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 We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life. |
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“There are times when solitude is better than society, and silence is wiser than speech. We should be better Christians if we were more alone, waiting upon God, and gathering through meditation on His Word spiritual strength for labour in his service. We ought to muse upon the things of God, because we thus get the real nutriment out of them. . . . Why is it that some Christians, although they hear many sermons, make but slow advances in the divine life? Because they neglect their closets, and do not thoughtfully meditate on God's Word. They love the wheat, but they do not grind it; they would have the corn, but they will not go forth into the fields to gather it; the fruit hangs upon the tree, but they will not pluck it; the water flows at their feet, but they will not stoop to drink it. From such folly deliver us, O Lord. . . .” ― Charles Spurgeon “Our anxiety does not empty tomorrow of its sorrows, but only empties today of its strengths.” ― C. H. Spurgeon “Hope itself is like a star- not to be seen in the sunshine of prosperity, and only to be discovered in the night of adversity.” ― Charles Haddon Spurgeon “If sinners be damned, at least let them leap to Hell over our dead bodies. And if they perish, let them perish with our arms wrapped about their knees, imploring them to stay. If Hell must be filled, let it be filled in the teeth of our exertions, and let not one go unwarned and unprayed for.” ― Charles Spurgeon “A Bible that’s falling apart usually belongs to someone who isn’t.” ― Charles Spurgeon “Visit many good books, but live in the Bible.” ― Charles Spurgeon “When your will is God's will, you will have your will.” ― Charles Spurgeon https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/2876959.Charles_Haddon_Spurgeon (Philippians 2:13, KJV)    |
That Friday was Good, though it looked bad when Jesus bore our sin. His Face was bloodied. The crowd was mad. He did not seem to win. How could it be good when all we knew at sunset was a death? How could He be nailed, and then turn blue, The One, Who gave us breath? The jury had lied. The verdict false. The Innocent was blamed. The crowd, it condemned. The guilty waltzed with justice ne'er the same. Yet, He, Who knows the Story's End had turned His Back this once. The crying Savior would not mend before His final pulse. The thirty-six hours of the silent Savior were ripping Creation's seams. There was no Plan B, that aught could tender. His dearest dashed their dreams. Now mottled, and oiled, and Body wrapped, The Savior laid in state, but He Himself was never trapped. He kept each scheduled date. The sun, it peeked above the horizon upon that dark third morn. Did he dare to shine the light of reason, until the grave be torn? Nevermore to see the Savior living. Nevermore to hear His voice. Nevermore to Him embrace be giving. Nevermore to live in Hope's great choice. Good Friday was not good to them. Good Friday was quite bad. How could they ever live as men without their Lord so glad? by Jay O’Toole on April 2nd, 2021 |
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