Five Hundred Years

Five hundred  years is a long time to be remembered.  Most of us are remembered only as long as someone is alive to remembers us.  Such is not the case with Martin Luther who nailed what we know as "The 95 Theses" on the church door at Wittenberg, Germany.  Luther was, of course, a Roman Catholic as that was the only thing going in his day.  And, as a monk, he was even more immersed in Catholicism than the average believer.  He hoped his actions that day would bring some reform to a church that riddled with practices that lined the church's coffers, but did little to bring spiritual comfort to the ordinary folks.  Instead, he started a revolution.

 

Of course, we do not call it the Revolution.  We call it the Reformation.  His bold actions way back then gave power to a movement that caused separation from the Roman Catholic Church and created a climate for change.  Our current orders of denominations are the children of the Reformation.  Look at the wide spectrum of denominational church communities and know that none of them would be in existence without that single moment in history. 

 

It is a good thing that the church still remembers Martin Luther.  He was no more a perfect man than any of us, but God's use of him was something that not even he could have imagined.  Surely, he never thought folks would still be calling his name five hundred years later.  I just always hoped some of my former parishioners would remember my name a few years, but I soon found out that my name was soon replaced with something like "what's his name?"  To think about what God has done through this one man's work gives us hope for the church.  Who knows?  There may be still another great reformer sitting out there in some pew with his or her heart being shaped even now by the Spirit.

The Persistent Caller

When I was a boy growing up in Waycross, Georgia, times were hard around our house.  My Mother always said we were not poor, but I knew we were not rich either.  As I remember those years, I remember a stereo console which showed up in our house.  You know how memories are.  They just bring things into view without any explanation about how they got there.  I wonder about that stereo.  We certainly did not have the money to make frivolous purchases.  But, somehow it became a part of what I remember about growing up.  And with it came albums of music.  Some of it was classical, some contemporary, a lot was Christian.

 

One of the songs I put on that turntable was "Softly and Tenderly."  Gale Storm was the singer.  It is amazing the things which are stored away on the gray matter hard drive.  Whenever I heard the song later in life, I would always remember it spinning on that stereo turntable.  Maybe you remember it, too.  "Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, Calling for you and for me; See, on the portals He’s waiting and watching, Watching for you and for me. (Chorus)  Come home, come home, You who are weary, come home; Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling, Calling, O sinner, come home!"  It was written in 1880, was a favorite of Dwight L. Moody, and has served the church as a powerful invitational hymn for generations.

 

But, like a lot of old hymns, it is not used much anymore by the contemporary church.  After all, it is old.  And, it mentions sinners.  It even points to the need for making an intentional response to Jesus as Savior.  So, with those three strikes against it, it is out.  What a shame!  Everything old is not useless.  Perhaps, my almost seventy years will not allow for any other conclusion.  But, more than that, I know about sinners and their need for Jesus.  I know about this, not from watching and judging others, but from looking in the mirror and moments of kneeling at the altar.  How thankful I am each day for Jesus and His persistent calling of this old sinner.

The Hard Roads

After my father's death, my mother's youngest brother came to live with us for a time.  He slept in one of the twin beds in my bedroom.  My uncle taught me a few important things.  He taught me to wash my face in cold water first thing every morning to get good awake.   He taught me not be afraid of the dark.  When I heard bumps in the night and woke him up, he told me to go see what was making the noise while he waited there awake for me to return.  And he taught me his favorite church song.  It was one I probably would have missed had it not been for my Uncle Alvin.

 

His favorite song was "The Unclouded Day."  It was written around 1880.  He was not much a singer, but it did not stop him from singing the song often in my presence.  "O they tell me of a home far beyond the skies,  O they tell me of a home far away;  O they tell me of a home where no storm clouds rise, O they tell me of an unclouded day. (Chorus)  O the land of cloudless day, O the land of an unclouded day, O they tell me of a home where no storm clouds rise,  O they tell me of an unclouded day."  As an adult I have often wondered why that particular song stuck with him the way it did.  I do not have a clue why it meant so much to him.  But, I do know that when I think of him, this song always comes to mind.

