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Reflections by the Pond: January 30, 2012 (html)

Mon, 30 Jan 2012 16:18:00 GMT

Reflections by the Pond: Important News!

Sat, 28 Jan 2012 18:05:00 GMT

Reflections by the Pond: January 23, 2012 (html)

Mon, 23 Jan 2012 16:28:00 GMT

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Reflections by the Pond: January 23, 2012 (html)

Mon, 23 Jan 2012 16:04:00 GMT

Reflections by the Pond: January 16, 2012 (html)

Mon, 16 Jan 2012 17:05:00 GMT

<div id="wrapper">  <div id="article_wrap"> <img alt="the writings of david s. lampel" src="http://dlampel.com/sites/default/files/newsletter_heading_master.png" height=107 width=600 align='top'> <div id="article"> Reflections by the Pond – January 16, 2012 Decide He was an old man, sick, tethered to oxygen, coughing up blood. But still working. The last completed film he directed was entitled The Dead. In his final days he was in and out of hospitals, each time he was thought to be at death's door. John Huston was a brilliant director and screenplay writer (The Maltese Falcon, The African Queen, The Kremlin Letter) and accomplished actor (The Wind and the Lion, The Bible, Chinatown). He was charming, entertaining, intelligent, and could spin a good yarn. He was also an unapologetic womanizer, a drunk, utterly self-centered, brutally callous toward his many wives and mistresses, and someone who loved to play vicious, cruel jokes on others. During his last stay in a hospital, when he believed himself to be close to death, he was visited by Zoe Sallis—never his wife, but mother of Huston's son, Danny. Zoe—born in India, educated in England, whose spirituality had come from an Indian guru—described their last time together: <div class="boxquote"> John was beginning to think he was a burden on everybody. And he didn't want to be alone, ever. He was like a little, frightened, vulnerable child. All those tubes in him, it was so painful, he couldn't sleep. Because he was sleeping so much I was scared he'd died. He wasn't moving. I put all the prayer vibes I could possibly get into him. He had spent years criticizing my beliefs, but at the end he sort of realized that there must be something bigger than him. He asked me to get him tapes of Plato, Socrates, and Nietzsche to listen to. And he told me how dangerous ego was—so he got that in the end. (as quoted by Lawrence Grobel in his biography, The Hustons) </div> John Huston did not know, and even during his last days did not want to know, God. With his eternity staring him in the face, John Huston wanted to pick and choose his faith as if browsing a smorgasbord. With only days left to live he thought he might listen to a little "Plato, Socrates, and Nietzsche" to see which of those philosophers might offer him a little insight regarding truth and the hereafter. How very sad. "How long hop ye about upon two boughs?" Around the time of the prophet Elijah, the nation of Israel was behaving in much the same way. The episode comes to a dramatic climax (John Huston would have loved it) in the eighteenth chapter of 1st Kings. Elijah sets up a challenge between himself and the local prophets of Baal which includes the comedy of 450 of Baal's prophets pleading all morning for him to do something, to no avail, and Elijah taunting them with <div class="boxscript"> "Cry aloud, for he is a god. Either he is musing, or he is relieving himself, or he is on a journey, or perhaps he is asleep and must be awakened." 1 Kings 18:27 esv </div> When Baal never responds, Jehovah immediately answers Elijah's prayer with fatal results for not just the altar sacrifice but all 450 of those prophets of Baal. Earlier, however, the Lord's prophet had something pithy to say to the people of Israel, whose king, Ahab, had forsaken Jehovah-adonai for pagan gods. <div class="boxscript"> So Ahab sent a message among all the sons of Israel and brought the prophets together at Mount Carmel. Elijah came near to all the people and said, "How long will you hesitate between two opinions? If the Lord is God, follow Him; but if Baal, follow him." But the people did not answer him a word. 1 Kings 18:20-21 </div> Elijah's question—translated, "How long will you hesitate between two opinions?"—is, in the original Hebrew, more colorful. It could be more literally translated, "How long will you limp on the two divided opinions," or even "How long hop ye about upon two boughs?" The people of Israel were like dithering birds, hopping about from branch to branch, unable to make up their minds where to land permanently. They didn't want to completely turn their backs on Jehovah; they didn't want to lose that option. But they also wanted to sample these other fascinating deities being offered to them. The prophet of God had lost patience with them. He was saying, essentially, How long will you insist on having it both ways? You want to love God while you love everything that stands against Him! If Jehovah-adonai is the one true God, then you must follow Him. If this Baal creature is the one true God, then you must follow Him. But you cannot follow both! He Does Not Share Power It would seem that most of contemporary society prefers to live and think as the late John Huston—following then discarding, picking and choosing from a panoply of colorful philosophies and gods. Or not bothering with it at all. God—the real one—is gracious and longsuffering, but He is also jealous. He cannot abide diluted loyalty. He does not share power. Time and again He tells us we cannot have it both ways—we cannot keep Him, but toy with other deities. We cannot keep Him in our back pocket as an insurance policy against our own foolishness while we dither away our lives hopping from one branch to another, sampling first one fanciful god after another. <div class="boxscript"> "And I will be a father to you, And you shall be sons and daughters to Me," Says the Lord Almighty. 2 Corinthians 6:18 </div> The Lord Almighty, Creator of the universe, will not be a distant cousin, favorite uncle, or even step-father to us. He will be Father to us—or nothing at all. ° ° ° <div class="boxscript"> "Now, therefore, fear the Lord and serve Him in sincerity and truth; and put away the gods which your fathers served beyond the River and in Egypt, and serve the Lord. If it is disagreeable in your sight to serve the Lord, choose for yourselves today whom you will serve: whether the gods which your fathers served which were beyond the River, or the gods of the Amorites in whose land you are living; but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." Joshua 24:14-15 </div> ° ° ° <div class="boxquote"> The essential attitude of Platonism is aspiration or longing: the human soul, imprisoned in the shadowy, unreal world of Nature, stretches out its hands and struggles towards the beauty and reality of that which lies (as Plato says) "on the other side of existence"... In Christianity, however, the human soul is not the seeker but the sought: it is God who seeks, who descends from the other world to find and heal Man; the parable about the Good Shepherd looking for and finding the lost sheep sums it up. C. S. Lewis </div> </div>   <div id="footer">Copyright 2012, David S. Lampel. All rights reserved. Reflections: #0534 Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture is from the New American Standard Bible (Updated Edition). This and earlier issues of Reflections by the Pond may be read and/or downloaded at our <a href="http://dlampel.com">web site at http://dlampel.com</a> </div>  </div>

