I just figured it up and the load of clothes bouncing and clicking around in my dryer right now is about number 16,000.  That is only a family of four, and only two for the last several years.  Some of you may have done two or three times that amount.

Depending upon our lifestyles, we all become adept at removing certain stains.  In my case they are crankcase oil, garden dirt, blueberries, grapes, and tomato sauce.  Some of the stains are seasonal, such as the cranberry sauce that inevitably stains my lace tablecloth in November.  Sometimes it’s something you never really expected, like the time Lucas had to move a fifty pound wheel of red, wax-coated cheese and the only way to get a good hold of it was to hug it to his chest.  He came home in a white shirt streaked with red dye.  Yes, I got it out, but it took three tries.

We all use different remedies:  ammonia, dish detergent, alcohol, stain remover, bleach—depending upon the stain and the fabric.  But sometimes even the best laundresses shake out the wet laundry expecting clean results, only to find a faint shadow of the stain still on the cloth.  I don’t know about you, but if I can tell where the stain used to be, I didn’t do a good enough job.

God has a stain remover, too.  What is so absolutely amazing is that his cleaning fluid ought to cause stains of its own.  He uses blood!  But that blood washes us clean, leaving no mark whatsoever.  His forgiveness is so complete that we can never tell where the sin used to be.  Unless, of course, we spill that cranberry sauce yet again.  Then when we approach his mercy seat and he once again sprinkles that precious blood, there we are—spotless before our Father, and only because of our Savior’s personal cleansing agent.

So how many loads have you done—how many loads of laundry and how many loads of sin?  Every time you put in yet another load of clothes, put a load in God’s laundry too.  If you aren’t the launderer in your home, think about it when you shed those dirty clothes.  They may not seem all that dirty, especially if you sit behind a desk all day, but take a look at the collar, guys.  Then think about what our God does for you as well.

…These are they who came out of the great tribulation, and they washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Rev 7:14

Come now and let us reason together, says the Lord.  Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool,  Isa 1:18

Dene Ward

We raised pigs when the boys were growing up.  A pig a year in the freezer went a long way toward making our grocery bill manageable, everything from bacon and sausage in the morning to chops and steaks on the supper table, ribs on the grill, and roasts and hams on our holiday table.  The first time the butcher sent the head home in a clear plastic bag and I opened the freezer to find it staring at me nearly undid me though.  After that Keith made sure to tell them to “keep the head.”

We bought our pigs from a farmer when they were no more than 30 pounds.  That created a problem that usually the boys and I were the only ones home to deal with.  Once the pigs were over 100 pounds they could no longer root their way under the pen, but those young ones did it with regularity, especially the first week or so when they had not yet learned this was their new home and they could count on being fed.  More than one morning I went out to feed them and found the pen empty, spending the remainder of my morning looking for the pig out in the woods.

One Wednesday evening when Keith had to work, the boys and I stepped outside to load us and our books into the car for the thirty mile trip to Bible study, only to see the young pig, probably 40 pounds by that time, rooting in the flower beds.  We spent the next forty-five minutes chasing it.  You would think three smart people, two of them young and agile and me not exactly decrepit in those earlier days, could corner a pig and herd him back to the pen.  No, that pig gave chase any time any one of us got within twenty feet of him, and they are much faster than they look.

You see things in cartoons and laugh at the pratfalls exactly as the cartoonist wanted you to, knowing in your mind that such things never could happen.  When you chase a pig you find out otherwise. 

Once we did manage to corner the thing between a fencepost and a ditch and Lucas, who was about 12, leapt for him with his arms outstretched.  Somehow that pig managed to move and Lucas landed flat on the ground on his stomach while the pig ended up trotting past all of us on his merry way, wagging his head in what looked like amusement.

Another time Lucas actually got his arms around the pig’s stomach, but even an un-greased pig is a slippery creature.  Nathan and I never had a chance to grab on ourselves before it was loose again and off we all ran around the property for the umpteenth time, dressed for Bible study by the way, which made the sight much more ridiculous, especially my billowing skirt.

