Christopher Shennan’s Journal

You see, I was seeing

The path I had trod.

For all of my learning

I had left out - God.

"I'm guilty!" I cried, "I'm as guilty as sin.

Will Heaven's gate open to let me in?"

Then Conscience and Guilt who had not gone away,

Came close and directed my eyes to behold

A vision of brightness,

Of infinite whiteness:

That the sun in its strength could not match or dismay,

Or the fine driven snow a complement pay.

His eyes were as fire, His heart as a Dove;

For, what I was seeing was Infinite Love.

I could not endure it,

Nor could I have fled;

I fell down as one

Who is suddenly dead.

A hand reached my bosom and drew me upright,

Then burst on my vision a new, wondrous sight.

The brightness had dimmed just a touch, just a shade,

Though the Love streaming from Him did not waver, or fade.

It lifted me,

Sifted me,

Cleansing my mind;

With the life of past foolishness, far left behind.

The Hound of God's Heaven had finally won:

The sins I had sinned were suddenly gone.

I was stunned by His kindness,

Overwhelmed by His Love.

And still His great Mercy

Streamed down from above.

Yet Who was this One Who had suddenly turned

My darkness to light and so graciously burned

All my sins in His light?

Was it He,

Who loved me?

The One I had fled o'er the course of the years,

That now bent down low to dry all my tears?

Was it He,

Who loved me?

The One with the marks of the nails in His hands;

Whose blood dripped down and made Calvary's sands

Crimson with blood?

Yes, 'twas He,

Who loved me.

He drew round my heart

The bands of his love,

While ever His mercy

Streamed down from above.

"And now," said my Friend with the thorn-marked brow,

"Come listen well and learn just how

You came to this moment of infinite bliss,

And how your poor soul came to know Heaven's kiss.

It was these that I sent."

And He pointed behind me.

And there they stood waiting to lead me and guide me.

It was Conscience and Guilt from whom I had fled

In the days when my soul was spiritually dead.

I had thought, for sure, they'd determined my end.

Can True Love End?

No, my poem, “Love that Ends?” was not inspired by Shakespeare’s sonnet 116:

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments.

Love is not love which alters when it

Alteration finds, nor changes with the

remover to remove.

No, it is an ever fixed mark …” etc.

I cannot, however, deny the similarity of theme. It seems to me that we must both have gleaned the principle from the same source --- the Bible:

Love never fails. But whether there are prophecies, they will fail; whether there are tongues, they will cease; whether there is knowledge, it will vanish away. (1 Corinthians 13:8)

“Love never fails,” was true long before Shakespeare penned his wonderful sonnet. Yet he no doubt felt the need, as I have, to express the timeless ideal in terms understandable to his own generation.

Instead of explaining any further, I’ll just let the poem speak for itself, and let you judge for yourselves:

Love That Ends?

(Saturday 2nd August, 2008 – By Christopher Shennan)

Don’t speak to me of love that ends,

That bends to accommodate the senses,

The selfish pursuit of what feels good.

Don’t speak to me of love that says, “I love you”

When feelings still run high, but later,

“I don’t love you any more!”

Such love is not love; it is a parody,

A mockery that laughs in the face of truth;

It has within it no trace of the genuine,

No whisper of divine intent.

True love never ends; it bears the nature of

Him from whom it springs.

Don’t speak to me of love when what you mean is,

“Love me back, or the love I bear you dies.”

Love is not a merchant, who must demand a profit,

Or his business fails. Love is an agent

Of the Eternal Giver Who gives and gives,

And gives again, even when no prospect of gain

can be seen.

Is there then no profit in love?

Love is its own reward, yet oft it plants a seed

That reaps a harvest, a harvest that never ends.

But if the harvest fails, true love loves on ---

It has no choice; its very nature makes it so.

The voice of reason must demand that love loves on.

So don’t speak to me of love that ends or I’ll stop

My ears and listen to Heavens voice, alone.

………………..

So there you have it: my poor attempt to raise up a beacon in protest against the modern tendency to demean love, and cast it in the role of shifting emotions. As God never changes, neither does love.

I would much rather admit that I don’t have true love, than try to parade my counterfeit version of it as the real thing. At least I can then embark on a genuine search to apprehend and possess it. But if I pretend to have what I know to be a fake, it will remain forever out of my grasp.

