George H. Morrison's Old And Beautiful Devotions

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thank you Brother.

It is too easy for me to get swept up in "my" little world and lose sight of the Father and the struggles of all His children.
 

Many of my brothers and sisters here are a source of inspiration for me, and help tremendously with faith that is strong and reassurance even in the midst of their oun pain, suffering and anguish.

you too will be in my prayers brother.

thanks.

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August 29

The Great Comparison

As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you— Joh_15:9

The Love of Christ

That their blessed Master loved them was one thing which the disciples never doubted. It was the crowning glory of their years. There are those who always find it easy to believe that other people love them. They accept love as the flowers accept the sunshine in an entirely natural and happy way. But there are some who find it very hard just to be certain that other people love them, and one or two of the disciples were like that. Our Lord had to deal with very various temperaments in that extraordinary little company. Some were responsive and receptive; others, like Thomas, wanted proof of things. And yet there was one thing that they never doubted through all the change and variableness of the years, and that was that their Master loved them. The fact was evident to every heart, and yet behind the fact they felt a mystery. There was something different in the love of Jesus from all the human love that they had known. No love of wife, nor of any precious child, nor of friend, nor of father nor of mother, fully interpreted the Master's love. It did what these had never done. It demanded what these had never asked. It spoke sometimes with an unearthly accent, quite alien from that of human love. They were baffled occasionally, and perplexed, so profoundly new was the experience that came to them in the love of the Lord Jesus. It was then that Jesus made this great comparison that threw such a vivid light on everything. "As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you." And long afterwards, when hours of darkness came and they were tempted to wonder if He loved them still, what comfort must these words have brought them!

His Father's Love Sent Jesus to Die

They would recall, for instance, how the Father's love for Christ inspired Him for the service of mankind. It was the Father's love that sent Him to the world, not to be ministered unto, but to minister. Human love is often prone to selfishness. It wants to grasp the dear one and to keep him. It shrinks from the thought of charging the beloved with any embassy whose end is death. Yet on such an embassy, whose issue was a cross, God sent not an angel, but His Son— and the Son was certain that the Father loved Him. Inspiring all His service for mankind, quickening Him for every lowly ministry, holding Him to His appointed task, was His profound conviction of His Father's love. And then, on that last night of earthly fellowship, He turned to His disciples with the words, "As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you." How these words would come back to them again in their evangelization of the world! It was love that had given them their work to do, no matter how difficult or perilous. And to find in our work, however hard it be, an argument for the love of the Lord Jesus is one of the quiet triumphs of the spirit. His is not a love that gives us ease, any more than the love of the Father gave Him ease. It sends us out, morning after morning, to a service which may be only drudgery. And what illumines duty and warms its chilly hands and brings a song into the heart of it is the certainty of love behind it all. It made all the difference to Christ that the Father's love had given Him the task. It made the task a love-gift and touched it as with the joy of heaven. And then He says to all His toiling followers in every century and country, "As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you."

The Father's Love Did Not Exempt Jesus from Suffering

They would recall again how the Father's love for Christ did not exempt Him from the sorest suffering. He was the well-beloved Son, yet a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. If there be one thing we all crave to do, it is to shield our loved ones from the sting of pain. That passion is in the heart of every mother as she clasps to her breast her little child. Yet here was the love of the Father for the Son, that gave the Son, and did it quite deliberately, to bitter suffering ending in a cross. Often when our beloved suffer we are powerless. We know the agony of being helpless. We have to witness excruciating pain, impotent to do anything that might relieve it. But the Father, clothed in His omnipotence, with a single word could have put an end to suffering—and yet He loved His Son and did not do it. I wonder if the disciples thought of that when afterwards they recalled this word of Jesus. Stoned, shipwrecked, persecuted, tortured—could it be possible their Master loved them still? And then, clear as a silver bell, these words would strike upon their ears again, "As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you." He was loved, and yet He suffered sorely. He was loved, and yet His face was marred. He was loved with an everlasting love, and yet all the billows of this mortal life went over Him. What an unspeakable comfort for these gallant souls, tempted through suffering to piercing doubts, this as and so of the Lord Jesus. All God's children must remember that when they are tempted so to doubt the love of heaven. Have not many cried beside some bed of agony, "How can God be love if He permits this?" In such an hour argument is powerless, but there is one Voice that is never powerless. It is His who suffered—and was loved.

The Father's Love Triumphed in the Resurrection and Ascension

They would recall, too, that the Father's love for Christ was a love that justified itself at last. There came at last the hour of resurrection and of ascension to the right hand in heaven. Was it love that gave Him to the earth? It was love that lifted Him above the earth. Was it love that permitted Him to suffer? It was love that crowned His sufferings in glory. The final issue of the Father's love was not the quietness of a garden-grave. It was song; it was dominion; it was liberty. What a magnificent hope for these disciples, persecuted and in prison. What a magnificent hope for every disciple just when things are growing unendurable! A little patience and the love that grips us is going to justify itself magnificently. That is bound, as with hoops of steel, to the as and so of the Lord Jesus.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

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August 30

The Joy of the Lord

These things have I spoken unto you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full— Joh_15:11

The Joy of Christ Was an Intense Reality

Our Lord, especially as the days advanced, frequently spoke about His joy, and the notable thing is that when He spoke so, none of His disciples were surprised. Nobody ever asked Him what He meant. They did not look at each other in perplexity. To them it seemed entirely natural that the Master should make reference to His gladness. From this we gather that the joy of Christ was something they were perfectly familiar with, both in His radiant and lofty hours and in His periods of lowly duty. There is much that is quite dark to us unless His joy was an intense reality. There is the note of exultancy in the New Testament. There is the attitude of His Pharisaic enemies who, trained in the prophets, understood His sorrow but never could understand His joy. It was not because He was a man of sorrows that the religious leaders looked askance at Him. It was because He was a man of joy, utterly different from John the Baptist. They were looking for a lone Messiah whose face would be marred more than any man's, and our Lord proclaimed Himself a bridegroom. His joy, then, was an intense reality even on the witness of His enemies. It is because He stands at the back of the New Testament that the New Testament is an exultant book. And it is a profoundly interesting question, and a question which concerns us all, to try to discover at least some of the sources of the joy of Christ.

His Joy Resulted from the Fullness of His Life

One of the sources of His joy, for instance, was the fullness of life which He possessed. It is remarkable how often that word tidiness is brought in as descriptive of the Lord. We all know how when physical life is full, its concomitant and sacrament is joy. We see that on every hand in nature; we see it in the healthy little child. And when one thinks of the inner life of Christ and of the fullness that characterized that inner life, one begins to understand His joy. Morally, He was in perfect poise with heaven. Spiritually, He had the fullness of the Spirit. No slightest disobedience to the Highest ever cast its shadow on His soul. And that fullness of His inward life, like the fullness of physical life in nature, had its concomitant and sacrament in joy. I am come, He said, that others might have life, and that they might have it abundantly. He came to give what He Himself possessed. And that abundant life, rooted in His sinlessness and continually enriched by new obedience, was one of the splendid secrets of His joy.

