One Tiny Tender Shoot

One Tiny Tender Shoot

From barren soil, drought-stricken, parched
one tiny tender Shoot appeared.
So plain and homely was its form
it was not welcomed nor revered
where men in sullen shadows marched.

Abundant sorrow shame and grief
bent the Sprout low to the ground,
so smitten and afflicted here
that even God most surely frowned,
making its earthly visit brief.

I saw through eyes blind and diseased;
I saw, and yet assumed the worst:
Death was the end –His just reward,
but of the dead He was the first
to end its curse, and God was pleased!

Abundant love coursed through His veins,
abundant pardon, mercy, grace
gushed from violent gaping wounds,
compassion dripping from His face;
Only His righteousness remains.

Broken and bathed in Jesus’ blood
my sins are gone, my sight restored!
The Bud, once stricken, scorned, despised
now stately, treasured, and adored;
once-thirsty soil quenched by the flood.

Abundant life and joy and peace
sustain my spirit, soul and mind!
I feast on Him, my daily bread,
And drink His water, milk, and wine…
abundant gifts that never cease!

~Sharlyn Guthrie
(Based on Isaiah 53 and 55:1)

Follow Me

by Sharlyn Guthrie


I love music, and Easter seems like a particularly appropriate time to revel in it. For this reason my husband and I drove to a church in a nearby city to attend an Easter musical performed by that church’s actors and choir members in full costume, and accompanied by a live orchestra. We anticipated a joyous, Easter celebration.

The musical was the story of a Roman centurion, Anthony, who was struggling to understand just who the man, Jesus, really was. In the beginning Anthony was indifferent, unable to grasp his fellow-officers’ agitation with the insignificant teacher from Galilee. He observed from a distance, witnessing several miracles.

Later, though, Anthony approached Jesus, boldly asking him to heal his servant who was near death. Jesus told Anthony that his faith was great, and for that reason the servant was healed. It was true, Anthony’s servant came running to announce his good news of health restored. As Anthony expressed his gratitude, Jesus merely looked at him and said, “Follow me.”

But how could he? Anthony’s life was invested in the Roman army. His family, his livelihood, even his very life were threatened if he admitted to his new-found faith. So Anthony believed, but he didn’t follow.

As Jesus healed the sick, the deaf, and the lame and forgave the sins of the adulteress I felt my throat tighten. Later, the same crowd (in this case the choir) that had welcomed Him into Jerusalem with hosannas only a week earlier called out to Pilate, “Crucify Him! Crucify Him!” I blinked back the tears threatening to roll down my cheeks. How could they be so fickle?

Then Pilate turned to Anthony, the centurion, and washing his own hands of the affair, commanded Anthony to oversee Christ’s scourging. Sadly, a conflicted Anthony complied. And though he was not an active participant in the scourging, it was his inaction that was largely responsible for the events that followed. True, others inflicted the wounds upon Jesus’ flesh. But Anthony, believer in Jesus, recipient of God’s mercy, who now understood and later professed, “Surely this man is the Son of God,” stood by, his uniform clearly identifying him as a follower of Caesar, and therefore a crucifier of Jesus Christ. Nobody would have guessed that Anthony believed in Jesus, the Son of God.

As Jesus endured insults and beatings and stumbled beneath the weight of the cross, one of the soldiers ordered a man from the audience to help Jesus carry the cross, and a twenty-first century spectator stepped back through the ages, still dressed in blue jeans; however, when he returned to his seat his blue oxford shirt was stained with Jesus’ “blood.”

That is when the Easter story, so old and so often re-told, suddenly became new and real. This contemporary, a casual observer like myself, was pulled effortlessly into the action from his place in the crowd and unwittingly helped to crucify the Lord Jesus. Anthony, who believed, yet refused to exercise his faith assisted in Jesus’ death as well.

Am I much different from Anthony? Sure, I believe in Jesus. Of course I’m a Christian –a Christ-follower. Or am I? Would I risk my name, my job, my security, my reputation, my life to follow Him? Would anyone readily identify a wretch like me as a follower of Christ? Christ’s crucifiers were not merely those who inflicted the wounds. No, those of us who stood by shared in the guilt as well. This I pondered throughout the remainder of the musical.

