April 1953
February 15, 1952
Sleep would not come to the tired and worried little pastor. Tomorrow was meeting day and his task loomed dark and forbidding before him. He tried hard to think it all out, but wound up after a few hours in just a silent, tearless prayer: "Lord help me bear my cross like a man."
Next morning he waited at the place of meeting until the usual array of Church goers arrived. A bit late but anyway they were there. After the usual how do you do's the men sought their accustomed seats hung their hats on the same old nail and stuffing their hands down deep into their pockets they appeared all set for the occasion and to the seriously thinking little preacher they presented a sort of "Lets get it over with attitude."
The woman continued to discuss the many innocent and interesting things that filled their minds until a deacon said, "It is five minutes to eleven; if we are going to do any singing...."--and evidently they were not going to do much, or they would have started half an hour ago.
He pulled them through the first song, then an awkward pause and some one in a whispered tone finished telling what the song had cut short.
The pastor struggled with his message, half believing it was not appreciated, and the general atmosphere of indifference hung like a pall of gloom over the preacher's heart. When the last Amen was said both preacher and hearers were relieved.
Next Sunday the pastor goes to another of his Churches (he has four and of course they could not have preaching but once a month and some people can backslide in less than a month) and as he drove the long distance he meditated constantly on the word of God, praying, praying, as always for the grace he must have and when he arrived the sound of sweet gospel singing greeted his ear! Coming in and up the aisle he was warmly greeted by many who had been praying for him, some even wept because this privilege seemed so dear to them, a place in the house of God. They had not come into church so unprepared as the other church folks of last Sunday. They had spent some time weighing their own responsibilities. They had come to Church in a warm faith, and had drawn near the Lord in the 40-minute song service.
The tired little pastor was not tired any more, but his spirit soared to new heights and the joy of the meeting knew no bounds!
Most preachers CERTAINLY try to do their best and their congregations want to try to carry their end of the load. It takes a little thinking, praying and humbling. The great apostle said something about "Let us therefore fear, lest a promise being left us of entering into His rest, any of you should seem to come short of it."
R. W. Cothern
January 1, 1953
Experience is a great teacher. Sometimes we stumble onto sad occasions that cause us to think-I hope-more clearly of just what is our duty to our fellow man.
Dropping in today to see an old fellow who has been sick a long time, and given up by the doctor, and just waiting to die; who has been frustrated by some preachers asking him to do different things to be saved, one of which was to be baptized, etc., the old fellow feels that he is completely devoid of any righteousness, utterly unworthy of any claim to be a child of God; feels that he is just in the way, helpless, and an unnecessary burden on his family and friends. He broods over his dark and sinful past, and although he has a little hope that, he will be carried home to heaven at death, as far as life now is concerned, he feels lonely, poor, and helpless.
I talked to him awhile, about current events, the weather, etc. but he soon asked me if I would get the Bible and read some to him, which I did, selecting the 13th chapter of Cor., which begins, "Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity--" and concluded with "For now we see as through a glass darkly, but then face to face; now I know in part; but then shall I know even also as I am known." And the old fellow reached out, took hold of my hand, and broke down in violent weeping.
I tried to tell him about the great sacrifice that Jesus had made for him; a sacrifice that God was "pleased with," and with which He was "satisfied." God does not look on our sins or lack of righteousness, but looks on what Jesus did for us, and we are completely acquitted of all sin, and stand redeemed by the blood of Jesus. Washed and made pure; "tho our sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow." Then have great reason to rejoice, and should not continue to weep over things in the unholy past, but should look up with joy in our hearts because of that love, and glorious sacrifice of blessed Jesus. I told him that we all knew these things, in a way, but we know them "in part," and see them only as "through a glass darkly," because we still live in this sinful body and have this great "treasure" hidden in an old "earthly vessel." So we, like John, need to be "shown AGAIN how the lame are made to walk, and the blind made to see." We need someone to help us put these truths together so they may more forcefully revive our faith, then joy bursts out like a blaze of sunshine from behind the dark clouds of doubt, and we exclaim, "My Lord and My God!" Oh how MUCH we do need each other's help, comfort, and love, more especially when we are sick, weak, and disturbed by conflicting theologies.
