Conference yukon::christian

I received this on the net today.  It really blessed me.

                                   TABLE FOR TWO
 
                                  by Kirsten Burgess
 
He sits by himself at a table for two.  The uniformed waiter returns to his
side and asks, "Would you like to go ahead and order, sir?"  The man has,
after all, been waiting since seven o'clock -- almost half an hour.
 
"No, thank you," the man smiles. "I'll wait for her a while longer.  How
about some more coffee?" 
 
"Certainly, sir." 
 
The man sits, his clear blue eyes gazing straight through the flowered
centerpiece.  He fingers his napkin, allowing the sounds of light chatter,
tinkling silverware, and mellow music to fill his mind.  He is dressed in a
sports coat and tie.  His dark brown hair is neatly combed, but one stray
lock insists on dropping to his forehead.  The scent of his cologne adds to
his clean cut image.  He is dressed up enough to make a companion feel
important, respected, loved.  Yet he is not so formal as to make one
uncomfortable.  It seems that he has taken every precaution to make others
feel at ease with him.  Still, he sits alone.
 
The waiter returns to fill the man's coffee cup. "Is there anything else I
can get for you, sir?" 
 
"No, thank you."
 
The waiter remains standing at the table.  Something tugs at his curiosity.
"I don't mean to pry, but..." His voice trails off.  This line of
conversation could jeopardize his tip. 
 
"Go ahead," the man encourages. His is strong, yet sensitive, inviting
conversation. 
 
"Why do you bother waiting for her?" the waiter finally blurts out.  This man
has been at the restaurant other evenings, always patiently alone.
 
Says the man quietly, "Because she needs me."
 
"Are you sure?"
 
"Yes."
 
"Well, sir, no offense, but assuming that she needs you, she sure isn't
acting much like it. She's stood you up three times just this week." 
 
The man winces, and looks down at the table. "Yes, I know."
 
"Then why do you still come here and wait?"
 
"Cassie said that she would be here."
 
"She's said that before," the waiter protests. "I wouldn't put up with it.  
Why do you?" 
 
Now the man looks up, smiles at the waiter, and says simply, "Because I love
her." 
 
The waiter walks away, wondering how one could love a girl who stands him up
three times a week.  The man must be crazy, he decides.  Across the room, he
turns to look at the man again.  The man slowly pours cream into his coffee.
He twirls his spoon between his fingers a few times before stirring sweetener
into his cup.  After staring for a moment into the liquid, the man brings the
cup to his mouth and sips, silently watching those around him.  He doesn't
look crazy, the waiter admits.  Maybe the girl has qualities that I don't
know about.  Or maybe the man's love is stronger than most.  The waiter
shakes himself out of his musings to take an order from a party of five. 
 
The man watches the waiter, wonders if he's ever been stood up.  The man has,
many times.  But he still can't get used to it.  Each time, it hurts.  He's
looked forward to this evening all day.  He has many things, exciting things,
to tell Cassie.  But, more importantly, he wants to hear Cassie's voice.  He
wants her to tell him all about her day, her triumphs, her defeats...
anything, really.  He has tried so many times to show Cassie how much he
loves her.  He'd just like to know that she cares for him, too.
 
He sips sporadically at the coffee, and loses himself in thought, knowing
that Cassie is late, but still hoping that she will arrive. 
 
The clock says nine-thirty when the waiter returns to the man's table.  "Is
there anything I can get for you?" 
 
The still empty chair stabs at the man.  "No, I think that will be all for
tonight.  May I have the check please?" 
 
"Yes, sir."

When the waiter leaves, the man picks up the check.  He pulls out his wallet
and sighs.  He has enough money to have given Cassie a feast.  But he takes
out only enough to pay for his five cups of coffee and the tip.  Why do you
do this, Cassie, his mind cries as he gets up from the table.
 
"Good-bye," the waiter says, as the man walks towards the door.

"Good night. Thank you for your service."
 
"You're welcome, sir," says the waiter softly, for he sees the hurt in the
man's eyes that his smile doesn't hide. 
 
The man passes a laughing young couple on his way out, and his eyes glisten
as he thinks of the good time he and Cassie could have had.  He stops at the
front and takes reservations for tomorrow.  Maybe Cassie will be able to make
it, he thinks. 
 
"Seven o'clock tomorrow for party of two?" the hostess confirms.
 
"That's right," the man replies.
 
"Do you think she'll come??" asks the hostess.  She doesn't mean to be rude,
but she has watched the man many times alone at his table for two.
 
"Someday, yes. And I will be waiting for her."  The man buttons his overcoat
and walks out of the restaurant, alone.  His shoulders are hunched, but
through the windows the hostess can only guess whether they are hunched
against the wind or against the man's hurt. 
 
As the man turns toward home, Cassie turns into bed.  She is tired after an
evening out with friends.  As she reaches toward her night stand to set the
alarm, she sees the note that she scribbled to herself last night.  "7:00,"
it says.  "Spend some time in prayer."  Darn, she thinks.  She forgot again.
 
She feels a twinge of guilt, but quickly pushes it aside.  She needed that
time with her friends.  And now she needs her sleep.  She can pray tomorrow
night. 
 
Jesus will forgive her.
 
And she's sure he doesn't mind.

    .1
    
    Paul, thanks Bro, I needed that.  It brought tears to me eyes it did.

                             THE SONG OF SIMEON
                The Feast of the Presentation, February 2, 1997
                      A Meditation by Fr. J�rgen Liias

It was a restless night.  That has not been my sleeping pattern of late.  
My night rests are long and my sleep deep, as if my old age were preparing 
me for the permanent sleep of death.  In a strange way that has been my 
secret desire...to fall asleep and not awake.  It is not a desire shaped by 
personal unhappiness.  The Lord God, blessed be his name, has graced me not 
only with health and longevity of years - I have seen my children's 
children's children - but with a richness of life as a priest in his holy 
temple.  But my wish for death comes from a tiredness of the horrific evil 
and brutality that afflicts our land; I wish to die and see at last the 
messianic kingdom of heaven where as the prophet says: God will swallow up 
death, and wipe away tears from all faces; sorrow and sighing shall flee 
away.

Yesterday was an especially acute day of confrontation with the anguish and 
injustice of Zion's captivity.

My temple duties took me to the nearby town of Bethlehem.  The shepherds of 
that area provide the sheep for the daily sacrifices of the temple.  I was 
in the vale below the village inspecting new born lambs to ensure that they 
were spotless and unblemished - as the law of Moses required, when a 
horrific shreik echoed down the limestone hills.  In just a minute children 
and women were running down the paths shouting:  Herod's soldiers are 
raiding homes, seeking all new born male children; one they found and 
pierced its little body through with a spear.  The wailing from above 
increased and once again the prophecy of Jeremiah was fulfilled:

    Rachel weeps for her children and she cannot be consoled.

O God, how often must we behold the slaughter of our children?
        From Ramses to Nebuchadnezzar to Antiochus to Herod
        Tears and Blood soaked into this desert soil.
O God of our fathers, How long?  Lord, have mercy! Lord, have mercy!

Yes it was that scream that haunted me all night.

I returned hurriedly the few miles to Jerusalem only to be met by another 
spectacle of terror.  There beyond the north corner of the city wall were 
crosses etched against the horizon on the hill of Golgotha - fresh 
sacrifices to the Roman imperial eagle God, drunk on the blood of Jewish 
youth.  I bent my path up the steep hill of death.  My life was to pray 
over the blood offerings of the temple; I must do the same over these 
unappointed sacrifices.  There were three executions that day.  I looked 
into their young but anguished faces.  These tortured young men were the 
Zealots, inspired by the fire of our maccabaean forefathers.  We the 
priestly class vehemently opposed their foolish terrorism, for their 
tactical assassinations only brought greater oppression to Judea.  But I 
prayed beneath their dripping blood that their deaths would not be barren 
of meaning.

0 God of our fathers, How long?  Lord, have mercy!  Lord have mercy!

Yes it was those faces that haunted me all night.

I rose.  That day the early sacrifices were my assignment.  As I washed and 
vested, my lips uttered all the morning prayers, but my mind was still 
engrossed in yesterday.  Robed, I walked from my chambers into the outer 
precincts of the temple, the court of women.  It was still very empty but 
for Anna, sleeping as she had as long as I can remember by the pillar 
before the altar of incense.  As I hurried by, I noticed she was in fact 
not asleep but already praying with her face obsequiously to the temple 
floor - wet beneath her from tears.

Just as I was to enter the inner sanctuary, a whisper came from behind 
another pillar.  An old man stretched forth handing me two pigeon doves.  
Beside him was a very young girl, clutching as if in hiding a bundle to her 
bosom.  The man whispered: "Our son - it is for his purchase and my wife's 
purification.  He has opened her womb; he belongs to God, and now it is 40 
days, the time of his redemption.  We present him to the Lord God, Blessed 
be his name!"