We never did catch that pig.  He simply got tired and decided to go back into the pen.  I had opened the gate and as he trotted toward it, we all gratefully jogged behind him, winded and filthy and caring not a hoot that it was his idea instead of ours.  Still, he had to have the last word.  Instead of going through the open gate, at the last minute he ran back to where he had gotten out in the first place and slunk under the rooted out segment of the pen.  Then he turned around and looked at us.  “Heh, heh,” I could almost hear with the look he gave us.  We shut the gate, filled in the hole, loaded up the feed trough, and went inside to clean up, arriving at Bible study thirty minutes late and too exhausted and traumatized to learn much that night.

God is a promise maker.  He has given us so many promises I could never list them all here.  We have a habit of treating those promises like a pig on the loose, like something we can’t really get a good hold of, certainly not a secure one. 

I grew up in a time when it was considered wrong to say, “I know I am going to Heaven.”  Regardless the fact that John plainly said in his first epistle, “These things I have written that you may know you have eternal life,” (5:13), actually saying such a thing would get you a scolding about pride, and a remonstrance like, “Let him who thinks he stands, take heed lest he fall!”  We were too busy fighting false doctrine to lay hold of a hope described as “sure” in Heb 6:19.  

That word is the same one used in Matt 27:64-66.  The priests and Pharisees implored Pilate to make Jesus’ tomb “sure” so his disciples could not steal the body and claim a resurrection.  He told the guards, “Make it as sure as you can.”  Do you think they would have been careless about it?  Do you think there was anything at all uncertain about the seal on that tomb?  Not if you understand the disciplinary habits of the Roman army.  It is not quite as obvious because of the different translation choice, but the Philippian jailor was given the same order, using the same word, when Paul and Silas were put in prison:  “Charging the jailor to keep them safely [sure],” and he was ready to kill himself when he thought they had escaped.

That is how sure our hope is—“an anchor…steadfast and sure.”  It isn’t like a pig we have to chase down.  It isn’t going to slip through our fingers if we don’t want it to.  Paul told the Thessalonians that “sure” hope would comfort them, 2 Thes 2:16.  How comforting is it to be fretting all the time about whether or not you’re going to Heaven?  How reassuring is it to picture God as someone who sits up there waiting for you to slip so He can say, “Gotcha!”  That is how we treat Him when we talk about our hope as anything less than certain.

I never knew what to expect when I stepped out of my door the first few weeks with every new piglet.  If we hadn’t needed it, I would not have put myself through the anxiety and the ordeal.  Why in the world would anyone think that God wants us to feel that way about our salvation?

…in hope of eternal life, which God, who cannot lie, promised before times eternal, Titus 1:2.

Dene Ward           

As glad as I am that we no longer seem afraid to talk about the Holy Spirit in our lives these days, I am hearing other things that disturb me, disparaging comments about the Word:  “I know it can’t be just the word of God doing this” paraphrases some of the statements I am hearing.  Praise God that his Holy Spirit works in our lives, but do not treat any less respectfully one of his biggest feats:  translating the mind of God into words so that we mortals can comprehend what He has done for us and what He wants from us, 1 Cor 2:6-12.

Paul calls the gospel the power of God unto salvation, Rom 1:16, and an angel told Cornelius to send for Peter who would tell him words whereby you shall be saved, Acts 11:14.  Peter tells us himself that God’s word contains all things pertaining to life and godliness, 2 Pet 1:3, and the Hebrew writer tells us the word of God is living and active, and sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing even to the dividing of soul and spirit, of both joints and marrow, and quick to discern the thoughts and intents of the heart, 4:11.  What can God not accomplish with a Word like this?

God told Jeremiah, Is not my word like fire…and like a hammer that breaks the rock in pieces, 23:29.  Have you ever seen the devastation that fire can cause?  Can you imagine anything more effective at changing the face of a wall than continually pounding it with a hammer?