The Bridge Controversy

Hi folks,

              I haven’t posted a blog for over a year, and this one is likely to be controversial. It has to do with a poem I wrote, and the one person I sent it to (a godly, beautiful soul doing selfless missionary work in South Africa), called it unique, and I’m not sure she meant it entirely as a compliment. She’s always been appreciative of my poems  in the past, so her hesitation over this one is significant.  Here’s the poem. Let me know what you think:

I am a Bridge

(Wednesday 27^th August 2008 – by Christopher Shennan)

I am a bridge.

As such I am content to be walked on, to be trodden underfoot, and at times to let the wheels of fortune trundle o’er me.

It is my destiny.

As a bridge I cannot complain,

Though some would pity my condition and

Urge me to stand up for my rights.

Yet what are my rights?

As a bridge, do I not have the right to bear burdens?

Is it wrong to accept my destiny?

Cannot the hope of seeing lost souls

Finding their way to peace, motivate me to

Feel a certain satisfaction in my downtrodden state?

How else will the hoards of lost souls find their way from the regions of darkness to the fields of light, except I give my back to be smitten by their scurrying feet?

“Christians,” say some, “in spite of our call to service, should not let people walk all over us. We should not be trodden underfoot.”

I grant these their point of view; not all are made for this noble calling.

But I am a bridge, called to it by the Mystery

Of His own will.

I am a bridge, so come; walk all over me,

If perchance you can find your way to the Christ of the Cross, and to Life Everlasting.

Now this is what my friend Jenny in South Africa wrote concerning this poem:

“Chris your poem ‘I am a Bridge’ is unique. I may be a footpath, but being a bridge is too much for me, although I’m anxious to see people come to Christ. I believe people take the same attitude towards God --- use Him --- as they use us to manipulate us in their selfish attitudes.”

So there, that’s what Jenny thinks of my poem. I’ve been thinking about how to respond to this (I would not call it a criticism), so here are my thoughts:

First, I am not sure I meant to be a bridge, in the sense of the poem, at all times and in all circumstances. I just meant there are times (few or many I could not say) that being a bridge is the only viable option, when proving myself right may alienate instead of win my adversary, opponent, or someone whom I have unintentionally offended. There are times when protesting your innocence only convinces the other party of your guilt.

Second, there are Biblical examples that appear to support the “bridge” mentality:

In that wonderful passage in Philippians regarding Christ’s humiliation we are told that He humbled Himself. And we are told to adopt the same mind, or attitude that led Him to the Cross.

Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross. (Philippians 2:5-8 - NKJV))

The word ‘humbled’ comes from a root meaning ‘a carpet’, or that which is to be trodden underfoot. Christ humble himself an allowed death to walk all over Him, so to speak. And we are enjoined to emulate Him in this respect.

Then there is that frequently discussed passage where we are told to turn the other cheek:

“You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’^[a]  But I tell you not to resist an evil person. But whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also. If anyone wants to sue you and take away your tunic, let him have your cloak also.  And whoever compels you to go one mile, go with him two.  Give to him who asks you, and from him who wants to borrow from you do not turn away. (Matthew 5:38-42 – NKJV)

Admittedly, such behaviour is hard to accept, and is totally against what we know of human nature. Nevertheless Jesus does not hesitate to command us to do it. How can this be? He could command it because He was not suggesting it was possible for human nature to achieve in its own strength. He could command it because He would supernaturally empower his followers to do what He commanded. The Christian life is not difficult; it is. At least, it is impossible if attempted in human effort alone. The Christian life can be lived alone in the realms of the supernatural. What you need is a new nature – a divine nature:

…His divine power has given to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of Him who called us by glory and virtue, 4 by which have been given to us exceedingly great and precious promises, that through these you may be partakers of the divine nature … (2 Peter 1:3-4 – NKJV)

Turning the other cheek is a supernatural endeavour, and we have the promises of God to enable us to do it.

Likewise, the apostle Peter further instructs us: For to this you were called, because Christ also suffered for us,^[a] leaving us^[b] an example, that you should follow His steps:
        “ Who committed no sin,
      Nor was deceit found in His mouth”;^[c] who, when He was reviled, did not revile in return; when He suffered, He did not threaten, but committed Himself to Him who judges righteously… (1 Peter 2:21-23 – NKJV)

The apostle Peter does not present Christ’s behaviour under injustice so we can simply admire it; he presents it with the specific intent of getting us to follow in His steps.  All this sounds suspiciously like the “bridge mentality” to me.

Thirdly, even the natural world seems intent on providing examples. My wide pointed out to be there is a species of army ant, when moving across the landscape in their multiplied millions encounter a river. There is no natural bridge that will enable them to cross, yet they do not even pause. They simply keep moving. Millions of them perish in by drowning. By doing so, their bodies formed a bridge, enabling the rest to cross over.

Many years ago I read of a man who witnessed a singular incident in the mountains of Switzerland. From the window of the Chalet where he was staying he had a clear view of a narrow pathway on the side of the mountain. There was only room for one goat to pass at a time. Beyond the edge of the pathway was a sheer drop that plunged hundreds of feet to the rocks belay. Lo and behold, the man saw two goats traversing the narrow ledge. They were approaching from opposite directions. He man knew the goats would soon meet each other and be presented with a dilemma. Neither of them could continue in the direction they had been traveling without one of them being force off the ledge.  He kept his eyes on the goats, certain he was going to see one of the other of them plunge to its death. No such thing happened. When the the goats were at last only a foot or so from each other, the one simply lay flat on the pathway and permitted the other to walk over him. Soon they were both moving off to their individual destinations.

I think that, if we are walking in close fellowship with God, we will instinctively know when we have to flatten out and present ourselves as a bridge in order to exemplify the humility of Christ. When it is not appropriate to do so, I think we will know that also.

The thing about diseases, the incurable ones I mean, is that early detection is the key to any hope of being able to stop its advancement, before it is too late. Early prediction is even better. If there is a history of the disease among family members past and present, precautions can be taken that may prevent the disease from developing at all. Even then, the prospects are uncertain.

The point of all this is to that I have such a disease, and I am pretty sure I have passed it on to my children.  Looking back to previous generations there is no evidence it existed in the family before my own. Perhaps I am the first and primary carrier, except that my sister has had symptoms that closely resemble the onset of the disease.

Now I am not telling you this to play on your sympathies. Far from it. The mark of this disease is that the ‘sufferer’ will flee from anyone who even suggests the possibility of a cure. I call it “a benevolent disease.” It is one that overtakes all true writers. It is the writers’ disease.

It is not my purpose to chronicle the different stages of the disease from its onset to its conclusion, except that it starts with a mild case of, “I think I would like to be a writer,” and ends in near obsession. The characteristics of a writer so closely resemble the development of an incurable disease I do not blush at making the comparison.

With me the writers’ disease began with some pitiful attempts at poetry in my tender years, including a story or two that fluttered away in my mind and never found its way onto paper. In my late teens and early twenties I wrote a poem or two that showed some promise, since lost to posterity by the carelessness of youth, and the doubts that afflict the aspiring writer. I either lost them, or lobbed them into the trash.

After my conversion to Christ the disease found focus. I wanted to write so I could share with the world the Grace and Love the Almighty had bestowed upon me.  But still, nothing concrete emerged. That happened when, as the co-founder of Children for Christ, I was training my workers in child evangelism. By that time I had written some poems that showed some promise, but was too uncertain about my gifts to attempt stories, at least in written form. As an evangelist I had lamented the lack of available stories that could communicate sound biblical doctrine in a way that children could understand. So I made up my own. They were so effective in the camps and evangelistic campaigns that friends and colleagues began to urge me to write them down. I resisted, I’m not sure why. And then the moment arrived.

I had been training a team to launch a series of outreaches among children in one of the poorer suburbs of Johannesburg. I told my workers that they were on their own, this time. I would be present for moral support, but they would have to conduct the campaign themselves.  There were two workers who were particularly nervous about the undertaking. They had a passion for communicating the Gospel, but felt they did not know the stories well enough to get the message across to the children.

Please write them down, Uncle Chris!”

“You have heard me tell these stories hundreds of times,” I responded. “You should know them by now.”

“Please write them down. It will really help us,” they answered.

