One of my Favourite Texts

One of my favourite texts in Scripture was spoken by enemies of the Saviour. 

In Luke 15v2, we're told: 

"The Pharisees and scribes murmured, saying, 

'This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them'."

Do you hear what they said of Christ? He receives SINNERS and He eats with them. I want to punch the air and whoop with joy when I read these words. 

I guess the reason they affect me so much is because I know they are true. I am one of these sinners that Christ received. Oh, I know we are all sinners. Every single person born since the fall of Adam has been a sinner. Noah, that man of obedience who built the ark and preached faithfully to those around him, even though he saw no encouraging conversions; Abraham, the father of the faithful; John, the beloved disciple, who loved his Saviour so much. I know they were all sinners too. 

But I was a great sinner. I knew, and was convicted of this, that I was one of the greatest sinners who'd ever lived. And what was my greatest sin? 

It was my rejection of Christ - day after day after day. You see, unlike Stalin, that murderer of millions, I knew about Christ. Unlike Hitler, that murderous man who wished to wipe out God's chosen people of old, the Jews, I had grown up with the Gospel all around me. I knew the Bible was true. I knew that one day I was stand before the judgement seat of Christ and have to give an account of everything I'd ever done, said and thought. Yet still, I rejected Christ, and the life God's Word would have me lead. I rejected Him and the life of the Believer because I loved the life I had. It's a simple as that. I loved the life I was living more that the life that was promised me if I repented and came to Christ.

Christ promised me Eternal life ... yet I chose the temporary pleasures of the life I was living. Day after day. Month after month. Year after year.

And so, do you wonder that Christ receiving sinners is such a wonderful truth to me? I thought I'd sinned any chance of salvation away. I thought there was no way I'd ever, ever find pardon. I thought I was too great a sinner.

Sinning against light is a terrible sin. And that was my sin. 

Imagine if I had to end the story there. What despair! 

But because of this text: 'He (Christ) receives sinners', that is not the end of the story, and I speak not of despair but of joy and of wonder and of praise and of thanksgiving.

Twenty-five years after that first time that He received this sinner, I am still amazed at this text. He receives sinners. He received ME!

I will never, ever stop praising my Saviour for receiving me, and eating with me. Throughout the endless ages of eternity, I will never cease wondering at what He did for ME. 

Psalm 40 says:

I waited for the Lord my God,

and patiently did hear;

At length to me He did incline

my voice and cry to hear.

He took me from a fearful pit,

and from the miry clay,

And on a rock He set my feet

establishing my way.

He put a new song in my mouth,

our God to magnify:

many shall see it and shall fear,

and on the Lord rely.

                                                  (Scottish Metrical)

What a Saviour He is!

Laughter

This article, The Christian's Great Interest, on Tim Challies' blog last week, gave me food for thought.


It convicted me, but I have mixed feelings about my convictions. I am aware that we have been given different personalities, and that laughter and (outward) joy appear more easily to some than to others. I believe, looking back, that the Christians I knew as a child who had the greatest impact on me were those of a joyful personality to whom laughter came easily. I think of some of the elders who came to our home and who always had a word (and a sweetie) for me. I think of our local minister, here in Ness, who is still one of the Godliest men I know, but whose face in my mind always smiles. I think of the Christian ladies who visited us often, and I associate them with laughter and with Godliness. 


Yes, they laughed often ... but never about spiritual and eternal matters. 


And I think this is the difference. Matters of the soul, whilst often joyful - indeed, so joyful that I could almost burst - are never amusing. 


I have had times - thankfully they have been relatively short-lived - when I couldn't laugh. My providence at the time wrapped everything in a blanket of greyness. I found it difficult to look at our wonderful sunsets and see any beauty. The beauty of the sea seemed masked. The awesomeness and the wonder of the creation surrounding me didn't seem able to move me at all. All was dull, and grey, and drab. I was sad, hurt, tearful.