Forgiveness and reconciliation were portrayed through the words Jesus spoke from the cross, “Father, forgive them…” convincing Anthony and myself that even a state of inaction, a failure to follow, is forgivable. Praise God! He arose, victorious over death and sin! Hallelujah!

As the final strains of music ended, the director turned and faced the audience, now thunderous in their applause. Only moments ago his hands had skillfully drawn harmonious praise from the hearts and souls of the now silent group of musicians. Now he closed his eyes, those same hands raised, reflecting all glory and praise heavenward to God, our Savior, Jesus Christ, who is worthy of all of our praise and who bids us still, “Follow me.”

The musical I referred to today is “Bow The Knee” by Chris Machen. I am sharing this for the Tuesday meme, “In Other Words” for the quote below:

"I am the wretch the song refers to."
~Todd Friel

In Other Words is hosted today by Esthermay at her blog, The Heart of a Pastor’s Wife.

Alphabet of the Cross

I am partial to the alphabet for many reasons, but mainly because it is basic to reading and learning just like the cross of Jesus Christ is basic to my faith. Somehow it seemed natural to combine the two. I hope someday to publish an illustrated version of this as an alphabet book. Until then I am thrilled to display the alphabet quilt shown above that was made for me by a mother of a couple of my students. My word for each letter of "Alphabet of the Cross" is stitched into each letter block of the quilt. I hope that you are blessed as you read this.

Alphabet of the Cross
by Sharlyn Guthrie

A is for atonement.
According to Mosaic law, only an unblemished lamb could atone for sin. Jesus, the holy Lamb of God became our atonement.

B is for blood.
Just as the blood of the lamb was poured onto an altar, Jesus’ blood poured from His hands, feet, and side as He hung on the cross.

C is for crucifixion.
Crucifixion was a cruel, slow, and humiliating punishment that ended in death on a cross, hours or even days after it began. Jesus was crucified.

D is for disciples.
Jesus ate supper with His twelve disciples the night before He was betrayed. He asked them to remember His death by breaking and eating bread (a symbol of His body), and drinking wine (a symbol of His blood). Believers in Jesus continue to observe the Lord’s table or communion to remember His death.

E is for Eli.
Eli is the Hebrew name for God. From the cross “…Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?” that is, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46) God could not look upon His own son because of the sin -mine and yours- that He took with Him to the cross.

F is for forgiveness.
“Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they are doing,” Jesus cried from the cross. He even forgave the sins of the thief hanging next to Him.

G is for Golgotha.
Golgotha, “the place of the skull,” was the hill outside of Jerusalem where Jesus was crucified.

H is for the Holy of Holies.
A heavy veil in the temple separated God’s people from the Holy of Holies…God’s dwelling place. As Jesus died, the veil of the temple was torn from the top to the bottom, ending forever our separation from the presence of God.

I is for “It is finished.”
Jesus spoke these words just before he died.

J is for Judas.
Judas, one of the twelve disciples, betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver.

K is for King of the Jews.
Jesus’ accusers crowned Him with thorns and hung a plaque over His head that read, “King of the Jews”.

L is for lots.
The soldiers stripped Jesus, and then cast lots, gambling to see who would win His clothing.

M is for mocking.
“The soldiers also mocked Him, coming up to Him, offering Him sour wine, and saying, ‘If you are the King of the Jews, save Yourself!’” (Luke 23:36-37)

N is for the ninth hour.
It was the ninth hour when Jesus died crying, “…Father, unto Your hands I commit my spirit.” (Luke 23:46)

O is for offering.
Jesus became the offering for our sins, making the many offerings required of people and priests before His death unnecessary to continue.

P is for pierce.
After Jesus died, the soldiers pierced his side with a sword. Water and blood gushed out, fulfilling Old Testament prophecy, and proving that Jesus was dead.

Q is for quake.
As Jesus died the earth quaked, rocks split, and tombs were opened.

R is for resurrection.
Many saints were resurrected. Their tombs were opened by the earthquake.