So I complied. In so doing the writers’ disease passed from the early stages into the critical. No cure was possible from that time on. Writing had moved from an occasional pastime into a passion. I no longer cared whether I was good or bad at it. I just had to write.

One more experience demonstrates how deeply imbedded the disease became, and how my style of writing developed. You may chuckle at this and say my fertile imagination was leading me astray, but you cannot deny, once you have heard it, the influence it had upon my motivation and approach to writing.

I was having a conversation with God. It may not have been a conversation conducted in the realm of voice and sound waves, but was a time of mutual communication nevertheless.

God said, “Christopher, do you want to become a great writer?”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Why?”

“Why I want to become a great writer? Because if I am a great writer people will listen to me when I try to proclaim Your goodness, and Your death and resurrection for the sins of the world.”

“Your motives are good,” replied my Lord, “but you don’t have to be a great writer to declare my Truth.”

“How then, Lord?”

“By using every device at your disposal to communicate My Truth clearly you will be in partnership with greatness. You don’t need to be profound. My Word is already great. All you need to do is to express it in statement and metaphor in a way that makes it clear to your readers. The greatness of what you are writing about will make you into a great writer. The profound wisdom you discover in prayer and meditation of my Word will make you profound. The greatness and profundity does not begin with you, but in the Grace I give you to make the Truth plain to others.  Choose noble themes, and you will be a noble writer. Set your heart upon expressing greatness instead of being great.”

Was this communicated to me in one brief conversation with God? I think not. It was more like a growing conviction that freed me of the burden of seeking greatness.

My benevolent disease has imbued me with a passion, or obsession, to proclaim the only things worthy of proclamation. I will use any means at my disposal to accomplish my goal, and I will shun any offer of a cure presented to me. I am a writer with a benevolent disease, and I hold it close to my breast. I will not permit anyone to wrest it from my grasp.

I have said that the whole basis of the Superman genre is that a weakling race must be there for a Superman to be needed at all. If we are all super-heroes  then the playing field is level and we can all rescue ourselves, which is the contention of those who tout the “unlimited human potential idea.

I have also established that the human race fits the description of a Weakling Race (All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God) Jesus Christ is the only One who fits the requirements for the particular weakness (sin) that afflicts us.

It is also clear that some fell no need of a Superman, either in the physical or spiritual sense. This is because they have determined to be their own super power.

So it comes down to admitting who we are --- to stop deluding ourselves as to our identity. (We are sinners in need of a Saviour --- Superman) We are not super-heroes able to control our own destinies. We are spiritual weaklings in desperate need of God’s Superman, Jesus Christ, to come to our rescue.

Mankind

(Tues10thd April, 2007 - By Christopher Shennan)

Mankind:

A Race of weaklings --- that is what we are.

Regardless of the swelling words we speak,

Unlimited human potential and technological advances

Don’t reach to the core of our need.

Indeed

Unlimited potential for school shooting, Twin Tower Destruction, and the murder of the unborn --- that we freely admit our inherent bent toward sin and destruction.

Each heart, in secret, cries out for a Superman, with X-ray vision, to plumb the depths and burn away the dross.

What a loss if a superman does not appear

To rescue this Weakling Race.

But Superman’s a myth, a fantasy dreamed up by men

Of imagination; men of vision.

Or is he?

Could it not be the dream is not a myth?

There is an empty space, a longing in the human heart

That would need to invent one, even if he did not exist.

Could it be that this space was made to be filled?

Is there a Superman out there, waiting and longing to

Come to the rescue?

On the nick of time,

Before the soul dies,

He will come to your side.

Not a myth!

Not a fantasy!

But a living reality!

All the Supermen of History are frauds,

Except the God-Man --- Jesus.

He is the Friend with Supernatural Powers

Who works by the Everlasting laws of Love..

A Supernatural Saviour

Who died for a weakling Race.

Stronger than Death, He vanquished

The Villain of the piece

And bought for His redeemed children ---

Everlasting Rest!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote a narrative poem that provides some interesting parallels to the Superman theme. Whether the poem is based on some historical figure, I have no idea, but it harks back to ancient times.