Reflections by the Pond: January 9, 2012 (html)

Mon, 09 Jan 2012 17:06:00 GMT

<div id="wrapper">  <div id="article_wrap"> <img alt="the writings of david s. lampel" src="http://dlampel.com/sites/default/files/newsletter_heading_master.png" height=107 width=600 align='top'> <div id="article"> Reflections by the Pond – January 9, 2012 <div class="boxscript"> When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse everything I know of you. Psalm 42:6 The Message </div> Looking Back In a more logical world the first day of the year would come around March 15, or April 1. New Year's Day—that special day combining nostalgic retrospection for the year just ended with eager anticipation for the year just beginning—seems wasted on a day still mired (at least in this part of the world) in cold air, gray skies, and a frozen landscape. How much better it would be if the new year began on a fresh, sunshine-filled day of spring flowers bursting forth to bring new life, new color to a gray world. On the other hand, perhaps it is appropriate, after all, that New Year's Day comes during the time of gray-sky melancholy and introspection, for in many ways our time on this path is better spent remembering the days past, than anticipating those days to come. History Lesson Our journey upward into Christ-likeness—that tremulous path of sanctification trod by those indwelt by the Spirit—is to be more a study of recent history and current events, than a planning session for the future. Jesus told us <div class="boxscript"> "For this reason I say to you, do not be worried about your life, as to what you will eat or what you will drink; nor for your body, as to what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?" Matthew 6:25 </div> Meanwhile the Psalmist, David, wrote <div class="boxscript"> For the enemy has persecuted my soul; He has crushed my life to the ground; He has made me dwell in dark places, like those who have long been dead. Therefore my spirit is overwhelmed within me; My heart is appalled within me. I remember the days of old; I meditate on all Your doings; I muse on the work of Your hands. I stretch out my hands to You; My soul longs for You, as a parched land. Selah. Psalms 143:3-6 </div> Certainly the believer is encouraged to spend happy hours contemplating his or her assured hope of an eternity with God. The rock-solid promise of eternal life in heaven is surely one of Christendom's most precious benefits. But as believers approach one more year of living on this muddy plane, their focus should be less on what will occur tomorrow than on what transpired yesterday. All of life is a classroom for those who have placed their trust in Christ Jesus; if we plough ahead into a new year without first examining the lessons learned in the previous, we run the risk of being called into the principal's office for a dose of "applied psychology." God's Daily Work <div class="boxscript"> Remember His wonderful deeds which He has done, His marvels and the judgments from His mouth, 1 Chronicles 16:12 </div> The believer should not lightly regard what the Lord has done for him during the preceding year. The point in time when the old wall calendar is replaced with the new is the perfect moment to ask, What has the Lord done for me this last year? How has He amazed me, and what have I learned from Him? What prayers did He answer? How did He solve my moments of confusion with wise, timely counsel? How did He prevent me from doing what I shouldn't? (Or how quickly did He forgive me when I did?) How often did I experience the calming, healing balm of the Spirit? What did He do that took my breath away, and left me filled with His praise? ° ° ° Every day, in ways both subtle and profound, God works in the Christian's life. Sometimes His hand is dynamic and strong, like the piercing arc of lightning and the thunderous percussion of a storm. We are left gasping from the impact, stunned by His power, grateful that anyone of His supernatural might is on our side. At other times His hand is gentle and soft, like the butterfly touch of a mother caressing the cheek of her infant child. Often his touch is so delicate that we are not even aware that He is at work; we think He is busy elsewhere, with someone else's problems, when all the time He is only a breath away from ours. Let a Man Examine Himself Before the believer moves into the new year, he must also take stock of his own behavior in the previous. Oh, not to bathe oneself in the agonies of abasement; not to occupy days on end under the self-wielded lash of castigation. But to use the painful self-examination as one more launch pad of praise to God for His mercy and grace. Christians are a people most blessed. They have intimate, firsthand knowledge of God's longsuffering and forgiveness. Sadly, however, for one who requires mercy so often, it can become something common; the oft-forgiven believer can become inured to mercy's costly value. So the individual must pause to revive his perspective on God's mercy. He must elevate his view of the daily graces that keep his head above the muck of sin. The point is not to return to fondle and caress our old transgressions, but to remind ourselves that they were once there: that we erred, but God quickly forgave and restored us. More than that, the point is to review the lessons learned from our mistakes. In both triumph and failure (but mostly in our failures), God teaches us valuable life-lessons that become stair steps to sanctification. More than the dark act itself, it is the lesson drawn from our sin—along with the resulting forgiveness—that leads us ever upward into Christ-likeness. It is the review and appreciation of these lessons that causes our next year to be an improvement over the last. ° ° ° <div class="boxscript"> Then Joshua said to the people, "Consecrate yourselves, for tomorrow the Lord will do wonders among you." Joshua 3:5 </div> ° ° ° <div class="boxquote"> Now I have found the ground wherein Sure my soul's anchor may remain, The wounds of Jesus, for my sin Before the world's foundation slain; Whose mercy shall unshaken stay, When heaven and earth are fled away. Father, Thine everlasting grace Our scanty thought surpasses far: Thy heart still melts with tenderness. Thy arms of love still open are, Returning sinners to receive, That mercy they may taste and live. O Love, Thou bottomless abyss, My sins are swallowed up in Thee! Covered is my unrighteousness, Nor spot of guilt remains on me, While Jesus' blood, through earth and skies, Mercy, free, boundless mercy, cries. Though waves and storms go o'er my head, Though strength, and health, and friends be gone, Though joys be withered all and dead, Though every comfort be withdrawn, On this my steadfast soul relies— Father, Thy mercy never dies. Johann Andreas Rothe </div> </div>   <div id="footer">Copyright 2012, David S. Lampel. All rights reserved. Reflections: #0533 Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture is from the New American Standard Bible (Updated Edition). This and earlier issues of Reflections by the Pond may be read and/or downloaded at our <a href="http://dlampel.com">web site at http://dlampel.com</a> </div>  </div>

