My soul can, in imagination, see the Saviour bearing his cross to Calvary; she joins the godly women and weeps with them, for there is genuine cause for grief—a cause lying more profound than those mourning women thought. They bewailed innocence, maltreated, goodness persecuted, love bleeding, meekness about to die, but my heart has a deeper and more bitter cause to mourn. My sins were the scourges which lacerated those blessed shoulders, and crowned with thorn those bleeding brows: my sins cried “Crucify him! crucify him!” and laid the cross upon his gracious shoulders. His being led forth to die is sorrow enough for one eternity, but my having been his murderer is more, infinitely more, grief than one poor fountain of tears can express.
Why those women loved and wept was not hard to guess, but they could not have had more significant reasons for love and grief than my heart has. Nain’s widow saw her son restored—but I have been raised to newness of life. Peter’s wife’s mother was cured of the fever—but I of the greater plague of sin. Out of Magdalene, seven devils were cast—but a whole legion out of me. Mary and Martha were favored with visits—but he dwells with me. His mother bares his body, but he has formed the hope of glory in me. In nothing behind the holy women in debt, let me not be behind them in gratitude or sorrow.
“Love and grief my heart dividing,
With my tears his feet I’ll lave—
Constant still in heart abiding,
Weep for him who died to save.”
Go To Morning Reading Evening, April 9
“thy gentleness hath made me great.”
—Psalm 18:35
The words can be translated as, “Thy goodness hath made me great.” David gratefully ascribed all his greatness not to his own goodness but to the goodness of God. “Thy providence” is another reading; providence is nothing more than goodness in action. Goodness is the bud of which providence is the flower, or goodness is the seed of which providence is the harvest. Some render it “thy help,” which is but another word for providence, providence being the firm ally of the saints, aiding them in the service of their Lord. Or again, “thy humility hath made me great.” “Thy condescension” may serve as a comprehensive reading, combining the ideas mentioned, including humility. God’s making himself little is the cause of our being made great. We are so tiny that if God should manifest his greatness without condescension, we should be trampled under his feet, but God, who must stoop to view the skies and bow to see what angels do, turns his eye yet lower and looks to the lowly and contrite, and makes them great. There are yet other readings, for instance, the Septuagint, which reads, “thy discipline”—thy fatherly correction—“hath made me great,” while the Chaldee paraphrase reads, “thy word hath increased me.” Still, the idea is the same. David ascribes all his greatness to the condescending goodness of his heavenly Father. May this sentiment be echoed in our hearts this evening while we cast our crowns at Jesus’ feet and cry, “Your gentleness hath made me great.” How marvelous has been our experience of God’s gentleness! How gentle have been his corrections! How gentle his forbearance! How gentle his teachings are! How gentle his drawings are! Meditate upon this theme, O believer. Let gratitude be awakened; let humility be deepened; let love be quickened ere thou fallest asleep tonight.
C. H. Spurgeon, Morning and Evening: Daily Readings (London: Passmore & Alabaster, 1896).
April 9: The Global Reset Button
Deuteronomy 15:1–17:20; 2 Corinthians 4:7–18; Psalm 37:1–22
As a kid, I loved playing Super Nintendo—especially Donkey Kong. It would make me angry at times despite my love for it. When I couldn’t handle the way the game was panning out, I would slam down the controller and hit the reset button. I would start fresh. It’s more than a little sad that my entertainment made me act like a caveman. Yet those moments of resetting the entire system felt like another chance at life (albeit a virtual one).
With the state of the global economy, it often feels like the world needs a reset. It’s tempting to say something as radical as “Let’s forgive all debts and start again.” Though this couldn’t happen—and it would be highly problematic since the statement depends on goodwill, a free economy, and general care for one another—it doesn’t stop us from hoping.
God actually created a system for this audacious idea: in the Year of Jubilee, or the Sabbatical Year, slaves were freed, debts were forgiven (Deut 15), people were celebrated as equals (Deut 16), and the land was given a rest to prevent famine. (Famine was often caused by overworking the land.) It was a reset button.
The global economy is complex. I’m not suggesting that it’s time for a Year of Jubilee, but maybe it is time for an economic evaluation of our lives. Who is God calling you to forgive? Whose life could be better if you lifted their debts? Who needs your generosity right now? Who could you make an equal by changing something about your work or friendship? How can you celebrate with those who feel like lesser people?
The economy proves that we are all interdependent. It also makes the case that doing something for those at the bottom of the economic ladder can have a massive impact—not just on them but on others. Those who are forgiven are likely to forgive.
Whose life can you make better today? Who can you bring the jubilee (celebration) to?
John D. Barry
John D. Barry and Rebecca Kruyswijk, Connect the Testaments: A One-Year Daily Devotional with Bible Reading Plan (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2012).
April 9th
Have I seen Him?
After that, He appeared in another form to two of them. Mark 16:12.
Being saved and seeing Jesus are not the same thing. Many are partakers of God’s grace who have never seen Jesus. When once you have seen Jesus, you can never be the same; other things do not appeal as they used to do:
Always distinguish between what you see Jesus as and what He has done for you. If you only know what He has done for you, you do not have a big enough God, but if you have had a vision of Jesus as He is, experiences can come and go, and you will endure “as seeing Him Who is invisible.” The man, blind from birth, did not know who Jesus was until He appeared and revealed Himself to him. Jesus seems to those for whom he has done something, but we cannot dictate when He will come. Suddenly, He may come at any turn—‘Now I see Him!’
Jesus must appear to your friend and you; no one can see Jesus with your eyes. Severance occurs when one and not the other has seen Jesus. You cannot bring your friend unless God brings him. Have you seen Jesus? Then, you will want others to see Him, too. “And they went and told it unto the residue, neither believed them.” You must tell, although they do not believe.
‘O could I tell, ye indeed would believe it!
Oh, could I only say what I have seen!
How should I tell or how can ye receive it,
How, till He bringeth you where I have been?’
Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest: Selections for the Year (Grand Rapids, MI: Oswald Chambers Publications; Marshall Pickering, 1986).
April 9
He made me lie down in green pastures and leadeth me beside the still waters.
Ps. 23:2
This suggests the rest into which our Good Shepherd leads His flock. Life is not all toil. God gives us many quiet resting places in our pilgrim way.
Night is one of these, when, after the day’s toil, struggle, and exhaustion, we are led aside, the curtains are drawn to shut out the noise, and He giveth His beloved sleep, in sleep giving the beautiful blessings of renewal. The Sabbath is another of these quiet resting places. God would have us drop our worldly tasks and have a day to refresh both body and soul.… Friendship’s trysts are also quiet resting places, where the heart may commune with the heart, where Jesus comes, too, unseen, and gives His blessing. All ordinances of Christian worship—seasons of prayer and devotion, hours of communion with God—are quiet resting places.
Far more than we are apt to realize, do we need these silent times in our busy lives, needing them all the more the busier the life may be.
J. R. Miller
Samuel G. Hardman and Dwight Lyman Moody, Thoughts for the Quiet Hour (Willow Grove, PA: Woodlawn Electronic Publishing, 1997).
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