When these times passed, I was so thankful for joy to be my portion once again. The sound of laughter, and the ability to laugh, were such blessings to me. Had I not gone through these times, I think I would see things differently now, but I have had times like these. I feel sure that I will go through times of little-joy and no-laughter again - probably times of harder and deeper grief - but, for now, I cannot but give thanks for the times I have of joy and laughter. My laughter is almost always supplied by my children, for whom I thank God every day. I know that our children can bring heartache as well as laughter; sorrow as well as joy. For this reason, I count our times of laughter as great blessings and wonderful gifts from my loving Father.


My children, though, know that there are some things of which I can never laugh. Matters of the soul - eternal matters - are never funny. 


Never, ever, ever. 


If I laugh at sin, I pray I repent of that, and that my children are aware that this, in itself, is sinful. When I see sin in myself, in them, or in others ... I can never laugh at that. Sinning against a holy, omnipotent, omnipresent God can never make us smile. If it does, I pray forgiveness for this.


And so, back to the original article. I am glad Tim published it, and glad I read it. It is helpful for me to question myself, and to bring myself to a more 'centred' position if I have gone too far to the left or to the right. 


And just to say to you all: in all my laughter, levity and fun, there are certain things that are true, and maybe I don't speak of them often enough...


We have all been given life. One day, we will all die. We have a soul which will never die. We will spend eternity either in Heaven or in Hell. Salvation in this life, and eternity in Heaven is possible in only one way, and that is through Jesus Christ, who is "the Way, the Truth and the Life". If you don't know Christ Jesus as your own personal Saviour, I urge you to seek Him with your whole heart. The Gospel (which means 'good news') is that 'Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners' (1Tim 1:15).


When Christ is your Saviour, your Comforter, your Constant in this ever-changing world, you find that the best kind of laughter - the laughter that is able to rejoice in the world and gifts God has given you - comes more easily. 


You will also find that tears come more easily: tears for those whom you love who are still outside of Christ; tears for those who mourn; tears for those whose lot in life is so different to what the sovereign God has given me.


And tears of joy - when the emotion of knowing what Christ Jesus has done for me .... 'that saved a wretch like me'; of knowing that when my time here comes to an end, the beginning of an eternity with my Saviour begins. When I think of these things, I may not laugh outwardly, but my soul overflows with joy, nonetheless.


(Today, my heart is sore for the family of a boy who passed away at the weekend. He was Catherine's age. None of us knows how we would survive this kind of heartache, and for now I 'mourn with those who mourn'. And I give thanks for the providence God has ordained for me which, today, is so different from what another mother is going through.)

How our Love Spreads

This is a quote from J.C. Ryle:

"If we love a person, we like his friends. We are favorably inclined to them, even before we know them. We are drawn to them by the common tie of common love to one and the same person. When we meet them we do not feel that we are altogether strangers. There is a bond of union between us. They love the person that we love, and that alone is an introduction. Well, it is just so between the true Christian and Christ! The true Christian regards all Christ’s friends as his friends, members of the same body, children of the same family, soldiers in the same army, travelers to the same home. When he meets them, he feels as if he had long known them. He is more at home with them in a few minutes, than he is with many worldly people after an acquaintance of several years. And what is the secret of all this? It is simply affection to the same Savior and love to the same Lord."  


I love this quote. 



I love it because it was sent to me in a lovely e-mail this  morning. And I love it because it speaks exactly of how I feel.


There is definitely an immediate bond when you meet people who are loved by those whom you love.


And I feel that especially for the children of people I love. I feel very protective of the children of people who are dear to me, even if they are wayward, even if they are prats, and even if they are way, way off where they ought to be.


Yes, the bonds we have in Christ run deep. So deep that they reach those we've never met. So deep that they reach the families of those we love. And even so deep that they reach the friends of those we love.


Who wouldn't want to be part of the family of Christ! If you are still outside of Christ, come to Him, join with us, and be part of the best family on earth...

The Beauty of Christ

The PRTS conference has just come to an end in Grand Rapids, Michigan.


We weren't there.


That was worth mentioning, because our hearts were there.


Anyway, here is the first lecture I'll link to. It's Dr Joel Beeke speaking on Thomas Goodwin on Christ's Beautiful Heart.


Have a listen. You will not regret it.


He ends his lecture, in which has spoken - obviously - on the loveliness of the heart of our Saviour, with this true story.