How highly the apostle emphasized the great lesson in this chapter about this "charity." People who possess it will not feel like saying, "Oh, well the old man is suffering for the way he has lived," but will feel willing to administer with loving hands to his comfort and needs, and will be far move impressed with his bitter tears of penitence than with the misspent life. This Charity "vaunteth not itself" don't feel so high and mighty that they find it hard or embarrassing or humiliating to forgive an old wrecked life, even tho it now betrays a contrite and broken heart. Did you ever see people who pressed, would "forgive"(?) but do it grudgingly? Is it false pride, or hypocritical spirit that make some seem to want to do their forgiving at a distance-a very LONG distance? Whatever it is, it doesn't look like this Charity. Some even say, "I can forgive, but I can't forget" Is that the way the Lord forgave you your sins? If you feel a haughty and uppity spirit toward a penitent soul begging for forgiveness, it COULD be that such a spirit is as black in the eyes of the Lord as the sins of the penitent one at your feet! A truly good heart--one with this Charity--does not feel belittled to stoop down and forgive, but is GLAD to. "Be ye therefore kind, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, as God has, for Christ's sake, forgiven you." If Christ was here, He would not feel soiled or belittled to drag alt old drunk in out of the snow, and extend the kindness he feels for humanity, or divide his lunch with a hungry tramp, and throw in a little food for the soul.
Charity! It is so high and pure; it "thinketh no evil" "beareth all things" "endureth all things!" It takes an awfully good man to live above sin. And when he DOES slip, he has to be a BETTER man to come crawling on his knees and say, "I have sinned and I want you to forgive." And when he does, it takes a STILL BETTER MAN to say with dignity, "I'm not only willing to forgive, but HAPPY to do so," and mean it from the bottom of his heart.
R. W. Cothern
Paul, writing from Rome, in A. D. 62, seeking to overcome Hebrew favoritism for the old law, says "For if the word spoken by angels was steadfast, and every transgression and disobedience received a just recompense of reward; how shall we escape if we neglect so great salvation?"
Eternal salvation is the "gift of God", and begins in the heart of man as a new and spiritual life, capacitating him to feel, see, and discern spiritual things. "The gift of God is eternal life." When LIFE is being given, no obedience is required--but AFTER the life is given and we become God's children, then, and not before, is obedience to spiritual commands required. Then the apostle Warns "if disobedience received a just recompense of reward" in the past, shall we now escape the consequences of disobedience and neglect with regard to this "great salvation?"
In the business and professional world neglect inevitably brings losses, and suffering. In matters of health, neglect often causes disaster, and pain. So neglect in the Christian life, fosters disobedience, and transgression, and we may as well look for a "just recompense of reward" for "how shall we escape" God's righteous judgments? The poor Prodigal son lost everything--except his life. O the sorrow, and humiliation! The rags he wore home!
Salvation brings a new and great responsibility. It is not to be neglected. Neglect means to drift effortless on the tides of life. Rest on your oars. Waters always seeks a lower level, and when you drift--you never drift up stream. Your standards of life become lower. Your services to others less. You go down hill whether you are conscious of it or not. And the end is bitter remorse, and an empty heart--and we just can't "escape" from these consequences.
But the full abundant life of true Christianity has blessings so very dear to the heart. Thank God for souls that are willing to "man their oars" and struggle upstream. Sometimes the going may seem awful hard, but the promise that "I will never leave thee, or forsake thee" gives one courage to struggle on. If you are willing to confess your sins to God, and humbly seek His guiding hand, trust him with all, have faith in His promises, the old boat will glide along very smoothly. Remember--to pray is a strength and not a weakness. Keeping in touch with the Pilot makes the voyage safe and the light of His smile will shine on your soul, and the end will be peace in His loving arms.
R. W. Cothern
1964
Several weeks ago, after having a few requests to write to other papers, I decided to comply, and set about writing a nice stow around the thought expressed by Paul in 1st Corinthians "and now abideth faith, hope, and charity." I enumerated the many things accomplished by faith, gave a correct definition of just what faith is. It is, of course, a "fruit of the spirit," and without the, "spirit" there IS no faith. "If any man have not the spirit of Christ he is none of his," so he must "have the spirit" and be "one of his" before he can have faith. Then we have faith abiding.... We hope it is "abiding" and so we turn to hope. Of course one couldn't hope without faith. Then comes the third step--charity, which is "the greatest of these." Charity is that moving, acting, love of God in the hearts of His children that comes by reason of their divine nature in the new birth. It is a principle, an attribute, that grows, when cultivated and not hindered, but can be temporarily subdued, smothered, covered up, like the old Indian's spring that was covered with drift wood and trash, "water still good, but take heap much digging." Hence the apostle's advice, "let brotherly love
continue" i.e. keep the trash out of the way. Dig and dig until you can "drink deep from the wells of salvation." Charity is something that seems to "bear us up on its wings" the higher up, the safer and more wonderful is the flight. Pure love will find a way to peace and success. If our poor confused and bewildered people had risen on the voice of love for the past 35 years, there would have been a great difference in how things are for us today.