Reflections by the Pond: January 2, 2012 (html)

Mon, 02 Jan 2012 18:38:00 GMT

<div id="wrapper">  <div id="article_wrap"> <img alt="the writings of david s. lampel" src="http://dlampel.com/sites/default/files/newsletter_heading_master.png" height=107 width=600 align='top'> <div id="article"> Reflections by the Pond – January 2, 2012 Lord of the Unexpected By all rights and everything that is holy I should be gazing out onto land blanketed by a foot of snow. It is January, after all, and here in the Midlands, where all storm systems meet, this is typically the coldest part of the coldest season of the year. The temperature outside should be a breath-sucking, back-snapping level of frigidity sufficient to drive the hardiest farmer or bricklayer into long johns, an insulated suit, and facial hair. The vista should be knee-deep white. I should gaze out my window across a sparkling, crystalline blanket of powder to the frozen pond, and beyond into the cotton-shrouded woods where the deer and turkeys and squirrels reveal themselves against the contrasting backdrop. Why, then, do I gaze out upon a desert of brown and straw colored grass to a depleted pond thawing around the edges, and beyond into the furthest reaches of a naked stand of trees where deer and turkeys and squirrels are invisible against an identically colored backdrop? Why has my outerwear been reduced to a light jacket as I contemplate returning the screens to a few windows in the bright and over-warm sun room? And why are there cobwebs forming on the tractor I use to plow the drive of snow? Why? Because our winter weather has been unseasonably temperate, our precipitation—frozen or liquid—virtually nonexistent. Snow will not fall from a blue sky, and will not remain in temperatures hovering around fifty degrees. Without Actual Knowledge It is not unreasonable to expect that in January it will be stunningly cold and snowy. It does not require an act of blind faith, nor does it reveal the imaginings of a lunatic. It just is. Usually. <div class="boxscript"> Come now, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, and spend a year there and engage in business and make a profit." Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away. James 4:13-14 </div> The phrase I hear myself repeating to the grinningly ignorant, who think it is perfectly wonderful that our winter climate has turned tropical, is, "But there's supposed to be snow out there. It's supposed to be colder!" Funny word, "supposed." In the vernacular it has come to mean "This is what should be because it always has been"—implied, "I know the way things should be." But consider Webster's position on this word: <div class="boxquote"> sup-posed (su pozd') adj. 1. regarded as true, genuine, etc., without actual knowledge 2. merely imagined. </div> Two cardinal rules inevitably become obvious to anyone who is paying attention: first, Tomorrow is Unknown, and second, We aren't in Charge. <div class="boxscript"> Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind and said, "Who is this that darkens counsel By words without knowledge? Now gird up your loins like a man, And I will ask you, and you instruct Me! Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell Me, if you have understanding..." Job 38:1-4 </div> Just as Jehovah rather pointedly reprimanded Job, ("Who do you think you are?"), He surely sits upon His throne, amusedly shaking His head over the "supposed" wisdom of His created beings. Because a certain predictable pattern may have emerged over time, we deem ourselves to be prophets, able to predict what should occur tomorrow. But tomorrow remains unknown to mere mortals. And we are not the ones calling the shots; what will be will be decided by Someone else. Kings Over a Kingdom That does not Exist The Lord has generously gifted us with minds so imaginative and inventive that we suppose ourselves to be brilliant. We always think we are the smartest ones in the room. He also has built into us the capacity to imagine ourselves kings over a kingdom that does not exist. But there is only one kingdom, and it is His. John the Baptist understood. He was a powerful, charismatic (if eccentric) servant of God in the days of Christ on the earth. He drew crowds, won the attention of the politicos and religious leaders, and was dramatically influential for God at a time of great upheaval and cynicism. His was a singular voice of piercing, melodic clarity in a chorus of drab monotones. His was a perfect situation for self-imagined—and self-generated—grandeur. Today he would have his own cable show. Yet when John came face to face with Jesus, in a moment he understood that he did not know tomorrow, and that he was not the one in charge. <div class="boxscript"> "A man can receive nothing unless it has been given him from heaven. You yourselves are my witnesses that I said, 'I am not the Christ,' but, 'I have been sent ahead of Him.' He who has the bride is the bridegroom; but the friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly because of the bridegroom's voice. So this joy of mine has been made full. He must increase, but I must decrease." John 3:27-30 </div> We all need to have a John the Baptist moment—preferably each morning upon rising. We all need a daily reminder—a declarative, soul searching, direction-altering epiphany—that God is in His heaven and we are not the ones on His throne. What may be unseasonable to us, is never unseasonable to God. The Christian bows before a sovereign who knows precisely what He is doing at all times. He knows tomorrow, because for Him it has already occurred. His vantage point is from outside our time; He dwells at once in our yesterday, tomorrow, and today and enjoys complete control over all things. Even over what winter will look like in the Midlands. ° ° ° <div class="boxquote"> Eternal Power, whose high abode Becomes the grandeur of a God: Infinite lengths beyond the bounds Where stars revolve their little rounds: Thee while the first archangel sings, He hides his face behind his wings: And ranks of shining thrones around Fall worshipping, and spread the ground. Lord, what shall earth and ashes do? We would adore our Maker too; From sin and dust to Thee we cry, The Great, the Holy, and the High. Earth, from afar, hath heard Thy fame, And worms have learn'd to lisp Thy Name; But Oh! the glories of Thy mind Leave all our soaring thoughts behind. God is in heaven, and men below: Be short our tunes; our words be few: A solemn reverence checks our songs, And praise sits silent on our tongues. Isaac Watts </div> </div>   <div id="footer">Copyright 2012, David S. Lampel. All rights reserved. Reflections: #0532 Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture is from the New American Standard Bible (Updated Edition). This and earlier issues of Reflections by the Pond may be read and/or downloaded at our <a href="http://dlampel.com">web site at http://dlampel.com</a> </div>  </div>

Reflections by the Pond: December 26, 2011 (html)

Mon, 26 Dec 2011 17:09:00 GMT

Reflections by the Pond: December 19, 2011 (html)

Mon, 19 Dec 2011 15:54:00 GMT

<div id="wrapper">  <div id="article_wrap"> <img alt="the writings of david s. lampel" src="http://dlampel.com/sites/default/files/newsletter_heading_master.png" height=107 width=600 align='top'> <div id="article"> Reflections by the Pond – December 19, 2011 They Need a Savior A Sufficient Sacrifice He had never been down to earth before, but now that he had been sent, Harry was determined to make the best of it. He was determined to get along. If the truth be known, Harry had never been terribly impressed by the human species; he had always considered them a most inconvenient, unsightly bunch. But ever since The Son had gone down to be born and live amongst them, Harry had acquired a new level of interest in the inhabitants of earth. Harry had been set down in the hill country of Lower Galilee, directly west of the lower tip of the Sea of Galilee, the great fresh water lake around which lay the cities of Capernaum, Gennesaret, and Tiberias. Almost immediately his feet began to ache. The road was hard-packed soil, and on this day it seemed to the angel that it may as well have been forged iron beneath him. Each step on the compacted earth jarred his bones. Meanwhile the gravity of the globe worked against him. Harry was unaccustomed to these physical constraints; heaven's surface did not press back against one's feet, and there was likewise no force constantly pressing one down toward the ground. How do these humans bear it all? He wondered. The road followed the contours of the land, rising and falling, curving around the small hills. After awhile the road widened, here and there small dwellings began to appear nearby: a metal smith shop, an inn, a pottery shop surrounded by orderly rows of mud bricks drying in the sun. The private dwellings became more numerous, even pressed together, sharing walls, until Harry realized he had entered what these people would call a town, or village. To the angel everything was intolerably filthy. The walls of the houses were constructed of baked mud; the street was made of the same: dry or wet dirt; even the people themselves, in Harry's opinion, were badly in need of a bath: their exposed flesh—and especially the feet—was caked with dust. To Harry even the air itself was filled with dust, making it a challenge for him to breathe. ° ° ° Feeling perfectly miserable, and increasingly homesick for the purity of heaven, Harry continued on, passing down the road bordered by businesses and houses, until he came upon a shop surrounded by the pleasant aroma of freshly cut wood. Affixed to the outside wall was a hand-lettered sign that read �Carpentry.' Harry peered inside the open window; planing a new tabletop, a middle-aged man stood working on a floor littered with the curled shavings created by his tool. Harry heard a rasping sound coming from a narrow alleyway next to the building. Crouched on a bench was a teenage boy filing a narrow piece of wood, smoothing the rounded surface to become a leg for the table being finished by the older man inside. What is it about him? Harry thought. He looks familiar, but how can that be. I've never been here before. But something drew him closer to the boy. He stepped into the alley and moved toward him, mentally devising reasons he could use to explain his interest. Just then the boy heard Harry and looked up. Instantly his face broke into a broad smile, and the angel suddenly knew what it was that had drawn him. "J—Jesus?" He said, not daring to imagine it was true. "Harry!" The boy cried, leaping to his feet. "It's sure good to see you!" His heart beating and his throat choked with emotion, Harry embraced Jesus, but then, remembering himself, quickly pulled away and bowed. "I—I'm sorry, God." "Oh Harry," Jesus grinned, embracing him again, "I'm just so glad to see you again." "I wasn't sure it was you," Harry said, suddenly aware of the odd sensation of touching flesh. He touched Jesus' arms, shoulders, gripped his hands. "So this is what it's like." "How have you been, Harry?" "I've missed you. We all miss you." "I've missed you, too," Jesus said, picking up the table leg on which he had been working. "But I've got a pretty good life here." "So," Harry glanced around, "when will it begin?" "What?" "C'mon," Harry said confidently, but leaned closer, in case Jesus didn't want others to hear, "you're the Messiah! You came down here to save these people. When will you be taking over?" "Take...over?" Once again Harry was confused—and it was an unpleasant sensation. Why did he always end up feeling like such a dunce around The Son? There was always such a vast gulf of understanding stretched between them—as if Jesus had already made it safely to shore, but he still floundered out in the waves. "Am I missing something?" Harry said, betraying his frustration. "Isn't that why you came down here in the first place? You said they needed a Savior!" Jesus looked down, and Harry could feel the powerful