Tried an Appeal to the Populace

Now Pilate had formed the shrewd suspicion that jealousy was at the back of the indictment (Mat_27:18). Who knew but that the prisoner might be a popular hero—had not the provincial crowds been crying Hosanna to Him? It flashed on Pilate (always thinking of self) that there was one way of releasing Jesus that might rebuild his own shattered popularity. It was a Roman custom at the Passover to liberate one prisoner chosen by the people. And it came as an inspiration to Pilate that if he summoned the people they might ask for Jesus. He summoned the people and laid two names before them—that of Jesus and the other of Barabbas. And we have a hint that Barabbas—which means "son of the father'—had another name, and it was Jesus too! Now we never can tell how the mob would have chosen had they been left alone to make their choice, for the Pharisees were busy in the crowd; they whispered that Jesus was favoured by that odious Pilate. And they so played on these poor city-hearts, and so touched the chords of their cherished prides and hates, that there grew and gathered a hoarse shout, "Barabbas"; and Jesus—"Let Him be crucified." There was no gainsaying a hoarse mob like that. The more they were checked, the wilder grew the clamour. It was infinitely disgusting for a patrician Roman to have any discussion with such shouting beasts. He called for water, and standing on the balcony where all could see him, he washed his hands. It was an act that every Jew would understand. A silence fell on the flushed and eager crowd. What was that they heard from the balcony—Pilate protesting his innocence? Another terrible cry rang out in an instant, "His blood be upon us and on our children." Then Pilate released Barabbas unto them, and when he had scourged Jesus, delivered Him—to be crucified (Mat_27:26).

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

Dist. Worldwide in the Great Freeware Bible Study package called
e-Sword by Rick Meyer: http://www.e-sword.net/downloads.html
Full Featured - Outstanding - Completely FREE - No Strings Attached

(The goal of Rick Meyer is to distribute excellent Bible Study
Software to every country on earth in their own language FREE
of charge, and that goal gets closer by the day.)
____________________

[nChrist]

April 26

Which Is Your Answer? - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

What shall I do then with Jesus which is called Christ?— Mat_27:22

Jesus Is Unavoidable

One possible answer to this question is: I shall have nothing to do with Him at all. I shall ignore Him and pay no heed to Him. If He confronts me when I go to church, I shall deliberately avoid the church. If He steals on me when I am quite alone, I shall do my best never to be alone. If He meets me in certain companies, so that I am very conscious of His presence, I shall be careful to choose my company elsewhere. I shall bar every window against Him. Against His coming I shall bolt my doors. I shall give injunctions to my lodgekeeper that He is never to have access to my avenue. But the extraordinary thing about the Lord is (and there are thousands who can testify to this) that to get rid of Him is utterly impossible. He is inevitable. He is unavoidable. Just because He is love, He laughs at locksmiths. As on the evening of the resurrection day, when the doors are shut, comes Jesus. Just when a man thinks that he is safe, secure from the intrusions of the Lord, He is there, within the circuit of the life, closer than breathing, nearer than hands or feet.

Indecisions That Are Not Intellectual but Are Moral

Another common answer to this question is: Really I can't make up my mind. Folk are in perplexity today, and therefore halting between two opinions. Now I want to say, gently but quite firmly, that is often a dishonest answer. The difficulty is not in making up the mind. The difficulty is in making up the will. There are indecisions that are not intellectual: they are moral; they are based on character; they strike their roots into some secret sin. The real problem is not making up; the real problem is giving up. We are all tempted to cloak our moral weakness in the garb of intellectual perplexity. But even when the answer is entirely honest, there is one thing that should never be forgotten, and that is the great fact of life that not to decide is to decide against. A man is travelling in a railway train. Shall he get out at such and such a station? He vacillates; halts between two opinions; really he can't make up his mind. Meantime the train has drawn up at the station, and is off again thundering through the dark—and the man has decided against alighting there, just because he could not make his mind up. Few people calmly and deliberately decide against the Lord. But multitudes do it who never thought to do it, by the easy way of not deciding. And while I would rush nobody's decision (just as I would not let anyone rush mine), a wise man will accept his universe, and never ignore the great facts of life.

Postponed Decisions May Never Be Made

Another common answer to this question is: I shall accept Him by and by. I have no intention of dying out of Christ; but meantime I want to have my liberty. Life is sweet; it is a thrilling world; I want the colour and music for a little. Leave me the gold and glory of the morning, and I shall settle matters in the afternoon. I trust my readers will not be vexed with me if I call that the meanest of all answers: nobody ever likes to be thought mean. Who that had a loved one on a sickbed would bring that loved one a bunch of withered flowers? And yet many seem to be perfectly content in the thought of offering Christ a withered heart—and He has loved us with a love that is magnificent, and has died for us upon the cross, and is the finest Comrade in the world. It is true that there is always hope: a man may be saved at the eleventh hour. "Betwixt the stirrup and the ground, I mercy sought and mercy found." My fear is not that Christ will mock the prayer that is offered at the eleventh hour. It is that when the eleventh hour comes a man may have quite lost the power to pray. There are things that we can do at one-and-twenty that are almost impossible at sixty. At one-and-twenty one may be a footballer; very rare are the footballers of sixty. And to surrender oneself to the Lord Jesus Christ is a far more intense activity than football. Perhaps that is why at sixty it is rare.