---O---
I read what I had just written over to myself and it sounded pretty good -- and it WAS good. Yes, I said to myself--"R. W. you are a pretty good writer, you are." So I carried the beautiful metaphor even further, and told about the time wife and I started home from Seattle last summer. It was a cold foggy, misty morning and when we boarded that big United Airlines plane, we could not see half way across the airport and just to be right honest, I felt a sense of fear. The gloom seemed to thicken and the cold mist hid the world, but when the giant ship circled high and turned towards Los Angeles, eleven hundred miles away, it rose to twenty-two thousand feet, and the sun was shining as bright as if there was never a cloud in all the sky! The damp dripping clouds beneath us, glistened in the sun and were as white as a field of rippled snow! I told myself "this is something I'll always remember--it is a great lesson, if I can only put it in words." And how true it is, that life, the Christian life--can be glorious, if we fly high enough, rise above our troubles--"Now abideth faith, hope, and charity. And by faith and hope, we ride on the wings of charity far above the dangers of the cloud-veiled mountain peaks--we will not crash, and shame our lives, on the tree tops of vanity hidden in uncertainty by the mists and rain!
Well, I read the article over and began to think it all out. It was good --you know a writer or preacher can tell great truths, mix them up beautifully--draw beautiful pictures. But got to asking myself some questions about this time. "R. W., do you always 'fly so high'? Just what gets wrong with you when you get your head down and can't oven LOOK up much less FLY up high, on the comforting wings of love?" I asked myself "what about that article you wrote some years ago called "Broken Pinions" in which you quoted that old poetic line "the bird with the broken pinion, never flies as high again?" What about the story of the Wild Geese, in perfect formation, that flew over so high, and the one far behind that had a crippled wing. He could not keep up, the struggle was too much, he just had to have some help!
I sat there with my chin in my hands and my elbows on the desk looking far out the window at the towering Oregon Mountains with tears in my eyes seemed to make the sharp peaks swim in the distance. As I gazed at them, said in my heart: "Oh, Lord, I understand now that these things can't be put into words--written on paper. I confess I don't know how to write about the deep mysteries of God. Sometimes my DESIRES fly high up over the clouds, but like old Paul "how to perform that that is good I find not." Oh wretched man that I am, also "And they shall be afflicted and poor people, and they shall trust in the Lord." Oh, when my poverty seems great I long so much to put all my trust in Him. When I try to tell you how you ought to do, I immediately find that I can't even half as well as you are doing. Yes, I'm a great fellow--I don't see how you ever got along without me before I came on the scene. But if I can have blessed Jesus with me all the time, He can make up the difference to you, who are so far superior to me.
--R. W. Cothern.
Nov.1, 1964
Editor's note. This article was published several years ago, but by popular request we are reprinting it.... A. E. Richards.
It was a clear starry night. The full moon shed the softest light over the deep
canyons and towering peaks of the Mongollon Mountains in Western New Mexico and
it filtered down through the restless foliage of the quaking-aspens and through
outstretched arms of glorious spruces and pines. Deep down in 'Willow Creek
Canyon and close to the water's edge, glowed a roaring campfire around which
four men busied themselves with chunkling up the fire, watching the bucket of
boiling coffee and a big skillet which was the center of attraction. You could
not guess who or of what profession these men were by looking at them. The judge
the preacher the doctor and myself had borrowed what clothes we could get into
to make the wild trip and to fish away a couple of days for the change and rest.
The tall graying, handsome judge of the courtroom yesterday, stood over the fire in slouchy garb, all spread-eagle fashion on one foot with shoe in his outstretched hand, trying vainly to dry his wet foot without scorching it. The mischievous little doctor sitting on the end of the bed-roll, smiled broadly from beneath his "bring-em-back-alive" hunting hat, while the preacher, with all the polish and gravity that London's Seminaries could instill in him strangely missing, posed awkwardly in his ill-fitting riding breeches, three sizes too large, and pantomimed a perfect gesture of pushing the gawky growing old judge into the fire. With the informality of such occasions I had lifted the skillet off the fire and was sampling a hunk of trout when I remarked "does anyone want to say grace before we eat?" The judge pulling on his wet shoe said "Do you know what Jesus said to the unfortunate fishermen who ate the fish they could not catch?" I was busy chewing... the preacher was sipping his coffee so the doctor answered, "Loveth thou me more than these?" Then the conversation drifted to personal religious experiences, and as the supper kindled, and the fire burned low, the preacher got us to agree to an old English custom to close our little fishing party with each member either singing a song; making a speech, or reciting a poem or praying a prayer.
