Morning, April 10 Go To Evening Reading
“The place which is called Calvary.”
—Luke 23:33
The hill of comfort is the hill of Calvary; the house of consolation is built with the wood of the cross; the temple of heavenly blessing is founded upon the riven rock—riven by the spear which pierced his side. No scene in sacred history ever gladdens the soul like Calvary’s tragedy.
“Is it not strange, the darkest hour
That ever dawned on sinful earth,
Should touch the heart with softer power,
For comfort, than an angel’s mirth?
That to the Cross the mourner’s eye should turn,
Sooner than where the stars of Bethlehem burn?”
Light springs from the midday-midnight of Golgotha and every herb of the field blooms sweetly beneath the shadow of the once-accursed tree. In that place of thirst, grace hath dug a fountain which ever gusheth with waters pure as crystal, each drop capable of alleviating the woes of mankind. You who have had your seasons of conflict will confess that it was not at Olivet that youort, not on the hill of Sinai, n ever found comfor on Tabor, but Gethsemane, Gabbatha, and Golgotha have been a means of comfort to you. The bitter herbs of Gethsemane have often taken away the bitters of your life; the scourge of Gabbatha has frequently scourged away your cares, and the groans of Calvary yield us comfort rare and rich. We never should have known Christ’s love in all its heights and depths if he had not died, nor could we guess the Father’s deep affection if he had not given his Son to die. The common mercies we enjoy all sing of love, just as the sea shell, when we put it to our ears, whispers of the deep sea whence it came; but if we desire to hear the ocean itself, we must not look at every blessing, but at the transactions of the crucifixion. He who would know love, let him retire to Calvary and see the Man of sorrows die.
Go To Morning Reading Evening, April 10
“For there stood by me this night the angel of God.”
—Acts 27:23
Tempest and long darkness, coupled with the imminent risk of shipwreck, had brought the vessel's crew into a sad case; one man alone remained perfectly calm, and the rest were reassured by his word. Paul was the only man with a heart to say, “Sirs, be of good cheer.” There were veteran Roman legionaries and brave old mariners on board, yet their poor Jewish prisoner had more spirit than they all. He had a secret Friend who kept his courage up. The Lord Jesus despatched a heavenly messenger to whisper consolation words in his faithful servant's ear. Therefore, he wore a shining countenance and spoke at ease.
If we fear the Lord, we may look for timely interpositions when our case is at its worst. Angels are not kept from us by storms or hindered by darkness. Seraphs think visiting the poorest of the heavenly families is not humiliating. If angel’s visits are few and far between at ordinary times, they shall be frequent in our nights of tempest and tossing. Friends may drop from us when we are under pressure, but our intercourse with the inhabitants of the angelic world shall be more abundant, and in the strength of love words brought to us from the throne by Jacob’s ladder, we shall be strong to do exploits. Dear reader, is this an hour of distress with you? Then, ask for peculiar help. Jesus is the angel of the covenant, and if his presence is now earnestly sought, it will not be denied. What that presence brings in heart-cheer is that those who remember who, like Paul, had the angel of God standing by them in a night of storm, when anchors would no longer hold, and rocks were nigh.
“O angel of my God, be near,
Amid the darkness, hush my fear;
Loud roars of the wild, tempestuous sea,
Thy presence, Lord, shall comfort me.”
C. H. Spurgeon, Morning and Evening: Daily Readings (London: Passmore & Alabaster, 1896).
April 10: Tent Making for Eternity
Deuteronomy 18:1–20:20; 2 Corinthians 5:1–10; Psalm 37:23–40
Paul, the tent maker, knew the temporal nature of human-made structures. For someone who made and probably repaired tents, he knew all their flaws and tendencies for wear. So it’s not a stretch for him to draw the connection from tents to mortality:
“For we know that if our earthly house, the tent, is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made by hands, eternal in the heavens” (2 Cor 5:1).
Paul also connects to the Tabernacle, the tent where the Israelites first regularly experienced God. Like Paul's tents, these earthly homes for God would eventually break down and be destroyed. But the Spirit and the heavens, where God dwelled, would live on. While temporal tent worship would fall apart, eternal worship in God’s heavenly “building” will remain.
Paul contrasts the art of tent-making and the beautiful worship places of Yahweh with God’s work (what He actually made), which was incorruptible. Right now, we have a “building from God” waiting for us—eternity made possible by the sacrifice of Christ.
He stresses that our eternal reality transforms our “meantime.” It clarifies what “we have as our ambition, whether at home in the body or absent from the body, to be acceptable to him” (2 Cor 5:9). While waiting, we don’t have to live with longing. We don’t need to escape. We can live for Him, spreading the news that the kingdom of God is at hand. Until then, God has given us someone who comforts us: the Holy Spirit (John 17). He reminds us of our eternal confidence and empowers us to live for God.
How would your perspective change if you looked at your daily tasks in light of eternal significance?
Rebecca Van Noord
John D. Barry and Rebecca Kruyswijk, Connect the Testaments: A One-Year Daily Devotional with Bible Reading Plan (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2012).
April 10th
The moral decision about sin
Knowing that our old man is crucified with Him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, and that henceforth we should not serve sin, Romans 6:6.
Co-Crucifixion. Have I made this decision about sin—that it must be killed right out in me? It takes a long time to come to a moral decision about sin, but it is an excellent moment in my life when I do decide that just as Jesus Christ died for the sin of the world, so sin must die out in me, not be curbed or suppressed or counteracted, but crucified. No one can bring anyone else to this decision. We may be earnestly convinced, and religiously, we need to come to the conclusion that we are convinced, but Paul forces us here.
Haul yourself up, take a time alone with God, make the moral decision, and say—‘Lord, identify me with Thy death until I know that sin is dead in me.’ Make the ethical decision that sin in you must be put to death.
It was not a divine anticipation on the part of Paul but a very radical and definite experience. Am I prepared to let the Spirit of God search me until I know the disposition of sin—the thing that lusts against the Spirit of God in me? Then, if so, will I agree with God’s verdict on that disposition of sin—that it should be identified with the death of Jesus? I cannot reckon myself “dead indeed unto sin” unless I have been through this radical issue of will before God.
Have I entered into the glorious privilege of being crucified with Christ until all that is left is the life of Christ in my flesh and blood? “I am crucified with Christ; nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me.”
Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest: Selections for the Year (Grand Rapids, MI: Oswald Chambers Publications; Marshall Pickering, 1986).
April 10
A daily rate for every day
2 Kings 25:30
One staff aids a traveler, but a bundle of staves is a heavy burden.
Spurgeon
Samuel G. Hardman and Dwight Lyman Moody, Thoughts for the Quiet Hour (Willow Grove, PA: Woodlawn Electronic Publishing, 1997).
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