His Joy Resulted from the Father's Abiding Love

Another never-failing source was His abiding in His Father's love. We see that very clearly in the verse which immediately precedes our text (Joh_15:10). From it we gather that the joy of Jesus was rooted in the presence of the Father, realized every moment that He lived. There is a well-known story of a Scots divine, how once, walking on the grassy hills, he met a shepherd with a joyless look and said to him quietly, "Do you know the Father?" And some years afterwards, so the tale is told, when the minister had forgotten all about it, the shepherd, with gladness in his face, came up to him and said, "I know the Father now, sir." That shepherd had passed out of his isolation into the great fellowship of God. He had moved out of all his worrying care into the calming certainty of love. And in a vision of that love unparalleled, the Good Shepherd lived and toiled and died, and that was one great secret of His joy. To Him it was a shelter from the storm and a shadow from the heat of life. It comforted His heart when men were mocking Him. It sustained Him in the hour of agony. His joy was not only rooted in His fullness, it was rooted in the love of Heaven which to Him, every moment that He lived, was closer than breathing, nearer than hands or feet.

His Joy Resulted from His Entire Surrender to Vocation

And then we must not forget one other source: it was His entire surrender to vocation. Our Lord gave Himself, in utter self-surrender, to the task appointed Him of God. The first impression which the Gospels make on us is that of the freedom of the life of Jesus. He moves hither and thither in sweet liberty. Like the song of the thrush, His words are unpremeditated. And then we read more closely and discover that through all the varied freedom of that life, like the beat of the screw in some great ocean liner, is the throb of a sovereign dominating purpose. "I come to do thy will, O God. My meat is to do the will of him that sent me. I have a baptism to be baptized with; and how am I straitened till it be accomplished." And that devotion, that utter self-surrender, that dedication to a high vocation, was for Him, as it is for every man, one of the deep sources of His joy. Neglect your work and you are never glad. Do it half-heartedly, and gloom is everywhere. But give yourself to it, with heart and soul and strength, and all the birds are singing in the trees. And it was just because our Lord so gave Himself to a vocation which led Him to the cross that "God, even his God, anointed him with the oil of gladness above his fellows."

____________________

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.)
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[nChrist]

August 31

The Testimony of His Enemies - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

They hated me without a cause— Joh_15:25

Love Is Not Blind

I take it that if you want to understand a person, the first essential is that you should love him. It is only love that sees into the deeps and reads the story in the light of God. There is a proverb which says that love is blind. If that were true, then God would have no eyes. Love is not blind. It has the keenest sight. It can read the smallest print without assistance. And we call it blind because the things we see and, seeing, can detect no beauty in, are to the eyes of love transfigured, like a window that reflects the sunset. It is when I am told that God is love that I commit all judgment to Him gladly. It is when I believe that someone loves me that I am never afraid to be myself. And so with Jesus—it was those who loved Him who saw the heights and depths of what He was, and it was always to the men who loved Him that He unlocked the treasures of His heart.

Value of Our Enemies' Estimate of Us

Yet while that is true both about Christ, and about every person be he great or small, it is also true that there may be a value in the testimony of one's enemies. I am not speaking of those malicious slanders which may assail a public reputation. These are a breath out of the mouth of hell to be scorned by every honorable man. I am rather speaking of those hasty comments that are made in the presence of a lofty character, and made, not by those who understand it, but by those who are antagonistic. Whatever in that character is weak is instantly detected by the envious. Whatever in that character is strong is wrested and distorted to a fault. And so through the haze of things that are half-true—back of the mists of prejudice and passion—we sometimes can discern, if we be wise, the lineament and figure of the truth. Now what I want to do is this. I want to look at Jesus Christ like that. I want to look at Him, not through His friends' eyes, but through the eyes of enemies and ill-wishers. I want to ask what qualities arrested them, no matter how they were travestied or torn, as they saw the deeds or listened to the words of this perplexing Personage from Galilee.

His Enemies Were Impressed by the Reality and Courage of His Comradeship
Well, the first thing the enemies bear witness to is the reality and courage of His comradeship. They looked on Jesus as an enemy, and yet they have taught the world that He was a Brother. "He is the friend of publicans and sinners"—that was the charge which they were always hurling. They thought that if nothing else could ruin Him that would forever blast His reputation. And now we take that charge and we accept it, and we believe it because His haters made it, and to us it is the witness and the seal of the magnificent comradeship of Christ. It is almost impossible for us to realize in what odium these publicans were held. Tax collectors for detested Rome, they were one and all of them traitors to their country. And their money was tainted and their hands were foul, and if one made an oath to them it was not valid. They were as loathsome as the hungry dogs that prowl for refuse in the eastern streets. It was of such that Jesus was the friend. Was not that enough to blight His reputation? And He not only spoke with them in public, He went to their houses and He ate and drank with them. And His enemies rejoiced when they saw that, and they said, "His tastes proclaim Him as a sinner"; and we accept the fact and say, "No, not a sinner; His action proclaims Him as a brother."

Jesus Impressed His Enemies as a "Gluttonous Man and a Wine-Bibber"

Then once again we gather from His enemies that He impressed them as a genial man. For you remember another charge they hurled at Him, "Behold a gluttonous man, and a wine-bibber." Any charge more villainously false it would be impossible for malice to conceive. Probably they only half-believed it although they used it in their campaign of calumny. Yet am I thankful it has been preserved and preserved, too, by the lips of Christ Himself, for through the vileness of it we discern a truth that is far too precious to let die. It is this that the enemies have borne their witness to—that Jesus was not ascetic and austere. He was no John the Baptist in His robe of hair shunning the pleasant fellowship of men. He was genial. He loved a kindly company. He sat and was happy at the social table. He moved among men not with a face of gloom; He moved among them with a face of gladness and joy. The bitterest foe would never have said that about Isaiah or about Jeremiah. The vilest slanderer would have been laughed at had he ventured so to speak of John the Baptist. And the very fact that men so spake of Jesus, and found an audience who would listen to them, is a witness of unequalled value to His gladness and His geniality.

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The Testimony of His Enemies - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

Jesus' Composure in the Midst of Gloom Impressed His Enemies

Of course it is true that we read that Jesus wept while nowhere do we read that Jesus smiled. And some have concluded that He never smiled because the Gospel does not mention it. It seems to me that that is the wrong conclusion. Is not the other way about more natural? Is it not likely that His tears are mentioned because they were exceptional and rare? Let a thousand men be walking in the streets, and you never read in the newspapers of them. But one of them is crushed—meets with an accident—and it is of him you have the paragraph. So everyone noted it when Jesus wept. It was so unusual, so exceptional. And to the evangelists, when they sat down to write, these tears of Christ were hot and burning still. But His gladness was perennial and pervasive, so common that it did not need a chronicle, and we might almost have been blind to it save for some illuminative slanders. I do not forget that Christ was a Man of sorrows. I do not forget that He foresaw the cross. But of this I am sure, that in this weary world He never moved in a parade of gloom. He hid it deep—all that He had to bear. He went apart when He would agonize. And when the sorrow broke upon the surface, men were amazed and said, "Behold, He weeps!"