wave of sadness emanating from him. "Oh, they sure do." "So when will it begin?" Harry said insistently. ° ° ° "Come with me," Jesus said, drawing Harry out from the alley and into the street. He led him down the street a ways, to where the houses stopped, then pointed toward a nearby hillside. "Harry, do you see that shepherd over there—the one surrounded by all his sheep?" Harry nodded, wondering what Jesus was getting at. "Do you see how he keeps the flock close by, protecting the sheep from any predators." "Predators?" "Wolves, jackals—they can come attack the sheep, kill them for food." "Hmm—yes, I see," he nodded. "Harry," Jesus explained, "I've come as a good shepherd, to offer protection and life to my flock." "These people are up against some pretty stiff competition," the angel snorted. "Caesar, the Roman army, Herod—don't you think they could use a little more than a simple shepherd?" "You're right," Jesus said, "and they will have more." "Well, I would think so." "Notice the small lamb in the arms of the shepherd," Jesus said, pointing again. "See how quiet and gentle it is, so spotlessly pure?" "Yes, I see it," Harry sighed impatiently. Jesus said quietly, "I've come as the Lamb of God—the sacrifice that will take away the sins of the world." The angel could only stare at Jesus incredulously. "Harry, these people need a Savior," Jesus continued, "but not another king or warrior. They've already had that. I'm not here to save them from a power-hungry emperor, or an army, or a wicked king. I'm here to save them from themselves. Only God Himself will be a sufficient sacrifice to cover all that." ° ° ° Harry couldn't believe his ears. "So, you gave up everything... only to..." "I love these people, Harry. I came to experience what it's like for them—what it's like to live with a body that ages and dies, what it's like to suffer loneliness and pain, to feel the pull of sin, to experience—as much as I can—what it is to be human." "And I'm sure you've already experienced all that. Isn't it enough?" Jesus turned to Harry, and again the angel could feel the powerful emotions of The Son pushing out from the small body of Jesus. "My living like them won't save them, Harry. But my dying like them will." He sighed and moved toward the hillside sprinkled with grazing sheep, as if he would like nothing better than to simply step away from his responsibilities. But then he stopped. "Later, when I'm an adult," Jesus continued, "I'll spend some time teaching and discipling a few followers. But most people won't believe, and the religious leaders will conspire against me. They'll work with the Romans to put me on trial." "Trial?" Harry squeaked. "This isn't heaven, Harry. They won't easily believe who I am. They'll find me guilty—" "Guilty of what?" Harry cried, his voice rising. "It doesn't matter—it won't to them. They'll humiliate me, and put me to death with other criminals." "But you're not a criminal!" Harry protested. "I have to die, Harry. It's necessary—for them." The thought of The Son being tortured and killed for these low, sinful beings filled Harry with anger and revulsion. How could they? How dare they kill the very one who had come to save them? Didn't they realize it was He who had created the world? Created even them? His gut ached, and his mind was gorged with anger at these people. But still—even through his powerful emotions—Harry understood that all this was, incredibly, part of God's plan, and it was not his place to question. But his sadness for The Son was almost overwhelming. He reached toward his friend. "Jesus..." "But it's all right, Harry," Jesus consoled him. "Don't feel badly. It won't be the end—but a new beginning!" He smiled. "I won't stay in the grave. I'll return to heaven. And because of it, these people will have a chance for life—real life with the Father!" "How much longer will you be here?" "In earthly terms, quite awhile," Jesus said, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder affectionately. "But in heavenly terms, no time at all." "Then we'll look forward to that day," Harry said bravely. "As will I, my friend," Jesus said, turning back toward his home, "as will I." Harry turned to leave, but then glanced back at Jesus, watching him return to his work at the carpentry shop. He would be returning to heaven still confused about the reason for Jesus to be here on earth. But he also understood that it really wasn't important that he understand. More important was that the people understood, for they were the ones needing a Savior. ° ° ° <div class="boxscript"> "This is My commandment, that you love one another, just as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends." John 15:12-13 </div> </div>   <div id="footer">Copyright 2011, David S. Lampel. All rights reserved. Reflections: #0530 Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture is from the New American Standard Bible (Updated Edition). This and earlier issues of Reflections by the Pond may be read and/or downloaded at our <a href="http://dlampel.com">web site at http://dlampel.com</a> </div>  </div>

