That night Paul had a vision: A man from Macedonia in northern Greece was standing there, pleading with him, “Come over to Macedonia and help us!” So we decided to leave for Macedonia at once, having concluded that God was calling us to preach the Good News there. [Acts 16:9-10 (NLT)]
I can’t say that I’ve ever had a dream or vision as clear cut as was Paul’s. If I ever did, I’m not sure I’d be as quick as he and his companions were to trust it. In Paul’s case, however, the dream helped him understand why the Holy Spirit previously prevented the men from preaching in the provinces of Asia and Bithynia (modern day Turkey). After hearing the Macedonian man’s plea, Paul finally had a clear sense of God’s direction. Paul, Silas, Timothy, and Luke headed west to Troas, set sail across the Aegean Sea, and made their way to Philippi in the Roman province of Macedonia (northern Greece). Paul’s obedience to that call took the gospel west toward Europe and changed Western civilization forever!
Nearly 300 years later, Irish history was changed when the man we know of as St. Patrick had a similar dream. Born Maewyn Succat around 387 in Roman Britain (Scotland), Patrick was kidnapped by Irish marauders at the age of sixteen. Taken to Ireland, the boy was sold into slavery and labored at herding and tending sheep. According to his memoirs, as Patrick prayed several times a day during his captivity, his faith grew and he felt the presence of the Holy Spirit. After six years of enslavement, he had a dream in which God told him, “Your ship is ready.” The young man escaped, walked 200 miles to the coast, and found some sailors who took him back to Britain. Once home, Patrick had another dream in which he was given a letter titled “The Voice of the Irish.” Upon opening it, he heard the voices of the people who’d once enslaved him calling, “We appeal to you, holy servant boy, to come and walk among us.” Initially reluctant to answer the call because of his lack of education, Patrick began religious training. He returned to Ireland about 15 years after his dream and the man known for explaining the Trinity with the three-leaved single stalk shamrock evangelized all over the land for the next thirty plus years. Patrick is said to have converted over 135,000 people, established 300 churches, and consecrated 350 bishops.
While we’re not likely to have such vivid dreams as Paul and Patrick, we should listen for the “Voice of the Irish” and be looking for a “man from Macedonia” in the people who cross our paths every day. They’ll probably look and sound much like everyone else and yet they’ll have a pressing need to know Jesus. May we respond as readily as did Paul and Patrick. We probably won’t change the world as did they, but we surely can change the world for someone.
God’s plan for enlarging his kingdom is so simple – one person telling another about the savior. Yet we’re busy and full of excuses. Just remember, someone’s eternal destiny is at stake. The joy you’ll have when you meet that person in heaven will far exceed any discomfort you felt in sharing the gospel. [Charles Stanley]
A few miles from our Illinois home, a giant ski jump towered over the treetops. Originally erected in 1905 by Carl Howelsen and a group of Norwegian skiers living in Chicago, it’s been rebuilt over the years and is still used today. In a curious coincidence, in 1913, the man who loved the mountains and deep snow found his way to the Colorado mountain town we once called our winter home. Although Howelsen returned to Norway in 1922, he left an indelible mark on the town by introducing it to recreational skiing and ski jumping. Not far from the hill named for him, stands a statue of the man known as Flying Norseman.
In ancient times, when an iron tool became dull, another iron implement was used to give it a finer polish and sharper edge. It’s not just tools that can become dulled—so can minds and spirits. Good Christian friends who act as whetstones can make us accountable, keener, stronger, and more enthusiastic and valuable. Rather than allowing us to grow dull and settled in our comfort zones, they sharpen us with challenges that make us better disciples for Christ.
Yesterday, I wrote about Jesus’ Parable of the Three Servants, often called the Parable of the Talents. Although I used it as an example of excuse making, that’s not what the parable is about. This parable comes right after Jesus’ description of the end times and the Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids in which He urged readiness for the Day of the Lord. Immediately following this parable about the talents, Jesus spoke about the final judgment. The story of these three servants makes it clear that, when that last day comes, the master will settle accounts: faith will be rewarded and the righteous servants separated from the false ones.
When Robert Louis Stevenson was just a boy, he was gazing out the window one evening and saw the lamplighter lighting the street lights. The future poet is reported to have said, “Look, Nanny! That man is putting holes in the darkness.” While it makes for a good sermon illustration, a more accurate version of his words is found in an essay he wrote in 1878, “A Plea for Gas Lamps,” in which the man expressed his opposition to the “ugly blinding glare” of the electric lights that were beginning to replace the gas lamps of Edinburgh. After asking God to bless the lamplighter, the poet described him as “speeding up the street and, at measured intervals, knocking another luminous hole into the dusk.” The lamplighter, said Stevenson, “distributed starlight, and, as soon as the need was over, re-collected it.”
What is the most important moment in your Sunday service? If your church follows a liturgy, perhaps it is the confession, absolution, or thanksgiving. Singing praise music, hearing an inspiring sermon or sharing in the Lord’s Supper may be the highlight of your worship. Reciting the Creed, saying the Lord’s Prayer, greeting one another, communal prayer—all are important parts of the day’s worship service but are they the most important part of it? I wonder if the holiest moment of our Sunday morning occurs when the service is over and we leave the sanctuary (or turn off the computer) and go into the world. When the service has concluded, instead of our obligation to God being over for the week, could it just be starting? Could the next six days and twenty-three hours be more critical than that hour or so we spent at church?
Devotions of the Heart 