As autumn arrives, many of us are in need of impetus to carry on in our own harvesting efforts. Does Reformed theology help or hurt in that regard?
God’s perfect self-fulfillment outside of us, His total delight in the Son, and His pouring out of His Spirit to redeem us dead sinners all scandalously combine to remind us of Christ’s words: “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you” (John 15:9). We don’t deserve His delight, and God doesn’t need it; yet He draws us in to the glorious joy that Father, Son, and Spirit share. Yet how tragic is it that we still long for worldly pleasures so much.
God chooses all those who come to Him, and that should make us want to more deeply plunge our plows in the task of soul-reaping. No sharing of the Gospel is in vain since we serve a God who is causing fruitful believers to spring up from all kinds of parched ground, showing how powerful His Spirit is.
Let this poem open your eyes to see the harvest (John 4:35).
Unhindered beauty
So muddled by lust
Hidden from gazes
That yet no eyes thrust
But longfully look upon
Works of the flesh
Which mar holy image of
His laws unmet
He who made man an
Audience adoring
Warps in on itself
Its own Maker scorning
We taste not His goodness
Nor savor His love
Estranged and blinded are we
To Him above
Yet He needs not our assent
With half-hearted nod
For His joy is fulfilled
To know Himself,
God
Filled in His own self
None can add nor withhold
The Father’s delight
In Son and Holy Ghost
But no man cares to long for
This joy not his own
For wills bound to their vices
To them live alone
How can you magnify
A light never shone
Upon bitter countenances
Which at light so groan?
Can man his own heart awake,
Illumined with routed ray
Shamefully made to bend
To mere will of clay?
Or with what cunning,
Will you, preacher, dare speak
Of so winsome a God
Whom no fallen eyes seek?
Yet how righteous His plan
Him pleased fully in Son
And with Spirit testify
That these Three are One
Sets all His affections on
He Whom He sent
Who through wrath enduring
Acquits sinful men
But the cross His delight
In the Son did not quench!
From death He has raised Him
And made us to stand
What King is this,
Scattering lightning to judge
Yet pouring out Spirit
To make much of us?
Yet on whom shines His light
Or His mercy but such
To whom He wills His
Sweet love to impart?
Take up this great battle cry
Feet bravely clad
With shoes of good news of peace
Scaling all lands
Weary not, dear laborer
Nor beat vainly the air but
Set spade to harvest ground, and
Find treasure hid there
For all who would call on Him
Their hearts He has raised
As He perfects worship
From mere mouths of babes
Alex Kocman 