Many of the songs of faith are songs which transport us to visualizing our hope.  While some might call it escapism, or a way of coping, it seems to me that these songs simply open windows of the heart so that we can glimpse something of the promises of God.  Contrary to what some might say, this life is not all there is for us.  We are made aware of this when Jesus promised the dying repentant thief on the cross something he never imagined could be his.  I think there was something deep inside my Uncle that longed for this day of unimaginable grace and surely it is like that for so many of us who walked the hard roads behind him.   

A Place Prepared

The songs of faith we sing from Sunday to Sunday take us in many different directions.  Some are challenging like "Rise Up, O Men of God."  Some are comforting like, "What a Friend we Have in Jesus."   Some take us into the throes of our earthly struggles and some send us soaring into the glories of heaven.  When I was growing up and learning all those songs, one I remember singing many times was "When We All Get to Heaven."  It was a song about heaven,  a song about our hope of heaven.  It was written way back in 1898.  I sang it as a young boy whose father had died.  I sang it knowing in my inner being that though he was no longer on this earth, he surely was in heaven.

 

Maybe you grew up with the song as well and if you did, your remember how it goes.  "Sing the wondrous love of Jesus, sing His mercy and His grace; in the mansions bright and blessed, He'll prepare for us a place. (Chorus) "When we all get to heaven, what a day of rejoicing that will be!When we all see Jesus, we'll sing and shout the victory."  Some talk about heaven as a place filled with streets of gold and personal mansions.  Others speak of it as if it will be like "old home week," or a high school reunion after fifty years.  Some speak of family members who have gone on before greeting those who come later. 

I never have been really comfortable with all these images of eternity that are so dependent on the finite earthly things for which we long.  It has always seemed to this sojourner that heaven must be about more than we can image or comprehend.  I do not profess to understand how it can be, nor am I artist enough to paint a picture.  What I do know is that it is a place prepared by Jesus for my father.  Such was enough for a mere boy and the more I live the more it speaks of the eternal reality we call heaven.

The Garden Song

While casting the net of my memory to catch some of the songs I sang as a boy, one surfaced which I had not thought about in a very long time.  It is not strange it would have been so deep in my memory since I remember it with such clarity.  It still amazes me how some of these old hymns and songs I sang as a boy are stored away in this old gray matter almost as intact as they were when they were put in storage.  I am sure it has to do more with how many times I was taken to church as a child and sang  along with the people of God the songs of faith. 

 

One of those songs from the days when I was young is "In the Garden."   It was written in 1913 by C. Austin Miles, a man who started out to be a pharmacist and gave it up to be a songwriter.  It is no a t song deep in theology, but still one full of assurances of the presence of God.  "I come to the garden alone, While the dew is still on the roses, And the voice I hear, falling on my ear, The Son of God discloses."  And after that first verse comes the chorus which says, "And He walks with me, and He talks with me,  And He tells me I am His own,  And the joy we share as we tarry there,  None other has ever known."

 

It is one of those hymns I remember singing with my mother and sister in the backseat of that '55 Plymouth which served us often as a choir room, but it is also one I remember from those evening worship services we attended each Sunday.  Maybe it is not steeped in theology as some of our hymns, yet, it is one which provides for those who sing it an assurance that they are not alone and that when we draw apart to be with Him, He is surely going to meet with us.  Wow!  What more reason could we possibly need to go this very moment into a place of prayer?

All About Victory

When the years start piling up, I mean piling up behind you, a few things get lost in the recesses of human memory.  I mention this not just to confess that old age is upon me, but to acknowledge that I no longer remember everything about my college days with absolute clarity.  I remember Harold, a friend at Young Harris College, and our Sunday journeys to several North Carolina Methodist Churches for preaching opportunities.  A pastor who was assigned to an eight point rural charge asked for some help and Harold and I started going to three of his churches each Sunday to preach.  The churches wanted more worship and preaching and we wanted to do some preaching so it worked out for both of us.

 

What I also remember is that the music in those churches was not the kind of music program found in the larger congregations I later served which had Ministers of Music and gifted choirs.  In one of the churches the pianist could only play two hymns so we sang them each Sunday we went to that place.  One was "Love Divine'" and the other was "Victory in Jesus."  The first song I had sung many times; the second I learned at that country church.  Written in 1939 it is a great gospel song with a message all its own.  The chorus was a song and theology lesson, " O victory in Jesus, My Savior, forever, He sought me and bought me With His redeeming blood.  He loved me ere I knew Him And all my love is due Him. He plunged me to victory Beneath the cleansing flood."

"Victory in Jesus"  is an upbeat hymn with an easy to sing tune and it preaches good theology.  The chorus lifts such theological concepts as Jesus being Savior, the Incarnation and a seeking God, redemption, God's love, prevenient grace, and the work of Christ in forgiving our sin.  It is a lot different than some of the current Christian music which teaches very little and is exceedingly redundant.  It is just hard to understand why some music called Christian could be substituted for something as singable and as powerful as this old gospel song. 

The Cross Song

"On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross, The emblem of suffering and shame; And I love that old cross where the dearest and best, or a world of lost sinners was slain. So I'll cherish the old rugged cross, Till my trophies at last I lay down, I will cling to the old rugged cross, And exchange it someday for a crown."  If you are like, you have ceased reading, and started singing.  If not aloud, then silently.  If you are like me. you grew up singing, "The Old Rugged Cross."  While I have not been singing it as long as it has been sung (1912), it has been one of the songs stored away in my memory for a long time.

 

What was sung a lot in worship when I was a boy is not sung so much anymore. It could be that so much great music has been written to replace, but I doubt it.  The cross has slowly slipped out of existence in many churches.  The Apostle Paul wrote that some regarded it as foolishness in his day which is still the case in the current one.  And in a culture that is "all about me," there is hardly any room for the cross and its message.  In fact today's preachers prefer other themes. Another verse of that old song has a line which says, "Oh, that old rugged cross, so despised by the world,..."  How true it has become.

 

But, after that line about being despised by the world, the song says,  "Has a wondrous attraction for me"   How true that word still is for so many!  While our secular culture might call the cross unnecessary and its message a carry over from a less sophisticated age, there is nothing to which it can be compared and certainly, there is nothing which can take its place.  The cross is God's.  He put it and His Son on Calvary for you and me.  Take it away and we are indeed lost in our sin and the small pursuits of ourselves. 

A Very Old Song

Martin Luther is getting a little more attention this year as Reformation Day comes around.  And he should.  After all, it is the 500th year anniversary of the day he nailed his now famous "95 Theses" to the church door at Wittenberg, Germany.  While many Protestant churches will hardly note the day with any kind of observance, what Luther did dug the first shovel of dirt for the many denominations that adorn the church landscape.  He was a Roman Catholic monk and professor who wanted a conversation with the Pope and instead got an excommunication from the church.  When he nailed that word to the church door, he certainly had no idea that it would be the impetus for a revolution.

 

What is also incredible is that the church is still singing a hymn he wrote.  Think about it.  When we sing "A Mighty Fortress is our God," we are singing a hymn almost 500 years old.  Now some of our contemporary worship friends might say that singing music that old is one of the things wrong with the traditional church. I find it amazing.  Truly amazing!  "A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing; Our helper He, amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing: For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe; His craft and pow’r are great, and, armed with cruel hate, On earth is not his equal."  To sing such a song does not speak of a church with its head stuck in the dirt of the past, but one which understands the value of joining with believers who have been worshipping and praising God with this hymn for nearly 500 years.

 

Just because something is old does not mean it is of no value.  Neither does the fact that something is new make it more valuable than something that is old.  Call this my Senior Adult thinking if you wish, but I think it speaks more of common sense.  I like thinking that my voice is being raised not just with a congregation of folks when I sing this hymn, but a resounding choir that is filled with folks who loved God during these past 500 years.  The church is greater than anyone of us, more glorious than any of our buildings, more powerful than any of our preachers and it has been that way through the centuries.  Remembering and singing this old powerful hymn causes us to realize it is not about me, or us, but about what God has been doing for a very long time,

Revival

When I started preaching a long time ago, small, but strong country churches dotted the landscape.  One thing those country churches had in common was an annual revival.  Some of them even had one in the Spring and another in the Fall, but all had at least one week of what the old timers called "a protracted meeting."  Now, most churches today do not have revivals.  In fact, churches respond to the word as if it speaks of something which only belongs in the church history books.  As far as most churches are concerned, revivals are a phenomena of the past and are no longer needed.

