Pure Words

By Warren Wiersbe

Read Psalm 12:1-8 

When you feel deserted, alone in standing for what's right, read Psalm 12. The emphasis in this psalm is on words, on speaking. First, David speaks in prayer (vv. 1-3). Where are the godly? People today don't want to take a stand for the truth, but David stood for what is right.

Sometimes we feel the faithful have disappeared--those who believe in prayer, giving and commitment. Today's generation doesn't believe in commitment, especially with our words. We hear so much empty talk, lies and flattery. Flattery is manipulative, not communicative, like our advertising and some of our preaching.

Second, the wicked speak in pride (v. 4). Never underestimate the power of speech. Jesus told the truth; His enemies argued. He gave words of life; they rejected Him. He came in love; they crucified Him. One of the evidences that a person is giving the truth of God's Word is that he is rejected. People don't want to hear truth unless they belong to truth (John 10:4).

Third, God speaks in promise (vv. 5,7). His words are pure, not empty lying (v. 6). But the words of the wicked will burn in the furnace. God's Word is precious, because it cost Jesus' life. It is proved (v. 6) and permanent (v. 7). He keeps His promises. God knows where His people are, and He helps them. "I will arise"; "I will protect"; "I can be trusted" (vv. 5-7).

So much that is spoken in this world is untrue and empty talk. Be encouraged that God speaks in promise. His Word is pure and true. When you are surrounded by lies, rest on the promises of the Bible.

Humble yourselves therefore

By A.B. Simpson


The pressure of hard places makes us value life. Every time we come through such a trial, it is like a new beginning, and we learn better how much life is worth and make more of it for God and man. The pressure helps us to understand the trials of others and fits us to help and sympathize with them. 

There is a shallow, superficial nature that gets hold of a theory or a promise and talks very glibly about the distrust of those who shrink from every trial. But the man or woman who has suffered much never does this. Knowing what suffering really means, he or she is very tender and gentle. This is what Paul meant when he said, Death worketh in us, but life in you (2 Corinthians 4:12). Trials and hard places are needed to press us forward, even as the furnace fires in the hold of the mighty steamship give the force that moves the Piston, drives the engine and propels that great vessel in the face of winds and waves.

Desperate Days

By Mrs. Charles E. Cowman


"But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him." (Heb. 11:6).

The faith for desperate days.

The Bible is full of such days. Its record is made up of them, its songs are inspired by them, its prophecy is concerned with them, and its revelation has come through them.

The desperate days are the stepping-stones in the path of light. They seem to have been God's opportunity and man's school of wisdom.

There is a story of an Old Testament love feast in Psalm 107, and in every story of deliverance the point of desperation gave God His chance. The "wit's end" of desperation was the beginning of God's power. Recall the promise of seed as the stars of heaven, and as the sands of the sea, to a couple as good as dead. Read again the story of the Red Sea and its deliverance, and of Jordan with its ark standing mid-stream. Study once more the prayers of Asa, Jehoshaphat, and Hezekiah, when they were sore pressed and knew not what to do. Go over the history of Nehemiah, Daniel, Hosea, and Habakkuk. Stand with awe in the darkness of Gethsemane, and linger by the grave in Joseph's garden through those terrible days. Call the witnesses of the early Church, and ask the apostles the story of their desperate days.

Desperation is better than despair.

Faith did not make our desperate days. Its work is to sustain and solve them. The only alternative to a desperate faith is despair, and faith holds on and prevails.

There is no more heroic example of desperate faith than that of the three Hebrew children. The situation was desperate, but they answered bravely, "Our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning, fiery furnace; and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king. But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up." I like that, "but if not !"

I have only space to mention Gethsemane. Ponder deeply its "Nevertheless." "If it is possible...nevertheless!" Deep darkness had settled upon the soul of our Lord. Trust meant anguish unto blood and darkness to the descent of hell--Nevertheless! Nevertheless!!

Now get your hymn book and sing your favorite hymn of desperate faith. --Rev. S. Chadwick

"When obstacles and trials seem
Like prison walls to be,
I do the little I can do
And leave the rest to Thee.