S is for sin.
“God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (II Corinthians 5:21 )

T is for tomb.
The tomb where Jesus was laid was sealed and guarded. But He arose! Death lost its power!

U is for Undeserved Love.
Jesus shed His blood so that sinners like me could live. That is undeserved love -incredible grace!

V is for Via Dolorosa.
The Via Dolorosa is “the painful way” that Jesus took to Golgotha. Although His death was agonizing, there was no other way.

W is for weeping women.
Women who loved Jesus wept as they watched His crucifixion.
Later, after His resurrection, He appeared to them first. Their weeping turned to jubilation.

X is for example.
Jesus lived a perfect life. Although He was tempted, He never sinned. He is our perfect example.

Y is for yield.
Jesus yielded to His Father’s will. He asks you and I to do the same. He will put our old, sinful selves to death and raise us into a new life.

Z is for Zion.
Zion is Jerusalem, the city near Golgotha. Some day soon Jesus, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, will return to Zion’s Hill to establish His kingdom. We watch, hope, and yearn for that day.

In the Light of the Cross

For Fiction Friday this week I have decided to share a story written from a cricket's point of view. It isn't one of my favorites, but it's fun. While you're here, I hope you will scroll on down the page and read my previous (more thoughtful) post on the cross which includes a recently penned poem.

In the Light of the Cross
by Sharlyn Guthrie

Yes! It’s the band! Chirp chirp. I can make my own marvelous music without attracting attention. Chirp chirp. Seats are filling up and the volume is increasing –all the better for a covert cricket like me. Chirp chirp.

How, you might ask, did a cacophonous field cricket make his home in the pulpit of Christ Community church? Truth is, I was hatched in the flower garden outside. Chirp chirp. I found my way here in search of food. There’s a lifetime supply of peanuts in front of this dusty hymnal, plus half a cherry-flavored cough drop for my sweet tooth. Chirp chirp.

Light streams in through the cut-out cross, which also provides me with a grand view of the congregation. Chirp chirp. The cross is a common sight here, although I’m not sure why. The old hymnal has a cross on its cover; a humongous gold cross stretches from the rafters to the platform behind the pulpit; and a red cross gleams from each stained glass window. Many of the congregants wear a cross on their lapel or necklace. Chirp chirp. Even so, I have never once heard mention of it from the pulpit.

It seems to me that people come here to feel good. Chirp chirp. They shake hands, sing happy songs, and listen to The Reverend speak of their goodness. Smiles grace their faces –whether heartfelt or simply what’s expected, I can’t tell. Chirp chirp.

The Reverend speaks in soothing tones. Chirp chirp. He speaks of human kindness, saving the planet, and performing good works. The men nod off. Their wives elbow them. Chirp chirp. Obediently they straighten, and a placid smile quickly returns to their faces.

Okay, no more chirping. The music has stopped. A feeble old preacher in a pin-striped makes his way to the platform. Where’s The Reverend?

“Good morning. I’ll be filling in for your minister today. Please take the Bible that’s in front of you and turn to Hebrews chapter twelve.” Curious glances are exchanged as the preacher awaits a response. “Verses two and three say, ‘Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.’”*

“Today, my friends, let us fix our eyes on Jesus. Let us look at the cross as we have never seen it before –not the gleaming crosses that adorn our sanctuary, but the cross we find here, in God’s holy Word...”

Whoa! The pounding on the pulpit nearly sends me sailing through my peek-hole. I’ll be safer up here on the hymnal. This is great! Nobody’s dozing this morning. Their eyes are wide open. They’re not exactly smiling, either. This is getting interesting.

“…That cross is hard. It is ugly and offensive. It endures through the ages to remind us of the awful price that was paid for our sins. Jesus laid down his life on that cross for you and for me.”

“Amen.”

Did I hear something?

“AMEN!”

There it is again. Now that’s a new word around here!

“…Maybe you need to make your way to this altar and kneel at the foot of the cross. Confess your sins. Claim the power that is yours in Jesus Christ. Then take up your cross and follow Him. Praise God! Hallelujah!”

