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- Written by: Don Goulding
For no one can lay any foundation other than what is being laid, which is Jesus Christ. (1 Corinthians 3:11)
“Waisake, stand up,” I said to the six-foot-six, Fijian inmate. “You have been a fighter, but I anoint you as a warrior for God. From now on, you battle against evil instead of against men.”
As I made a cross with coconut oil on Waisake’s forehead, his tears dripped onto his orange prison smock.
Waisake was serving time for first-degree assault. Fellow prisoners feared his Herculean fists, but when he gave his heart to Jesus, a new Waisake emerged. Through counseling, the Holy Spirit set him free from the abuse he’d received as a child. The moment I put oil on his head, God changed his identity from brawler to lover. Powerful, friendly Waisake became a favorite of inmates and guards alike.
Our identity defines us. How we, and others, see ourselves influences our actions. Are you a fighter, a lover, a fanatic, a pacifist? There are a great many human labels, and we each wear several.
My identity has changed a few times. It shifted when I left the business world to become a pastor. Then, I was a foreign missionary, and most recently an author. The changes left me wondering, what am I?
Every steppingstone of identity eventually sinks. The only unmoving foundation is the love of Jesus Christ. Since he purchased my place in God’s family, that’s my identity—a child of God, and brother of Jesus. Those are the only labels I need.
Change may cause the universe to crumble around us, but for Waisake and me, our weight is on the immovable stone.
Prayer: Jesus, you are my identity.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him, and I will raise him up at the last day. (John 6:44)
“I want to be baptized.” Thin, African, Nhamo kept his eyes on the ground as he held out the grain and cloth used in witchcraft. “I repent from ancestor worship.”
We baptized him in the lake, and decided to burn his talismans on the spot. But no one had matches, only the motorcar’s cigarette lighter. My friends searched out dried cow dung, pressed it against the red metal coils, and blew.
“Next time my mother lights a cigarette,” the owner of the car said, “don’t tell her what we used this for.”
Smoke gave way to embers, which popped into flame. We added dry grass, then the charms and fetishes burned to ash.
Three elements are necessary for fire—heat, fuel, and oxygen. Remove one, and you’ll never get combustion.
There are three similar elements necessary for spiritual fire—hunger, truth, and the Holy Spirit. When these elements combine, holy fire ignites.
Sometimes I want to shake people until they show a sign of spiritual interest. I ignore what Jesus demonstrated. When faced with the waywardness in others, he tossed a parable of truth into the firebox and walked away, knowing the real work would be completed in the hours that followed. The third element—the oxygen of God’s call—would blow on hunger and truth until they burst into flame.
The Son of Man rested in the Spirit’s work to draw folks. He carried a cute story about fertile soil, a lost coin, or a wayward son—like a grenade—into the heart. Then he left the Spirit to pull the pin.
Prayer: Holy Spirit, forgive my pride in thinking I convert others.
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- Written by: Don Goulding
Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me [Jesus]. (John 14:1) (NIV)
A Bovine Parable
A wealthy farmer owned two floppy eared Brahman steers. Cain was the color of chocolate, and Abel the color of cream. The animals had free range across the fields.
Boys taunted the giants. They threw rocks, and dared each other to slap the flinching haunches. Supposing the Brahmans wanted into their gardens, neighboring wives shouted abuse and waved sticks. The gentle beasts grew skittish.
The farmer set his heart on winning the trust of his oxen. He came out of his beautiful house, entered their paddock, and held out hay. “Here boys, I mean you no harm. Easy now, something good to eat.”
Eyes went wide and nostrils flared, as the animals reared back. Day after day, the patient farmer extended his offerings.
Abel eventually licked oats from the farmer’s hand, and slept in the barn, protected from adversaries. But even when Abel followed the farmer to green pastures and stood for scratches on his head, Cain fled from every kind intention.
Cain spent his days sniffing the wind and shifting his ears. He was wild and lowered his horns at friendly passersby. Cain refused to trust, so the farmer was forced into a painful decision. In grief, he sent the beast to the slaughterhouse.
“Aye lad, we’ve still got each other.” The farmer stroked Abel’s velvety ears. “And the kindness I would’ve shown Cain, I’ll give you also.”
Prayer: Lord, grant me a heart that trusts your love.