"And when there seems no chance, no change,
From grief can set me free,
Hope finds its strength in helplessness,
And calmly waits for Thee."

And they did all eat, and were filled. and they took up of the fragments that remained twelve baskets full--Mat 14:20

George H. Morrison - Devotional Sermons 

     
 The Lavishness of Jesus
     
      And they did all eat, and were filled. and they took up of the fragments that remained twelve baskets full--Mat 14:20
     
      Love Never Asks How Little Can I Do
     
      One of the characteristics of our Lord was a certain glorious lavishness, an uncalculating generosity that was impatient of the less or more. This made Him very lovable. It was one of the features of His grace. He exhibited that royal largeness which always captivates the human heart. For the miser is universally condemned, and the stingy person forever unattractive, nor does the niggard, though scrupulously just, ever really draw the hearts of men. There is a lavishness which is pure thoughtlessness, and which sooner or later issues in remorse. It is far easier for shallow natures to squander than to save. But the lavishness of Jesus struck its roots into His deepest being, and was the flower of uncalculating love. Love never asks how little can I do; love always asks how much. Love does not merely go the measured mile; love travels to the uttermost. Love never haggles, never bargains, with "nicely calculated less or more." It gives up to the point of prodigality.
     
      The Lavishness of Jesus in His Actions
     
      We find the lavishness of Christ in every sphere, and first let us note it in His actions. "Gather up the fragments that remain, and they gathered up twelve baskets full." Men find in that a lesson in economy. Christ was careful that not a crumb be lost. And it is well we should be taught that lesson--we are so apt to be careless with life's fragments. But surely a far deeper lesson, leading us to the inmost heart of Jesus, is that of His uncalculating lavishness. He took no nice and precise measurements of what that hungry multitude required. He did not think of the minimum of need; He thought of the maximum of love. He gave so lavishly that when every man was fed, and every little whimpering child was satisfied, there yet remained twelve baskets full. That was the manner in which Jesus gave, and in such a manner is He giving still. Men come for healing, and they get pardon also. They come for a shilling and they get a sovereign. I take it that is why so many people fail to see the answers to their prayers; they have asked for a sixpence, and they get a fortune.
     
      The Lavishness of Jesus in His Parabolic Teaching
     
      The same uncalculating lavishness of love is witnessed in the teaching of His parables. I do not think there is a single parable in which that divine element is wanting. The sower does not nicely measure things; he sows on the beaten path and on the rock. The employer of labour, at the eleventh hour, gives a full day's pay for an hour's work. The servant who was faithful with ten pounds finds himself the ruler of ten cities, no doubt to his own intense astonishment. Men quarrel with the doctrine of rewards. They say we ought to do good for its own sake. Christ, knowing human nature, never hesitates to introduce rewards. But then His rewards are so amazing, so utterly unproportioned to our merit, that they entirely lose the aspect of reward, and shine as gifts of undeserved grace. When the poor prodigal came home again, a bare forgiveness would have contented him. But it evidently did not content the overflowing heart of Jesus. The best robe must be given to him; there must be a ring on his finger and shoes upon his feet; there must be music and dancing in the house.
     
      Jesus Noticed the Much Found in the Little
     
      Again, we might think a moment of the kind of thing that Jesus loved. If we are to follow Him, and take His scale of values, it is imperative that we discover that. He did not love the narrowness of Pharisees, nor had He any tenderness for lengthy prayers. He felt no sympathy with the precise exactitude that tithes the mint and the anise and the cummin. But one day He saw a widow woman lavishing her little all for God, and that caught the tendrils of His heart. Again, another day there came a woman with an alabaster box of precious ointment. And she broke the box and poured that precious ointment on the dear feet of Him whom she loved. And men were indignant at this gross extravagance--to what purpose is this waste?--but to Jesus it was incomparably fine. It was not the squandering of hysteria. To Him it was the lavishness of love. It was love, despising calculation, and giving to the very uttermost. He caught in it a spark of that same flame that had lit up every moment of His life, and was now to shine in glory on the cross.
     
      Was Christ's Death for All a Waste Since All Do Not Accept Him?
     
