Robert Maccoll Adams

Commemoration of Birinus, Bishop of Dorchester (Oxon), Apostle of Wessex, 650 If all you have found [in Christianity] read more

Commemoration of Birinus, Bishop of Dorchester (Oxon), Apostle of Wessex, 650 If all you have found [in Christianity] is advantage, whether it is fun or profit or security, then you haven't started following Him yet. His way is the way of the Cross. The world can be very hard on those it hates. If it is not hard on you, perhaps it sees nothing in you to hate. But then it doesn't see Jesus in you, for it hates Jesus with an undying hatred. While your way is still all fun, all easy, all jolly, it is only your way: when you turn from it to follow His way, it will cost. It may cost you everything you have. That is what it cost Him.

Feast of Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury, 988 Can the love of Christ move a Christian to fruitful, effective, full-time, read more

Feast of Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury, 988 Can the love of Christ move a Christian to fruitful, effective, full-time, unpaid service to those who belong to Him? I have no hesitation in answering, Yes, it can, and it must. St. Paul wrote, "The very spring of our actions is the love of Christ. We look at it this way: if one died for all men, then in a sense, they all died; and his purpose in dying for them is that their lives should now be no longer lived for themselves but for Him who died and rose again for them." There is the motive. Can anyone doubt that St. Paul's ministry was fruitful -- in wisdom, in Christ-like character, in testimony to the power of the Spirit of Christ -- or effective -- in conversions, in churches planted, in men raised up to carry on the work? Yet St. Paul spent long hours working with his hands to support himself. He served Christ, therefore, as an "amateur". Dare we say he was not really a "full time" worker? Or was he not really "unpaid"?

I have this running quandary about Christmas. I get upset about it, because I feel that we American Christians make read more

I have this running quandary about Christmas. I get upset about it, because I feel that we American Christians make too much of it, and too little. Too little of it, because we pile all sorts of other things onto it, including some that have only the feeblest connection with the Event it is supposed to commemorate. If God did become a man, in any real sense, it is the most important thing that ever happened. Surely we, who believe it, could well devote one day a year to uninterrupted contemplation of the fact, and let Saturnalia fall on the winter solstice, where it belongs. On the other hand, we make so much of the actual birth, and forget the things that make it more than just the birth of a baby (though even that is, in Walt Whitman's phrase, "miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels") -- more, even, than the birth of the greatest man who ever lived. We forget the promise to Eve of a descendant who will solve the problem of Evil; the promise to Abraham of one by whom all mankind will be blessed; the promise to Moses of a greater prophet than he, to arise from his people; and the promise to David of a Son who would be his Master. We forget about the eternal Purpose behind it all: it's like telling a story and leaving out the point. Yes, it is true that God gave us His Son, and so maybe we ought also to give gifts -- but what, and to whom? It is also true that God gave us Himself, and the only sensible response to that is to give ourselves to Him. There is nothing else that He wants from us, or, if there is something, He can take it. Only I, my ego, my heart, is truly mine to give or to withhold -- and is therefore the appropriate gift to Him.

Feast of Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury, 988 Eternal Lord, how faint and small Our greatest, strongest thoughts must seem To read more

Feast of Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury, 988 Eternal Lord, how faint and small Our greatest, strongest thoughts must seem To Thee, who overseest all, And leads us through Life's shallow stream. How tangled are our straightest ways; How dimly flares our brightest star; How earthbound is our highest praise To Thee, who sees us as we are. Our feet are slow where Thine are fast; Thy kiss of grace meets lips of stone; And we admit Thy love at last To hearts that have none of their own.