The story line of the poem is as follows:

Robert of Sicily, a king of great renown, goes to church. While there he hears the Magnificat, that part of Scripture where she magnifies the LORD after being with child of the Holy Ghost and is bearing the promised Messiah:

He hath put down the mighty from [their] seats, and exalted them of low degree. (Luke 1:52 – New Century Version)

Robert angrily declares under his breath, “No one will put me down from my seat!”

Drowsiness comes over him and he falls asleep.

When he awakes the church is shrouded in darkness. He can’t believe he has slept so long. He leaves the church and makes his way frantically to the Palace, hardly aware he is no longer clothed in his kingly robes. Only when the guards stop him at the Palace gates does he realize he is clothed in the rags of a beggar. He is outraged.

What has happened to him?

Who has robbed him and clothed him in these evil smelling garments?

In a rage he pushes past the guards and arrives in the throne-room, only to discover someone is already seated on the throne. In astonishment he sees that the one seated there is the image of himself.

“I am the king,” he shouts. “You are an impostor.”

All those gathered in the throne-room laugh. How can this stinking beggar imagine he is the king? He must me mentally deranged.

Unknown to Robert the one seated on the throne is an angel. The angel says to Robert. You are a beggar. I am the king.”

In humiliation he is escorted out of the Palace gates and into the cold night. In the days and weeks that follow Robert finds himself in the company of an ape, the usual companion of some beggars in those days. The ape performed tricks to encourage donations from the populace. Wherever he goes he does not fail to declare, “He is an impostor. I am the king.”

Even those who knew him well failed to recognize him, mesmerized by the kingly personage occupying the throne.

At night, Robert huddles with the ape in a barn, coving himself with straw and cast off rags for warmth.

From time to time the angel visits him and asks a searching question: “Robert, who are you?

Time and again Robert answers, “You are an impostor. I am the king!”

The weeks pass into months, and the months into years. At last, burdened down by the humiliation of years he remembers his proud declaration, “No one will put me down from my seat!” Suddenly he is confronted with his arrogance and pride. He sees the rebelliousness of his heart against God, and the humiliation he feels turns to humility.

When the angel once again appears to him, he bows down and keeps his eyes on the ground as he is asked again, “Robert, who are you?”

“With a trembling voice Robert replies, “I am a beggar, you are the king.”

A sudden brightness shines around the angel and fills the barn with heavenly light. In compassion the angels reaches out to Robert and says, “No, Robert. I am an angel.  You are the king!”

From that moment Robert is restored to his throne, a humble and good king, recognized for his compassionate and wise rule.

Now what has that to do with Superman?

It has to do with the question the angel asked, “Who are you?

While you and I hold on to the idea that we do not need God’s Superman, Jesus Christ, or at least deny him authority over portions of our lives, we will never be able to exercise the power Heaven grants us. We will go around declaring to ourselves, if not to others, “I can do this on my own,” and deny God’s right to rule over us.

Only when we bow our hearts in humility and declare, “I am full of weakness, and You, Lord, are my only Superman!” will we be raised to reign with Him over the forces of evil, and over our own wayward hearts.

When I Am Weak

(Thursday 19^th April, 2007)

“When I am weak, then am I strong,”

Is a word from the holy page:

Wisdom distilled for the wise of heart,

Valued from age to age.

For when I am strong the power from on High

Has no place to call a home:

The strong close their doors to all strength abroad,

Except to the strength that’s its own.

But, when I an weak I open my arms

To a power that proceeds from above.

It’s a power none can have, except those souls,

Who yield to  the power of God’s love.

The only people who think they do not need a Superman are those who have deluded themselves into thinking they themselves are supermen of some kind, or in some way.

Such a man was Nebuchadnezzar, in the book of Daniel. He had been warned he had to humble himself and change his attitudes. The warning went unheeded:

Twelve months later as he was walking on the roof of his palace in Babylon, he said, “I have built this great Babylon as my royal home. I built it by my power to show my glory and my majesty.”