His Enemies Were Impressed by the Reality of His Power in Working Miracles
Once more, we have the testimony of His enemies to the reality of His power in working miracles. To me there is nothing more significant than that in the whole record of the Gospel. There is a good deal of talk on the miracles today. There are many to whom the miracles are stumbling blocks. There is something lawless in these displays of power to many who have been trained as we have been, but I am not going into that subject. It is too great to be treated by the way, but I want to suggest to you two considerations which seem to me of singular importance.

The first is that those who knew Christ best never expressed amazement at a miracle. It is always the people who are amazed at miracles, never any of the twelve disciples. I never read that Peter was amazed. I never read that Thomas was amazed. It was not they; it was the village crowds who were filled with wonder at these mighty deeds. And that just means that as men got nearer Christ, the less and less amazing grew the miracles. The more they knew Him—the more they understood Him—the more natural did the miracle appear. It was a deed of wonder to the ignorant just because they were ignorant of Christ. They judged Him by the other men they knew, and so His deeds of power were amazing. But to John, who lay upon his Master's bosom and had fathomed the infinite secret of His heart, it was not the miracle that was so wonderful. It was the wonderful Christ who was behind it.

And then the other suggestive fact is this. Christ's enemies did not deny His miracles. They never said, "He does not cast out devils by Beelzebub." Now, would not they have denied them if they could? Were not the miracles a mighty trumpet blast? Can you not imagine how the news would spread and be the talk beside a hundred hearths? And yet these miracles that drew the crowd and awed the reckless and thrilled a thousand hearts, these never once in the whole Gospel story were denied by the bitterest enemy of Christ. He casteth out devils by Beelzebub. They had to admit, you see, the casting out. It would have been their triumph to dispute it. There is not a trace they ever tried to do so. And what I say is that that bitter taunt which blights the motive, yet cannot touch the fact, is one of the strongest of all the lesser arguments that the miracles of Jesus Christ were real.

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The Testimony of His Enemies - Page 3
by George H. Morrison

Jesus' Enemies Were Impressed by His Intensity

Then once again I gather from His enemies something of the intensity of Christ. They went to see Him, and they went to listen to Him, and they said, "He hath a devil, and is mad." It was not everyone who passed that verdict. There were simpler men who took another view. Thrilled by the depth and beauty of His speech, they could only say, "Never man spake like this man." But to the cold, precise, and formal Pharisees this baptism of fire was but insanity. And they steeled their hearts against the burning of it, and they said, "He hath a devil, and is mad." Had He been cold as they themselves were cold, how utterly foolish such a charge as that! The people would have turned on them and torn them and bidden the physician heal himself. What made the charge pass for truth for an hour was just the burning intensity of Christ, the fire that glowed at a white heat within Him, and shone through every syllable He spoke. There are two charges the enthusiast has to bear. Sometimes he is drunk, and sometimes mad. On the day of Pentecost, it was the one. With Paul as he stood before Festus, it was the other. And so when the enemies of Christ stood by and smiled and shrugged and said, "The man is mad," it only tells us what a fire was burning and what an intensity was glowing there.

His Enemies Were Impressed by His Calmness

I sometimes think our thoughts are not quite right in regard to the calmness of our Lord and Savior. Do we not dwell upon the rest of Christ in a way that is apt to rob Him of His power? l believe that Christ was infinitely calm. I believe He was unutterably restful. "Come unto me and I will give you rest"—and men looked upon His face and felt it true. Yet "He that is near to Me is near the fire," is one of the unwritten sayings of the Master. The rest of Jesus is not a rest that dulls and stupefies, the rest of Jesus is a rest that glows and irradiates. There is a calm which is the calm of sleep. There is another of intensest life. When all the powers are in perfect equipoise, then there is rest though energy be infinite. That is the calm of the expanse of ocean when we say it sleeps under the silver moon, and yet that sleep is but the perfect balance of the most mighty and stupendous forces. I like to think of the calm of Christ like that. His peace was as the sleeping of the sea. There was not a ripple on the expanse of water and not a breaker to frighten a child. And yet it was intense—the rest of God—and spoke of unseen powers that were tremendous; and so men looked at Him and smiled and shrugged and said, "He hath a devil, and is mad."

Jesus' Enemies Were Impressed by His Trust in God

Then in the last place and in a single word—His enemies witness to His trust in God. That was the last taunt they flung at Him. It was the bitterest, and it was the truest. "He trusted in God," they cried when He was crucified. He trusted in God; let Him deliver Him. Ah, how cruel it was—how diabolic—while the nails were through His feet and through His hands. And yet I think I see the face of Jesus lighting up with a glad look of triumph. Even His enemies had to confess at last that through storm and sunshine He had trusted God. Now tell me, have you any enemies? If you have friends you probably have foes. Well, now, if they began to taunt you, could they say with a sneer of you, "He trusted God"? Happy the man of whom that can be said! Happy the heart which has that hostile witness! Happy the life which has revealed its trust to the watchful eyes of malice and of hate!

____________________

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]

September 1

The Candor of Christ - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

Jesus answered him, I spake openly to the world…and in secret have I said nothing— Joh_18:20

Jesus' Words Cannot Be Separated from His Person

In the revived interest which is felt today in the person and character of Jesus Christ, it is inevitable that close attention should be directed to His words. There are teachers whose life you can separate from their words, ignoring the one while you regard the other; but you never can create a gulf like that between the words and the character of Jesus. To His own mind, His sayings and His person were correlated in the most vital way. He carries over from one sphere to the other some of the richest blessings of discipleship. What the flower is to its deep-hidden root, what the rays of sunshine are to the sun, that is the oral teaching of our Lord to His gracious and unfathomable person.

Jesus Was Frank and Bold

Now among the attributes of our Redeemer's speech one which arrests attention is its candor. In our text our Lord lays claim to a great openness, and it is a claim which cannot be disputed. The whole impression made by the life of Jesus is that of a Teacher who was frank and bold; of one who would not hesitate to speak, whatever the consequences to Himself might be; of one who rejoiced in liberty of utterance out of a heart that was full to overflowing, as a stream rejoices to make the meadows musical when fed from the springs of the everlasting hills. There is many a reserved and silent man who has to be coaxed and wheedled into speech. There are those who are eloquent in high-strung moods, but almost inaudible in common days. But the impression which Christ makes is not such; it is that of one to whom utterance was a joy and whose words, out of unfathomed depths, welled over in the beauty of unpremeditated wisdom.