In Isaiah we learn how God’s word acts on both the good and evil.  For those who seek knowledge and understanding, it is precept upon precept, line upon line, line upon line, here a little, there a little, 28:9,10.  And to those of strange lips, the word of Jehovah be unto them precept upon precept, line upon line, line upon line, here a little, there a little, that they may go and fall backward and be broken and snared and taken, vv 11-13.  In other words, it acts the same way on all of us, but the results depend upon the heart who hears it. 

And so it is.  After Peter preached on the day of Pentecost, they were pricked in their hearts, Acts 2:37, and those who received the word were baptized, v 41.  After Stephen preached the crowd was cut to the heart, Acts 7:54, and they stoned him to death, v 58.  The same knowledge of God’s word that saves some brings death to others, 2 Cor 2:14-17.  But either way, it is the Word that causes the result.

God said the world would call it foolishness to try to save through preaching, 1 Cor 1:21.  Aren’t we guilty of the same thing when we devalue the power of God’s word?  Jesus was constantly quoting scripture, and in doing so He strengthened himself, defeated Satan, and saved the lost.  We should be following in His footsteps, treating God’s word with all the deference and respect it deserves, because it is truly the power of God. 

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, says Jehovah.  For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.  For as the rain comes down and the snow from heaven, and returns not. but waters the earth, and makes it bring forth and bud, and gives seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes forth out of my mouth:  it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it.  Isa 55:8-11

Dene Ward

Actually, this should probably be Conducting 101, but let’s stretch a point this morning.  Meanwhile you are sitting there wondering what in the world an ictus is and why you should care.

The ictus is the point in the conductor’s pattern where the actual beat occurs.  If you are tapping your toes to the music, the ictus occurs when your foot hits the ground.

My conducting professor would have a cow if he saw most of the conducting patterns we see on Sunday mornings.  Not because they are “incorrect,” but because the ictus usually occurs up around the song leader’s ear, when it should be at his waist.  But few of my brethren are professional musicians, so who cares where the ictus is, as long as there is one? 

That ictus, that stable underlying pulse, must be visible and steady so that we know when to sing.  What drives me crazy is when a leader just waves his arm on each word, rather than each beat, and expects us to read his mind about when the next one is coming.  Give me an ictus!  Even if you begin an accelerando (gradually speeding up) or a ritardando (gradually slowing down), we can still anticipate when a beat is coming and stay together as long as there is an ictus in your pattern.  If you’re just beating words instead of beats, who knows when it will come?

Of course, the group has to be watching the leader for any of it to work at all.  Funny how the ones who recite, “Let all things be done decently and in order,” will sing what they want when they want, regardless what the leader is doing, and do it loudly enough that they take half the congregation with them.  But don’t get me started…

God is the ictus in a Christian’s life.  [The Lord] is the stability in your times, Isaiah said, 33:6.  That word is the same word translated “faithfulness” in many other passages.  God’s faithfulness endures forever, Psa 117:2.

Interestingly enough, it is also the word “steady” in Ex 17:12.  Moses lifted up his hands as the people fought the Amalekites, but as his strength failed and they sagged, Aaron and Hur sat him on a rock and held his hands “steady” for him until the battle was over.  God holds his hands steadily on high as we fight our battles.  That is how we defeat Satan and overcome sin.  It’s how we handle trials and tribulations—with the steady helping hand of a God who never wavers. 

Even if you aren’t a trained musician you can feel the beat.  That’s why your toes tap and your hands clap.  It’s why your head bounces when you hear a tune you enjoy, but none of it matters if you aren’t watching the leader.

God doesn’t leave you wondering when the next beat will come.  Look for the ictus as He leads you.  Sometimes it may slow as the toils of life bog you down, but it will not leave you behind fending for yourself.  Sometimes it may speed up as you run from the Enemy, but it is always there for the ones who care to watch and be led. 

I often listen to music when I exercise.  I find I can go longer and do more than just counting repetitions.  If you are in a particularly difficult time of life, let God’s ictus help you put one step in front of the other, again and again and again, until you have finally reached the end of the trial.  Let it help you keep moving until you achieve the final goal.  God’s steady, stable, faithful hand will lead you on, until you sing that final triumphant note in the song of life.