The words were still in his mouth when a voice from heaven said, “King Nebuchadnezzar, these things will happen to you: Your royal power has been taken away from you. You will be forced away from people. You will live with the wild animals and will be fed grass like an ox. Seven years will pass before you learn this lesson: The Most High God rules over every kingdom on earth and gives those kingdoms to everyone he chooses. (Daniel 4:29-32 –New Century Version)

What the voice from Heaven decreed happened. At the end of seven years Nebuchadnezzar was brought back to his kingdom, and ruled once again. However, he was not the same man. He had learned the most valuable lesson anyone can learn. Indeed, it is the first lesson before any of us can learn anything else worth learning. He learned he was no Superman. Let him tell it in his own words:

At the end of that time, I, Nebuchadnezzar, looked up toward heaven, and I could think normally again! Then I gave praise to the Most High God; I gave honor and glory to him who lives forever.

God’s rule is forever,

And his kingdom continues for all

Time.

People on earth

Are not truly important.

God does what he wants

With the powers of heaven

And the people on earth.

No one can stop his powerful hand

Or question what he does …

Now, I, Nebuchadnezzar, give praise and honor and glory to the King of heaven. Everything he does is right and fair, and he is able to make proud people humble. (Daniel 4:34-35, 37 – New Century Version.

Such is the story of a great king of ancient times, but the story does no end there. Most of us (in modern times) have areas of our own lives where we imagine ourselves to be Superman, or Superwoman. We refuse to give up control of our own destinies, at least with regard to some things. We feel competent enough to deal with these ourselves, without reference to the Almighty God who made us. In that respect we are determined to be the captain of our own destiny and master of our own fate.

If you like we are partial Supermen, willing to let God control some, but not all of our lives.

I Thought I was a Superman

(Wednesday 18^th April – by Christopher Shennan)

I thought I was a Superman:

I chose my own way and then

Thought I was some great boon

To the sons and daughters of men.

I thought I needed no one:

I could make it quite well on my own.

I was willing to do whatever it took,

Or take any path to win.

I tremble to think if it happened

That I continued on the path I chose,

If the Mercy of God hadn’t stopped me

And I’d ended up one of His foes.

How my pride would have merited judgment,

And my arrogance tears of regret.

But now I have learned to bow down

At the feet of the One I have met.

I no longer think I am Superman,

For I know I am frail and weak;

Only Jesus can give me power

While he is the One that I seek.

Few would disagree that the latest movie, Superman Returns, is the best ever Superman movie. For me, the most important element in the movie was the question posed, “Does the world need Superman?”

Lois Lane, embittered by the sudden departure of Superman, wins the Pulitzer Prize for an article she wrote entitled, Why the World Does Not Need Superman!” Then Superman returns.

In a scene on top of a building, Superman asks Lois, “What do you hear?”

Lois replies, “I don’t hear anything.”

“I hear everything,” Superman says, “I hear cries for help all the time.” With super hearing, the super hero feels the burden of hearing what the ordinary man cannot hear. And in hearing the cries, and possessing the power to do something about it, he feels responsible to act on their behalf.

O.K., Superman is a fictional character, but that does not render the question irrelevant, “Does the world need Superman?”

Where can one find the answer?

First, you can find an answer in the media. The newspapers and television news provides us with ample evidence that Mankind is in a pretty sorry state. Human conflict continues despite the efforts and prayers of good people. The United Nations seems powerless to stop or even diminish world conflict. Nation against nation and civil wars within nations seem beyond their efforts. Even within the organization itself, the term “united” seems to be a stretch of the imagination. No, the human race is afflicted with a deeper disease that than mere outward conflict.

From whence come wars and fightings among you? come they not hence, even of your lusts that war in your members?(James 4:1 - KJV)

The Superman the world needs must not be so in strength alone, but must also have power to treat and cure the moral blight that afflicts it.

Returning to the fictional Superman, consider the plot of the super-hero genre:

There is (i) an arch villain (ii) a nation of weaklings, helpless before the evil deeds and diabolical plans of the villain, and (iii) a Superman who comes to their rescue.

The fiction bears a close resemblance to the facts of human life. Mankind is a race of weaklings: ravaged by sin and an easy mark for the villain, Satan, There is no hope of deliverance by our own efforts. We need a strong Saviour, a Superman capable of utterly defeating the arch Enemy and delivering us from the sin that separates us from God. More than that He must a Superman in the realm of Love, for only a Super Lover will be willing to give up His life to pay for the transgressions of a helpless and unworthy race.

