If Only

She searched her handbag yet another time

Not a dollar, not a quarter, not even a dime,

Just another day and just another hour

There was no one from whom she could borrow.

“What else can I do?” she often thought

And her memory made her even more distraught,

No cure was in sight; she was unclean

Every single day brought back the same old scene.

To whom could she turn; there was not a soul,

Everyone kept away; unclean she was told,

Couldn’t even go to church; that was a no-no

The Bible suggests to me that this was so.

“What have I done to deserve this disease?

Why for twelve years have I had no ease?

Why have the doctors taken every red cent?

Why this heavy load under which I am bent?”

Twelve long years, can’t any understand?

She once had much money and a life plan

But disease struck and all went down hill

Money is gone and disease troubling her still.

If it were I I know what I would do-

Everybody has an opinion; everyone a view,

Until it comes to our door we can parade

But after the fact we never make the grade.

Her hemorrhaging was like a sin sick curse,

Whatever she tried it grew worse and worse

Till she was barred from her community,

It was unlawful for her to mix with society.

I could imagine the doctor’s fancy talk

As she visited repeatedly hardly able to walk,

Money hemorrhaging as going down a drain

And her flow of blood doing just the same.

About the solution all her doctors were vague

But they took her money to add to her plague,

Her fountain just flowed and flowed the more

But none would say, “Mam, there’s no cure.”

As you could imagine the money dried up,

No free medical attention, she was out of luck,

No one came near to even give her a buck

Terribly sad but true, hers was a bitter cup.

And just when it seemed there was no hope in sight

Somewhere in her tunnel there shone a light,

She heard the news of a great physician

And right there and then made life’s best decision.

“I must see him, I must see him; I really must

Though I am well aware how society will fuss,

The law won’t stand in my way or the people,

Nothing will stop me from receiving this miracle.

With a determination buoyed by her faith

To the Great Physician she made great haste,

As best as she could in her debilitating circumstance

She made sure she would not miss her chance.

The crowd was huge; they always were,

Wherever Jesus travelled there was a quite stir,

This was a challenge but she was not deterred,

As great as the crowd was, her focus was not blurred.

If only she could work her way beyond this obstacle,

Beyond the swelling crowd beyond the people,

If only she could get past their accusing glare

Something in her soul told her this physician cared.

He seemed different from the ones she had attended,

On them both money and effort had been expended,

But the reviews were good and so she believed

“If only I could touch him a miracle I would receive.”

“If only I could touch the hem of his coat,” she thought,

Pause for a moment; imagine the thrill that brought,

And so bending low through the crowd she fought

Until she encountered the object her eyes had sought

“There it is, if only I could just stretch a little more

I just believe that for me a miracle is in store.”

So she extended her hand till groping fingers reached

Touching the physician’s coat and triggering his speech.

“Who touched my clothes?” she had heard him say

Much to the disciples’ amazement on that given day,

What a strange question to ask given the press

But the woman knew it was her whom Jesus addressed.

She came forward trembling but told him the truth,

Something great had happened; she had the proof,

The fountain of blood had dried up; she was now healed,

She had encountered Jesus; to her he had been revealed.

Her miracle had been wrought; she was satisfied,

She now stood upright; she no longer had to hide,

Virtue had left Jesus and her bleeding had gone,

The Great Physician had ushered in her new dawn.

If only someone would call on Jesus today

He would fix your sin issue and show you the way,

Bent you would come with your heavy issue of sin

But upright you would be if you give your heart to him.

Such faith would make you whole; you’d be at peace,

Your sin fountain would dry up; it would instantly cease,

Jesus would be on board; your life’s ship he’d steer,

Why not make that decision now? Devil’s Reef is near!

Satan is bleeding you like those physicians of old,

Already you know that he has done damage untold,

If only you’d come to Jesus; don’t be fearful, be bold

You’d get healing for the body and find rest for your soul.

Stewart Russell © 2016

Being Born Again Is A Must

Being born again is a must

If we would ever see Jesus,

The requirement of faith and trust

As expressed to Nicodemus.

He came to Jesus by night

To be rid of a serious plight,

He thought it somewhat insane

When Jesus said, “Be born again.”

He was a man of the Pharisees

They were bent on strict decrees,

He was a ruler of the Jews

A sect who had some strange views.