 

It was different back then.   A revival would start on Sunday night and go through Friday night.  People tended to put their regular stuff aside and make an effort to attend.  Prayer meetings were often held ahead of the meetings.  Revivals were regarded with a seriousness that is unknown to the current church that entertains from the corner.  Prayers were offered for those who had made no public profession of faith in Christ.  Long invitational hymns provided more than enough time for those in need to make their way to the altar after the preaching was done.  In those country churches revivals were moments prayed for ahead of time and remembered long after the last benediction.

One song that was always sung at any respectable revival was known as "Revive Us Again."  It actually had another name, but no one knew it.  It was a full of life song with a chorus that had folks singing,  "Hallelujah! Thine the glory. Hallelujah! Amen. Hallelujah! Thine the glory. Revive us again."  Most revival meetings started with a spirited up-beat singing of this hymn written back in 1863.  Those words, "Revive us again." are like words of a prayer from the church.  No one doubted such a prayer needed to be offered back in the days when revivals swept the ecclesiastical landscape.  Unfortunately, it is a different day today.  Maybe no one is having revivals anymore, but that does not change the great need the church has for one that sweeps across it from one end to the other.

Places of the Heart

While most of the churches I served as pastor during my days of active ministry were larger town and urban churches, I have always had a great appreciation and love for the small country church.  In some ways, it speaks of the church of my heart.  Maybe it has something to do with the fact that my father was buried in a country church cemetery.  I have found some comfort in knowing he was laid to rest in a place where people have come and gone now for generations to worship God.  Perhaps, it was not a great multitude who worshipped in that small sanctuary, but some came each week to worship and cast their eyes toward those silent ones who shared the ground with them. 

The Pierce Chapel Methodist Church which has always stood beside my Daddy's grave for the past 62 years was not brown, nor was it in a valley by the wildwood, but it was the church I always envisioned when I sang the song, "The Church in the Wildwood."   It's first verse had me singing, "There's a church in the valley by the wildwood, No lovelier spot in the dale; No place is so dear to my childhood, As the little brown church in the vale."   Pierce Chapel has always been a special spot in my heart. The other verses speak of loved ones being buried beside that brown church and a longing to join them when the time comes.

 

It has always seemed to me that church burying ground is not only made sacred by the fact that the land has been set aside for holy purposes, but also because of the love and tears which mourners brought with them and the hope of resurrection they carried away in their hearts.  My boyhood singing of that song written in 1857 always brought back memories of a hard day and a hope of a glorious day still to come.

First Music Lesson

I learned to sing in the backseat of a '55 Plymouth.  Shortly before his death, my father bought the car.  It was his first new one.  All the other ones had been used by someone else.  This was the car that took us back to Waycross, Georgia after his death and the one my mother drove forever while my sister and me grew up in the backseat.  It was in that car that I learned my first church songs.  I do not remember exactly how it happened except that when we went somewhere my mother would sing and so we all sang.  The backseat of that '55 Plymouth became like a choir loft where my mother led her choir.

 

One of the earliest songs I remember singing was an old gospel song, "Love Lifted Me."  It was not a song which made it to the official Methodist hymnal, but one we sang from "The Cokesbury Hymnal" which was the preferred song book of the Methodist I knew growing up. While I can still sing all the three verses, it is that first verse which is imbedded in an unforgettable way in my heart.  "I was sinking deep in sin, far from the peaceful shore, Very deeply stained within, sinking to rise no more; But the Master of the sea heard my despairing cry, From the waters lifted me, now safe am I."  And then came the chorus which simply repeated three lines twice, "Love lifted Me!  Love lifted me!  When nothing else could help, Love lifted me."

Who can measure the power of music about the work of Jesus in a sinner's heart?  Who can measure how the songs of our youth shape our souls for a lifetime of living?  The one problem I have with the contemporary church movement is the trendy contemporary music which is sung today and replaced tomorrow by the next best selling song.  A song like "Love Lifted Me" was written in 1912 and was sung by generations of growing believers.  How thankful I am for those early music lessons in the backseat of that '55 Plymouth.

The Eternal Care of God

The eternal care of God
     was put in place
     before the constellations,
     was shining brightly
     long before the sun,
     always and never ending,
Hovering o'er, surrounding us.

The eternal care of God
     was made a promise
     before the arching rainbow,
     carved carefully in stone
     'er the commandments,
     spoken into existence
As was sun, moon, and stars.

The eternal care of God
     was gifted by grace,
     undeserved, freely given,
     granting life and hope
     not for a small moment,
     but one lasting forever.
All for you, even for me.
     

Standing in Line

While standing in one of life's line, I overheard a conversation going on ahead of me.  I really was not trying to listen, but the voices simply carried on down the line to where I was not so patiently waiting my turn to be at the head of the line.  "How you been doing?" asked the clerk.  "Just fine, just fine," replied the customer, "The Lord woke me up this morning.  He reached down and touched me on the shoulder and woke me up.  It was not the alarm clock that woke me up.  It was not my wife who woke me up.  I was laying there not knowing anything and God just woke me up for another day.  It is a fine day, a fine day."

 

This old gentlemen sorta had the preacher voice by the time he got through singing praises to the One who woke him up every day.  I just listened along with all the other waiters.  I do not know what everyone else thought, but I was blessed by this man giving an unsolicited witness for the work of God in his life.  Before the old guy left, it was obvious from what the younger clerk said to him that I was not the only one getting blessed in that rather ordinary place where only the things of the world are transacted.

 

What I heard was so true.  We are all living as if we are dead when we are asleep.  We know nothing.  We are just there in that moment when it seems that the only thing alive is what is unconscious.  And, then somehow we are no longer asleep, but awake.  We never shake ourselves and wake ourselves up.  The fellow there at the head of the line said that God wakes him up every day.  It sounded good to me.  Henceforth, I am going with his explanation.

An Oft Missed Fact

As the parables of Jesus go, the one about the Good Samaritan is certainly one of the more well known ones.  Even the folks who are unacquainted with Biblical stuff have some idea about what is being talked about when the title, "Good Samaritan" is hung on someone.  The parable is spoken to a member of the Jewish upper crust who wants to make sure he is seen as good in the eyes of Jesus as he is in his own eyes.  Of course, the parable tells us of a robbed and beaten man who is passed by a couple of guys who would have been expected to help.  But, the one who finally stops to help is a Samaritan at whom the lawyer looked down his aristocratic nose with a great deal of disdain.

 

What has always proven to be an interesting fact is the one about whom Jesus said, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers..." (Luke 10:30)  There is absolutely nothing said to identify the man left for dead.  Nothing is said about religion, economic status, or birth.  But, those who heard the parable jumped to the assumption the man in distress was a Jew.  Who else could he be?  It is this assumption which made the Samaritan's kindness such a surprise.  It is the unexpected element of the parable.  Actually, the man left for dead could have been a Samaritan, or he could have been a Jew, or maybe, even an Egyptian.

 

When Jesus identified the sufferer in need of someone's help, he simply used the identifying title, "man."  The one left for dead was just another human being who was mostly like anyone who saw him there on the road.  Such are the ones we are called to offer care.  Who or what does not matter.  It never has.  It never will.  It is the human suffering which beckons us.  It is in seeing the need that we hear the call.  If it is not that way for us, then we can choose the name "priest" or "levite."  Either one will fit us.

Where?

A recent reading from Oswald Chamber's (My Utmost For His Highest) read, "In the beginning Moses realized he was the man to deliver the people, but he had to be trained an disciplined by God first...He was not the man for the work until he had learned communion with God."  So, there is this question.  Where do you learn about communion with God?  Long years ago I went to a seminary and spent three years learning.  I learned to read theologians.  I learned about church history.  I learned about social activism.  I learned about preaching.  I learned a lot of things, but no one taught me anything about communion with God.

 

Maybe those who were teaching figured that the communion with God was a given.  Maybe they figured that anybody enrolled in a seminary was already doing the communion with God thing.  Or, maybe they figured it was one of those things that would just happen, or I would figure it out on my own.  They were wrong.  Maybe I should have gone to some monastery and spent a month mingling with the resident monks.  Or, maybe I should have gone to one more retreat on spiritual formation.  Maybe I should have done something I did not do. 

 

Or, maybe communion with God is the result of a lifetime of seeking after the presence of God.   I sense a hunger and thirst for God more in this last season of my life than those which have passed and gone behind me.  When younger and more energetic too much of life was expended on things other than seeking Him.  Maybe the communion with God is not the result of finding God, but the result of seeking Him. 

