How delightful it is to see approaching over the mountains
the feet of a messenger who announces peace,
a messenger who brings good news, who announces deliverance,
who says to Zion, “Your God reigns.” (Isaiah 52:7)
“I’d like to introduce my daughter. She was intimidated to meet you, so I’m acting as an intermediary.” A Christian brother pointed to his daughter, a girl who sparkled with charm. Why was she afraid to meet dorky me?
Later, my mind replayed the conversation, and my ego worked out the explanation that the girl was intimidated because of my ministry skill. But then, even I was embarrassed at that line of thinking.
The reality my ego neglects is that all the good in me, or coming from me, is sourced by Jesus. All I contribute is the ore scrap that surrounds the gold of truth. My listeners must be miners, adept at excavating what is from the Spirit, and tossing everything else onto the slag pile.
Occasionally, there is gold in my words—rich, permanent truths that shine heaven into our decaying world. Bouncing the weight of those nuggets on our palm assures us of the solidity of God’s promises. Truths, like eternal adoption, peace with God, the New Jerusalem, and the fellowship of the Spirit, are a joy to pass from hand to hand. But how could I take pride in these treasures? I wouldn’t be able to conceive of Christ dying for sinners, let alone forge the event.
I’m the washroom servant, ignorant of all matters of state, but called before the throne for an errand. The King would have me deliver precious rings, engraved with “Forgiven,” to his wayward offspring. The only qualifications I meet are two feet for running and a hand for carrying. But oh, what a thrill, how exciting to be the knucklehead with the rings.
Prayer: Father, thank you for using me to carry your golden words.