“How could this happen?” he asked.

That is a rather incredible task

For a man to go back into his mother

What a strange and awful bother!

Nicodemus was way out of his depth

And had not known the truth yet

That being born again was a must

Instead of a whole lot of religious fuss.

One must be born of water and the Spirit

Nothing of the flesh is of any credit,

In flesh alone we are always in debit

Jesus made this plain and explicit.

That which is of the flesh is flesh

It caters to the fleshly at best,

That which is of the Spirit is spirit

With whom there is no deficit.

Being born again is not akin to form

By far it supersedes that norm,

Not ritualistic like the traditions of men

For of such is the heart of man’s problem.

Many attempt to explain its mechanism

Giving rise to more isms and schisms

Others reject it on lack of understanding

And conform to faiths far more demanding.

Being born again is centred on Christ

Not chance like the throwing of the dice,

It is God-appointed and confirmed

In the believer and in his spirit affirmed.

It is not a strange feeling and sensation

But one’s faith in God’s gift of salvation,

A coming to Christ by way of the cross

Acknowledging the fact that we are lost.

Crushed by sin under its heavy weight

A depraved soul at best in our sinful state,

A need to have expunged our life’s slate

So full of evil and malice and hate.

More critical is the sinner’s condition

Than his quest to comprehend salvation,

The daily breeze is still a puzzle to man

Far less the details of God’s salvation plan.

It cannot be dissected or analyzed

Not open to conjecture or surmise,

It is simply a matter of faith and trust

In the finished work of our Saviour Jesus.

Some argue it is this or maybe that

For some their opinion becomes fact

Upon which denominations are built

For others it is like the proverbial quilt.

Some add requirements; others subtract

Some make it a steep, treacherous track,

Some: a what-to-do list and rules to keep

Others: a guilt trip with troubled sleep.

Salvation is personal not denominational

It is one’s faith in Christ not creedal,

It is not one of the ways but the only way

To escape God’s wrath on judgment day.

In verse sixteen of John chapter three

Salvation is define in its simplicity,

For God so loved that He gave his Son

So have faith in Christ and the work is done.

Worry not about how God accomplishes it

Simply walk in faith as your daily habit,

Let God’s transforming power work in you

To make you like Jesus who is worthy and true.

Why not heed his words to Nicodemus?

Why not in Jesus place your trust?

Why not discard all the religious fuss

And accept being born again as a must?

Stewart Russell © 2016

The Prodigal that Roamed & the Prodigal at Home Part 2

 

Everyone was happy except the other son,

He sought to find out the reason for this fun,

When he heard that his brother had returned

His heart with envy and jealousy burned.

So there was great rejoicing all except one,

Nothing but anger from the prodigal at home

Who selfishly thought it was particularly unfair

That his brother should then suddenly reappear.

“He took all that was for him and left this place

Lived his life wretchedly and our name disgraced,

Now he has returned you have ordered a feast

Left to me all this rejoicing would suddenly cease.

All these years I have faithfully served you,

I have never disobeyed and you know that is true,

I have always been here at your beck and call

And all I ask Father is that you be fair; that’s all.

 

 

My brother left here and went his own way

Now he has returned there is celebration today,

Clearly there is more going for the son that strays

Than the one that serves faithfully and at home stays.” 

His father tried to placate him but to no avail,

He tried and tried but his efforts just failed,

While the return of the son the others regaled

This for the son at home was a sorrowful tale.

And so it is with some church people

Especially at the coming home of a prodigal,

They fret and grumble and show great distaste

As though that prodigal has taken their place.

  

Why all this fuss?  He is not going to last,

Very soon this church will be a thing of the past,

Well that’s not you and certainly it’s not me,

No such persons in this place; that we all can see.

I entreat us all to be careful with our attitude

And let us be balanced concerning our latitude,

Condemnation is not the spirit with which we must judge

And compromise not, hold to God’s word, don’t budge.

 

Whether prodigals at home or prodigals who roam

Both need God’s salvation; that should be known,

Whether lost in the church or lost out in the world

Both are lost and this truth needs to be heard.

The Pharisees run the synagogue yet they did not heed

When Jesus apprised them of their spiritual need,

They were faithful to Abraham or so they thought

Yet rejected the Saviour who their salvation brought.

