Monthly Archives: February 2016

Through the dark woods the little boy ran.

As fast as his skinny legs would take him he ran. Through the gullies and up the hills; across the streams and over the fields he breathlessly scurried on.

His heart beat faster and faster. Fear raced through him like a freight train. He dared only once to glance back at the giant vicious predator. The bear was closing on the lad, his growls of hunger growing louder as he pursued his tiny prey.

The boy finally reached the place of no return –and no escape.

He was cornered.

The little boy closed his eyes tight. The bear leaped on him from behind and gave a menacing final growl.

Then just as suddenly, the bear released the little boy from his powerful grasp. The boy squirmed out and jumped to his feet and turned to face the bear. The boy giggled and ran into the bear’s strong limbs.

“I love you Daddy!” he gleefully exclaimed.

Hugging him tight, the dad smiled and whispered, “I love you too, son.” Taking his little hand in his, the father walked his son out of the bedroom.

Game over.

How comforting to know that the menacing bear you imagine pursuing you is really your loving father. Your unfounded fear melts away in the warm embrace of the one who would never harm you because he loves you more than you’ll ever know.

After all, he’s your father.

When Francis Thompson first published his iconic poem, The Hound of Heaven, many readers were at first startled at the metaphor of God as a relentlessly pursuing animal. But when studied and understood, the comparison pulsates with a passionate beauty. The poem is the story of God’s determined persistence in the face of our stubborn and foolish resistance. We try to run and hide, but we can’t. God chases us “down the nights and down the days … down the arches of the years …”

We continually flee “from this tremendous Lover”, Thompson writes. Until, in time and circumstance, God corners us with his love. And we surrender, not into the grip of a ravenous hound, but into the arms of a compassionate and merciful God, who loved us all along.

After all, He’s our Father.

When Jesus first addressed the Almighty Creator of the universe, shrouded in sovereign, inscrutable mystery, as “Our Father”, the Jews were unaccustomed to such Deistic intimacy. Nor were the gods of other religions any more approachable.

People perceived a menacing bear, a hungry hound, perhaps, but not “Our Father.”

Still, Jesus pressed the analogy.

“You fathers,” Jesus said, “if your children ask for a fish, do you give them a snake instead? Or if they ask for an egg, do you give them a scorpion? Of course not! So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him?” (Luke 11:11-13, NLT, emphasis added).

We all want to be good parents. Most of us believe we are, whatever else we may be. Is not God our Father capable of being so much more to those who commit themselves to his care?

That’s the point Jesus is making, not only in his Sermon on the Mount, but throughout his teaching and his stories – throughout his brief life on this earth: God is our merciful and loving Father. Yes, he will punish us, he will correct us, he will test us and he will teach us. But the one thing he will never do is hate us.

Why then do we so often fear him and flee from him? Why are we tempted in our sorrow and pain and suffering to see God as a cruel, vindictive or, at best, indifferent Sovereign?

God loves you and me perfectly and John tells us that “there no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear.” (I John 4:18, NKJV).

John wraps up our relationship with God into the arms of the Divine loving nature:

“We have come to know and have believed the love which God has for us. God is love, and the one who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him.” (I John 4:16, NASB, emphasis added).

This is much more than a lovely esoteric concept; it is a life-altering reality for the one who believes.

The Bible is nothing more – and nothing less – than the story of our Father’s abiding presence, his faithful provision and his unfailing protection. The essence of its panoramic display – cover to cover- is the Father’s unchanging, unconditional and endless love.

CS Lewis, in The Chronicles of Narnia, consistently portrays the lion Aslan – the Christ figure – as neither tame nor safe but always good.

I don’t know why God should love me. I truly don’t. But I know he does, despite my occasional misgivings. It is his nature to love me. And as Paul reminded Timothy: “he cannot deny who he is.” (II Timothy 2:13, NLT).

After all, he is my Father.

“God is love.” This is the summation of his nature.

In this central, undeniable and incontrovertible truth is our hope – both now and forever.

Martin Ross was a drunk.

He wanted no part of religion.

But Bertha Ross was a praying wife.