      Jesus died on the cross for every man. He died for the sins of the whole world. There was virtue in that atoning death for all the guilty sinners of mankind. Now look around and tell me, are all men being saved? Are none going down into the glen of weeping? Are none heading for the outer darkness? If so, to what purpose is this waste? Why this lavish squandering of sacrifice in the agony and dereliction of the cross? The only answer is that God is love, and love never asks how little, but how much. Love does not calculate nor nicely measure; it gives as the woman with the alabaster box did. In that lavishness our Saviour lived. In that lavishness He fed the multitude. In that lavishness He died on Calvary.

Needless Regrets!

Things That Matter Most: Chapter 28 - Needless Regrets!

By John Henry Jowett


"IF Thou hadst been here my brother had not died." That is a Scriptural example of a very familiar experience. It illustrates a most commonplace form of grief. It is an example of needless regrets. "If Thou hadst been here my brother had not died." If we had arranged things a little differently, how different might have been the issues! If we had taken another turning, what a contrast in our destiny! If only we had done so-and-so, Lazarus might have been with us still! 

My readers will recognize the familiarity of the utterance. It is the expression of a common human infirmity. Its sound travels through the years like the haunting sigh of a low moan. "If only . . . !" "If only . . . !" And the pathetic cry is with us to-day. It is usually born on the morning after a crisis, and it sometimes continues until the plaintive soul itself goes home to rest. It is a sorrow that consumes like a gangrene. It drains away the vital strength. If by some gracious ministry it could be ended, and the moan changed into trustful quietude, an enormous load would be lifted from the heart of the race.

 Men and women are being crushed under needless regrets. And here is one of them: "Lord, if Thou hadst been here my brother had not died!" It was a regret that shut out the kindly light of the stars which God has ordained should shine and cheer us in our nights. I wish, therefore, to look at the incident with the utmost simplicity, in the prayerful hope that similar burdens may be lifted from the hearts of some who may read these words.

It was a beautiful friendship which united the Lord with the family at Bethany. Their home was very evidently one of His favourite resorts. He turned to it for its friendly peace. Perhaps He found in this little circle a love that was not tainted with interested ambition. Perhaps He found a friendship that sought no gift and coveted no place. Perhaps He found a full-orbed sympathy, unbroken by suspicion or reserve. Perhaps He found a confidence which was independent of the multitude, and which remained quietly steadfast whether He moved in public favour or in public contempt. At any rate, Jesus was at home "in the house of Martha and Mary," and here all unnecessary reticence was changed into free and sunny communion. He loved to turn from the heated, feverish atmosphere of fickle crowds to the cool and restful constancy of these devoted friends. 

When the eyes of His enemies had been following Him with malicious purpose, it was spiritually recreating to look into eyes that were just quiet "homes of silent prayer." After the contentions of the Twelve, and their constant disputes as to who should be greatest, it was good to be in this retired home where friends found love's reward in love's sacrifices, and the joy of loving in the increased capacity to love. It is therefore no wonder to read, as we do so frequently, that "Jesus went out to Bethany."

And now a darker record begins. "A certain man was sick, Lazarus of Bethany, of the village of Mary and her sister Martha." We know. nothing about Lazarus, except that Jesus loved him. Not a single lineament of his character has been offered to our imagination. And yet, somehow, I feel as though I know him well. He was one of those glorious men about whom our modern Press could scarcely compose a single readable paragraph. He was a gracious, lovable nobody. He was a "home-bird." He was a lover of the fireside. He was a beautiful commonplace. He did nothing except live a noble life. He was one of the nobodies whose presence constitutes the very sanctity of home. And he was sick.

What will the sisters do? They know of the Saviour's mysterious power over sicknesses. They had heard of it; they had probably seen it. Should they send for Him? Lazarus would not hear of it! These good souls never will. Said Lazarus: "He has got something better to do than trouble about me. Trouble not the Master. Let Him go on telling His good news unto men." And the sisters heeded their brother. But he grew gradually weaker, and they took counsel together, perhaps unknown to their forbearing patient. And then a sort of compromise was born which paid respect to their brother's wish while giving expression to their own. "We won't exactly ask Him to come! We will just send Him the news and leave the decision to Him." "The sisters therefore sent unto Him saying, Lord, behold, he whom Thou lovest is sick."

