January 5The reproaches of them that reproached thee fell on me — Rom. 15:3.
Let us see to it that we bear the reproaches of Christ as He bore them—with pity and prayer for the erring and depraved, if perchance God may grant them repentance; and with humble fortitude esteeming it a privilege to prove our devotion to the Lord by enduring hardness in His service as good soldiers. He was not surprised by the exhibitions of human depravity; He knew that He was in an unfriendly world bound by sin and largely under the dominion of the prince of darkness, and therefore He expected reproaches, taunts and persecutions, all of which He endured patiently while His great loving heart, almost unmindful of its own sufferings, was full of pity and loving concern for others—Z '96, 83 (R 1963). Misrepresentation of our Heavenly Father's character by the Adversary's delusions and misunderstandings of His purpose through humanity's sinfulness and ignorance, make Him the reproach of the irreligious. Those who take His part as His true people for His sake bear in His defense reproaches from the same persons, but not necessarily nor usually with the same things—P '32, 197. Parallel passages: Psa. 69:9; Mark 12:35-40; Luke 12:50; Rom. 6:1-11; 8:10, 17, 18; 15:2, 3; 1 Cor. 15:29-34; 2 Cor. 1:5; 4:8—5:9; Gal. 2:20; Phil. 3:10; Col. 1:24; 2:11, 12; 2 Tim. 2:10-12; 1 Pet. 2:19-24; 3:13-18; 4:12-19. Hymns: 134, 135, 203, 277, 299, 325, 326. Poems of Dawn, 185: Patience. Tower Reading: Z '12, 323 (R 5116). Questions: What have been this week's experiences in line with this text? How were they received? How did they affect me? |
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PATIENCE
THE purple grape must be crushed
To make the sweet, red wine,
And furnace fires must fiercely burn,
The drossy gold to refine;
The wheel must cruelly grind,
Else where the jewel's light?
And the steel submit to the polishing,
Or how would the sword grow bright?
How then, my soul, wilt thou
The Spirit's fruits possess,
Except thou lovingly yield thyself
To the Hand that wounds to bless?
Then patiently let the fire
Consume all earthly dross —
Thou canst not hope to wear the Crown,
If thou refuse the Cross!
THE purple grape must be crushed
To make the sweet, red wine,
And furnace fires must fiercely burn,
The drossy gold to refine;
The wheel must cruelly grind,
Else where the jewel's light?
And the steel submit to the polishing,
Or how would the sword grow bright?
How then, my soul, wilt thou
The Spirit's fruits possess,
Except thou lovingly yield thyself
To the Hand that wounds to bless?
Then patiently let the fire
Consume all earthly dross —
Thou canst not hope to wear the Crown,
If thou refuse the Cross!