Hey! Careful! I nearly lost my balance. What’s happening? People are on their feet. They’re moving toward the front. Tears have replaced their peaceful smiles. Yikes! That Bible thumping preacher just dumped me off the hymnal.

“When I survey the wondrous cross…” his ancient voice quivers with emotion. “…on which the Prince of glory died,” several others join in. Band members leaf through song sheets, looking mighty confused. “My richest gain I count but loss, and pour contempt on all my pride.”**

Amazing! It makes me wonder, though. How could everyone sit here surrounded by crosses week after week and forget a story like that? Then again, why would a common field cricket hide himself inside a pulpit, denying himself fresh air, plump grain, and starry skies? How could I have settled for stale peanuts and a half-eaten cough drop?

Basking in the light of the cross I make a decision. Chirp chirp.


*Hebrews 12:2-3 (NIV)
**”When I Survey the Wondrous Cross” hymn by Isaac Watts

For links to more Friday fiction, please visit Christina at her blog, With Pen in Hand

The Uncompromising Cross

“The cross effects its ends by destroying one established pattern, the victim’s, and creating another pattern, its own. Thus it always has its way. It wins by defeating its opponent and imposing its will upon him. It always dominates. It never compromises, never dickers nor confers, never surrenders a point for the sake of peace. It cares not for peace; it cares only to end its opposition as fast as possible.” ~ A.W. Tozer, The Radical Cross

Jesus Christ knew all these things about the cross when He pleaded, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” Luke 22:42 (NIV).

As Jesus looked toward the cross He knew the cost. He rightly anticipated the pain involved in dying a cruel death normally reserved for criminals. For this reason He begged his father to allow Him to escape the cross, although He quickly added His willingness to conform to God’s will. Two verses later Luke says that Jesus was earnestly praying in anguish, so much so that great drops of sweat fell like blood to the ground.

I am comforted by these portrayals of Jesus as He faced crucifixion. I am comforted knowing that He experienced a full range of human emotions. I am comforted knowing that the matter of the cross wasn’t easy, even for Him. I am comforted in realizing that He does not ask of me anything that He himself hasn’t already experienced.

“If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.” Luke 9:23 (NIV).

What of This Cross?

What of this cross that lies across my way,
imploring that myself I should betray?
It reeks of putrid death; foreshadows pain.
Is that my name engraved across its grain?

What of this cross? I find it interferes
with plans, belongings, all that I hold dear.
Must every precious treasure be laid down?
Is there indeed no other way around?

What of this cross that emulates my Lord’s,
yet sparks among my loved ones such discord?
Fighting, dissension, arguments, and hate
-this cross does not bring peace, but separates.

What of this cross that makes my footsteps halt?
I must decide to die or to default;
Every allegiance I must now disown;
take up this cross, and carry it alone.

This cross I’ll bear and boast of only He
who leads the way and spilled His blood for me.
I shall not hesitate nor breathe a sigh;
but gain my life when Self commits to die.

~Sharlyn Guthrie

Today I am "preparing for Easter" along with Ann Voskamp and her friends at Holy Experience. I hope you will take time to visit her and check out some other posts on this topic.

To Lead, or to Follow?

Those who went ahead and those who followed shouted, "Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!" Mark 11:9 (NIV)

As Jesus entered Jerusalem seated on the donkey colt that his disciples had procured for him, people along the way assumed their position. This verse states that some went ahead, and some followed. They were all shouting the same thing, however. “Hosanna!” Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”

This verse from Mark identifies two distinct groups in the crowd: those who went ahead, and those who followed. The Merriam online dictionary describes a leader as “one who directs the action,” while a follower is, “one in the service of another, or one who imitates another.”

As I thought about this, I began to wonder what determined the position of each individual on that day in Jerusalem. I also wondered if there were differences between the two groups; for instance, I wondered which group would most likely be more loyal, the leaders or the followers. I know that I’m speculating here, but it seems likely to me that those directing the action may have been attention seekers caught up in the drama of the situation, while the followers may have been the true servants of Christ.