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[nChrist]

Which Is Your Answer? - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

Christ Will Not Accept Any Place in Your Heart but the First Place

Another answer to this greatest of all questions is the frequent one: I shall compromise. I shall give Him a certain place within my heart, so far as other interests will permit. I have no intention of being out and out; I am not going to carry my heart upon my sleeve. I shall do my duty and lead a decent life, and come to church, and be present at communion. But the strange thing that the meek and lowly Saviour, who was content with a manger and a cottage, is not content with that. Offer Him a place in your life, and the extraordinary thing is that He refuses it. His peace is never won on such conditions; His joy is never a factor in experience. As Henry Drummond put it once, "Gentlemen, keep Christ in His own place—but remember that His place is the first." "Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness."

The Decision Must Be Made Here and Now

There is perhaps only one other answer. It is: I accept Him now. Here and now I yield myself to Him, for that is my reasonable service. Paul did that, going to Damascus, and it changed the universe for him. Augustine did that, in the quiet garden, and it freed him from the tyranny of vice. There are millions everywhere, right across the world, who, giving that instant answer to the question, have found life and liberty and power. My prayer is that these words of mine may lead to such immediate decision. "There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune." "Seek ye the Lord while He may be found. Call ye upon Him while He is near." He will never be nearer than just now.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

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[airIam2worship]

Brother this is very powerful indeed.

[Kelly4Jesus]

Okay, this is my BIGGEST problem I have with mankind--well, one of the biggest. ADULTERY.

I have always, ever since I can remember, been an advocate of fidelity. One time, a neighbor of mine came over to tell me that, (and proudly tell me), she was having an affair. I was friends with her and her husband, and her husband was the type of man that loved this woman with all his heart. First thought in my head was, "How could you"? Second thought in my head is, "God, please comfort her husband, for she has no remorse and he deserves the love of a true woman". They were divorced within a few months. She couldn't want to go and live with her new man. She admitted that, she only got married to..GET MARRIED AND OUT OF HER PARENT'S HOUSE. By her infidelity, she not only hurt her husband, but a child they had together as well.

Fidelity is something we all should adhere to, as well as all the laws that come with being a Christian. It is easy for the flesh to give in, but even easier to just walk away and turn back on your own convictions. JUST SAY NO! Okay, a little Nancy Reagan there, on a different subject.

I will always, and forever be faithful, no matter what the situation. I took a vow, and plan on keeping it. Even during the 5 years I was separated, I never once thought of looking for another man. I prayed and stayed faithful to my husband, and to God.

There, I feel better again!

God Bless,
Kelly

[airIam2worship]

Amen Kelly, you and I seem to see eye to eye on a few things.

While we are on the subject of problems with mankind one of the things that I hate the most is lying, I think people who lie, get what they deserve when the truth is exposed and it always is, because the truth always surfaces to the top, no matter how long it may take. This too is infidelity.

[nChrist]

April 27

The Crown of Thorns - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

And when they had platted a crown of thorns, they put it upon his head— Mat_27:29

A Touch of Brotherhood

Amid all the sufferings which Christ had to endure in the last and terrible days of His humility, none has more deeply moved the heart of Christendom than His wearing of the crown of thorns. We have never felt the agony of nails, nor the cruel piercing of a Roman spear. And therefore we can but dimly realise the physical pain of such experiences. But in the torment of sharp and biting thorns we reach the commoner lot of our humanity; within our own remembrance we have that which interprets this experience of our Lord. To us, who have never known the stab of wounds, the wound of a spear is but a faint imagining. It would take a soldier, gashed and bleeding on the field, to have fellowship with Jesus Christ in that. But in a world so thick with tangled briers, and thickest with them where man has had his dwelling, the crown of thorns is like a touch of brotherhood in a scene of lonely and exalted sorrow.

He Suffered Not as Just Another Man, but as the Embodiment of Mankind

But there is something in that coronation that reaches deeper than any homely anguish. There is a meaning more profound than that; more vital in the purposes of God. They platted a crown and put it on His head, and He was the second man, the Lord from heaven. He was not one man more amid the thousands who suffered and slept under that Eastern sky. In Him was the very essence of humanity. In Him the race was gathered and united. In Him was every child who ever played and every woman who ever wept in secret. All human life was hidden in that form whose face was marred more than any man's; all joy that shares its secret with the stars; all passion that hears its echo in the winds. And Him they crowned—Him the representative—Him the embodiment of all mankind, and they crowned Him with a crown of thorns. They did it as we know in merry jest, for they were brutal men and loved a brutal sport. And one of them stole out into the night and plucked the twigs from the garden of the palace. And he rejoiced in being a clever person, and he knew how his ready wit would be appreciated, and he never dreamed he was a girded messenger in the hand of an ordering and sovereign God. Here was a jest, and yet it was reality. Here was mockery, and yet the truth. Here was the coronation of mankind, and on its brow there was a thorny coronet. And that is the deep and universal meaning of it, wrought out by soldiers in their beastly sport, that on the brow of man there is a diadem, yet always it is a diadem of thorns.

