Dying to Self

Bill Briton once wrote this about Dying to Self, the Christian way of forsaking selfishness for God's glory. This blesses God & benefits those around us, & is the fruit of Christian faith that works by love.

"When you are forgotten, or neglected, or purposely set at naught, and you don’t sting and hurt with insult or the oversight, but your heart is happy, being counted worthy to suffer for Christ, THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When your good is evil spoken of, when your wishes are crossed, your advice disregarded, your opinion ridiculed, and you refuse to let anger rise in your heart, or even defend yourself, but take it all in patient loving silence, THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When you lovingly and patiently bear any disorder, any irregularity, any impunctuality, or an annoyance; when you can stand face to face with waste, folly, extravagance, spiritual insensibility…and endure it as Jesus endured it, THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When you are content with any food, any offering, and raiment, any climate, any society, any solitude, any interruption by the will of God, THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When you never care to refer to yourself in conversation, or to record your own good works, or itch after commendation, when you can truly love to be unknown, THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When you can see your brother prosper and have his needs met, and can honestly rejoice with him in spirit and feel no envy nor question God, while your own needs are far greater and in desperate circumstances, THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When you can receive correction and reproof from one of less stature than yourself, and can humbly submit inwardly as well as outwardly, finding no rebellion or resentment rising up within your heart, THAT IS DYING TO SELF."

Are you dead yet? In these last days the Spirit would bring us to the Cross. “That I may know Him…being made comfortable to His death.”

Growing Up

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream–and not make dreams your master,
If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings–nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!

–Rudyard Kipling

Up-Hill

In numerous sermons, I have recounted the famous incident of Churchill in a fox-hole during WWI. He was as afraid & disillusioned as a human soul can be…& contemplating desertion from the army. He wrote of his miserable condition & confusing thoughts to his love back home…Clementine. She speedily returned a letter to him that quoted their favorite poem by Rosetti. It is also 1 of my all-time favorites…& has often been an instrument of the Spirit of God to encourage my heart while instilling resolve…as it did with Sir Winston Churchill.

Up-Hill

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when 'ust in sight?
They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labor you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.

-by Christina Rosetti

This poem (as is often said by critics & admirers), is an allegory…which is a type of poetry that is meant to convey a message or doctrine by using people, places or things to stand for abstract ideas. Rosetti had a very strong belief in the afterlife. Now read the poem again & think of the road as the journey of life & the respondent who answers the questions as God. So in the first stanza the traveler asks, “Does the road wind uphill all the way?” (Is the journey of life uphill all the way?) & God answers "Yes, to the very end" (death). The traveler then asks, "Will the day's journey take the whole long day?" (Will there be any rest during the day from my long journey) God answers no, you will struggle from beginning to end. Then the traveler asks "But is there for the night a resting-place" (Is there life after death) God Answers, "You cannot miss the Inn" (Heaven)...you can figure out the rest.

This is an accurate interpretation in many ways; however, more pertinent to me, is applying the poem as a prophetic call to embrace the principle & power of the Cross of Christ. That makes the Hill a struggle with the obedience of faith & the desire to be a faithful witness.

The “HILL” is our wrestling with the world, flesh & devil; & the “REST” is the fruit & experience that accompanies a revelation of the finished work of HIS cross!!!

Mountain Trailways

I have always loved the hills & mountains. If I have a hobby or tradition, aside from reading, it is my weekly “prayer hike.” Whether navigating the trails & terrain of the Kennesaw Mountain area (where I live), trailblazing near the “Interpreter’s House,” adventuring through the foothills of the Appalachians (GA/NC) or the mists of the Great Smokey’s (TN); I find strength for my soul on mountain trailways.

The Psalmist said, “I will lift my eyes unto the hills—Where does my help come from?...My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of Heaven & earth”-Ps.121:1-2. The Message says, “I look up to the mountains…my strength comes from God.” This song of ascents captures my sentiments exactly. “The person set on the way of faith gets into trouble, looks around for help,” & asks the question of the source of strength? “Is there anything more inspiring than the magnificent scenery of a ridge of mountains silhouetted against the sky? Does any part of this earth promise more of majesty & strength, of firmness & solidity, than the mountains? …But a Hebrew (& Christian) should…would see something else…the Lord who made it all” (E.Peterson).

While hiking, I usually memorize scriptures, sing hymns & meditate on truths from those & great literature. I usually pause every hour to read reflectively, stretch & figure out some memory keys for reciting & developing the ideas in the passages I’m focused on. This practice combines with the prayer, hiking, wildlife & beautiful views to produces an awesome experience of challenge & renewal for my Spirit, soul & body. However, the purpose of it all is a passionate pursuit of the heart of the Living God…to experience HIS presence & perspectives. By far, my favorite hiking poem is “Hills.”

HILLS

I NEVER loved your plains!--
Your gentle valleys,
Your drowsy country lanes
And pleachéd alleys.

I want my hills! -- the trail
That scorns the hollow.--
Up, up the ragged shale
Where few will follow,


Up, over wooded crest
And mossy boulder
With strong thigh, heaving chest,
And swinging shoulder,

So let me hold my way,
By nothing halted,
Until, at close of day,
I stand, exalted,


High on my hills of dream--
Dear hills that know me!
And then, how fair will seem
The lands below me,

How pure, at vesper-time,
The far bells chiming!
God, give me hills to climb,
And strength for climbing!

-by Arthur Guiterman