 I will sing of the steadfast love of the LORD, forever; with my mouth I will make known your faithfulness to all generations. For I said, "Steadfast love will be built up forever; in the heavens you will establish your faithfulness." Psa 89:1-2.

Dene Ward

All summer I had been watching those monarch butterflies flit over my flower beds. Every couple of days I carefully checked the herb garden twenty feet away for signs of their caterpillars.  That’s what I read somewhere—that monarch butterfly caterpillars are the dreaded parsley worms that can wreak havoc on that herb almost overnight.  Nothing happened.  My parsley grew well and was never infested.  Somehow I got off easy this year.  I thought.

Then in mid-October we went away for a week.  We returned on a Friday night, after dark, too late to see much but the back porch by the light hanging outside the back door.  The next morning we stepped out for a stroll and saw what had happened.  Every sprig of parsley was completely bare, only the bright green stems sticking up completely naked—except here and there for the bright green worm still clinging to the bush it had just decimated.  I am not so paranoid as to think that somehow they all got together and planned the attack for while we were away, but it was certainly suspicious.

Satan, on the other hand, is perfectly capable of planning his attacks that way.  He waits until we are most vulnerable.  He waits until we have experienced a crisis in our lives, until we are frustrated by circumstances, until our defenses are down, and then he zooms in for the kill.  Being on the alert when you are tired and hurt is not easy, but that is exactly what we must do, standing guard as a soldier in the Lord’s army. 

One of the greatest benefits of being in the family of God is having people who care enough to watch your back.  All of us should be aware of the crises in our brothers and sisters’ lives.  Too often we are so consumed with our own affairs that we don’t have time to watch out for others, and that means we are too consumed, period.  Then we wonder how a brother could fall so far, why a sister was caught up in such a sin, why a family has “suddenly” disappeared from among us.  How in the world could those things have happened?  They happened in part because everyone was too busy to notice.

What do you do when announcements are made in the assembly?  Is that when you spend your time arranging your books, glasses, and children on the pew, the time you flip to the first song and look through it, the time you know you can spend a little longer in the ladies’ room before you need to be seated?  Those announcements should be your greatest tool the next week as you figure out what you need to do for whom, how you can encourage a brother or sister in distress, what you might say to one whose soul is in danger.  How much do you hear when you are finishing up a conversation that has no bearing on a soul, or racing to your pew before the first song begins?  Those pieces of news are about service, and that is the most important part of a Christian’s life, considering one another…Heb 10:24.

Be aware of the timing in the lives of others too.  Is it the first anniversary of a widow’s loss?  Is it a season that makes being alone that much harder for the single?  Are ordeals approaching in people’s lives that might make them more prone to Satan’s attacks?  We have a job to do; we have service to offer; we have comfort to give and sometimes exhortation and rebuke when we see those attacks making progress in the lives of another.

If we see them.  If we care.  If we aren’t so wrapped up in ourselves that we miss the attacks and wake up one morning to an almost overnight slaughter in the garden of God.

Wherefore lift up the hands that hang down, and the palsied knees; and make straight paths for your feet, that that which is lame be not turned out of the way, but rather be healed, Hebrews 12:12-13.

Dene Ward

I wonder if it means as much to us.  I wonder if it would have even gotten our attention.  We take so much for granted, so many things people have not always had access to, things they would marvel at were they alive today. 

Noon on a hot, dusty day saw a thirsty man sitting by a well after a long walk.  A woman trudged up, not during the normal hours of drawing water; a woman, we would later discover, who was on the fringes of her society, a society that was on the fringes itself, especially to people like this man, who sat where she had hoped to find no one.      To her utter amazement, he asked her for a drink.  It was not just that she was from a hated caste, but she was a woman, and men seldom talked to women in public, especially not one with her background.  And not only that, but he offered her something wonderful--she would never have to come draw water from this well again.  She was so excited she ran to tell the others in the town, even the ones who before would not speak to her because of her questionable morals. 