Reflections by the Pond: December 12, 2011 (html)

Mon, 12 Dec 2011 17:33:00 GMT

<div id="wrapper">  <div id="article_wrap"> <img alt="the writings of david s. lampel" src="http://dlampel.com/sites/default/files/newsletter_heading_master.png" height=107 width=600 align='top'> <div id="article"> Reflections by the Pond – December 12, 2011 They Need a Savior Just Like Everyone Else Jesus pushed open the wooden door and held it for Harry to leave the small house. From the compressed dirt floor of the building, Harry expected to step onto the familiar, unresisting surface of heaven, but instead found himself standing upon another, even more unpleasant surface. "Oh," he blanched, grimacing as his foot sank down into the wet muck. "What's this?" Jesus laughed. "What's the matter, Harry. Afraid of a little mud?" "Mud?" "A mixture of water and dirt," Jesus explained. "This is what happens to a road in Palestine when it rains." "Rains?" "Never mind, Harry." Jesus sighed, stepping carefully through the muck until he found a drier path, which he followed down the middle of the roadway that passed between two rows of dwellings almost identical to the one they had just left. Harry tried to keep up, placing his feet carefully along the same path as Jesus, trying to keep his steps out of the unpleasant mud. The light level was dramatically reduced, and his eyes were having a difficult time adjusting. Harry strained to see through the faint light: the seemingly endless rows of drab, mud-colored houses varied only by the dim glow of oil lamps that could be seen through a few of the open windows. "Why is it so dark, God?" "Ah," The Son raised his finger to remind Harry of his mistake. "'Jesus,' remember." "I'm sorry. Yes. I'm having a hard time remembering. Why is it so dark, Jesus?" "This is what is called 'night' on earth. It's how it looks when the earth has rotated out of the sun's path." "How terrible for them!" Harry gasped. "And how often does this phenomenon occur?" "Every twenty-four hours, of course." "Oh my! No wonder they're in such a terrible state." "Not at all," Jesus chuckled. "It signals a time of rest for them. Very important for the human body. Since I'll be spending a little time in one, I wanted to get the feel of it early on." ° ° ° "This seems like such a drab existence," Harry said, continuing on just behind Jesus. He imagined the impact on the residents when The Son burst upon their community, and his breast swelled with pride, knowing that he—a lowly 4th Rung angel—was playing even a small part in God's preparation. "I sure wish I could be there when you make your grand entrance," Harry said, his voice heavy with awe. "It'll sure be something to see." "Why do you say that?" Jesus said, continuing down the street, glancing here and there at the houses painted by the fading light. "What? What do you mean?" Harry stammered excitedly. "Why, just picture it: The Son of God arrives on earth in all his heavenly glory! There'll be trumpets and cymbals and cheering throngs to greet you when you show yourself to them. Why, they'll be so surprised—so happy that the Messiah has finally come, in all your majesty!" Jesus turned quickly around, stopping the effervescent angel by the shoulders. "Harry, settle down! Listen to me now: It's not going to be that way." Harry gazed up into the eternally patient, yet insistent face of The Son. "It's not?" he said meekly. "That's not how humans are born." "Born?" Harry cried, his gut filling again with revulsion at the thought of that most unseemly human practice. "But, you—I mean you're already—" "Yes. I am," Jesus said firmly. "But I must become flesh, and flesh must be born. It doesn't just appear." "But Jesus, isn't the whole idea to make some kind of an impact down there? To actually change the world and its ways?" "The idea, Harry, is to save lives. The idea is to give people a chance to live with God forever." "Okay. Right. And I would think the best way to accomplish that is to make a real splash. Give them a display of your power—your might. Really impress them!" "Harry, Harry," Jesus shook his head sadly. "You don't know these people as well as you may think. They aren't impressed with 'splash.' You're forgetting about the biggest splash We ever made. Remember when We helped Moses save the people from the clutches of Pharaoh? We split the Red Sea into two parts, revealing the dry land, gave them safe passage between towering walls of water. Talk about an impressive miracle!" Jesus gazed sadly around him at the people beginning to emerge from the houses after their small evening meal. "Before the water could even fill in the dry channel they were grumbling and complaining to God." He sighed, and spoke with a voice heavy with sadness, yet at the same time filled with overwhelming compassion. "No, they may be impressed for the moment, but that's as long as it lasts: a moment. They don't need a parade. They need a Savior." ° ° ° Harry was silent, watching the face of The Son as he studied the people around the houses, images momentarily oblivious to their audience. Harry felt the sadness like a great heat coming off The Son's figure, and enveloping even him like an uncomfortable woolen cloak. The angel could not bear the weight of God's emotions, and stumbled back away from him. Harry still felt he needed to confirm the unbelievable news. Finally breaking the silence, he said, "So you'll be born." "Just like everyone else down there," Jesus answered quietly. The angel shuddered and said more to himself than to his companion, "There's got to be a better way." Jesus grinned at Harry, relaxing again. "Oh, and We've already picked out my mother," he said teasingly. Harry, still having a difficult time comprehending all this, remained silent. "She's a sweet girl," Jesus continued, "from Nazareth—a small town very much like this." He swept his arm around to encompass all the streets and dwellings and people around them. "She's engaged to be married to a man from the same town, so I guess that'll be my home town." Then he repeated the name, as if enjoying the simple act of forming the word between his lips. "Nazareth." Their path had taken them to where the rows of houses stopped, where the road broadened into the coarse scrub of the surrounding low hills. Jesus stopped, scanning the horizon, still immersed in thoughts of his new family. "Her name is Mary," he said with quiet delight. "That's a nice name, isn't it Harry. Her betrothed is Joseph. Mary and Joseph—they'll be my parents." Harry was still wrestling with the mental picture—struggling to place The Son in the lowly confines of a humble village such as the one in which they now stood, surrounded by people of low means, such as these that milled about the town's mud streets. He tried to imagine The Son as a tiny babe held in the arms of a young girl named Mary, and the idea was so incredible to him that the image kept vaporizing before he could complete the picture in his head. It was just too much for his small mind to comprehend. Harry thought about the girl, her innocence, her fragility, and the amazing idea that she could actually hold God in her two small hands. "Will she know?" Harry asked. "Know what?" "That she's giving birth to the Son of God." Jesus nodded his head. "Gabriel's already told her." Harry was beginning to realize that these humans must be made of tougher stock than he had first imagined. "Must be quite a lot for a young girl to take in," he said seriously. Jesus turned to head back down the street, deeper into the darkening light between the crude hovels, back to the villagers now preparing to retire for the night. "Yes. I imagine so," He sighed quietly. ° ° ° <div class="boxquote"> O Son of God incarnate, O Son of man divine, In whom God's glory dwelleth, In whom man's virtues shine, God's light to earth Thou bringest To drive sin's night away, And through Thy life so radiant, Earth's darkness turns to day. William Fisk Tillett </div> (to be continued...) </div>   <div id="footer">Copyright 2011, David S. Lampel. All rights reserved. Reflections: #0529 Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture is from the New American Standard Bible (Updated Edition). This and earlier issues of Reflections by the Pond may be read and/or downloaded at our <a href="http://dlampel.com">web site at http://dlampel.com</a> </div>  </div>

