Monday, January 18, 2010

reflections . . .

Our pastor, Brother Randy, is doing a sermon series on the purpose of the church, in general, and of Lighthouse Baptist Church, specifically. Even more specifically, the people of LBC. And, well, when you get right down to it, the purpose of Denise Panter.

One of his main points yesterday morning was that people should be my passion. Particularly those people who do not enjoy the privilege of knowing Jesus as their personal Lord and Savior. We walked through the reasons why this should be . . . the number one reason being, those very same people were the passion of Christ, when He walked the face of the earth.

As a saved person, one who's being sanctified, that should be enough of a reason for me. If I'm becoming more and more like the Christ who is my Savior, then lost people will more and more be my passion.

Ah, but there's more. People should be my passion because of the plight they face. It's twofold; going about this life without the everlasting Hope and facing eternal hell. If I really believe in an eternal hell, why am I not overwhelmed with a need to share Jesus with those who are facing it? It shows either (1) a complete lack of compassion or (2) an incomplete belief that it exists as Scripture says it exists. Either way, not a happy thought.

I read something in Sharing Jesus Without Fear that struck me and has stayed with me for a long time. The author described salvation as such (and I'm paraphrasing) . . .
Being lost is like being in a tempest-tossed ocean. Waves are crashing over your head, you're struggling to stay afloat; sometimes you're not even sure why you're trying to stay afloat and other times you'll do just about anything to keep breathing air. And all around you are people in the same, desperate situation. You struggle and thrash -- worn and exhausted -- when finally someone throws you a line and pulls you to safety onto Rock Island. Once you get to the Rock, you're just so grateful to be there. You go about greeting your new rock friends, singing your rock music and meeting at Rock Hall. You go about your new rock life, and for some reason -- even though you remember how desperate you were to get out of the water -- you forget about all those people you left there, who were as desperate and anxious to be saved as you were.
And isn't that how it is? I've never heard it better described. I was saved from drowning in my sins; why am I not just as passionate about throwing that line to others, as I was about having it thrown to me? Am I doing justice to the price that was paid on my behalf?

Things not just to think about; things to DO something about.



0 expressed . . .: