June 27Now he which establisheth us with you in Christ, and hath anointed us, is God, who hath also sealed us — 2 Cor. 1:21, 22.
The seal or mark of the true disciple is the possession of the Spirit of Christ. The manifestations of this holy Spirit are threefold: (1) love supreme to God and joyful loyalty to His cause even at the cost of suffering; (2) love for the brethren—unselfish, noble, pure—a desire for their welfare, which is always alert to do them good; (3) love, sympathetic, for the world, prompting to good works, as opportunity may afford, and to a desire and effort always to live peaceably with all men—Z '96, 212 (R 2032). God's people are continually being adjusted to one another by God as disciples of Jesus. He, also, by the anointing continually developed the members of Christ's Body, strengthening them in their places in that Body. He, likewise, worked in them the seal of the Spirit by bringing their hearts into a sympathetic oneness and co-operation with Him in all His arrangements—P '35, 102. Parallel passages: Rom. 16:25; Col. 2:7; 1 Pet. 5:10; Acts 10:38; Matt. 3:16, 17; 1 John 2:20, 27; 1 Cor. 12:12, 13; Gal. 2:20; 3:16, 29; Eph. 4:13; 2 Cor. 5:5; Eph. 1:13, 14; 4:30; Rom. 8:9, 14-16; 5:5; 2 Tim. 2:19. Hymns: 201, 4, 74, 114, 105, 198, 249. Poems of Dawn, 290: My Life Is But a Weaving. Tower Reading: Z '14, 213 (R 5498). Questions: Have I experienced this week God's establishing, anointing and sealing work? How? In what circumstances? What did it accomplish? |
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MY LIFE IS BUT A WEAVING
MY life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me;
He chooses all the colors
And works on steadily.
Oftimes He weaveth sorrow,
And I, in blinded pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the underside.
The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver's skilful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
Not till the loom is silent,
And the shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the fabric,
And show the reason why.
MY life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me;
He chooses all the colors
And works on steadily.
Oftimes He weaveth sorrow,
And I, in blinded pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the underside.
The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver's skilful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
Not till the loom is silent,
And the shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the fabric,
And show the reason why.