Our Crown of Thorns Is a Crown of Glory

Now on that thought I wish to dwell. First we shall think of our crown in being men. "And God breathed upon man," we read in Genesis, "and man became a living soul." It is not in the structure of his bodily frame that man is separated from the beasts that perish. It is not in the cunning deftness of his hand; not in the wonder of his eye or ear. It is in the spirit that controls the hand, and journeys through the gateway of the eye, and watches, like aged Simeon in the Temple, to catch the whispered message of the ear. It is thus that man, moving among the beasts, can say at his darkest, "The hand of God has touched me." It is thus he is crowned with glory and with honour, and made but a little lower than the angels. And yet that crown, so rich and so resplendent that not the basest of our race would forfeit it—is it indeed a crown of thorns? No longer can we be simply happy, as the bird that sings upon the bush is happy. No longer can we cast into oblivion the hour that is past, the hour yet to be. We live in thoughts that wander through eternity; in desires that nothing here can satisfy; in cravings that time can never meet, for they are born of the infinite within. Give to a bird its daily food and water and it will flood its little cage with music. But give to a man the kingdoms of the world and he shah still be restless and unsatisfied. And that is his crown—that kinship with infinitude; that spark of the eternal in his breast—and is it not for man a crown of thorns? It makes him hunger for what he cannot gain here. It sets him craving for what he cannot grasp. It touches as with a sense of pain the beauty of the earth and sky and sea. And man is restless and he knows not why; and he is lonely, though love be all around him; and he is haunted by feelings he shall never fathom, till the day break and the shadows flee away.

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[nChrist]

The Crown of Thorns - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

The Crown of Knowledge Is a Crown of Thorns

Think again upon the crown of knowledge, which rests so royally upon the brow of man. There is a passion in the heart to know, and man will know, though Paradise be lost. Loftier than any search for happiness, purer than any striving to be rich, more glorious than the pursuit of fame, that last infirmity of noble mind—the passion for knowledge in the human breast, unflagging, unsubduable, unending, is more aflame with the Promethean fire than boast of heraldry or pomp of power. It is this that animates the lonely student to scorn delights and live laborious days. It is this that has penetrated to the icy pole, and forced its way across uncharted seas. It is this that has triumphed over persecution, and bid defiance to a world of dangers, and filled with opulence the home of poverty, and vanquished the fell ravage of disease. The greatest thing in all the world is loving. The second greatest in all the world is learning. There is a joy in it, a quickening of the heart, an exaltation of the personality. And yet this precious diadem of knowledge—this circlet after the pattern on the Mount—is it not after all a crown of thorns? The more we know, the more we cannot know. The more we see, the more we cannot see. Let a man be ignorant, and be content, and he may always have music in his prison house. It is when he beats against the prison wall, and clambers upwards to the barred window, that voices reach him which are full of pain, and faces whose secret he shall never read. Every expansion of knowledge has brought joy. Every expansion of knowledge has brought sorrow. It has enlightened and it has perplexed. It has unveiled and yet it has confused. It has made it harder to grasp the skirts of God; to live in unquestioning and simple faith; to keep alive the wonder of the child who feels that the angels are not far away.

Our Knowledge of Nature Is but a Crown of Thorns

In our own time this thorn upon the crown has pierced at two points with peculiar pain. The first is in regard to nature, and the deeper knowledge of her which is ours today. Always shall this world be beautiful, so long as there is a poet's eye to see it. Always, in the meanest flower that blows, shall there be thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. And yet such knowledge has been won for us, of the grim battle behind the veil of beauty, that nature can never be quite the same again, nor the song of birds so innocently sweet. The watchword of nature is not peace but war: its deepest music is the battle cry. Under the peace which broods upon the hills, the bloodiest of strifes is being waged. And the weak are ruthlessly crushed into oblivion: and the strong are utterly selfish in their strength: and every meadow, when we know its story, is as mysterious as the earthquake at Messina. No doubt it will all grow plain again, for now we know in part and see in part. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, and our knowledge at its grandest is but little. But the fact remains that in spite of all tomorrows, there is a strain upon our faith today, and the magic of the world is dimmed a little, because we are less ignorant than yesterday. It is not so easy, as long ago it was, to see the divine painting on the lily. It is not so easy to believe that God is present at the funeral of the sparrow. We have our crown, for knowledge is our crown, and only a coward would refuse to wear it; but when it is pressed upon our human brow we find it to be a crown of thorns.

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