Saturday, June 12, 2021

Stop judging, start loving

 It’s a bit long. I’m not apologizing for such. If you don’t read it all, get this important summary. “Stop judging, start loving.” 


The writer in Isaiah 61, prophesying about the work of Jesus said He was coming to heal the heartbroken, announce freedom to all captives, and pardon all prisoners. 


If we believe Christ came to heal the broken, free captives, and pardon all prisoners, then we need to get busy talking about what folks are going through and find ways to meet them at their need. Jesus didn’t sit in an ornate building and wait for the broken to come to him. He went to where the need was located with understanding, compassion and answers. We need to exhibit the acceptance God has shown and continues to show to us. If our sinfulness didn’t break the church, neither will theirs. The only thing threatened by the captives of Satan are our man-made constructs of superiority and self-righteousness. Some, robed in piety, have so distorted the message of forgiveness and acceptance, with subtle (and not so subtle) actions and attitudes, they are no longer the tower of safety or the shining city of hope, sitting on the hill. 


It is time, and high time, we cast off the shackles of elitism and extend our hand to the world lost in darkness, not with platitudes or slogans, but with willingness to get down in the dirt. It’s time to get down to where folks live, not as partakers, but as God’s shining examples. It is time to carry the light to the darkness (fire from the altar)


In Leviticus 10, two of Aaron’s sons tried to offer sacrifices with fire which did not come from the altar which God ignited and the priests were to keep burning continually (Leviticus 16.12). The Lord rejected their offering and they were consumed with fire. The Word calls it ‘strange’ fire. It meant foreign or profane. 


In Samuel 3, the Word reflects on a time nearing the end of Eli’s time as God's messenger. It records his eyes had waxed dim. This was speaking about more than just his fading eyesight. It spoke in a metaphysical sense of his duties in ministering within the tabernacle. He had grown lax in his ministerial duties, in so much, the light of the tabernacle went out. These were the lamps commanded to burn continually. (Leviticus 24.2)


The fire in the tabernacle went out. Such is the significance of the cloven tongues of fire on the day of Pentecost. God relit the flame in His new tabernacle, the heart of mankind. We must keep this fire burning. Every action we commit in ministering must originate from this original flame. When we act out of piety or self righteousness, we are offering a sacrifice (actions) with strange fire (our origin). 


I had a conversation with one of my nephews once concerning the front we project. He said he always felt before becoming part of the body that Christians were perfect. He could never attain such perfection. We are not perfect. We are forgiven. There is a demonstrable difference in the air about the two. Perfection presents as “I am and you can’t be”, while forgiven presents as “I am and you can be as well.” 


I see many churches (not all, but many) which have arrived at perfection in their eyes and can no longer tolerate anything less in humanity. They have stopped reaching out and concentrate only on building up. It is as if one can hear them say, “let us build a tower whose top may reach unto heaven; and let us make us a name.” They are built in the plain of Shinar (Babylon). They have turned the light away from God and shine it upon the edifices they have built on shifting sand. Great will be their fall. (Matthew 7.26-27; Revelation 18.2) 


Again, it is time we cast off the chains of elitism. It is time we remember the filth and the fire. It’s time we remember our bondage. It’s time we realize sin, like righteousness, is just a garment. (Luke 15.22) It is time to tear down walls and build bridges. (Luke 14.23) It is time to put off the monologue of the Pharisee and to pray the prayer of the publican. (Luke 16.10-13) 


Lord, let me see them through your eyes. Let me see them as you see them. Let me see their future and not their past. Help me to heal the broken; to offer freedom to the captives; and offer pardons to sin’s prisoners. Allow me the privilege of being the speaker of Your Words; the vessel of Your love; the seat of Your mercy; and Your shining (Halal) example. It’s time to stop judging, and to start loving. 

Wednesday, June 09, 2021

Joy


There are numerous events in a life 

Which will bring happiness 

There are countless touches 

Which will bring a sense of pleasure 

There are a plethora of glances 

Which will ignite an enduring passion 


There are births near and dear

Bringing smiles to my face 

And warmth to my heart 


There are lives crisscrossing 

Bringing a sweetness in each path

Enriching the roads I travel 


There is more than one life deserves

Yet, the greatest joy in my journey 

Comes from loving you. 


For Tammy


© Ron Simpson Jr. 

June 8, 2021

Thursday, June 03, 2021

The Fountain


As long as I can remember 

A fountain has flowed in my life 

It wasn’t water which ebbed and spouted

But rather a cacophony of words


Words

Relating to the human condition 

Sometimes touching 

Sometimes covering

Every part of human experience 


Words

Originating from an emotion

Or a thought, or memory

Walking through every event 


Words 

Gleaning 

Reaping 

Sharing 

Flowing 


Then a day 

Like any other day 

The words weren’t there 

The fountain was dry 


No shower of love 

No basket of grief 

No burden of sorrow 

Nothing flowed freely 


My constant companion 

My faithful friend 

My ever present refuge 

Suddenly absent in my life 


Only faltering starts 

Forced contrivances 

A few promising steps 

Then an uncomfortable nothingness 


Let me tell you about writing 

When writing refuses to be written 

Composing, from just the memory of words 

Priming the pump, continually 


It is as if there is a dam in your soul

History tells you the words are there 

Yet, reality weaves a sadder tale 

While hope clings to its fragile perch 


There is little scarier to a writer 

Than a blank page 

And words refusing to fall 

Churning behind the wall 


Still 

Daily we go to the fountain 

Searching for a solitary word 

One which will break the block 

And conquer this smaller death 


Maybe today

Maybe tomorrow 

Maybe 


© Ron Simpson Jr. 

May 28, 2021