          When William Montague Dyke was ten years old, he was blinded in an accident. Despite his disability, William graduated from a university in England with high honors. While he was in school, he fell in love with the daughter of a high-ranking British naval officer, and they became engaged.

          Not long before the wedding, William had eye surgery in the hope that the operation would restore his sight. If it failed, he would remain blind for the rest of his life. William insisted on keeping the bandages on his face until his wedding day. If the surgery was successful, he wanted the first person he saw to be his new bride.

          The wedding day arrived. The many guests—including royalty, cabinet members, and distinguished men and women of society—assembled together to witness the exchange of vows. William's father, Sir William Hart Dyke, and the doctor who performed the surgery stood next to the groom, whose eyes were still covered with bandages. The organ trumpeted the wedding march, and the bride slowly walked down the aisle to the front of the church.

As soon as she arrived at the altar, the surgeon took a pair of scissors out of his pocket and cut the bandages from William's eyes.

          Tension filled the room. The congregation of witnesses held their breath as they waited to find out if William could see the woman standing before him. As he stood face-to-face with his bride-to-be, William’s words echoed throughout the cathedral, "You are more beautiful than I ever imagined!"

          One day the bandages that cover our eyes will be removed. When we stand face-to-face with Jesus Christ and see His face for the very first time, His glory will be far more splendid than anything we have ever imagined in this life. (Kent Crockett, Making Today Count for Eternity, Sisters, OR: Multnomah Publishers, 2001, pp. 101-102)


If we are Christ's, we have been given glimpses of the unspeakable loveliness of our Saviour. But no matter how much of a revelation we have been blessed with here, one day, when we stand before Him in all His majesty, and we see Him 'face to face', we too will be able to sing out that He is more beautiful than ever, ever we imagined.

My Testimony

I wrote this account of God's dealings with me a number of years ago. I copy them just as I wrote them.


I was saved on a Sunday night in August 1986, on my knees in my bedroom at our family home. I'm going to write down what I remember of God's dealings with me on that night, and in the years leading up to it.


I was 19 - nearly 20 - at the time. My conviction of sin started when I was 12. It was at a Sunday School camp, and, for the first time, I truly realised I needed a Saviour. Of course, I always knew in my head that I was a sinner, and that Christ was my only hope of salvation, but from that time on, I knew in my heart that I was a wicked sinner, that I deserved hell, and that I was heading there.


(I was not aware of the term 'conviction of sin', though now I know that's what it was)


For the following 2-3 years, I remained in this state - knowing I really needed to be saved, but it went no further than this. I loved the things of this world, like most of the people I spent my time with, but there was a restraining influence in my life. I loved too, being with the Lord's people, and hearing them talk of the things of the Lord. When I was 14, I heard Rev Douglas MacMillan preaching at evangelistic services in Stornoway on 'The Lord God omnipotent reigneth'. I cannot remember any of what he spoke of in this service, but at the time his sermon went through me like a knife. I would say the next phase of my conviction of sin began then. But so too did my going more and more into sin. 

I loved the world and all it had to offer. I thank God for strict parents who were loving enough not to be persuaded to allow me to all the places my co-ages were going to. But my heart was being drawn more and more to the world and its drawings. 

At this stage I read my Bible and prayed every night. This habit had begun in earnest when I was 12 and had never stopped since. I can't remember ever reading anything that was of any real meaning to me. Neither can I recall what my prayers were for. But the habit remained - I fear it may have been almost like a 'lucky charm' type habit...."I'll do it incase I die through the night".


When I was 16, I left home and went to college on the mainland. From the outside, I lived like all the others around me. There was little evidence of restraining grace, and all the habits of my friends became my habits too. How often I put my life into great danger, and each time the Lord in His mercy kept me safe. 

During my time in Inverness, my habit of reading a portion of Scripture every night remained. At this stage of my life I was so convicted of my sin - my total and utter filth in the sight of God. I knew I deserved hell; I knew God was absolutely right in sending me to hell; and I was becoming convinced that I had gone too far to be saved. 

I attended Greyfriars in Inverness every Sunday morning, and although Rev M.A. MacLeod (a wonderful preacher!) was the minister, I don't think I ever heard anything he said. I went merely to please my parents and to salve my conscience. 