Christ's Candor Was Always at the Service of His Love

Of course this candor of our Lord and Master was always at the service of His love. It was the instrument of a pure and perfect sympathy which knew that there were seasons to be silent. No passion is so free of speech as love and none has the secret of such winning eloquence; yet love, which can unlock the dullest lips, is also mistress in the art of sealing them. And the perfect candor of our Redeemer's talk was ever subservient to that noblest love which dares to speak when other lips are silent and to be silent when other voices speak. "I have yet many things to say to you," said Christ, "but ye cannot bear them now." New truths were welling up, seeking for utterance, yet remained unuttered at the behest of love. The time was coming when hearts would be established and able to bear the weight of revelation; but until then, in the judgment of the Master, to be candid was only to be cruel. There is a candor which is the child of ignorance, for fools rush in where angels fear to tread. There is a candor which betrays the bitter heart, for it speaks the truth but does not speak in love. But the candor of Jesus goes hand in hand with reticence, and both look up to catch their inspiration from the most loving and sympathetic eyes that ever beamed upon a sinful world.

We may trace this candor of our Lord in many spheres; in His treatment, for instance, of those who came to Him. He scorned to disguise the truth about the future from those who sought an entrance to His kingdom. Think of that scribe who came to Him bubbling over with enthusiasm. "Lord, I will follow Thee whithersoever Thou goest," was his eager and excited cry. Now had Jesus said to him, "I welcome thee—thou art a child of Abraham indeed," none would have doubted that the text was genuine. There are seasons of dejection and depression when any disciple seems better than none at all. There are times when the loyalty even of shallow hearts is very precious to a suspected leader. And was not this man a scribe—a learned person—one of the class who were bitter foes to Christ; and would not his allegiance, once secured, be more important than that of twenty fishermen? All that might have weighed with other leaders; it was light as gossamer to Jesus Christ. His only care was to be frank and true to a soul that did not know what it was doing. And so the word of welcome was not spoken; but instead, a word as sad as it was searching: "Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head." Christ will have no disciple on false pretences. He issues no rosy prospectus of His kingdom. He never hides from those who wish to serve Him that right in the path of the future is a cross. And this is the candor not of indifference but of love, which shrinks from the least appearance of deception and will have no man say in bitter moments that he was tricked unto discipleship by guile.

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The Candor of Christ - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

Christ's Candor in His Charges against the Pharisees

Again we note the candor of our Lord in the charges which He hurled against the Pharisees. In the whole range of human utterance there are no more deadly or awful accusations. "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees" — how dreadful is the reiteration of that doom, like the recurring mutterings of thunder over a meadowland of summer beauty. Most of us have had moments when we wished that these dark and dreadful words had not been spoken. They are so hard to reconcile with love and with that gentleness of Christ which makes us great (Psa_18:35). Yet all these charges, so fearless and so frank and so utterly regardless of all consequence, were part of the battle which Jesus Christ was fighting on behalf of misguided and downtrodden men. There is a deep sense in which it was Christ's candor that brought Him at last to His death upon the cross. Had He refrained from His speech against the Pharisees, He might have escaped the fury of their hate. But for Christ such silence would have been betrayal of the very cause that He had come to battle for, and therefore to be silent was impossible. It was not because the Pharisees despised Him that Jesus flashed on them in splendid anger. Our Lord was sublimely and superbly heedless of indignities that were offered to Himself. But it was because they marred the Name of God and sullied the fair features of religion and changed the happy service of the
Father into a burden too heavy to be borne.

Now there are times in every life when it takes a certain courage to be quiet. To every man and woman there come seasons when the path of duty is the path of silence. All that is basest in us bids us speak, for there is a candor that is the child of hell; but all that is noblest in us checks our speech lest to someone we do irreparable harm. But remember, if it takes courage to be quiet, it also may call for courage to be frank. To speak the word that we know ought to be spoken may rob the eyes of sleep through a long night. And when the heart is sensitive and tender and shrinks instinctively from causing pain, the duty of candor becomes doubly difficult. All that ought to be borne in mind when we consider the candor of our Lord. No one could charge Him with being hard or cold. He was gentle-hearted and exquisitely sensitive. Yet frankly and fearlessly, not in a blind fury, but as a duty that had to be discharged, He swept the Pharisees with withering scorn. "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!"

Christ's Candor of Confessing He Knows Not the Hour of His Return

Again we note the candor of our Lord in saying that there were things He did not know. Think, for example, of the account He gives of the final coming of the Son of Man. It is a wonderful and awful picture, fresh from a heart that had a vision of it. Clothed in the imagery of the ancient prophets, it is yet something mightier than the prophets dreamed of. But immediately, having described that hour, our Savior adds that He does not know that hour—"Of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the Son, but the Father." To me there is nothing startling whatever in the mere fact of such an ignorance. Was it not part of that humiliation to which our Lord had voluntarily stooped? Surely the humiliation would have been incomplete had the mind of Jesus been excluded from it by still retaining, in all its height and depth, the perfection of knowledge which is God's. It is not the ignorance that is so wonderful. It is the frank confession of that ignorance. It is the way in which Christ, who made such mighty claims, said to His followers, "I do not know." And it seems to me that such a splendid candor, with all the inevitable risks it brought, is a mightier argument for trusting Christ than many which the theologians adduce. When a man who is a master in some science says to me candidly, "I do not know," I am always readier to trust that man when he unlocks the riches of his knowledge. And so when Jesus, quietly and frankly, says to His own, "I do not know that hour," somehow it makes me readier to believe Him when He speaks of duty, of heaven, and of God. People who only know a little are the people who are afraid to show their ignorance. Those who know most are always the most ready to tell you frankly what they do not know. And so when Jesus Christ declares His ignorance, and does so freely and without compulsion, I feel I am in the presence of a Master whose statements can be absolutely trusted. There is a lack of candor in some Christian teachers which is utterly alien to the Master's spirit. If they would only tell us what they mean, it would be easier to know what they don't mean. It is not the mark of the greatest and the best to be tortuous and "irrecoverably dark." In all the greatest there is a certain candor akin to the simplicity of Christ.

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[nChrist]

The Candor of Christ - Page 3
by George H. Morrison

Christ's Candor in His Fellowship with His Disciples

Then the last sphere in which I note this frankness is in His intercourse with His disciples. With an open and overflowing heart Christ gave Himself to the friendship of His own. It was said of Cardinal Newman by one who ought to know, that he had the capacity for whole-hearted friendship. It is not such a common capacity as we imagine though the name of friend be often on our lips. But certainly it was possessed by Jesus and exercised in such fullness towards His own that life and death, and love and pain and joy, were different ever afterwards to them. Now one of the marks of the capacity for friendship is the power to give oneself in happy confidence. There is the opening towards a friend of many a door that is fast barred in the presence of the world. Heart goes out to heart in simple trust, and mind is kindled at the touch of mind, and the reserve and coldness which the world necessitates are quite forgotten in that tender intimacy. No man can ever hope to be a friend who looks on candor as a doubtful virtue. There is no friendship worthy of the name for the man who wraps his nature in reserve. And the very fact that Christ was such a friend that His friendship made all the difference to the twelve is the best proof, if proof were needed, of the glorious frankness of the Savior. Read over again the Gospel of St. John which is so full of His conversation with His own. Compare and contrast it with the other Gospels that are the record of His public ministry. Do that, and you will speedily discover how frank was the self-disclosure of our Lord when in the company of those who trusted Him and whose hearts "burned within them while He spake."