You see, everywhere Jesus went in the days leading up to his entry into Jerusalem, He repeated the same invitation. “Follow me.” This is what he said to each of his disciples, to Levi the tax collector, to the rich young ruler, and to those that he healed. In fact, the same invitation was later extended to any and all, "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.” Luke 9:23 (NIV)

A week after Jesus’ triumphal entry, a large crowd once again surrounded Jesus in Jerusalem. This time those directing the action of the crowd shouted, “Crucify Him!” and “Give us Barabbas!” Were these the same leaders who directed the action the week before? Where were Jesus’ followers on this day? Were they part of the crowd, too?

These questions make me wonder about those who went ahead, and those who followed Jesus during his entry into Jerusalem. I also wonder which group I would have been a part of. Would I have been caught up in directing the excitement and drama of one or both days? Or would I have simply followed my Lord, regardless of where He might have taken me?

Better yet, what is my position today? I may be shouting, “Hosanna,” like the crowd ahead of and following Jesus, but that doesn’t tell the whole story. Jesus says that I must deny myself and take up my cross daily,and follow…




I'm participating in Monday Manna today, hosted by Joanne at An Open Book. Please stop by and pay her a visit.

A Tale of Two Craftsmen

A Tale of Two Craftsmen
by Sharlyn Guthrie

He trudges through the underbrush, keen eyes scanning the forest. Passing up trees as gnarled and bent as his worn fingers, the forager searches for those standing tall and relatively straight.

He works alone by choice –his choice mostly, though he knows how he is perceived by his countrymen and neighbors. He is nearly as offensive as the product of his hands. His is a lonely profession.

Can the crafting of crosses be called a profession? Unlearned, unmarried, unskilled in all but the basest of tasks, the man barely ekes out a living.

Call it a passion instead. The irony of such a thought! His eyes are hollow, his face void of emotion. But something drives a man to deliver to the despised the means of a brutal death.

He stops, sizing up the tree before him, envisioning a bleeding, twisted human form upon it. Is it tall enough to make a spectacle of the imposter who believes he’s a king? “ King of the Jews, indeed!” Emphatically, he spits on the ground.

Backing up to the trunk, he contemplates the circumference –not too wide, nor too narrow. The supposed son of God must be capable of carrying his cross at least part way through the city. Once impaled upon it, he should be afforded plenty of exposure and little upon which to rest.

Is the wood pliable enough to accept seven-inch nails, yet sturdy enough to support the weight of the thirty-three year old Nazarene? The crafter pounds a nail into the tree and flexes, hoisting his own weight upon it. “…claims to be seeing to his father’s business. His father was only a carpenter, no better or worse than mine.”

Rough, ragged bark, unsightly and coarse –this will add insult to injury for the would-be Messiah and his gullible followers.

The hunt is over. The tree is well-suited to settle once and for all the question of kingship. Thieves and pirates know they are despicable characters. This Jesus fellow will know, too. “It’s what he deserves for thinking he’s something, when he’s not!”

A ringing of metal on wood resounds as the axe cuts deep into the tree’s base. Finally it is felled and its branches trimmed away. A crossbeam is cut and fastened into place high on the longer beam. It is a fine, albeit formidable specimen of the cross builder’s craft.

Men look away as the ragged craftsman enters the city, dragging his offensive specimen behind him. Women and children move briskly to the other side of the street, while their impassioned cries from earlier in the day still ring in the craftsman’s ears. “Give us Barabbas!”

He straightens, heaving the cross-beam higher onto his shoulders.

The Praetorium is chaotic. Mockers shout insults as tormentors tear at Jesus’ flesh. Emboldened, the cross bearer lugs his handiwork toward the object of ridicule and drops it at His feet.

Those eyes! They pierce through the man for what seems like eternity, conveying tremendous sorrow and matchless love.

It is too much. Regret wells up from deep inside the craftsman’s weathered, wounded soul. Ashamed, he slinks away. But his broken heart stirs within him a need. He feels compelled to gaze once again into the eyes of the Son of God, this time seeking forgiveness.

The cross crafter loiters, milling among the scoffers.


****

He trudges through the streets of Jerusalem, tender eyes scanning the crowds. Passing by sinners as rigid and hardened as the burden on his back, the Savior seeks for one who is bent and broken.