He stayed for two days, teaching about this miraculous water, water they eventually realized was not wet or even real, as the world counts reality, but far more real in the dawning light of a spiritual kingdom that would accept them all, not just those other people who hated them.  Soon, everyone would have this living water available, and no one in that kingdom would be considered “second class.”

I wonder if Jesus would have gotten my attention with this talk?  I don’t have to draw water from a well in the heat of the day—enough water to clean, bathe, cook, and stay alive.  But one day, 30 years ago, that little story meant a whole lot more to me than it ever had before.

We came home from a trip to discover that our well had collapsed.  We did not have the several hundred dollars it would have cost at the time to fix it.  Keith had to dig a new well himself.  For a month, every night after he finished the studying and home classes he conducted as a preacher, he worked on that well, even in the cold January rain, even running a fever. 

A farmer neighbor filled and carted a five hundred gallon tank outside our door.  That tank had held things not good for human consumption, so we used that water to carry in five gallon buckets for flushes, and pressure canners full for bathing.  Every morning I went to another neighbor’s house to fill up gallon jugs for the water we used to brush teeth, make tea and coffee, and wash dishes.  The boys were 5 and 3, way too little to help cart water.  I learned the value of carrying a bucket in each hand—balance was everything if you wanted to slosh as little as possible all over your carpets.

We learned to conserve water without even thinking about it—no more water running in the lavatory while brushing teeth, shaving, or putting in contact lenses!  Suddenly, carrying water was a time-consuming, back-breaking job. Modern homes are simply not geared to anything but running water.  It would have been much simpler to have had an outhouse in the backyard, and a pump handle in the kitchen.  The amount of water that needed hauling would have been cut in half.

And after a month of that, I understood what this woman must have thought, what a luxury the concept must have seemed to her hot, weary body.  Do we feel that way about “living water?”  Is salvation such a luxury that we marvel at it and run to tell others?  Or do we take it for granted like running water in our kitchens and bathrooms?  I would not wish the month we endured on anyone else, but you know what?  I think it was good for all of us.

Therefore with joy shall we draw water out of the wells of salvation.  And in that day shall you say, Give thanks unto Jehovah, call upon his name, declare his doings among the peoples, make mention that his name is exalted, Isaiah 12:3,4      

Dene Ward

It’s happened twice now.  I leave my campsite loaded down with shower gear and clean clothes, only to walk into what should be a sanctuary for women only and find a couple of little boys running around—not three year olds, mind you, but boys who are well into grade school, probably 8 or 9.

A campground bathhouse is a bit like a locker room.  Yes, there are shower stalls with curtains, but often the dressing area in those stalls becomes nearly as wet as the tiles behind the shower itself.  Sometimes you have to open the curtain so you can step out and put on your jeans without dragging them through a puddle.  On our last trip a woman came marching out of the stall in her jeans and bra, flapping her arms and exclaiming how hot it was.  What would have happened if those two little boys had been in there then?

Even the little boys cared.  They were showering when I came in to brush my teeth late one night.  Their mother had all their clothes piled in a far corner of the room. 

“Come on out,” she called through the shower curtain.

“But there’s a woman out there,” the older boy said.

“I’m sure she’s seen it before,” she hollered back, and suddenly in the mirror I saw a naked child streaking behind me.  For his sake I kept my eyes averted from the embarrassed little boy crouching behind the sinks.  If it bothers the boys, surely that’s the time to put them in the men’s bathhouse, isn’t it?

Then I got an even bigger shock.  “I’ll be right back,” the mom told the boys.  “I have to take this to your dad.”

Dad?  Why didn’t Dad have them in the men’s bathhouse to begin with?  No, dad was absent, as so many are these days, watching TV in the trailer by the satellite dish he had hauled along on a two night camping trip on top of a beautiful mountain.  I wonder if he ever noticed the scenery, much less his sons. 