I began to protest that the people's sacrifices were not received until 
mid-day; but he urgently begged me.  "The child's life is in danger; we are 
fleeing to Egypt."

I took the child from the clutching mother.  She spoke: "I have gotten a 
man with the help of the LORD."  Eve's ancient words prayed once again.  I 
carried the child up the stairs and through the court of men to the door of 
the inner sanctuary.  There I unwrapped the child and lay him on the stone 
altar.  I tied the birds up to the corner horns and there beside the tiny 
body of the boy I slit the throats of the white doves.  The blood flowed 
onto the child and I anointed his flesh with the blood.  And then I lifted 
this little naked life up before the veil of the Holy of Holies:

"Blessed art thou, Lord God of our Fathers through whom this new life
is given and the future opened!
Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!
Blessed is the blood which purchases the life of the first born!"

No sooner had I prayed than a wind blew and stirred the curtain of the 
temple and the naked elevated body in my hands convulsed in a moment of 
spasm.

A strange sense gripped me - a sense I have known as the spirit of God.  I 
bundled the child up again and looked at him.  The spirit became stronger.  
I began to move back out from the sanctuary.  The weight of the Spirit 
became even stronger.  This was strange.  As I emerged from the inner 
temple, into the outer court, the weight of God's presence felled me to my 
knees.  The couple saw me struggling and ran to me.

"I am well; it is the Spirit."

I have experienced intimations of God's glory on occasion but lightly.  Ah, 
but there was one other time of such intensity.  Lord, could this be?  Yes, 
as a young priest, God spoke to me once.  I could hardly believe it.  God's 
voice and this same heaviness of presence.  God spoke audibly - just that 
once so long ago.  But it was a promise, a promise that I would see the 
promise of Israel, the face of the anointed one.  Could this be?  There on 
my knees I looked again into the eyes of this infant.  Could this be?  The 
Lord's Messiah?

The Spirit now burst forth from within me, like a deep pressure blocked for
ages and ages, like a fountain of praise exploding to the heavens:
     LORD, NOW LETTEST THOU THY SERVANT DEPART IN PEACE
      ACCORDING TO THY WORD
     FOR MINE EYES HAVE SEEN THY SALVATION
      WHICH THOU HAST PREPARED BEFORE THE FACE OF
     ALL PEOPLE
      TO BE A LIGHT TO ENLIGHTEN THE GENTILES
     AND TO BE THE GLORY OF THY PEOPLE ISRAEL

The parents reached down and took the child from my trembling hands and 
hurried away.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.

    The only difference between stumblingblocks and steppingstones is how
    you use them.

    Abraham Lincoln used a riddle to make a point in some of his debates.
    
    He said, if you call a mule's tail a leg, then how many legs does a
    mule have?
    
    His opponents said, that's easy--the mule has five legs.
    
    Wrong, said Lincoln, you can call a mule's tail anything you want, but
    it's still a tail.  A mule has four legs.

    1 Peter 2:6-8
    
    (someone please enter these verses for me)
    
    Jill
    

    
    1 Peter 2:6 Wherefore also it is contained in the scripture, Behold, I
    	lay in Sion a chief corner stone, elect, precious: and he that 
    	believeth on him shall not be confounded.
    
    1 Peter 2:7 Unto you therefore which believe he is precious: but unto
    	them which be disobedient, the stone which the builders disallowed, 
    	the same is made the head of the corner,
    
    1 Peter 2:8 And a stone of stumbling, and a rock of offence, even to
    them which stumble at the word, being disobedient: whereunto also they 
    were appointed.

    Forgive me, Jill, but only the KJV is in my office:
    
    "Wherefore also it is contained in the scripture, Behold, I lay in Sion
    a cheif corner stone, elect, precious: and he that believeth on Him
    shall not be confounded. Unto you therefore which believe He is
    precious: but unto them which be disobedient, the stone which the
    builders disallowed, the same is made the head of the corner, And a
    stone of stumbling, and a rock of offence, even to them which stumble
    at the word, being disobedient: whereunto also they were appointed."
    (1Pe.2:6-8)
    
    Did you see something here related to the thought in note .4? :-)
    
    If you'll allow, I'd like to complete the passage:
    
    "But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a
    peculiar (or purchased) people; that ye should shew forth the praises
    (or virtues) of Him who hath called you out of darkness into His
    marvellous light: Which in time past were not a people, but are now the
    people of God: which had not obtained mercy, but now have obtained
    mercy." (1Pe.2:9&10)

    Fast man, that Jim! :-)

    Thanks guys!
    