I remember often during these two years, whilst getting ready in my room to go out with friends, I would have battles going on in my mind. Conscience would say, 'You shouldn't be going out like this: you should be seeking the Lord.'. 

The 'other side' in my mind would say, 'What's the point? If you're in the elect, you're going to be saved anyway; if you're not, then nothing you do will make any difference'. 

Even then, I knew that was Satan speaking to my heart, wanting to keep me out of God's kingdom. These arguments went on in my head constantly. It's hard to understand that while all this was going on in my life and in my mind, I loved the world and all it had to offer. I can't remember ever going out with my friends and not enjoying it. 

*      *      *

At this time, I had a picture in my mind: it was of a huge, deep pit. At the bottom of this pit was the 'water' in which I and my friends all lived and had fun. On the ground up above, surrounding the pit, was a bright cloud. Beyond this cloud was where the Christians lived. Their lives were hidden behind the cloud and most people thought they lived really boring lives. But I knew differently, and I envied them. I knew they were the happiest people in the world.

This was my impression of Christians throughout my young life. All the folks who came to our home and who spoke of the things of the Lord were - to me - the happiest people I knew!

Into this pit, people above often poked long sticks with round nets on the bottom. Anyone in the pit could, at any time, stretch out, hold onto the pole, and be lifted out. This was the offer of salvation. I felt if only I was willing to give up this 'water' world, and stretch out, then I would be saved. 

What was stopping me was the 'in-between' stage of seeking the Lord - the 'stretching out my hand', where all around, the world would see me. This was my stumblingblock - those who were with me seeing me, and me in that intervening period - not saved yet, and not part of the world. 

(This doesn't make too much sense, but I tell it as I felt at the time)

There was one more twist to the picture I had. 

Underneath us was hell, and at any time, with no warning, our lives could be cut down and we would fall into hell. The 'poles' didn't reach down there and there was no hope of ever being saved. In hell, it was 'too late'. 

These words, 'too late' haunted me. Every day, I wished I wanted salvation desperately enough to stretch out my hand and care nothing for the reaction of friends. Every day too, I wondered whether this would be the day I'd be pulled under into hell, and all hope would be gone.


During these years in Inverness and then in the years I was back home, I saw myself as the worst sinner who'd ever lived. I truly believed that nobody would suffer in hell like I would because nobody's sin was greater than mine. 

It wasn't just that I sinned; it was that I was sin. Every fibre of my being was sin. This is what I felt. And of all my sins, my greatest sin was my rejection, day after day, of Christ. I knew I'd consciously rejected the Gospel so many times. I felt it was just a matter of time until I was thrown into hell to suffer for what my sins deserved. I absolutely knew that God was right to send me to hell - noone, I believed, had ever deserved it more - not Hitler, not Stalin, not anyone who'd ever lived. Unlike these men, my conscience had spoken to me so many times, yet I'd chosen 'the pleasures of this world' time and time again. And they were pleasures to me. Despite the struggle going on daily in my heart, I loved my life in the world. I loved the company of my friends and acquaintances in the places in which we'd meet. I loved music and dancing, and all the lifestyle which went with this. 

Having said that, we would have conversations some evenings, and many of my friends would say, 'Oh I'd like to be converted....sometime - maybe when I'm about 40'. I would say to them, 'Oh no! I would take it tonight if I could have it'. 

I was aware too of the absolute folly of my position. I knew the Bible was true; I knew I needed a Saviour; I knew the Christian life was something to be desired, and yet, I chose the 'pleasures of this world for a season' rather than giving my heart to Christ. 


If anyone had asked me at that time if I believed everything that was in the Bible, I would have said that I absolutely did. I would have said it, and meant it. But there was one thing I did not believe: I knew nothing of the love and of the mercy of God: because of this I did not believe that He would ever - could ever - have mercy on me.


At this time, I don't think I had prayers. I'd go on my knees every night by my bed but I was so ashamed that I found it really hard to say anything to God. I knew even when I said I was sorry, that God knew my heart, and if I knew I was going to do the same things again, then my 'sorry' wasn't genuine at all. At this time, I knew that my sin of rejecting Christ was my greatest sin. I knew that none of my 'lifestyle' sins were anything compared with my awful sin of rejecting Christ, when I knew my heart had been pricked time and time again. I would sometimes be on my knees and feel totally exposed in all my sin before God. At times, I would end up crouched on the floor with my arms covering my head, wishing I could 'hide' from God. God was holy. I was utterly sinful. 


