Joe Scheets – Fresh-Brewed Daily Devotionals

Your’e Not First and You’re Not the Last

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pattyshusband
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The final song that was the soundtrack when FDR and Churchill met was “Onward, Christian Soldiers.”   It is not my intent here to wade into the controversy over this song and its usage.  That’s not why you come read my blog.

Meet me at the third line of this song: “We are treading where the saints have trod.”

As we follow Jesus we’re part of an innumerable mass of believers who have gone on ahead of us.

You and I are not the only people to realize that God really does love us…that Christ died and overcame death…that like another song says, “Yes, Jesus loves me.”

We’re not the first ones to have insights into Scripture.  We’re not the first wave of  people to choose to live by the power of God’s Spirit.  And we’re not the first to trip over something and fall flat on on our faith.

The New Testament book of Hebrews gives us this image: we don’t run our daily race alone, but  “surrounded by this vast crowd of those who have gone before us in the faith.”

Like this song says: “We are treading where the saints have trod.”

Who’s in that crowd cheering for you today?

Feel free to leave a comment and I’ll see you back here soon.

P.S. — During Children’s Sermon a couple of years ago I was asked why we sing a song in church about “Awkward Christian Soldiers.”  But that’s another story for another time.

Comments

5 responses to “Your’e Not First and You’re Not the Last”

  1. Nanette Avatar
    Nanette

    I like the “Awkward Christian Soldiers,” quite fitting. Can’t wait to hear that one.

    I always thought Hebrews talked about a “Cloud of witnesses.” Oh well, I remember being a mom to a group in teaching at Little Grassy, about 13 years after having Camper Status. It was then I learned that Vic Herrmann had joined my Cloud of Witnesses (also a theme for the week, the members of our Clouds). There were so many places to remember that week where he had joined my Cloud. Vic was a great minister, but he fit into camp life with other ministers 1/2 and younger than his age. His wisdom was transmitted in so many different ways. I would have loved to team taught with him (no disrespect to Rev. H).

    When I think on my Cloud of witnesses, a few feet from my grandma T and behind my brother and dad, chatting it up with my fourth grade Sunday school teachers, Mr. and Mrs. Dean, you’ll find Vic and the love of his life, his wife. A memory held dear by another church (camp) song you should be familiar with: “Five-foot-two, eyes of blue, but oh what those five-foot can do. Has anybody seen my ga-aal?”

    These people in that cloud/crowd have wept with me and rejoiced with me when I hit a step they knew very well. Though I fall flat on my Faith a LOT, I realize it to be hallowed ground.

    Reply
    1. pattyshusband Avatar
      pattyshusband

      Yup, that’s exactly who’s in that group; you got it.

      And Vic, yeah, still miss the man. And his laugh. And his smile. And his encouragement. And yeah, still the man greatly.

      Reply
  2. Michael Avatar
    Michael

    Well said! You are gettring better and better! Stay the course.

    Reply
    1. pattyshusband Avatar
      pattyshusband

      Thank you very much, Dr. Sanders!

      Sent from my iPhone

      Reply
  3. Nanette Avatar
    Nanette

    pattyshusband:

    I feel it too! You most likely knew him better as a mentor beyond camper, in your journey to your ministry. It makes a great deal of sense that the hole left behind hurts that often. I never did get back to that grief thing, so this has little to do with our Cloud. I have an analogy that I have used when someone asks me why it can still hurt like yesterday years later.

    By the time my brother died, when I was 24 and he was 21, the losses were piling up (longer story). I had the luxury of going back to my security job at McKendree and requesting straight midnights. I would only have to deal with empty buildings and only the occasional insomniac or drunk in the dorms. As a writer, I had a great deal of time to think and journal. I have discovered those we love leave a hole in our heart. After a great deal of time, different per individual, the inside edges of the hole heal over so that the wind blowing through causes minimal, copable pain. But, a scent, a song, a causal memory can jar the thin protection whipping away and a stabbing pain is there. It is brief, but there.

    Reply

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