In closing may I say a single word about the response this should evoke from us? Charles Dickens in Nicholas Nickleby says this, "Among men who have any sound and sterling qualities, there is nothing so contagious as pure openness of heart." Christ, then, opens His heart to you; will you not respond by opening yours to Him? Christ wants to deal with you in perfect frankness; will you not be frank and honest in return? Make no concealment. Do not excuse yourself. Trust Him, and tell Him all the story. A confidence like that He always honors with a blessing which is heaven begun.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

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[nChrist]

September 2

It Is Finished

He said, It is finished…and gave up the ghost— Joh_19:30

The Power of a Single Word

These three words, "It is finished," are in the original a single word. That has been called the greatest single word which ever broke upon the ear of man. Often, when one is preaching, it is not the whole sermon that God uses. It is a single word or thought coming home with power to the hearer. The one word Yes uttered by a woman may alter the whole future of a man and lead his life to power or ineffectiveness. A single word has changed the course of history and affected the destiny of empires. Who can exhaust the heartbreak and the tears that are hidden in the word Farewell ? But the greatest of all single words that ever broke upon the ear of man is this word of Jesus upon Calvary. Finished was His work on earth for God, finished His work for man. Finished were those sufferings which made His face marred more than any man's. We have security and peace and joy, not less than absolution and release, in the finished work of our Redeemer.

The First Utterance of Jesus Was about His Life's Work

As we read this word our thoughts go winging back to the first recorded utterance of Jesus. He was a lad of twelve when He said, "Wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business?" Some people saunter through the world; their great ambition is an easy life. But our Lord, even in His boyhood, had an intense conviction of vocation. The claims of home and the appeal of family were submerged in the intense conviction that He must be about His Father's business. What that conviction meant to Him in boyhood it is impossible for us to estimate. It would grow with every prayer He prayed; it would deepen as He pored over the Old Testament. But even then it mastered and controlled Him, and to the end this was His burning thought: "I must work the works of him that sent me." It is always a quietly glad thing to complete the task even of a day. But when the task is lifelong and has absorbed the years, far greater is the gladness of completion. That is why we never really penetrate the gladness of this cry of Jesus till we remember that His labor was His life. It was not a service of selected hours. It was a service that included everything. His sufferings and His prayers were part of it as surely as His teaching on the hill. There was in it an obedience which was passive as well as an obedience which was active—and now that work for God and man was ended.

The Joy of Performing One's Work Faithfully

Again, we reverently remember the fidelity with which that work was done, and done in the teeth of every temptation, for He was tempted in all points like as we are. When we do the humblest bit of service faithfully there is always a certain joy when it is done. Perhaps there is no joy to equal that, unless it be the happiness of home. It does not matter what the task may be, whether in the kitchen or the college—to do it faithfully sets the joy-bells ringing. The man who is unfaithful in his duty is continually defrauding other people. But he is doing something even worse than that—he is continually defrauding his own soul. For him the joy-bells never ring, nor does he hear the music of high heaven, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant." Now think of the fidelity of Christ, tempted in all points like as we are; tempted by weariness and by His friends and by all the appearances of ghastly failure, yet through the bitterest and darkest hours faithful to His vocation till He cries on Calvary, "It is finished."

Jesus and His Work Were One

Again the moment of this cry reveals to us that Jesus and His work were one. His work was not finished even in Gethsemane: it was finished in the article of death. There are multitudes whose work is over before the hour when they are called to die. The teacher must retire at the age limit; the preacher must hand his scepter to another. And there are many whose work is just beginning, like some fair flower opening in the garden, when "comes the blind fury with the abhorred shears, and slits the thin-spun life." With Jesus it was different. He cried, "It is finished," and gave up the ghost. His task was not ended before the final breath, nor did death smite Him and leave it incomplete. Bound together into a radiant unity were the vocation of our blessed Lord and the life and death appointed Him of God. You cannot separate Jesus from His words, and you cannot separate Jesus from His work. I am the Way, the Truth, the Life. Come unto Me and I will give you rest. That is why all fellowship with Christ gives us a richer conception of His work and why the humblest sharing in His work gives us a deeper knowledge of His person.

The Finishing of Christ's Work on Earth Was the Beginning of Another in Heaven
But the finishing of work, in our experience, is not invariably a happy thing. If we have loved our work and given our hearts to it, the hour of ending may be an hour of sadness. There are well-known instances of writers who laid down their pen with an infinite regret. They have told us that as they wrote the closing sentences their eyes were wet with tears. And sometimes when one resigns his post and honorable men convene to do him honor, no praiseful fellowship can quite conceal his bitterness that the career is over. One thing alone can dissipate that bitterness. One thing alone can banish it entirely. It is the assurance that what we call an end is in another aspect a beginning. And for Jesus there was that full assurance, for did He not say to the penitent thief on Calvary, "Today thou shalt be with me in paradise"? He was dead and is alive forevermore. The end was the beginning. He ever liveth to make intercession for us. He will never leave us nor forsake us. In pardoned sin, in present fellowship, in the conquering power of His completed work, He sees of the travail of His soul.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

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

September 3

The Garden and the Cross

In the place where he was crucified there was a garden— Joh_19:41

The Proximity of the Cross and the Garden

To a deep-seeing eye like that of John, this proximity was more than a coincidence. John felt that there was an inward harmony between the garden and the cross. The cross was the crowning service of Christ's life. It was love going to the uttermost. It was the final and voluntary sacrifice for the salvation and service of the world. And to John it was no mere coincidence that in the place of that supreme surrender there should be the fragrance and the blossoming of flowers. One might have thought to find a desert there. One might have counted on a bleak and dreary scene. What struck the mystical eye of the apostle was that everything was the opposite of that. Christ died. He gave Himself for men. He poured out His life in full surrender—and in the place where all this happened was a garden.

There Is Always a Garden When We Share in the Self-Surrender of Our Lord

So do we touch the profound truth that John, in the spirit of poetry, is hinting at. He hints that there always is a garden when we share in the self-surrender of our Lord. Let any man deny himself, let him willingly lay down his life for others, let him surrender what is dearest to him in the self-abandonment of love, and the strange thing is that everything grows beautiful, and the flowers begin to blossom at his feet in a way they never did before. It seems to be a hard, bleak life, the life of a continuous self-denial. It seems to rob one of self-realization and of many a sweet thing which is the gift of God; but John saw it was entirely otherwise. Live for self, and you move into a wilderness. Sooner or later the scenery grows desolate. The music goes; the fragrance disappears; the world grows cold and meaningless and ugly. Live for others; give yourself for others; lose your life for the sake of those who need you; and in the place where you are crucified there is a garden.