After much discussion about who was to do what, the judge wrote on four pieces of paper, "song", "speech", "poem" and "prayer" and put them in his old hat. The preacher began to pass the hat around. Suddenly, the fun seemed to leave us... things were becoming very serious. We had pledged on our honor to carry it out, and you can see that they meant to do it even if it hurt ever so much. The preacher drew the "speech", the doctor drew the "poem", and the hat was reached to me... it was either to sing or pray. I haltingly drew my fate, and without looking at my paper I rose and passed the hat to the old judge. His face was a little pale as he opened his paper and saw written in his own bold hand, "prayer".
It seemed to be so still up in the trees; we threw some more driftwood on the fire, each man preoccupied with his own thoughts. Then according to agreement, the preacher mounted a large flat rock just to the left of the campfire which served wonderfully as a rostrum for the wild amphitheater that was ours. He began by saying: "I consider this one of the really great privileges of my life, to address you men here alone... just you and God." And he talked ten minutes on "Man's service to man." He warmed his subject and a surely richer oratory never echoed through the halls of Westminster Abbey than echoed that night through the canyon of Willow Creek. He stepped down and each man silently shook his hand. Then the little doctor was assisted up to the high rude stand and recited the great poem of Bryant, "Thanatopsis." It displayed a brilliant mind; perhaps one in ten thousand could do it. But what's more, he put his heart into it in a way that lifted our souls as on the wings of an eagle. He lifted his hands high and tears glistening on his cheeks, continues... " the hills, rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun" and faultlessly reaching the long conclusion, dropping his voice to a whisper, he said, "Like one who wrap the drapery of his couch about him, and lies down to pleasant dreams!"
I sank lower and lower as I thought of the gravity of the situation. The speakers that has gone before had crowned the very hills with heaven's solemnity! Great and noble men. Comparing myself with the other three I felt so useless and helpless. Now I must do more than sing a song; I must sing it with the spirit and understanding, that only God can give and why should He give that to me? The judge sat pale and still. My heart went out to him. I sensed his inward longing for grace to carry out his part of this lottery, this bargain made among fishermen. Were we really going to fish in God's name... lovest thou me more than these? I mounted the rock very much as a criminal would mount the gallows. I has a few times sung at classes or conventions certain solos, thinking little about it, but this was the hardest audience I ever faced, the trial seemed more than I could possibly bear. Finding my voice I began singing "I am a Poor Wayfaring Stranger." The truth of it, and the way it fit my feelings seemed to give me strength and poise. There was hope in the words "I'm going there no more to roam" and I even felt a surge of joy as the echo came back down from Beaverhead Point, "no more to roam". These men reached down from the rock and they shook my hand saying, "God Bless You".
Then the judge solemnly asked us to kneel for prayer... the only prayer I ever heard him pray. "O mighty God, the night is ours. The world is ours when thou art near. I don't know if I am truly thy child... I have tried so hard to know for fifty years. But O Lord, tonight I am willing to leave it all in Thy hands and say, "Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven." A more touching, and powerful prayer I am sure I never heard. We seemed to soar on wings far above the hills. We must have reached the zenith of mortal's joy, and our hearts could not contain it. The hills seemed to shout His praise. The rocks cry out... the trees indeed clapped their hands in joy.
Late in the night I still lay sleepless. Why sleep when there was so much to enjoy? Now and then a tear drained from the corner of my eye and I could hear the old judge sniffing, trying to get rid of his tears, like a baby entering dreamland. The doctor and preacher snored peacefully from their cots. The moon went down behind the rugged heights of the mountain. The wind sighed through the graceful pines. It seemed so heavenly to be there with all the world shut out and seemingly with the Holy Spirit shut in. I arose and walked over to the Judge's cot and gently patted his shoulder as I saw him weeping. It was too much for him; he gathered me in his arms and gave full vent to his tears. His poor old heart just had to run over.
The next summer I read in the papers where he had died very unexpectedly and when I returned to Silver City I sought out his grave on the rocky hillside and stood there a long time looking down at the wreaths of molding flowers and tried to thank God that our trails had crossed in the deep canyon of the wild Mogollons.
R.W. Cothern.