Figuring It Out

It is not always easy to do what Jesus often seems to be telling us to do.  Certainly there were times when He was quite explicit about what to do.  But, there were also those moments when His parting admonition is "Go figure."  Jesus did not see Himself as the Answer Man who kept us from doing our own thinking.  Actually, He taught in such a way as to encourage truth seeking through personal reflection.  And while some church groups are very specific in telling its people what to believe and what can or cannot be done, some seem patterned more after the teaching style of Jesus giving some room for personal reflection.

 

One thing I have always appreciated about the United Methodist tradition is the focus on experiencing faith as it speaks of "hearts being strangely warmed."  However, this does not mean the same tradition calls people to leave their heads at home.  Most United Methodists have come to appreciate what is known as "the Wesley Quadrilateral."  It is a term used to describe how John Wesley, the founder and father of Methodism, developed good theology.  He said there were four things to guide us in our search for good theology.  One is the Scripture.  The second is orthodox tradition.  The third is personal experience.  And, the fourth is reason.  With all four of these lights to guide us, we are much more likely to come to a belief system that can be characterized as good theology.

 

The Wesley Quadrilateral helps us avoid extreme theological positions that are impractical and unrealistic.  Wesley maintained that the primary source of influence was the Scripture.  When in doubt, or when struggling, let the Scripture be the primary guide, not something as volatile as emotions, or experience.  Unfortunately, many today have a different view.  The Scripture is not held as the sacred authoritative Word of God.  For many people the Scripture does not have the last word.  It is no surprise that theological confusion runs rampant.

Always Connected

I have read recently that whenever we eat a meal, true thanksgiving is expressed when we remember the ones who have brought the food to our table.  The broccoli on my plate this evening did not just suddenly appear.  Someone planted a seed, another tended it, and still another harvested.  How many people stand between the planting and the table?  Farmers, truckers, manufacturing workers, grocery store owners and employees.  Long years ago I held up a can of beans in a children's sermon and asked from whence the beans came only to have a child answer, "The grocery store." 

 

We live in a world where we are connected to countless unseen people.  We may flaunt our independence and self-reliance, but the truth is that we live dependent on many, many people.  Stopping long enough to give thanks for them is something that only makes sense.  In a recent reading of the letters of the Apostle Paul, it struck me that the Apostle lived in a community of people who needed him and who he needed.  As we read about these people in the latter sections of many of his letters, we see how he longed for those from who he was separated and how he depended on others to be with him as helpers and partners.  Some of them are named and some are not, but all were important to him.

Take a moment and look behind you.  None of us have gotten where we are standing today apart from the sacrifice and love of a sea of people.  Some of them are family.  Some are teachers.  Some are just folks who for some unknown reason paused in their living to make room for someone like us.  Some of them we know by name, recognize what they have done for us, and, perhaps, are even people we have thanked.  But, there are so many more who we will never know except as the person who planted our broccoli.

Compassion

Not every act of apparent compassion is an act of compassion.   There are times when what seems to be an act of compassion is really an act which speaks of duty or obligation.  Compassion is not something which can be turned off and on like a light bulb attached to a switch.  Compassion requires attention to the present moment.  Perhaps, this is why it is not always an easy thing for many of us.  While the priest and the Levite of the Good Samaritan narrative may have been afraid to stop lest they become victimized by lurking bandits, it also seems that had other, more important, things on their minds. 

 

Compassion requires attention to the present moment.  What's next, tomorrow, the future is always pushing with demanding insistence upon what or who is before us.  Tending to the needs of the present moment is not always as easy for us as it ought to be.  Compassion is not something felt and expressed according to the dictates of convenience.  When the need for compassion rises, it is either present within us or it is not.  It is not something to be conjured up like some potion in a pot. 

Our compassion may express itself in a physical act; however, it is not act of duty, but an act of the heart.  Compassion is a response to human need that is filled with passion.  Compassion goes beyond the physical response to the one involving our emotions.  It is not something which springs from the head which says, "I ought to do this...duty demands it," but something which comes the heart  which says, "I can do naught else but care and act."   When Jesus saw the widow of Nain in that funeral procession, it was a compassionate heart which caused Him to see nothing in that moment as being more important than caring for one beaten and broken by the suffering so common to humankind.  So, it is for us in this day if we are to truly follow Him.