What will the Master do? Surely He will haste with all speed to the stricken home! He will take comfort where He has so often received it. He will lift the burden where the burden has been so often lifted from Him. "When therefore Jesus heard that he was sick He abode at that time two days in the place where He was." It was one of those mysterious delays which so often burden our life. There were the sisters in Bethany, waiting, wondering, saddening. Will He never come? Has He forgotten? "Then after this He saith to the disciples, Let us go into Judaea again." And so He came to Bethany, but it was too late. Lazarus was dead.

"If Thou hadst been here! If only we had sent two days earlier! If only we had done it without consulting our brother! If--if--if only!" 

This is, I say, a type of needless regret. It was a retrospect which darkened sorrow. It added a deeper gloom to the night. And it was all so gratuitous, so needless, so unwise. Why should they now go back, and fetch remorse from yesterday, and load their heart to the point of bursting?

And the same remorseful "if" rankles in human life to-day. How often I have heard it when loved ones have been taken away. Poor laden hearts have added to their burden by their sharp regrets. "If we had only gone south instead of north." "If I had taken the first illness more seriously." "If I had only got her away when she began to grow tired." "If I had only given up that engagement." "If I had never gone away." "If we had called in the doctor earlier." And so the poor, weeping souls moan on as if our God was dead.

And how often I have heard the wail when some choice or enterprise has apparently failed. "If we had only put him into a trade instead of a profession!" "If only we had put him in a profession instead of a trade!" "If only we had never sent him away from home!" "If only we had taken the other alternative!" "If only we had listened to this man's counsel instead of that man's counsel!" "If only! If only!" Or perhaps there is some decision concerning ourselves about which we have now become uncertain when it is too late to make a change. We thought about it, we took counsel about it, we prayed about it. Then we acted, and now we think we see. "If only I had waited another week!" "If only I had taken the first post that offered!" "If only I had been contented with good instead of fondly looking for better!" And so there comes a seeming "after-wisdom." We assume that we are "wise after the event." Our lamp is now burning, but it has been kindled too late, and its only use is to reveal to us our tragic and irremediable mistakes.

Now in the case of Martha and Mary the remorseful regret was altogether needless. "If Thou hadst been here!" But He had been there all the time. He had been with them in deepest sympathy, in kindly thought, in gracious intention, in tender and yet ample plan. What they were thinking to be a lamentable mischance was a vital part of a larger scheme, begotten and inspired by unfailing love. They had scarcely, if ever, been out of His mind since He heard the news. There was no need for regret; everything was just . exactly right.

And so it is with most of the "ifs," the remorseful "ifs" that ravage and devastate our peace. If there be a personal devil, who makes it his work to sow seeds of unhappiness and discord and unrest, multitudes of these "ifs" must be of his unholy planting. And for this reason. They destroy filial trust; they destroy spiritual peace; they destroy the wide sweeping light of Christian hope. The devil sows these needless regrets, and the thorns choke the good seed, and our spiritual harvest is starved or destroyed.

And even supposing we have made mistakes, and we would dearly like to have the choice back again that we might take the other turning, what then? Who is our God? And what are His name and character? Cannot He knit up the ravelled bit of work, and in His own infinitely gracious way make it whole again? With all our mistakes we may throw ourselves upon His inexhaustible goodness, and say with St. Theresa, "Undertake Thou for me, O Lord."

It is the very gospel of His grace that He can repair the things that are broken. He can reset the joints of the bruised reed. He can restore the broken heart. He can deal with the broken vow. And if He can do all this, can He not deal with our mistakes? If unknowingly we went astray, and took the wrong turning, will not His infinite love correct our mistakes, and make the crooked straight?

10 Year Old Bible Preacher Preaches On Evangelism / Soulwinning/ Love Warns!

(10 year old) Joshua Adam Hartinger was asked to preach a message (This was entitled "Love Warns" regarding Evangelism) by a good friend and Brother in the Lord, Bryan Ratliff (Pastor at Clearbrook Baptist) on July 1, 2012.

Street Evangelism/SubMission Hemet-Palm Springs