Ephesians 3: 14-21 (links validated 6/24/24a)

In the first few days of May of 1373, an obscure woman who called herself "a simple, uneducated creature" lay on her death bed for "three days and three nights." She says that she was "thirty and a half years old." On the fourth night, she received the last rites of the Catholic Church, "and did not expect to live until morning." On the night of May 8, she asked to be propped up in her bed. By this time her eyes were fixed, her lower body was numb, she could not speak, and a priest had come to preside over her death. He set a crucifix before the woman at the foot of her bed. What happened next, as they say, is history. Beginning at four in the morning, and lasting well past the middle of the day, Julian of Norwich (1342–1416) had a series of fifteen visions, showings, or revelations as she gazed at the crucifix. She then had a sixteenth revelation on the following night that confirmed to her the authenticity of her experiences, which she was otherwise inclined to attribute to delirium. "I never asked for any bodily vision," writes Julian, "or any kind of revelation from God." And yet she had the audacity to believe that God had in fact spoken to her in order to benefit all humanity: "I had a true and powerful perception that it was he himself who showed this to me without any intermediary." Her ultimate act of audacity was not only to believe that God had truly spoken to her in her sixteen visions, and that the visions exceeded the limited wisdom of the male-dominated church, but also that God intended for her to write them down in a book so that ordinary believers could benefit from them...

always good insights!

When I think of knowing a love that surpasses knowledge, I think of a newborn infant cradled in her mother’s arms. She is loved, but she couldn’t begin to describe that love. Indeed, she doesn’t even have thoughts about that love. All she has is the experience of that love. The fact that love cannot be comprehended or explained does not make that love any less real. Indeed, that infant experience of love becomes the basis of all later understanding and expressions of love. Paul’s words about us being “filled to the measure of the fullness of God” made me think of the hymn, “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling.” Finish, then, thy new creation; pure and spotless let us be; Let us see thy great salvation, perfectly restored in thee; Changed from glory into glory, ’til in heaven we take our place, ‘Til we cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love and praise. And his words about God being glorified “in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations forever and ever” brought to mind “Amazing Grace.” When we’ve been there ten thousand years Bright shining as the sun, We’ve no less days to sing his praise Than when we’d first begun.

In a book of his collected sermons, Will Willimon writes about his father-in-law, Carl Parker who retired from the ministry for the third time in the fall of 1989. At the time he declared that, at long last, it was time for him to retire for good and “move to the mountains of Hendersonville [S.C.] to live among the Floridians.” At his retirement service Parker wanted some “sweet soprano voices to sing his favorite, ‘The Ninety-and-Nine’.” Parker also preached what Willimon calls “something about the depth and breadth, the height and width of the love of God. . .” “Then,” writes Willimon, Parker “spoke about the man who was to die in the electric chair in South Carolina the next day. . . Somebody had held a service of remembrance for this man’s victims and their families. He had killed a couple of people and maimed others in his rampage of terror. The preacher at that service had declared that he wished they would let him ‘throw the switch on this piece of refuse who destroyed those innocent lives. “Pastor Parker, “ Willimon continues, then “went into lurid detail describing the crimes of this man. ‘And yet,’ Parker added, ‘today’s Scripture, as well as the sweet song we have heard, says that God loves that man on death row, values his soul just as much as God values us.’...

A good example of what God can do in our lives can be found in the life of a gentleman named Stuart Hamblen. He had a popular radio show on the West Coast of the United States in the late 1940s. During Billy Graham’s 1949 Los Angeles Crusade, Stuart Hamblen invited Billy Graham on his show as a guest. Stuart Hamblen encouraged his audience to attend the crusade and remarked that he would be there too. The first night Stuart attended, he was convicted of his sins. Because he could not understand what was going on in his soul, he shook his fist in anger and left. He came back several times and each time he had the same reaction. One night, Billy Graham was awakened in his hotel room by the ringing of the telephone. Stuart Hamblen was on the other end on the line, and he was in tears. He asked to see Billy Graham right away. They talked and prayed, and Stuart Hamblen gave his life to Christ that night, and came forward in the next service during the crusade. Not long after, Stuart had a conversation with the actor John Wayne. That conversation inspired Stuart to write one of the most famous Gospel songs. Some of the words are: It is no secret what God can do What he’s done for others he’ll do for you With arms wide open, he’ll pardon you It is no secret what God can do...

As we have noted before in other epistles, Paul probably wrote to the Ephesians from a prison cell. Perhaps no more than a single shaft of sunlight pierced a crack in a brick wall and penetrated the gloom of Paul’s cell. All was darkness and, by all human measures, Paul’s condition was likewise bleak and conducive to dark despair. Yet there was perhaps that single beam of light. And through that beam Paul was able to follow its source clear back to the sun. It still shined even while he was in the dark. It always shines as does the source of that star’s power: the love of Christ and of God. It was just the one shaft of light. Not much to it. Not much to go on. You could barely even read a book in so small a light beam. But it pointed to so much more. Paul did not despair over how small his light was but took joy in how large was the ultimate source of that light. Follow along the path of that light beam long enough and you arrive at nothing short of glory.

G.K. Chesterton once wrote, “Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, ‘Do it again’; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is...It is possible that God says every morning, ‘Do it again’ to the sun; and every evening, ‘Do it again’ to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that he has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.”...

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Howard Clinebell tells the story of a little lifesaving station on a rocky coast. It consisted of a crude wooden hut, an old lifeboat and a couple dozen life jackets. It was manned by volunteers. When they got word that there'd been shipwreck, they'd rush to the lifesaving station, drag the boat into the water and row with all their might to reach the victims before they drowned. Then they'd bring them back to the hut and shelter them around a warm fire and give them hot coffee and bread and perhaps a cup of broth. Often those who were rescued gave money to express their gratitude. Some asked to join, that they, in turn, might save someone else's life. The little lifesaving station grew. They tore down the hut and built a nice new building in its place. They furnished it nicely and, when the weather was calm, they used it as a clubhouse where they could enjoy each other's company and swap stories of being out on a storm-tossed sea at night. The lifesaving station continued to grow...

Jenny and I have had more than thirty people live with us over the years. Some stayed only a couple of nights while others stayed for years. Glenda was one of those. She came for a couple of weeks and stayed for 4 years. When she came, we showed her to her room and said "Make yourself at home!" We meant it but she didn't do it at first. We knew she was making herself at home when she took our pictures from the wall and put up her own; when she arranged the furniture to suit her not us; when she purchased her own floor rugs and returned ours. And when she began to have a say in what we watched on TV or what we ate for tea we knew she was feeling at home. Her room reflected her personality, her likes, her longings and the things she valued. The room was no longer ours. It was hers. When we ask Christ to make himself at home in our hearts we are asking him to take our stuff down from the walls and put his stuff up there.

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