Joy Seekers Are Unhappy

One might think of daily work a moment, for work, to many, is uncongenial drudgery. It is hard to be tied to counter or to desk when the voices of the bigger world are calling. To feel that one is missing things always brings an ache into the soul. And there are multitudes, chained to their day's drudgery, who have the restless feeling that they are missing things. What a wonderful difference it would make to them, burdened with their daily crucifixion, if they would write this text upon their hearts. I was talking to a doctor once who practices on the Riviera. Most of his patients are the kind of people who spend their lives following the sun. And when I asked him if such folk were happy, he answered in words I never can forget: "Happy! They're the most miserable people on God's earth." We are not here to follow the sun. We are here to follow Christ. We are not here to do just what we like. We are here to do just what we ought. Did not Wordsworth say of the man who does his duty, "Flowers laugh before him in their beds"? When we do our bit we never miss the best. The road to the garden always lies that way. Sometimes it seems a daily crucifixion, especially in the leafy months of summer. But sooner or later do we all discover what the eye of John was quick to note, that in the place where He was crucified there was a garden.

Cross-Bearers Find Themselves in a Garden

Or, once again, we think of cross-bearing, for cross-bearing is a universal thing. Every life has the shadow it must enter, and every life the cross that it must bear. Now sometimes it is very hard to bear the cross. There are seasons when we are tempted to rebel. If our cross were gone, how happy might we be. Life would be like "a melody in tune." Yet who can look on life and watch its issues and follow the track of patient cross-bearing without discovering that the flinty track is God's appointed road into the garden? I knew a girl who was left motherless. She had to be mother to the younger children. And sometimes she was tempted to grow bitter, for it meant stern self-surrender every day. But the children have grown up and call her blessed now, and they enfold her with loving admiration, and in the place where she was crucified there is a garden.

Self-Denial Is the Way to Joy

Lastly, one's thoughts turn to the Christian life, for the Christian life is never easy. I always distrust things that are too easy, especially a too easy Christianity. Strait is the gate and narrow is the way. If thy right hand offend thee, cut if off. They that are Christ's have crucified the flesh. Is that an easy life? One might well think that such a life as that would be a desolate and dreary business, and there are many who shun it on that score. What! Surrender up my life with its freedoms and its sweet and secret pleasures? Turn my days into an arid desert where no passion-flowers can ever grow? But the strange thing is that with the great surrender there comes gladness, and birds begin to sing, and every common flower takes new beauty. Self-surrender is the road to service. Self-denial is the way to song. To be made captive by the Lord Jesus Christ is to have the freedom of the universe. Then one goes back to this quiet word of John and begins to understand the depth of it—in the place where He was crucified there was a garden.

____________________

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
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(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.)
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[nChrist]

September 4

The Resurrection

The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early, when it was yet dark, unto the sepulchre, and seeth the stone taken away from the sepulchre— Joh_20:1

Failure to Believe Christ for the Present

Although Jesus had been teaching His disciples with increasing clearness that He would rise from the dead, none of them had grasped the full meaning of His words. The company of Jesus had been so sweet to them that they had refused to let their minds dwell upon His death, and the hints of death and of His resurrection were so vitally connected in the teaching of Jesus that to ignore the one fact was to reject the other. When Jesus told Martha that her brother would rise again, Martha answered that she knew he would rise at the last day. So, doubtless, when Jesus spoke darkly of His own resurrection, the disciples would dream of some far distant hour. Long ages after Elijah had been carried heavenward, some of them had seen him on the Mount of Transfiguration. So it might be that when the centuries had run, they would meet in glory the Lord they loved so well. They could believe for some far distant day. Their point of failure was not the future but the present. The day would come, no doubt, when Christ would rise. The incredible thing was that He was risen now. Are we not all tempted to an unbelief like that? Is it not easy to believe that God will work, but very hard to believe that God is working? Strong faith not only deals with the far past and with the years that are still hidden behind the veil, it is radiant for the present hour and sees the hand of God at work today.

Mary Magdalene's Mission to the Tomb

Early in the morning, then, of the first day of the week, Mary of Magdala steals out into the garden. She had been there before when they were burying Jesus, and she had marked the spot where they had laid her Lord. Now it was dark; the sun had not yet risen; the children in Jerusalem were dreaming happy dreams. But the Sabbath had been one of misery for Mary, and little sleep had visited her that night. And what was it that drew her to the garden? It was not curiosity; it was love. It was love with a passion for service at the heart of it—there was still something she could do for Jesus. Joseph and Nicodemus had embalmed the body. But it had been hastily done, for the Sabbath was at hand. Mary was going to complete the embalming, and she would have the quiet hour of dawn for her sad task. But who would help her to roll away the stone? That thought had been troubling her all the weary night. Her heart was full of it as she lifted the latch of her lodging and stepped out into the chill morning air. As she entered the garden, the sky was reddening. The dawn was flushing up out of the East. And she looked and saw at a glance that something strange had happened—the stone, that she had been vexing herself about all night, was gone! Now often, when one trouble is removed, there comes a greater trouble in its place. We looked for peace when the thing that vexed us vanished, and instead of peace we were plunged in deeper sorrow. So Mary, instead of rejoicing at what she saw, was launched out upon a wider sea of agony. It flashed on her in a twinkling that the body was stolen. Under cover of night her Lord had been taken away. She dropped the spices and ointments she was carrying. There were other women there; Mary forgot them. She hurried back through the streets of the wakening city. Breathlessly she told Peter and John what she had seen. And then we read how Peter and John ran out and how Peter impetuously pushed on into the tomb. And there were the graveclothes lying on the stone slab; and on the stone pillow, raised a little above them, the napkin, still coiled in a circle as when it bound His head. The linen clothes, weighted with spices, had sunk flat; but the empty napkin kept the form of the Savior's brow.

The Risen Christ Appeared to Mary First

Then follows the appearance of the risen Lord to Mary. It was not to Peter that Jesus first appeared. It was not even to John, "whom Jesus loved." It was to Mary out of whose heart Jesus had cast seven devils; it was to Mary who loved much because much had been forgiven her. After discovering that the grave was empty, the disciples had gone away home again (Joh_20:10). But Mary, whose home had been the heart of Jesus, could not tear herself away from the garden and the grave. It was desolation to think that Christ was lost. Not even the white robed angels could console her. We are never so sure of the depth of Mary's love as when we see her weeping by the tomb. A great scholar, in studies of the resurrection, points out the different features emphasized in the accounts of the four evangelists. Matthew dwells chiefly on the majesty and glory of the resurrection. Mark insists upon it as a fact. Luke treats it as a spiritual necessity; and John, as a touchstone of character. And when we see Mary weeping in the garden, overwhelmed with her unutterable loss, we feel that here is the touchstone of her character. In the depth of her loss we find the depth of her love, and she loved much because she was forgiven much. So Mary stood in her sorrow beside the grave, thinking perhaps that Jesus was far away; and Jesus was never nearer to her than in that moment when she thought Him lost. She turned round; there was someone behind her. It was Jesus, but she thought it was the gardener. Some mysterious change had come on the Lord she loved, and it was dawn, and her eyes were dim with tears. Then Jesus said, "Mary," and she knew the voice. What a glorious joy must have taken her poor heart! She cried, "Rabboni!" She would have clung to Him. She would have held Him in the old grasp of human tenderness. And Jesus had to say to her, "Cling not to Me; hereafter, Mary, you shall walk by faith and not by sight." Then Mary received Christ's message for the disciples; and with a new heart, and in a world that was all new, hastened to tell them that she had seen the Lord.

