Romans 9:1-5
I am speaking the truth in Christ—I am not lying; my conscience bears me witness in the Holy Spirit— that I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my brothers, my kinsmen according to the flesh. They are Israelites, and to them belong the adoption, the glory, the covenants, the giving of the law, the worship, and the promises. To them belong the patriarchs, and from their race, according to the flesh, is the Christ who is God over all, blessed forever. Amen.
A key component of this message is that of compassion. You'll notice that Paul doesn't water down his message but he speaks it with an unmistakable love in his heart. He affirms that he is a child of God yet he wishes he were not for the sake of his brothers, his lost brothers, for his sorrow is so great it is almost unbearable.
I wonder if I have ever experienced such a sorrow. I am blessed more than many with the knowledge that my dearest loved ones are too, children of God. But should I not be just as heartbroken as Paul from knowing I am surrounded daily by dead souls? Or am I so concerned with my own life, though it is already eternally secure, that I am oblivious to the spiritual carnage around me? How selfish can any one person be?
Of course I am quick to point out others need for Christ when confronted with questions or attacks. But my message rarely, if ever, holds an ounce of true compassion. It's true the Holy Spirit can work in the hardest of hearts. And it's further true that God can use even the most wicked to bring others to know Him. But do I truly think I am helping share Christ's light when my words are spat out like venom?
Pastor Bud told a story to accompany the message from that Sunday, two weeks ago, that helped me see just how foolish I am. I will paraphrase because my memory is poor. Hopefully the point will be as clearly conveyed by me as it was by Bud.
A small congregation struggled for quite a while to oust their current pastor. Their main complaint was that he stood at his podium and preached hellfire and brimstone each and every Sunday. He pointed out just how sinful they, as a people, are and he never let up in telling them of their need for repentance and for Christ.
Eventually, the congregation got their way and the pastor was replaced. The new pastor came in and preached the gospel and the congregation experienced a bit of a revival of sorts. You could say the attitudes of the people did a complete 180.
One day a member of the congregation, who had silently observed the entire chain of events, noticed the new pastor preached all the same texts, passages, messages, etc. as that of the former. Puzzled, he asked the congregation, why - if the new pastor preached all the same things as the old - would they be satisfied with the change? A member of the congregation spoke up and said, "The old pastor told us we were sinners in need of a Savior. The new pastor says the same. The difference is, the new pastor says it with tears."
More often than not, I speak the truth but not with tears. I speak the truth as if I am somehow responsible for my own salvation. I speak as if my soul deserved to be saved. This could not be farther from the truth. Only by the grace of an Almighty God am I adopted into the family of believers. How can I not be so moved as to cry out for my lost neighbors and how can I not love them enough to share what my Savior has done for me? Where is my compassion?
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