Calvin on Jean 12:24-25
For not only do we think that we perish in death, but our life also is a sort of continual death (Col 3:3). We shall therefore be undone, unless we be supported by that consolation which Paul holds out: if our outward man decays, the inward man is renewed from day to day (2 Cor 4:16). When, therefore, the godly are distressed by various afflictions, when they are pressed hard by the difficulties of their situation, when they suffer hunger, or nakedness, or disease, when they are assailed by reproaches, when it appears as if they would every hour be almost overwhelmed by death, let them unceasingly consider that this is a sowing which, in due time, will yield fruit.
In short, to love this life is not in itself wrong, provided that we only pass through it as pilgrims, keeping our eyes always fixed on our object. For the true limit of loving life is, when we continue in it as long as it pleases God, and when we are prepared to leave it as soon as he shall order us, or--to express it in a single word--when we carry it, as it were, in our hands, and offer it to God as a sacrifice. Whoever carries his attachment to the present life beyond this limit destroys his life; that is, he consigns it to everlasting ruin, devoting it to destruction.
Friday, June 26, 2015
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Wandering
Today I walked the platform among a mass of people descending from the same train as me making the typical pilgrimage to which we've grown accustomed and looked over them feeling the lostness of modern man.
I listened to the fascinating noise that echoes in the center hall of a metro station with the beeps of daily passes clicks of rotating turnstiles clops of hurried leather shoes and the dull drone of confused mutters.
I read about Muslims only having 2,500 mosques in this country with a desire to double that number and thought it a curious statistic knowing we have almost as many churches with a desire to triple the number.
I searched for space invaders and found a few.
I heard a man make a millennium of church history simple in a matter of minutes and wanted to hear more.
I had the luck of falling upon the band of Balkan men with their dulcimer and upright bass and accordion and two full and soaring clarinets whose music has a strange capacity to fill me with life and stopped to listen before stepping on the long rolling sidewalk.
I watched two shots of espresso drip into a plastic cup half-full of tap water and heard the kind Frenchmen warmly call my first name as if I had arrived home from work after a long day.
I peered into the dark windows of an 'exceptionally closed' Burger King to find a ghost-town of lifeless abandoned booths and upon looking closer was surprised to see a Muslim man among them kneeling on a mat to say his mid-afternoon Ramadan prayers. Evangelical church planters are not the only innovative ones and perhaps abandoned fast food restaurants could answer the need for more mosques.
I wrestled incessantly with myself over a variety of trivial matters and tried to feel again whatever it was in the first place that got me to where I am wondering what in God's name could be next and how in the world it might unfold recalling countless dreams and brainstorms that were never pursued largely out of fear preferring to tackle projects that are instead surefire and easy to finish.
The death of self-importance is long, hard, slow, and painful and it's a stubborn zombie of a beast that just when you think has been killed once and for all comes right back to continue haunting you. The cross we are called to bear is a daily one.
I listened to the fascinating noise that echoes in the center hall of a metro station with the beeps of daily passes clicks of rotating turnstiles clops of hurried leather shoes and the dull drone of confused mutters.
I read about Muslims only having 2,500 mosques in this country with a desire to double that number and thought it a curious statistic knowing we have almost as many churches with a desire to triple the number.
I searched for space invaders and found a few.
I heard a man make a millennium of church history simple in a matter of minutes and wanted to hear more.
I had the luck of falling upon the band of Balkan men with their dulcimer and upright bass and accordion and two full and soaring clarinets whose music has a strange capacity to fill me with life and stopped to listen before stepping on the long rolling sidewalk.
I watched two shots of espresso drip into a plastic cup half-full of tap water and heard the kind Frenchmen warmly call my first name as if I had arrived home from work after a long day.
I peered into the dark windows of an 'exceptionally closed' Burger King to find a ghost-town of lifeless abandoned booths and upon looking closer was surprised to see a Muslim man among them kneeling on a mat to say his mid-afternoon Ramadan prayers. Evangelical church planters are not the only innovative ones and perhaps abandoned fast food restaurants could answer the need for more mosques.
I wrestled incessantly with myself over a variety of trivial matters and tried to feel again whatever it was in the first place that got me to where I am wondering what in God's name could be next and how in the world it might unfold recalling countless dreams and brainstorms that were never pursued largely out of fear preferring to tackle projects that are instead surefire and easy to finish.
The death of self-importance is long, hard, slow, and painful and it's a stubborn zombie of a beast that just when you think has been killed once and for all comes right back to continue haunting you. The cross we are called to bear is a daily one.
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