The Revelation Of Gratitude
The
Revelation Of Gratitude.
It
is the daily morning habit of this writer to “do my chapter”.
What I mean, of course, is that I take a chapter of Holy Scripture
and read slowly, prayerfully and reverently through it, asking myself
at each point what this is teaching me about God and life. It's a
practice I have maintained since my early teenage years and now, in
my sixties, I can certainly assert that it has definitely stood the
test of time (thumbs up, smiley face)!
And
yet, as profitable as it consistently is, some mornings are more
special than others. And this morning is definitely one of those
more special mornings. I think, wistfully, that they are all like
this if I was equally willing to unpack the Scripture before me and
not be in such a hurry to get on with the rest of my day. But this
morning I felt divinely arrested when I stopped to think about what I
had just read.
Just
take a look at the opening verses from the Apostle Paul's first
Epistle to Timothy:
4:1
Now the Spirit speaketh expressly, that in the latter times some
shall
depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits, and
doctrines
of devils;
4:2
Speaking lies in hypocrisy; having their conscience seared with a
hot
iron;
4:3
Forbidding to marry, and commanding to abstain from meats,
which
God hath created to be received with thanksgiving of them
which
believe and know the truth.
4:4
For every creature of God is good, and nothing to be refused, if it
be
received with thanksgiving:
4:5
For it is sanctified by the word of God and prayer.
4:6
If thou put the brethren in remembrance of these things, thou shalt
be
a good minister of Jesus Christ...
Please
indulge me and read those verses again before reading on and then see
if you see thing same thing that I saw when I read them.
I
read those verses and maybe because it was early in the morning, or
maybe it was the Spirit of the Lord Himself, but my mind wandered to
a story I read many years ago in a cowboy comic.
The
White Rock
There
was once a lonely travellor who went prospecting for gold. He
travelled far and wide but to no avail. By and by, tired and
despairing, he camped at a shelter overshadowed by a huge mountain.
In the morning, he roused himself, made a fire and ate a modest
breakfast, fed and watered his horse and made his weary way around
the mountain. Eventually, on a path leading upwards to his left, he
saw some abandoned prospecting equipment and because it was of better
quality than his own, decided to take it as it had, after all, been
left on the trail to rot. As he made his desired exchange, he saw
that the tracks showed that the previous owners of this fine ware had
travelled down from the mountain. Thusly he reasoned that they might
have either tried their hand and failed to find gold and left their
things behind or that they had been so successful that they had to
shed their load. But there was, it struck him, a third, more dire
possibility. This was that that they had indeed been very
successful, but had been set upon by raiders, natives or some other
evil doers. His conclusion was that he would follow the trail back
up the mountain, but at all times keeping his wits about him for
whoever was or might be watching. His fears proved unfounded. No
one was watching and the trail led to a cave. When he arrived, he
dismounted and, rifle at the ready, slowly made his way into the
cave. Again, his fears were unfounded. There was no one there.
Indeed, the cave was mall, but this consideration was all but
forgotten because the inside of the cave was alive with a strange
blue light. This was most disconcerting to the old prospector, but
he soon saw something reassuringly familiar to him. Along at various
places at the lower walls of the cave, were holes that could only
have been made by explosives. Yet there was still something odd
about them. It was that they were very small holes. These holes
should have been much larger. He took a look outside. Sure enough,
just as he had suspected, the area was littered with small pieces of
white rock from inside the cave. He tossed them to one side and
scratched his head and eventually decided that he would try his hand
in the cave. So he took off his shirt and got down to work.
Many
days went by without any gold being found, but the old prospector
worked on because he had seen this kind of thing before when he had
worked in mines for the big timers years ago. There was always gold
behind the white rock. On he worked clearing wagon after wagon load
of white rock. It was as if the whole mountain was made of nothing
but white rock, but the old prospector was a hard working and patient
man. Eventually, he found what he came for. He was right. The old
forty-niners had told him the truth, “The white rock always cradles
the gold.” He had found the mother-load. He had made his fortune.
Triumphantly, he loaded up his wagon, himself now abandoning his
prospecting equipment, and after carefully making his way around pile
after pile of white rock, found his way to the nearest town and the
Assayer's Office there. Yes, he had made his fortune. He led the
rest of his life rich and happy, never again giving as much as a
thought to the mountain, the cave or indeed to the white rock that
faithfully cradled the mother-load.
But
the old prospector was wrong to do so! Because you see, some years
later a young prospector came by that same trail, loaded with men and
brand new equipment, and could not believe his eyes. He was the
first to dismount. His men watched him walk around wide-eyed and
open-mouthed, touching the old piles of white rock. He shook his
head incredulously and a huge grin spread across his face. Then it
came, he just couldn't hold it back any longer. A laugh so loud and
hearty that it seemed to come from the depths of the young
prospector's soul. He laughed and laughed and laughed, and because
such laughing is so highly contagious, his men started laughing too
even though they had no idea what they were laughing at. The young
prospector waved them to dismount and join him. They did so and the
young prospector placed his fists on his hips and walked silently
among his men. They were all silent too, no one asked any questions,
seeing their boss's grin still in place and the laughter behind his
eyes.
“Gentlemen!”
he said, still almost laughing, “We came here to work hard and make
our fortunes, our footsteps guided by the knowledge of science and
common sense and good reason, and we have certainly come to the right
place. But our visions of long hours hard work and sweating by
candle light in the bowels of the earth are gloriously fictitious.
For what we find here brings to mind the words of the poet Oran
Barnett:
I
see it, I said, with a sense of dread;
I
gaze with pallid awe.
And
indeed we might also do so, because we came prospecting for gold, but
we have found much more than mere gold. Today, gentlemen, we have
found platinum! And all we have to do is load up our wagons!”
And
load up their wagons they did. All of them. Their wealth lasted
many generations, but it was made because one man had no knowledge of
the value that was there in front of him.
And
now please, I would politely but earnestly ask you to read that
Scripture once more, and a word of advice here.
Don't
be like the old prospector!
It
is my contention that that we disregard the platinum of the Gospel
because we are too busy rejoicing in the gold of the Gospel. I mean
by gold the Justifying Grace Of God, and by platinum the Sanctifying
Grace Of God. We do this consistently because we fail to take time
to unpack the plain sense of Scripture.
In
what follows, I intend to explore the particular facets surrounding
the practice of simply giving thanks to God.
Firstly,
I wish to begin by pulling down a particular anti-christian
stronghold known as “the attitude of gratitude”. Secondly, I
will consider more positively the place of this practice in the
believer's life of prayer. Thirdly, and to conclude, I will consider
the Blessing Of Gratitude.
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