Reflections by the Pond: December 5, 2011 (html)

Mon, 05 Dec 2011 16:26:00 GMT

<div id="wrapper">  <div id="article_wrap"> <img alt="the writings of david s. lampel" src="http://dlampel.com/sites/default/files/newsletter_heading_master.png" height=107 width=600 align='top'> <div id="article"> Reflections by the Pond – December 5, 2011 They Need a Savior Someone They Can Touch Harry, angel 4-R (4th Rung), moved closer to the odd structure standing curiously weighted amidst the diaphanous splendor of heaven. It seemed to have grown up, like an ugly block-shaped mushroom, out of the vaporous terra of the heavenlies. The cube appeared as a gross uncleanness within the pristine dimensions of God's domain, with textures and unpleasant colors foreign to its inhabitants. It's so ugly it hurts the eyes, Harry thought. They must have told me wrong. How could The Son possibly be in that thing. He moved closer, his curiosity overpowering the revulsion that filled him at the ugly sight. Harry peered around one of the cube's corners. The second side looked exactly like the first. He crept ahead, carefully staying clear of the cube's surface, fearful that contact with the coarse material might inflict damage to his person. Reaching the end, he craned his neck around the next corner. This side was much the same, except that it contained a rectangular irregularity in its middle. A seam ran straight up to a point just above Harry's head, angled sharply right, where it met up with another seam running straight up from the cube's base. Near one of the vertical seams a loop of hemp rope protruded from the cube. How does one enter such a beastly thing? Harry wondered. Knock on the door, Harry, came the reply into his head. "What?" Make a fist and rap your knuckles against the door, just above the rope. Harry clenched his fingers into a tight ball and struck his knuckles against the rough wood. Knock. "Ow." Knock. "Ow." Knock. "Ow!" "Come in!" Harry stood staring at the wall. He stared at the seams that formed a rectangle. He stared at the hank of rope. How? He screamed into the space between his ears. Pull the rope. Harry yanked down on the loop of rope. The rectangle shifted, but failed to open. Pull the rope toward you, Harry. He grasped the rope firmly in his hand and yanked it straight out toward him. Suddenly the door flew open, sending Harry careening backwards, leaving him sprawled in a tangled heap. "Well, hello Harry! Good to see you." The Son reached down and set Harry back onto his feet. "Y—you know me, God?" Harry stammered, nervously putting himself back in order. The Son smiled warmly. "Of course I do. Now, what can I do for you?" "What is this thing?" Harry asked, studying the curious structure. "Is it a new kind of throne?" "No, no. It's a house—a mud brick house that people live in down on earth. And this is how one comes and goes from inside," He said, swinging the wooden door on its hinges. "Come on inside, Harry. It's rather cozy." Harry followed The Son into the structure. "More like confined," he suggested. Inside it was dark, smelled of clay and damp straw, and the four walls and low ceiling seemed to move in on the angel, leaving him feeling uneasy, and more than a little claustrophobic. He sucked in his breath, as if air were in short supply. The Son laughed and moved about the room testing its dimensions. "I think one could get used to it. Now, Harry, what's on your mind?" The angel had never before been so close to God. Only one among countless millions, he had always been lost in the crowd of those offering praise and worship to the throne. He knew that the upper echelons—including the splendid archangels—were almost constantly in the presence of God, but those of his stripe were seldom so close to the throne and the magnificent Presence. Now here he was, granted a private audience with The Son, and without warning his tongue became a leaden obstacle to expressing his thoughts. But he pushed back the powerful feelings of inferiority—feelings that even he realized were created solely in his own mind—and pressed ahead with the purpose of his visit. "W—well, God," Harry began, "I—I've heard a rumor—a rumor about you—and I thought I'd check it out for myself." Harry exhaled, relieved to have finally gotten it out. "A rumor, huh?" The Son said. "This can't be good. What have I done now?" "Oh, no!" Harry cried, horrified that The Son would think such a thing. "No—nothing like that, God. You see—" "Listen, Harry," The Son interrupted calmly, reassuring the angel with a warm hand on his shoulder, "pretty soon I'm going to be taking a new name—a human name. Why don't you help me get accustomed to it by using it now." "Uh, sure. I could do that." "Good. The name is 'Jesus.'" ° ° ° Harry rolled the unfamiliar word around in his mind, sampling the flavor of it, mentally affixing the name to The Son. "Je-sus. Well, that shouldn't be so hard. Jesus." He grinned up at The Son, feeling his earlier nervousness slip away more with every moment spent in the Presence. "Well, God," he began. "Sorry; Jesus, I've