People complain to me pretty often. It is one of my occupational hazards. Some of them I find legitimate. Many of them I find petty.
So what about you? What is your complaint? Compare it to what young James could have complained about, having served his Lord so well.
Andrew and Elizabeth Renwick, a young couple, weavers, lived in the hills of Glencairn, Scotland, in the 1600s. All their children had died. Andrew accepted his grief, but Elizabeth cried to the Lord day and night for another child.
The Lord answered, and little James was taught the Holy Scriptures from infancy. Growing up, his conscience was tender; his mind, sharp. He excelled at the University of Edinburgh, but was denied a degree because he refused to accept Charles II as head of the Scottish church.
Remaining in Edinburgh, James watched with alarm as non-conformists were martyred, their severed heads and hands nailed to the city gates as a warning to others. He left Scotland for training and ordination abroad, but his heart was still in the highlands, and he soon returned to preach, teach, organize, counsel, and wear himself out. “Excessive travel,” he told a friend, “night wanderings, unseasonable sleep and diet, and frequent preaching in all seasons of weather, especially in the night, have debilitated me.” He trudged with diligence through moors and mountains, in the cold stormy nights and by day. His study was often a cold glen or cave; his pillow, a rock or log. He managed a hundred escapes, but at length one winter’s night in Edinburgh he was captured, put in irons, and convicted of treason.
His widowed mother visited him in prison, her heart breaking apart. “O James!” she cried, “How shall I look up to see your head and hands upon the city gate? I shall not be able to endure it.” He comforted her as he could, and on February 16, 1688 smuggled a message to her, “There is nothing in the world that I am sorry to leave but you. … Farewell, mother. Farewell, night wanderings, cold, and weariness for Christ. Farewell, sweet Bible and preaching of the gospel. Welcome, crown of glory. Welcome, O Thou blessed Trinity and one God! I commit my soul into Thy eternal rest.”
The next morning he embraced his weeping mother once more, then went to the scaffold.
He was twenty-six.
Oh, that we could see life for what it is. It is hard. It is dark. It is dangerous. There is little justice. Our job is not to complain about it. Our job is to serve the King and make as many alterations as we can until He comes and renews it all.
Let's not complain today. Let's be content that we have the strength and opportunity to do the Lord's work: sharing the Gospel, loving God and others.
2 comments:
In my thinking on today's story about James from Scottland, the following passages from Matthew 25:33-40
33 And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left. 34 Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. 35 For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, 36 I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ 37 Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? 38 And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? 39 And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ 40 And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’
For, while James was doing the Lord's work, and managing to escape; I am assured that he was assisted along his way, by many who were following our Lord as well. For when we serve in all capasities we are truly doing our part as strong Christians.
Good blog. It's simple. I'll be the first to admit that I complain about petty things more than I should. Reading this reminds me that I've got to have this burned out of my daily walk through sanctification.
Thanks.
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