My boys were blessed to have a father who took his role seriously.  He didn’t leave everything to me until they got “bigger.”  He changed diapers.  He rolled around on the floor with them.  He played every ball game in season, even when they weren’t very good at it yet.  He read the Bible to them every morning while they ate breakfast, and a Bible story every night before bed, even before they were able to understand what he was reading.  Nearly every night he was the one who gave them their baths so I had time to clean up the supper dishes.  And yes, he took them into the men’s bathhouse whenever we camped, which began when Nathan was only three.

For awhile Keith worked nights.  He would not have seen the boys except right before school and on weekends, but he got up early every morning, despite his late hours, to walk them to the bus stop.  He left them notes in the middle of table every day, pieces of advice, Bible verses to memorize before the weekend, and always an “I love you.”  They usually ran straight for the table when the bus dropped them off, and I still have a notebook with those little yellow notes taped to the pages.  It wasn’t long before he changed jobs, taking one at far less salary because being with his boys was more important than money.

Fathers, you have a more important calling than the one that pays your bills.  Boys need to know what it takes to be a man of God.  Girls need to see the kind of man they should look for one day.  If all you do is let mama handle things till they get a little bigger, you are missing the most precious years of their lives.  You still won’t have a relationship with your child, because you didn’t build one when the building came naturally.  They won’t trust you to really care, and no one will much blame them.

And you fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord, Ephesians 6:4.

Dene Ward

I thought it was just because I was a classical voice teacher who, since I live in a rural county in the South, spent a lot of time on diction--clean enunciation, and particularly those wide Southern diphthongs.  What is the point of singing if no one can understand the words?  So I thought it was just because I was sensitive to it that I kept noticing that I could not understand the words in a lot of pop music.  Finally, one day when the boys were playing a “Best Of…” tape in the car, I asked them, “Is he really saying ‘dancin’ in the fryin’ pan?’”

“No, mom.  It’s dancin’ an’ prancin,’” accompanied by exaggerated eye rolls and head shakes as only teenagers can.

Recently I discovered a whole website devoted to “Misheard Lyrics.”  I feel vindicated at last.

But pop music is not the problem.  The singers are the problem.  Most of us can tell stories of our children just beginning to sing our hymns and the often hilarious mistakes they make.

In the middle of the grocery store one morning, three year old Nathan said, “Sing the song about the sandals, mom.”

“Sandals?  A church song?”

“Yes.  All other ground is sinking sandals, other ground is sinking sand.”

Lucas at the same age asked his grandfather to sing the song about the peas.  “He whispers sweet peas to me.”  And a few months later I heard him singing, “When the roll is called under the water.”

Do you wonder if God has the same problem understanding our singing?  Not as long as we sing and make melody with our hearts, Eph 5:19, rather than muttering half-memorized words on automatic pilot.  What about our prayers?

Once in a women’s class, a dear friend was praying and had trouble with a certain phrase.  No matter how she tried, it kept coming out backwards to what she intended.  Finally she just said, “Lord, you know what I mean!”

Of course He does.  Why was that such a revelation and comfort to me?  Because we spend so much time legislating prayer, telling folks which person of the Godhead they can and cannot pray to, what things they can and cannot ask for, and what things they MUST say if they expect their prayer to get past the ceiling when the real problem is, we don’t pray enough.  No wonder!  Everyone’s afraid of doing it wrong.  Just as the Pharisees made the Law of Moses a burden (Matt 23:4), we are making what should be one of our greatest comforts in this life, a burden instead. 

Just pray!  We have an intercessor, a mediator who is on our side and pleads our cases.  He is not standing their just waiting to stamp my particular prayer, “Disqualified!” and send it back unheard.  There are no misheard prayers in Heaven.