    A stumbling rock/block.  :-)
    
    
    Jill
    

 It is finished.

From "Living with Jesus Today" by Juan Carlos Ortiz:



I would like to take hold of God's people and shake them.  We need to see how
stupid we have been.  Somehow we have to change this situation, because the
world is waiting for us to wake up, so that we can share with them not a
doctrine but a life!

Christ is in us all day long.  But we think that He is only in our meetings. 
So we go to the meetings to feel His presence.

We act as if He were in the ceiling of the church building.  When we come in,
we imagine that we can pull Him down by our singing.  So after we sing two or
three of those "nice" songs, He comes down and blesses us - then He goes up
again until next Sunday when we return to feel the presence again.

There are people who go from one "nice" meeting to another to experience the
presence.  But these people are not living by faith; because Paul said that we
are to experience Christ dwelling in our hearts by faith, so that we are
continually conscious of His presence.

There is a great deal of confusion about what the presence of God is.  If the
choir sings nicely, the organ plays beautifully, the pianist excells, and the
pastor sounds inspired, we say "Oh, what a sense of God's presence there was
today!"

But if the choir lost the tune becuase the organist didn't come, and the pastor
forgot his notes, we say "Oh, the service really lacked God's presence today."

No.  All that we were missing was the presence of the organist, not the
presence of God.  God's presence has nothing to do with the choir, the
organist, the pianist or the pastor.  We have Christ's presence within us
whether the organist comes or not.  It doesn't depend on whether the choir
sings nicely or not.

...

Suppose I were to come and visit you tomorrow.  I knock on the door, but nobody
opens it.  I listen, and I hear noises inside.

"Somebody is in there," I say to myself, "and they don't want to open the door."

I really bang hard on the door, but there is no response.  So I open the door
and walk in.  And there you are.

"Hello, how are you?"

You don't answer.  Instead, you go to the kitchen.  So I follow you there.

"I came to visit you," I explain.

You ignore me and begin to peel your potatoes.  When you have done that, you go
into another room and begin cleaning it.  Again I follow you.  You go to the
supermarket, and still I follow after you.  You go to the bank, and I also go
there with you.  But you don't pay any attention to me.  All day I follow you,
but you don't even talk to me.

The next day, I come to your house again.  I follow you the whole day, and
still you ignore me.  You act as if you were completely unconscious of my
presence.

On Sunday, you come to the services and you see me there.  "Oh, Brother Ortiz,
how are you?  I'm so pleased to see you!"  You act as if you hadn't seen me for
a long time.

"What's wrong?" I ask.  "I've been with you the whole week!"


That's what we do with Jesus.  He is with us all week, but we wait until Sunday
to feel His presence.  We treat Him as if He weren't with us the whole time. 
And I have to tell you that this kind of religion is heresy.  It is the
complete opposite of what the new covenant is all about.

When Jesus comes to church, it is not just to be there for an hour or so on
Sunday.  It is to enjoy a continual communion with us, every day of the week.
When He comes, He never leaves us.  We are in church with Him all the time, 24
hours a day.

It is time we became conscious of His presence.

    
    RE: .12 AMEN!
    
    Every day in every way our face can draw men to Christ by our
    actions and walk, or make them think that we are just like the
    rest of the world :-(.
    
    					-JimGle-
    

    .12
    
    That hits home, unfortunately.

    I was on a retreat this weekend.  I was sitting by the water in prayer
    watching the waves hit the shore...
    
    I sat down by the water and watched the waves go in and out over the
    rocks.  It was like I was one of those rocks being washed by the
    water.  Sometimes it was a really strong set of waves, other times it
    was gentle waves.  The rock was just getting smother and rounder and
    prettier.  Also, as it was getting smaller, it began to become totally
    submerged in the water.  The washing wasn't easy, sometimes the waves
    became rather violent, but instead of tearing apart the rock, the rock
    was becoming more beautiful.  It just sat there enjoying the waves,
    even the violent ones, because that is just what rocks in a river do.
    They let the water wash over them and they become round a smooth like
    beautiful gems.  They don't fight the water, they don't try to run
    away.  They just don't have the strenth or the power to do that.  They
    just sit there and enjoy the water, knowing that that is exactly where
    they need and truly want to be.
    
    
    Jill