heard others talking about you going down to earth for awhile, and—" Suddenly a light went off in Harry's brain. Of course! The new name, the curious structure in which they now stood—these were in preparation for The Son's visit! Harry was slow, he knew; he wasn't still on the 4th Rung after all his centuries for nothing. But sooner or later he was able to put the pieces together. "Then, of course," Harry blurted out, "it must be true! Why else would you need a human name!" Jesus grinned at the angel. He winked and said, "Harry, don't ever let them sell you short. You're right on the ball." "Then it is true?" Jesus nodded. "That's why I made this house: so I could get used to living as humans do—to experience the sights and smells and sounds of their existence." "But Jesus," Harry shook his head, perplexed, "You've never done anything like this before." "Sure I have. A few times, anyway. Don't you remember when I visited Abraham and Sarah at the oaks of Mamre?" Harry did remember, and recalled how fascinated he had been watching The Son personally give the two old believers the news that Sarah would indeed give birth to a son. Yes, and he now recalled even more instances in which God had visited earth to deal more directly with His people. "So then," Harry said, "this is no big deal." The Son turned quickly serious, moving about the small room as if measuring its area. "Actually it is," He said, stopping before the wall opposite the door. Instantly a small square opening appeared in the mud brick, and white heavenly light pierced into the dark interior of the structure. "This time, Harry, will be quite different. This time I'll be there in the flesh." Horrified at the prospect, Harry felt his stomach twist in revulsion. "Flesh?" "Oh, it isn't all that bad," Jesus chided. "There are millions of people living that way right now." "Yeah, but they're used to it! You're used to so much better." "But it's the only way it can get done." "What?" Harry screwed up his face. "What would be so important that you'd have to do all that?" ° ° ° The Son looked into Harry's eyes in a penetrating way that the angel had never before experienced, and said, "Their redemption. It's time for me to go down to earth and fulfill the law We established long ago." Becoming transfixed by the Presence, and The Son's willingness to sacrifice His own comfort, Harry said in a hushed tone, "But, in person? Couldn't you do it from up here?" The Son moved toward a corner and a small, crude stool appeared. He sat down, rested his chin in his hand, and said, "There was a time, long ago, when We considered that. But you know, Harry, these people need a Savior. They really do. They need someone they can see with their own eyes, whose voice and words they can hear for themselves—and they need someone they can touch, and feel is really there with them." Having never been assigned to earth, Harry's experience with humans was strictly secondhand, but he was beginning to understand how, because of the type of beings they were, they might appreciate God meeting them on their own level. He turned to The Son and said, "They need a 'Jesus'." "It's the best way to show them God's love," Jesus said. "Put Him into flesh." Harry stared out the newly formed window, gazing into the more familiar brilliance that enveloped the tiny hovel. "Okay, I think I can see this," he said. "But one thing—and please, Jesus, I don't mean any disrespect—are these the right people? Is this the right time? As I understand it, the world's a pretty small place right now, and these people have a lot to learn. Things are fairly primitive down there." "It was worked out long ago, Harry. Now's the time." "But is it necessary to give all this up—the throne, the grandeur, the glory—to go where people live like this?" The Son answered with a sigh. "It's a small thing, really, to give up my glory for a little while, so that so many others might have it for eternity." "But Jesus," Harry said seriously, "you'll be losing who you are—your identity." "No, I'm not losing it. Just setting it aside for awhile. I'll still be God, only now—for a little while—I'll also be man." "Sounds complicated," Harry said, screwing up his face. "Yes, I suppose it is," Jesus said, rising from the stool. "But nobody ever said it would be easy to save all of mankind." ° ° ° <div class="boxscript"> The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, Because the Lord has anointed me To bring good news to the afflicted; He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, To proclaim liberty to captives And freedom to prisoners; To proclaim the favorable year of the Lord... Isaiah 61:1-2a </div> (to be continued...) </div>   <div id="footer">Copyright 2011, David S. Lampel. All rights reserved. Reflections: #0528 Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture is from the New American Standard Bible (Updated Edition). This and earlier issues of Reflections by the Pond may be read and/or downloaded at our <a href="http://dlampel.com">web site at http://dlampel.com</a> </div>  </div>