I am participating in Friday Fiction, which is being hosted today by Joanne Sher at "An Open Book." Visit her blog for links to more great fiction.

The Gardener's Gift

For today's Fiction Friday I am sharing a childrens' story that seems appropriate for the season. This week's Fiction Friday is being hosted by Joshua Janoski at Just Joshin'. Visit his blog for links to more great fiction.



The Gardener’s Gift
by Sharlyn Guthrie

“Listen carefully, my children. Tonight I have witnessed a most wonderful, yet terrible thing.” The man had beckoned his children from their beds, so they sat swiping at their sleepy eyes.

“What is it, Papa?” Sarah asked, stroking his weathered hand.

“I have told you before about a man who often visits the garden. He usually enters at dusk, just as I am leaving, and goes to a secluded area to pray.”

“Yes, Papa, I remember.” Liam nodded, “Sometimes he shares his bread with you.”

“That’s right, Liam. But tonight was very different.” The gardener paused, gauging their attentiveness. “As you know, I returned to the garden after supper to sort fruit into baskets for the poor. I was sorting in the barn by candlelight, when the man came to the garden, accompanied by several other men.”

“Who were they, Papa?” Joel, the youngest, inquired.

“He called them his disciples. And tonight I learned the man’s name. His disciples called him Jesus.”

“Papa, I’ve heard about Jesus,” Sarah exclaimed, “He healed my friend Lydia’s father.”

Papa nodded with conviction. “I believe that is true, Sarah, although I might not have believed you if you had told me yesterday.”

“Tell us more, Papa.” It was Joel again, squirming with impatience.

“Jesus told his disciples to sit down by the garden gate and wait for him while he prayed. Three of the men continued to follow him. He was very upset and sad. Soon he told them to stop, but to stay alert and pray. Jesus went to his usual place, alone.”

“Did the men do what He said?” Liam interrupted.

“Yes, and no. They did stay behind. Meanwhile, Jesus fell to the ground, crying and pleading. ‘My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me, yet not as I will, but as You will.’*” Papa’s voice resonated with emotion.

Sarah looked puzzled. “What does it mean, Papa?”

“I wasn’t sure either, Sarah. But I could feel his anguish. It cut to the very core of my being. When Jesus went back to find the men, guess what…all of them were sleeping! Jesus sobbed, rebuking them, ‘So you men could not keep watch with me for one hour?’** Then He went away to pray again, this time crying, ‘My Father, if this cannot pass away unless I drink it, Your will be done.’*** When he returned, he again found his disciples sleeping, so he went back to pray a third time. It was then that I took my cloak to where Jesus knelt, weeping. Without speaking, I draped it over his back, and turned to walk away. As I did, his hand clasped mine. Gazing into Jesus’ mournful eyes, I suddenly knew…”

Joel tried hard to understand. “Knew what, Papa?”

“I knew that this man, Jesus, is the Son of the living God…the Messiah…our Passover Lamb.”

“That IS wonderful, Papa!” Sara rose, holding her father’s hand in both of hers. “Will you introduce us to Him?”

“No, Sarah.” Papa lowered his eyes to meet hers. “Some soldiers came into the garden and arrested Jesus only a few minutes later. They want to put Him to death. That is why Jesus was so distraught, you see. He knew that He was about to die.”

“Can’t we stop them, Papa?” Liam stood now, tugging on his father’s other arm.

“No, Liam. Don’t you see? It is God’s will for His Son to die. Even Jesus’ own Father will not prevent His death. Do you remember the words of the prophet, Isaiah? ‘…He was wounded for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities...’**** It is happening now, this very night.”

“Papa, the cloak you put on Jesus…” Joel swallowed hard. “Is it the one that Mama made just before she died?”

“Yes, Joel. Apart from you children, it was my most prized possession.”

The following day the gardener watched as angry soldiers led Jesus past the Garden of Gethsemane, blood dripping from his thorn-crowned head onto the precious cloak –the gardener’s gift. Much later in the day a soldier returned carrying the cloak, boasting of his booty.