____________________

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
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(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.)
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[nChrist]

September 5

Love and Grief - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

But Mary stood without at the sepulchre weeping…she turned herself back and saw Jesus standing .... Jesus saith unto her, Mary — Joh_20:11, Joh_20:14, Joh_20:16

Mary's Grief

In this beautiful and ever memorable incident I wish first to dwell on Mary's grief, trying to make plain to you the greatness of that grief; and the first glimpse we get into its deeps is that Mary shows no wonder at the angels. At all the crises of the life of Christ we read of angels. We read of them at His birth, His temptation, and His agony. At these great moments His attendant bodyguard breaks through the veil, as it were, and becomes visible. And now in this great hour of hard-won victory, when death, the last great enemy, is beaten, there is a vision of angels in the tomb. There are two of them, in the tenderness of God, who would not send one alone to a dark sepulchre. They are clothed in white, the uniform of heaven; they are seated, as in the calm of glory. Yet Mary, stooping down and peering in and catching a glimpse of these beings more than mortal, has not a fear and scarce a thought to give them, she is so brokenhearted for her Lord. There is nothing more absorbing than great grief. It banishes fear, surprise, dismay, astonishment, and from the utter absence of all such feelings here, we learn how terrible was Mary's grief.

The same intensity is manifest again when we notice how her grief embraced her world. Turning round in the dim dawn, she saw a man, and she supposed that it had been the gardener. Now she had never seen the gardener before; he was a stranger to her and she to him. The circle that he moved in was not hers; he had his wife and children, his home and joys and sorrows. Yet she offers no explanation or apology; never mentions the name of Christ, just talks of Him—her grief is so overpowering that she cannot conceive that others should remain indifferent in her sorrow. I think that many of us have had times when our feeling was akin to that of Mary. In seasons of overwhelming sorrow—when the golden bowl is broken—the noisy life out in the streets is like an insult. It is incredible how others should be laughing and going about their work with eager hearts, when for us there is not a star within the sky and not a sound of music in the lute. Now of course that is an unreasonable mood, and we soon outgrow it if we are strong in God. But whether reasonable or unreasonable, it is human—the sign and symbol of overwhelming grief. And it is when we see Mary so absorbed that everyone she meets must know her sorrow, that we realize her womanly despair at the loss of her Savior and her Lord.

Her Grief Made Her Blind

Then, too, her grief had made her blind. That also reveals the depth of her dismay. She heard the sound of a footfall, and there was Jesus standing, but Mary did not know that it was Jesus. Now there were many things to prevent that recognition; there was the dim and dusky light of early morning. There was the change that had passed upon the form of Christ now that He was risen in triumph from the grave. But the deepest cause was not in the morning light; the deepest cause was not in the face of Jesus; the deepest cause was in the heart of Mary. I have heard mourners gathered at a funeral say afterwards, "I could not tell you who was there." All the great passions in their full intensity have got a certain blinding power about them. But neither love nor hate nor jealousy nor anger is more effectual in sealing up the eyes than is the pressure of overwhelming grief. So she turned herself round when she heard the quiet footfall. And Jesus was there, and she knew not it was He. Does that tell you that Jesus Christ was changed? It tells me also that Mary was brokenhearted.

And the strange thing is that had she only known it, the cause of her grief was to be the joy of ages. It was for an absent Lord that she was weeping, yet on that absence Christendom is built. "They have taken away my Lord," said Mary; "let me but find His body and I shall be happy." But supposing she had found it, and been happy, have you ever thought what that would have involved?-no resurrection, no sending of the Spirit, no Gospel, no Christendom, no heaven. And so I learn that in our deepest griefs may lie the secret of our richest joys, that there may be "a budding morrow in midnight." It is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of mirth. That does not mean it is better to be melancholy. The evangel of Christ is tidings of great joy, and no one has such a right to be glad as a true Christian. It means that, like Mary, in our sorest grief we may light on that which all the world is seeking, and that everything may be radiant ever after because of the one thing that caused our tears.

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[nChrist]

Love and Grief - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

Mary's Love

So far, then, on the depth of Mary's grief. Now let us turn to the depth of Mary's love. And how intensely she loved may be most surely gathered from her refusal to believe that He was lost. "Then the disciples went away to their own homes": there was nothing more to be done; the grave was empty. They had examined the tomb and seen the napkin there; nothing was to be gained by aimless waiting. But Mary, though she knew what they had seen and had not a particle more of hope than they—Mary could not tear herself away, but stood without at the sepulchre weeping. There is a kind of love that faces facts, and it is a noble and courageous love. It opens its eyes wide to dark realities and bowing the head it says, "I must accept them." But there is an agony of love that does not act so; it hopes against hope and beats against all evidence. It is only women who can love like that, and it was a love like that which inspired Mary. No one will ever doubt John's love to Jesus. No one will ever doubt the love of Simon. "Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? .... Yea, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee." But the fact remains that on that Easter morning Peter and John went to their homes again, and only a woman lingered by the grave. I have not the least doubt that they urged her to go with them. They had been too long with Jesus not to be true gentlemen. It was cold and raw there, and the grass was wet, and it was dangerous for a woman with these Roman soldiers. But Mary simply replied, "I cannot go." She must linger and watch in the teeth of all the facts. And I say that measured by a test like that, there is not a disciple who can match the love of Mary.

Mary's Love Brought Glad Obedience

The depth of Mary's love is also seen in her instant and glad obedience to her Lord. She would have flung herself upon His breast in her great joy, but Jesus said to her swiftly, "Touch me not." You remember what Christ said when He appeared to Thomas? "Thomas, reach hither thy hand, and feel my wounds." To that disciple, torn with the stress of doubt, says the risen Savior, "Come and touch me." But to Mary whose doubts had all been scattered and who was filled with the wild joy of recognition, the Christ who said to Thomas, "Come and touch me," said very swiftly and imperiously, "Touch me not." What He meant was, "Things are all different now. You are to walk by faith and not by sight now. Do not think that My death is but a moment's break and that the former life will be resumed. I ascend to the Father—old things have passed away—do not try to revive or recall these old relationships. Touch Me not, but go unto My brethren—tell them I am going home to God." That must have been a bitter disappointment to a heart so ardent and so intense as Mary's. The one thing she wanted was to be with Christ, yet that was the one thing which He denied her. And it is when I read how sweetly she obeyed, renouncing her own will to do Christ's bidding, it is then I realize how deep and true was the love of Mary for her Savior. There is a love that is loud in passionate protestations, but "methinks the lady doth protest too much." Mary says little—does not protest at all—one word "Rabboni," and then her Master's bidding. And it is in that immediate obedience, which cut at the very root of all her joy, that he that hath eyes to see and ears to hear can gauge the height and depth of Mary's love.