The Supermen of fiction are many. The reason they appear on the pages of literature so frequently in different forms, is because the empty space in every heart longs for a Superman to fill its need. If none appears, then the heart goes about inventing one anyway. But however imaginative the creators of these Supermen of fiction are, they fall short of the requirements that necessary to deliver the human race.

Even if these Supermen were real, they would themselves fall under the blight of sin and require another Superman, or Saviour, to deliver them. That Superman is none other that Jesus Christ. He alone qualifies as the Lamb of God that takes away the sin of the world.

Consider again the question Superman asked , “What do you hear?” When she said she heard nothing, Superman tells her, “I hear everything. I hear cries for help all the time.”

Imagine the real Superman, Jesus, asking you that same question:

What Do You Hear?

( – by Christopher Shennan)

My Lord said, “What do you hear?

“I hear nothing, my Lord.”

“I hear hearts crying,” my Lord replied,

“Dying for a word to give them hope.

“I hear the sighs, the whispers under the breath,

“‘Oh, God, what am I going to do now?’”

“How can I learn to hear, my Lord?”

“By joining your heart with mine,” He said.

By bending your will and seeking my glory

You will learn to hear.

Only then will your ears be opened

And your feet made swift to meet another’s need.

You will hear what I hear,

And smell the fear of those living in the dark.

Your heart will bleed as mine bleeds ---

And the needs around you will feel like your own.”

I don't even know her name.

I was lost in a big city, trying to find my way to the correct on-ramp to the main highway. I should not have ended up in the city at all, except for a wrong turn I had made. Now it was getting late, and I needed to get home.

In desperation I turned into the parking lot of a large shopping plaza, in search a place I could ask directions. I chose a dry-cleaning establishment. The lady behind the counter tried to help me, attempting to reach her husband on her cell phone, believing he would do a better job of directing me. Failing in this, she pointed to a postal truck parked outside. She suggested the driver of the truck would almost certainly be able to help me.

Thanking her, I headed outside, only to find no one in the truck. I circled the truck, then peered inside the open door to see if the postal worker was somewhere in the interior.

At that moment the postal worker appeared behind me. Soon I was sharing my dilemma with her.. She brought out her maps and did her best to direct me. However, noticing my confusion she closed the map and turned to me.

"I only have to be back in forty five minutes," she said, "I'll take you as far as the on-ramp, so you can't possibly get lost again. Follow me!"

So that is what she did. I followed her some distance to the on-ramp. Without her help I am sure I would have missed it. She parked, with emergency lights flashing. She jumped out of the truck, ran back  to make sure I knew exactly where she was pointing, then sped back to the truck, and took off.

As I said, I don't even know her name. Yet she will live on in my memory as one who did just a little more than was required. She is part of an illustrious company --- a company of heroes:

Think of the Good Samaritan. This famed soul not only tended to the immediate needs of the man robbed and beaten at the side of the road, while others passed him by. He took him to an , paid for his keep, and stood good for any further expenses the injured man might incur. He did just a little more than was required.

Then there is Barnabas, whose name means, "son of consolation."  He stood up against the apostle Paul, who considered Mark a poor choice to take with them on their next missionary journey. He had good reason to come to that conclusion. Mark had previously left them in similar circumstances, demonstrating his lack of commitment. Barnabas, however, thought Mark deserved another chance. Both Barnabas and Paul felt so strongly about the matter that they parted ways. Paul later admitted that Mark had become useful. Barnabas was proved right; he did just a little more than was required. Consequently, a potential failure was brought into a life of usefulness in the service of others.

Add to these Biblical examples those that have followed over 2,000 years of church history, and you have a company of heroes who deserve to be honoured and emulated. May the following poem be a kind of battle-cry for those seeking to be part of this illustrious company:

            MY SIMPLE RULE

I try to live by a simple rule:

To always do a little more

Than the call of duty states,

Or what I'm responsible for.

For a little less is not my best,

And robs my brother blind;

It bleeds my life of character ---

Until it's hard to find.

But someone says, "You rob yourself

If you give a little more;

Your riches will be depleted ---

All you've been working for.

But I answer: "Oh the riches

I am storing up above ---

The strength of soul I'm gaining ---

The storing up of love.

When my earthly life is ended

The little more I've given,

Will be a crown I can cast before

My Saviour up in Heaven.

Yet the ultimate second-miler was Jesus Christ Himself.

In your lives you must think and act like Christ Jesus.

Christ himself was like God in everything.

But he did not think that being equal with God was something to be used for his own benefit.

But he gave up his place with God and made himself nothing

He was born as a man and became like a servant.

And when he was living as a man,

He humbled himself and became fully obedient to God,

Even when that caused his death --- death on a cross.

So God raised him to the highest place.

God made his name greater than any other name

So that every knee will bow to the name of Jesus---

Everyone in heaven, on earth, and under the earth.

And everyone will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord

And bring glory to God the Father. (Philippians 2:5-11- New Century Version)

I had a dream

I dreamed I was on a vast school property. At the edge of the property were some buildings. As I strolled near the buildings I became aware of some activity around a corner. As I approached I saw a young schoolboy being crucified by his mates. I was filled with horror at the sight and stood transfixed, watching the young people enjoying the suffering of the boy.

At last I shook myself. I had to inform someone of what was going on. So I set off across the school grounds toward the main buildings.

When I arrived, I found myself looking for a certain teacher whom I thought was the key person to do something about the horrific deed I had witnessed.

Then the real horror occurred.

In the process of searching for the teacher, and enquiring of others where she might be, I fell into conversation with them about trivial matters. I explained to them how I had got my first and middle names, and after whom I had been named. In the process I forgot all about the boy with wounds in his hands, and feet, and side. The trivial has somehow become more important than the now vague memory of what I has seen.

I awoke from my dream, but the dream would not leave me. The thought came to me: We just get on with our lives.

We are inured to violence by the multitude of television images we process every day, and by the news reports we hear from across the world. We are initially horrified by what we see of the pain and anguish of others. Then the trivial comes to distract us, and we simply get on with our lives.

It came to me how we generally act when we hear the story Jesus told of The Good Samaritan. We stand in judgment of the priest and the scribe as they pass by the man robbed and beaten by the side of the road.  We imagine ourselves in the role of the good Samaritan. Surely we would never pass by a man in such desperate straits. We would do something about it as the good Samaritan did.

Would we?

In fact, the minor crisis of our own lives, distract us from the major catastrophes in the lives of others. We hold up our hands in horror when the reality of their suffering first comes to us. But then we soothe ourselves with the thought: There's not much I can do. Someone else, In a more strategic position, will no doubt do something about it. Then we just get on with our lives.

I remember Bob Pearce, the founder of World Vision say, over and over, "Just because you can't do everything, don't do nothing."

Now I know the phrase is grammatically incorrect, but don't let that distract you from the impact of the statement. Don't let the vastness of the task paralyze us. We can all do something. As Jesus said regarding the woman who broke the alabaster box, and poured the costly ointment on His feet, "She did what she could."

Now you know why my dream would not leave me. It is still with me --- pricking me, stabbing me, goading me  to do something about the images of horror come to ne through the wonders of technology, and through more conventional means of news dissemination.

And may my dream become your dream. Or, will we just get on with our lives?

My friends and I watched the evening news:

Ten thousand people had died

In a bloody war in an African State;

Their rights and freedoms denied.

For a moment of time we threw up our hands,

And lamented such waste and destruction;

We discussed, at length, the ways and the means

We could offer them sound instruction.

Then what?

We just got on with our lives.

The AIDS epidemic drew our attention:

We threw up our hands in alarm.

We grieved at the needless loss of life,

And how so many are harmed.

The moral climate, we said, had caused

This plague that was stalking the land.

And someone, we said, yes, someone, for sure,

Should be helping them all understand.

Then what?

We just got on with our lives.

Millions are dying, my friends and I said,

They're dying while still in the womb.

Such a scourge, such a shame, such a terrible crime

Will surely be spelling our doom:

Judgment will come, for the innocent die,

And God will not suffer this long.

No question, my friend, you just wait and see;

The act of abortion is wrong?

What then?

We just got on with our lives.

The Gospel message, we said loud and clear,

Must be spread to all creatures on earth.

Glad news it will bring to sinners who come

To Christ and receive the new Birth.

The Church must wake up, before time runs out,

And save the lost from their Fate.

It should never be still, only do God's will ---

Before it will be too late.

Then what?

We just get on with our lives.