The gardener felt remorse, but only for his own sins that required the death of the blameless Lamb of God. Remembering Jesus’ tender touch and the compassion that glistened in His eyes, the gardener whispered, “It is I who received by far the greatest gift.”


* Matthew 26:39 NASV
** Matthew 26:40 NASV
*** Matthew 26:42 NASV
**** Isaiah 53:5 NASV

Monday Manna: One Tiny Tender Shoot

But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our guilt and iniquities; the chastisement [needful to obtain] peace and well-being for us was upon Him, and with the stripes [that wounded] Him we are healed and made whole. Isaiah 53:5, Amplified




One Tiny Tender Shoot

From barren soil, drought-stricken, parched
one tiny tender Shoot appeared.
So plain and homely was its form
it was not welcomed nor revered
where men in sullen shadows marched.

Abundant sorrow shame and grief
bent the Sprout low to the ground,
so smitten and afflicted here
that even God most surely frowned,
making its earthly visit brief.

I saw through eyes blind and diseased;
I saw, and yet assumed the worst:
Death was the end –His just reward,
but of the dead He was the first
to end its curse, and God was pleased!

Abundant love coursed through His veins,
abundant pardon, mercy, grace
gushed from violent gaping wounds,
compassion dripping from His face;
Only His righteousness remains.

Broken and bathed in Jesus’ blood
my sins are gone, my sight restored!
The Bud, once stricken, scorned, despised
now stately, treasured, and adored;
once-thirsty soil quenched by the flood.

Abundant life and joy and peace
sustain my spirit, soul and mind!
I feast on Him, my daily bread,
And drink His water, milk, and wine…
abundant gifts that never cease!

By Sharlyn Guthrie
(Based on Isaiah 53 and 55:1)

Do You Not Know?

One of the most amazing mysteries of Calvary is the tearing in two, from top to bottom, of the temple veil –the veil that prevented man from entering the Holy of Holies. Although the “how” is a mystery, the “why” is not. Christ’s work of redemption on the cross removed the barrier between God and man, ushering in a new era. Those who repented of their sins and placed their faith in Jesus Christ would receive the Holy Spirit, not as an isolated experience, but as a constant presence. Incomprehensible!

The Holy Spirit was active throughout the Old Testament, present in creation, coming and going, directing individuals and events, granting special skill and uncanny wisdom to some. But it appears that His indwelling presence was the exception rather than the rule. In I Samuel 16:13 “…the Spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward…” Yet in Psalm 51:11 David pleads with God not to take the Holy Spirit away from Him as a consequence of his sin. Other men of God were visited by the Holy Spirit with special knowledge, words, or abilities for a particular purpose in time, limited in scope and duration.

As New Testament believers, however, we have the Holy Spirit living inside of us. I Corinthians 3:16 says, “Do you not know that you are a temple of God and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?”

I must admit I have not always known that fact as I should. I have not always recognized the priceless significance of God’s gift of an indwelling Holy Spirit in this present day and time. Concerning the Holy Spirit I have alternately been ignorant, fearful, suspect, and apathetic. In so being I know I have often grieved Him. One of my greatest mistakes has been confining the Holy Spirit to words on a page. He is a living, breathing Being, always present and available, eager to speak in and through me if only I acknowledge Him. He is a Person, the third Person of the Triune God, with attributes and emotions; someone I need to become acquainted with, since He is living here, making Himself constantly available. Over the past few years I have been doing just that –taking time to get to know Him, and I would encourage you to do the same.

Here is a poem I wrote in appreciation of some of the things the Holy Spirit does in me and for me–a feeble human attempt to express Someone who is truly incomprehensible!


Precious Holy Spirit

Precious Holy Spirit
dwelling deep inside my soul
cheering with your presence
making the broken whole
whispering words of comfort
breathing through my fear
holding me in silence
wiping every tear
endowing with Your wisdom
emboldening with power
surprising through Your wonders
every waking hour
strengthening arms for labor
helping in the race
filling days with praise
and nights with amazing grace
counseling in my confusion
guiding through the unknown
allowing peace to clothe me
making this body your home

--Sharlyn Guthrie