Christ's Revelation to Mary

In the last place, a word or two upon the revelation of the Lord to Mary. The unceasing wonder of it all is this, that to her first He should have shown Himself. Simon Peter had been at the tomb that morning, and "on this rock," said Jesus, "I will build my church." John had been at the sepulchre that morning—the disciple who had leaned upon Christ's bosom; yet neither to John nor to Peter had there been a whisper—no moving of pierced feet across the garden—all that was kept for a woman who had been a sinner and out of whom there had been cast seven devils. It is very notable that the first word of Christ after He had risen from the dead was Woman. "Woman, why weepest thou?" These are the first words which fell from the lips of Christ when He arose. And they tell us that though everything seemed different, yet there was one thing which death has failed to alter, and that is the eyes of Christ for those who love Him and the sympathy of Christ for those who weep. You remember how, when Christ was in the wilderness, He was tempted to cast Himself down from the Temple. He was tempted to reveal Himself in startling fashion as the Jews expected that Messiah would. But Christ resisted that spectacular temptation and showed Himself quietly to kindred hearts; and now after the grave has clone its work, He is the very same Jesus as had His home in Nazareth. There are some arguments for the resurrection of the Lord which I confess do not appeal to me. They are too elaborate and metaphysical; they always leave some loophole of escape. But there is one argument that is irresistible, and to me is overwhelming in its artless evidence, and that is the argument of this sweet incident. I could have believed the story was a myth if Christ had shown Himself upon the Temple steps. Had he appeared to Pilate and said, "Behold the Man," I could have believed it was an idle story. But that He should pass by Pilate and the people, and His mother and John and James and Simon Peter, that He should show Himself first and foremost to a woman who had nothing to her credit but her love, I tell you that even the genius of a Shakespeare could never have conceived a scene like that. The strange thing is that what Christ did that morning, He has been constantly doing ever since. The first to see Him in all His power and love have been the very last the world expected. Do not pride yourself on your apostolate. There are things that you may miss for all your privileges. And some poor Magdalene, to whom you send the missionary, may be the first to hear the footfall on the grass.

And then Christ made Himself known by a single word. One word was enough when it was the woman's name. Jesus saith unto her, "Mary," and she turned herself and saith unto Him, "Rabboni." When Joseph made himself known unto his brethren, he stood in their midst and said to them, "I am Joseph." There are times when Jesus acts as Joseph did and lifting up His voice cries, "I am Christ." But far more often when He reveals Himself, the first word that we hear is like this garden voice. It is not "I am Christ" that we first hear; the first word that we hear is "Thou art Mary." I mean by that, that we are drawn to Christ by the deep and restful sense that we are known. Here is a Man who understands us thoroughly, who knows what we most need and what we crave for. And it is in response to that—which is the Gospel call—that we turn our back on the grave as Mary did to find at our side One who has conquered death and who lives to be our Friend forevermore.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

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[nChrist]

September 6

Turning Back to See

She turned herself back, and saw Jesus— Joh_20:14

The Love of Mary

We must remember that Mary in the garden was eagerly seeking for the Lord. She was filled with a love that would not let Him go. Others might leave the garden in despair: Mary must still haunt the sacred precincts. It was dark, and the soldiers were about. This was no place for a solitary woman. "But," says St. John, "there is no fear in love," and the love of Mary swallowed up her fear, and she was alone in the garden, seeking Jesus. Right in front of her there was a grave, and Mary scanned it, but Jesus was not there. In the grave were two shining ones of heaven, but the shining ones were not enough. When the heart loves somebody very much, not even the shining presence's of heaven can take the place of the beloved. Then Mary heard a rustling in the grass. It was not in front of her; it was behind her. Instantly the angels were forgotten—might not this be the footfall of her Lord? And then, in words that seem but incidental, yet are fraught with an infinite suggestiveness, we read that she turned herself back and she saw Jesus.

Turning Back to the Old Testament We See Jesus

Think how true that is of the Old Testament when we recall how the Old Testament was written. Holy men of God, we read in Peter, spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost. Now, when a man is moved by the Holy Ghost, there is much in his utterance quite beyond his grasping. If that be true of the deepest words of genius, how much more of the words of inspiration! Men speak to their own times and their own countrymen, but if they be moved by the Holy Ghost their words have issues they can never follow. So David wrote his Messianic Psalms. So Isaiah wrote his fifty-third chapter. Moved by an inward passion they were preachers: moved by the Holy Spirit they were prophets. And now we, like Mary in the garden when the sun was rising on resurrection morning, turn ourselves back, and we see Jesus. It is His love we see in Canticles; His triumph in the Messianic Psalms. It is His bruised form that meets us in Isaiah; His sacrifice we find in the slain lamb. "Beginning at Moses and all the prophets, He expounded unto them in all the Scriptures the things concerning Himself."

Turn Back and Become Like a Little Child to See Jesus

Again, think how true this is of the spiritual wakening of the soul. Take the matchless story of the prodigal. When he came to himself in the far country, he did not go forward on a further pilgrimage. He did not press on into more distant lands, in the hope that there he might be satisfied. He turned himself back, and found his soul again. "Except ye become as little children ye cannot see the kingdom," says the Lord. No one becomes a child by going forward. One only becomes a child by turning back to simple faith and to unworldliness and to the trust which every child displays in the providence and provision of a father. No wonder Nicodemus was astonished when the Lord said, "You must be born again." How could he, a grave and reverend seigneur, turn himself back into his mother's womb? And then one thinks of Mary in the garden, longing for a glimpse of the Beloved, and she turned herself back, and saw the Lord.

The Church Needs to Turn Back to See Jesus

And what is true of individual life is true also of the larger life of Christendom. Whenever Christendom has been refreshed and quickened it has been by the way of Mary in the garden. The Church has never been revived by novelties: it has always been revived by turning back to a simpler faith, to a lost vision, to a rediscovery of the Lord Jesus; to something which is as old as Calvary and which has been lost to view in the dull years till it shines again on resurrection morning. Luther did not deal in novelties. He sent the Church forward because he turned her back to the forgotten doctrine that the guilty sinner is pardoned and justified by faith. And then one thinks of Mary in the garden, when right in front of her there was a sepulchre, but she turned herself back, and she saw Jesus.

In Retrospect, You Can See Jesus

Think lastly how true this is of the year drawing to a close. Is not a time like that given for looking backward? The present has a strangely blinding power. It is always difficult to read today. Today is so compact of little things that one can scarcely see the forest for the trees. It is never harder to trace the love of God and His wisdom and the ordering of His providence than in the detail of the passing day. Like the man who stands too close to the oil painting, we stand too close to today to see its meaning. We very rarely fathom anything in the actual moment of its happening. But surely many who read this are just like Mary on resurrection morning when she heard the footfall of the Lord behind her. They recognize that Someone has been guiding, though at the time they could not understand things. They recognize that mercy has been busy, though at the time it was all dark to them. In the hour of retrospect and memory, catching like Mary the rustling of their yesterdays, they turn themselves back, and see the Lord.

____________________

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.)
____________________