She didn’t condemn her husband, nor did she give up on him. She loved him, remained faithful to him through his frequent bouts with alcohol – and she never stopped praying for Martin.

Bertha trusted God for Martin’s salvation and deliverance.

So did her family and friends.

One day, Martin gave his life to Jesus Christ. He finally found his deliverance from those inner demons. But Martin Ross didn’t believe in going half-way. Not only did the man become a Christian. He entered the ministry and became pastor of the Baptist church in Brooktonville, New York, a small upstate community about eight miles outside Ithaca.

Some years later, Martin’s daughter, Rhea Miller, was taking a stroll through the beautiful back fields of their Brooktonville home. She reflected upon her father’s life, her difficult childhood while he was drinking and God’s miraculous rescue of her dad.

Rhea recalled his stirring testimony. Martin Ross often said he would rather have Jesus than all that the world could offer; he would rather walk with his Lord and be guided by him than to possess all that money could buy.

This was, Rhea knew, her dad’s full and unconditional commitment to Christ – his unending gratitude for God’s gift of a new life and a fresh start. The world’s material wealth could not begin to compare to what Pastor Martin Ross had found while in the depths of his own despair: the overflowing abundance of God’s amazing grace.

Martin was a truly rich man. He would never forget that.

Moved in a strange way, Rhea, who loved poetry, later wrote some verses about her father’s devotion to Christ.

It was 1923 and Rhea Miller was 30 years old.

More than a decade later, in another update New York home, another praying woman was asking God’s certain guidance for her young son. He was dashing and musically gifted, possessing a rich baritone voice, perfect diction and a confident yet humble presence.

The son had auditioned on some secular radio programs. Fred Allen’s NBC radio show was very impressed. This young man was wowing both critics and fans alike. Gifted and attractive, he was told he could really go places.

It was heady stuff for one so young.

He had been raised in a Christian home. While the lucrative opportunities tugged at his pride and ambition, he was still uncomfortable in this secular setting. The pressures were not only on the outside, he struggled within.

He was torn.

His saintly mom observed; she knew and she prayed.

Then somehow, somewhere, she came across a poem. Reading it, she prayed to God that its powerful message might have an impact on the undecided boy she loved. So one night she placed it gently on the piano she knew he would play. When he read it the next morning, he was so struck he decided to put music to its words.

His mother urged him to sing it in church that next Sunday.

He did.

I’d rather have Jesus than silver or gold,
I’d rather be His than have riches untold;
I’d rather have Jesus than houses or lands,
I’d rather be led by his nail-pierced hands.

I’d rather have Jesus than men’s applause,
I’d rather be faithful to His dear cause;
I’d rather have Jesus than worldwide fame,
I’d rather be true to His holy name.

Than to be a king of a vast domain
Or be held in sin’s dread sway.
I’d rather have Jesus than anything
This world affords today.

It was the poem written by Rhea Miller as a tribute to her dad.

When Mrs. Miller died in 1966, George Beverly Shea, the young man who had been influenced by her words to choose a career in Gospel music, had already sung her poem to millions around the world. In 1940, Shea had met another young man named Billy Graham. Graham told Shea he liked his singing and invited him to join his fledgling evangelistic team. Before he died at the age of 104, George Beverly Shea had sung before an estimated 200 million people worldwide.

One of his signature songs was I’d Rather Have Jesus.

It’s a song taken from a poem written by the daughter of a Baptist preacher in a small town in upstate New York – a preacher who used to be a drunk.

The Bible tells us that God alone declares “the end from the beginning” (Isaiah 46:10, KJV).
His plans – made in eternity past – are inscrutable to mortal man. Human eye cannot see, nor can the ear hear the extraordinary things God has prepared for those who love him.

What an ironic God! What a surprising and sovereign Creator! In what divine ways he works! What rich and indescribable grace!

When we wait on him, when we trust him, when we deliberately choose to follow him, God will never cease to amaze us.

Paul said it well in his letter to the Romans:

“O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!” (Romans 11:33, KJV).

Martin Ross and Bev Shea would give a unanimous “Amen” to that.