Jesus was sharp in his assessment of their plight

They were sticklers for the law but refused the light,

Void of compassion, self-inclined and aloof

They neither came to nor led others to the truth.

They refused to meet the requirements to be forgiven,

More than that they shut up the kingdom of heaven

And barred men and women from going in there at;

Jesus called them hypocrites and that’s a biblical fact.

They compassed land and sea to make one proselyte

And made him a child of hell in this spiritual fight,

They paid tithe of mint and anise and cumin

But the weightier matters of the law meant nothing.

 

So take note regarding the prodigals that roam

You are really no better if you are a prodigal at home,

Time to stop the condemnation and the useless pretense

Like them you too need the born again experience.

Salvation cannot be achieved by a person’s merit

Neither is it accomplished keeping the law as a habit,

The price of our salvation is to the Saviour’s credit

And to the grace of God regarding which there is no limit.

Stewart Russell © 2016

The Prodigal that Roamed & the Prodigal at Home Part 1

“Hi son, what is troubling you?”

“Why Father, I thought you knew,

We have this discussion all the time

It is time you give me what is mine.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?

Have you considered what you will miss?”

“Look Father, I have made up my mind,

I will not let you dissuade me another time.

I have attained unto that legal age

To have my own, I’ve reached that stage,

So Father, before I get into a rage

Please let me out of your restraining cage.”

“Son, a few more years would be perfect

Then I am sure you will have little regret,

Now is not the time to take that step

Still a few things you haven’t learnt yet.”

“Father I am ready, I know that I am,

Why surely you can see that I am a man,

I have thought this over; I have a plan,

 Time to get from under your command.”

Strange enough it was the younger boy

That wanted no more of Father’s employ

But Father conceded to let him go

Even though there was much he did not know.

So off he went to a far away land

Feeling rather smug with money in his hand,

Far away from his father’s command

Saying to himself, “I am my own man.”

O he had a fling and a very grand time

Day after day and nightly to unwind,

Nothing like song, women and wine

And the most costly places in which to dine.

Yes, friends he had and not a few,

He spent quite a bit on this parasitic crew,

As long as he could keep on meeting the cost

They were willing to pretend he was the boss.

Nothing lasts forever; even money doesn’t,

What happened next was not too pleasant,

His money ran out and so too his friends

And so the good life came to an abrupt end.

For many it takes money to make a man

So think of a man with no money in hand…

But what else could go wrong with his plan?

Would you believe it?  A famine in the land…

A famine is bad enough with money to spend

But this young man’s money had come to its end,

So where could he turn to make ends meet?

He found himself at a pigsty retreat.

He picked up a job simply feeding swine,

What a step down from women and wine!

Of the pigs’ lunch he would have eaten a share

But dared not in case the owner was near.

At his lowest he began to use his mind

This was not outback, this was out behind,

That’s where pigpens were, not a pleasant place

This Jewish son suffered quite a disgrace.

Whoever heard of Jews messing with pigs?

Or eating pig food: that can you dig?

But it was here that he came to his senses

And began to look at life through different lenses.

The servants at home had enough and to spare,

They didn’t worry about what to eat or wear,

His father looked after their every care

But here he was alone and in despair.

If I were Father’s servant I could make do,

As his hired servant I would surely get through,

Why stay here with these pigs and their mess?

As one of Father’s servants I won’t have this stress.

Then and there he decided on a course,

Planned a speech which he repeatedly rehearsed

Then he headed for home in the rags he wore,

A sorry picture dejected and footsore.

 

When yet a way off his father espied

Knowing his son by his gait and his stride,

Running to meet him he drew him to himself

In spite of his smell, his rags and poor health.

He never got the chance to give his speech,

Father was so happy to have him within reach,

He held a celebration that made the other son mad

But Father and his household were extremely glad.

Put a ring on his finger; outfit him with a robe,

Put shoes on his feet; we’re in celebration mode,

My son was lost but is back to say the least

Now kill the fatted calf and let’s have a feast.

In St. Luke chapter fifteen and verse seven

We read of similar rejoicing way up in heaven

Over a single sinner that ceases to roam

And at the Spirit's bidding returns to Father's home. 

Stewart Russell © 2016