For there is one God, one mediator between God and man, himself man, Christ Jesus, who gave himself a ransom for all…1 Tim 2:3.4a

And he who searches the hearts knows what is the mind of the spirit, because he makes intercession for the saints according to the will of God.  Rom 8:27

These things says the Son of God…I am he who searches the reins and the hearts…Rev 2:18,23

Dene Ward

Wives of probation officers learn to live with a lot of things, including fear.  As certified law enforcement officers their husbands regularly go into neighborhoods that well-armed policemen will not enter without back-up.  Yet they do it on a regular basis to keep track of their caseload, making sure they are where they are supposed to be and not out getting into trouble again.  Keeping the community safe by supervising convicted felons is their job.  They knock on doors every day, never knowing who might answer, or what condition they might be in (drunk, high, angry) and what they might be carrying with them.  Yes, it’s illegal for them to have a weapon, but they broke the law already, remember?  One time Keith came upon one of his people parked in front of a convenience store with a shotgun in the front seat next to him.

One of the other rules for the probationer is never to go near their supervising officer’s residence.  Most of them have no idea where their officers live anyway, and the office is not allowed to pass out that information, but when you live in a tiny rural county where practically everyone is related to or otherwise knows everyone else, they don’t even need a phone book to find their officers.  Twice I have had one of those people knock on the door, once when Keith had already left for work.  That is why I always lock my doors when I come inside, and why, since we had a fence put up, we lock the gate 24/7.

It’s a habit now.  I come in the door and shut it with a twist of the wrist and it’s locked.  I don’t even know I’ve done it. In fact, one time I walked outside to do something and locked myself out without realizing it. 

On the weekends, I regularly lock Keith out too.  He will be chopping wood or mowing the yard and I come back in from taking him a jug of water and—flip—it’s locked.  I don’t know until I hear him knocking at the door.  He never gets angry; he always says, “Good job,” and goes about his business.  Now, if I didn’t respond to his knock, that might be a different story.

Acts 6:7 tells us that many of the priests were “obedient to the faith.”  That word “obedient” is the same Greek word used in Acts 12:13.  Peter had been miraculously released from prison and ran to Mary’s house, where the church had met to pray.  He knocked at the door and Rhoda came to “answer”—that’s the word “obedient.”  Just as a knock on the door requires a response, the gospel knocking on our hearts requires one too.

First, let me praise poor little Rhoda.  This was a time of danger for the church.  Two had been arrested and one of those already killed.  The use of the word “maid[en]” or “damsel” tells me she was unmarried and therefore quite young.  Yet she is the one who was sent to answer the door.  What if it had been Herod’s soldiers?  Then she finds Peter standing there and is so excited she forgets to let him in.  It takes others coming to respond to the continued knocking for Peter to actually get into the house.

A lot of charlatans who claim to be preachers of the faith will tell you that all you have to do is look out the door and recognize the Lord and you will be saved.  Faith is merely mental assent, with perhaps a lot of excitement thrown in, too much to actually get the door opened, to prove its sincerity, but this word requires some action.  Those priests in Acts 6 were “obedient” to the faith.  They responded completely and fully to whatever was asked of them.  “Mental assent” is not an appropriate response to the gospel, any more than me looking out the diamond-shaped pane of glass at my locked-out husband and waving, “Hi!”

How many professional athletes have you seen wearing crosses and “thanking their Lord” before going out to live exactly the way they want to instead of the way He wants them to?  Too many.  But what about those of us who do not live with such public scrutiny?  How many times do we tell the Lord, even after having “obeyed the gospel” as if it were a one-and-done deal, I’m happy to serve as long as it doesn’t cost too much money or take too much of my precious time, as long as everyone does things my way (which is the only smart way), or calls me every day to check on me and take care of my every whim?

The Lord is knocking on the door and He wants far more than your words.  He wants all of you, your heart and your life, your total submission to His way of doing things.  Don’t just nod at Him through the peephole.  Either answer the door and let Him in, or allow Him to go on to someone who really wants Him there.

As many as I love, I reprove and chasten: be zealous therefore, and repent. Behold, I stand at the door and knock: if any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me. He who overcomes, I will give to him to sit down with me in my throne, as I also overcame, and sat down with my Father in his throne. Revelation 3:19-21

Dene Ward