'My Spirit shall not always strive with man' was a Scripture that would go round and round in my head, convincing me day after day that I was beyond hope, that God would no longer strive with me. 

Another truth I was so aware of during these years was, 'if you trust in Christ - just believe that He died for you - you will be saved'. I wasn't really sure what this 'trusting' really meant, but I knew this: if trusting could save you, then I knew that this 'trusting' must come from God. I knew I couldn't 'switch it on'.

*      *      *

And so to that Sunday night. I'm not aware that I heard anything in the preaching that day that made an impression on me. I had been out with my friends on the Saturday night as usual, and nothing was any different. But that night, in my bedroom, I went on my knees. At this stage there was nothing unusual. I began to 'pray' - to say words, but I have no idea what. 

During this prayer, something happened. On looking back, I now believe with all my heart that I was born again whilst on my knees that night. I remember I said to God, 'Lord, please keep me out of Cross Inn'.(Cross Inn was our local pub, and meeting place of me and my friends)

 Once I said it, a 'voice' in my head responded: 'What! You stay out of Cross Inn? Never!'. 

At that point, I said to God, 'Well, Lord, I can't do it, but You can. I know You can'. At that very moment, I said to myself, 'I've just trusted in God'. I knew - absolutely knew - that this trust had come from God. I knew I hadn't switched it on, and I knew without any shadow of a doubt, that God had done a work in me. 

At that time I thought He'd begun something: I didn't think I'd actually been saved. (because I hadn't understood the situation properly) 

But because I knew that what had happened had come from God, I also knew I could never be lost. From that moment I knew God had me and that He would bring this work to fruition. For the first time in my life, I knew I was not going to hell.


I cannot begin to put into words what this was like. I'd had seven years of conviction of sin; seven years of waiting to be cast into hell; years of picturing hell, and thinking of the terrors of hell, while all the while knowing that my most dreadful imaginings of it couldn't even skim the surface of what it would actually be like. 

Yet here I was, on this Sunday night in the summer of 1986, knowing - not thinking, but knowing - that I was heavenbound. It was salvation!


Because God had begun a work, I knew it could never be undone. I knew that supposing I died that night, God would have brought His work to completion. I was safe. 

I think my experience here is somewhat unusual, but my conviction of sin didn't really change: my impression of what I was didn't really change. What was different now was that Christ stood between me and the anger of God. I felt as though he'd covered me with a huge, white covering. Christ became my all in all. My beloved Saviour. The only way I can put it is that I fell in love with Christ that night. He truly became 'altogether lovely', hiding me from the anger of God, covering me so that I was hidden in Him. He'd died for me. Now He'd saved me. He truly was my Everything.


There is so much to say from the perspective of the present day. There is so much of what I say (above) that makes me want to shout at the 'me' of 25 years ago; to me unsaved Me. I want to shake her and say, 'Are you mad? You know all this to be true, and you still live your worldly life?' 

And I want to say to her, 'Oh Anne, do you not know that He is a God of mercy? He will not cast anyone away who comes to Him. He says to come unto Him, all who labour, and He will give you rest. You are not beyond redemption. He is more gracious than you can ever know.'


These were awful years in many ways, and yet I wouldn't change the conviction of sin I went through for anything. When I was saved, Christ was made so, so precious to me. I wish He were even more precious, and I long for the day when I can praise Him with no sin and no wandering thoughts.


I praise God that His gift of salvation is free: I could never have earned a drop of it. 


I thank Him that all the work of grace is His: I was dead, and would never have desired Him.


I thank Him too for opening my eyes, so that I saw I was a sinner in need of a Saviour: it was indeed 'Grace that taught my heart to fear'.


And I thank Him that He gave that 'Grace my fear relieved'.


No wonder the words of Amazing Grace cause me to weep to this day. I was that wretch that was saved. It's amazing to me. It never ceases to amaze me.