HAPPY
ANNIVERSARY TO OUR DEVOTIONAL BLOG!
On last week (Tuesday, 30 April 2013), I failed to recognize the
first annual anniversary of our devotional.
We are elated to report that, during this past year, readers from 53
nations and six continents have participated.
I thought it might be appropriate to revisit our very first devotional
entry in celebration of this momentous occasion. It is reprinted below, in its entirety, for your
personal edification and enjoyment:
For the inaugural edition
of our daily devotional, it feels appropriate to highlight my heritage. As the youngest of ten children, I was
marvelously blessed with phenomenal parents, who also served as inspiring life
mentors: Bishop Joseph Edison Bass, Sr. and Mrs. Mary Watts Bass. During a freshman course at Yale University
(Chinese Literature in Translation: April 1970), I was given the assignment to
write a poem pertaining to pain, an integral part of life’s journey. We were tasked to celebrate an extraordinary
teacher. I chose my father; and, I
utilized eastern symbolism and an Asian name (instead of his own).
Here is the bottom-line for you.
Be aware that, as part of your high calling of service in God’s Kingdom,
you will surely experience
significant times of testing. Occasionally,
personal pain evolves into doubt about your worth, your service, or the path
God has ordered for you. However, in
your intimate moments with Him, the Holy Spirit will encourage and empower you
to be “steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord…forasmuch
as ye know that your labor is not in vain in the Lord.” (I Corinthians
15:58) Your faith in His Word is your
confidence to continue. Let’s go!
THE PAINFUL CALLING
It is so easy to point out the beauty
Of rivers and mountains and flowers and trees;
One can relate of their glorious splendor
With sweetest serenity, unlabored ease.
The sorrows of life are not noted so sweetly,
It’s hard to see clearly through torrential rain;
And who is the man who can note them discreetly
With lips laying quiet, not speaking of pain?
Chang was a young man of unequaled stature
Whose virtue and kindness could not be surpassed;
His was the gift to give strength to the weary,
Give hope to the skeptic and faith to the last.
Chang was the master of schools by profession,
His task was to turn the young boys into men;
His spirit was certainly one of correction,
He’d whip them for wrongs and he’d whip them again.
So none of his students quite knew of his kindness,
His patience, they reasoned, was hopelessly nil;
They hated his strictness and loathed his correction
And constantly questioned his unchanging will.
But Chang labored onward with each of his students
And helped them from boyhood adapt into men;
And after each group of the young boys had finished,
He started a new one and did it again.
Soon hundreds of moons had descended behind him
And Chang found it harder to give it his best;
He noted the seasonal changes came quickly,
And thought, resolutely, to go to his rest.
But something inside him was vaguely uncertain
If life had been always a meaningful task;
If problems had tainted the years of his teaching,
If earth-shaking questions had never been asked.
So one crisp clear day near the closing of autumn
That tired old instructor walked out through the trees;
He noted the cold and the coming of winter,
The cruel desolation, the falling of leaves.
“Chang!” cried a voice from high in the treetops,
“Will you have a problem in coming up here?
Or shall I come down in the midst of the garden
To tell you just how much your students do care?”
Chang called disbelieving and doubting his senses,
“Is someone here with me, or am I insane?
Or can it be someone who’s watched me in secret,
Observing my sorrow and incessant pain?”
“No work that’s done well is done ever for nothing,”
Answered the voice from out the air,
“You’ve changed the world through the teaching of manhood,
A task that’s accomplished with intricate care.”
“You’ve taught little boys to forsake all delusions,
To boldly take charge of the deeds of this life,
To rout all injustice, to live in the freedom
Of shaping reality’s boons and its strife.”
“Now you may rest, in the dews of the ages,
Sleep while night-breath gathers deep in your breast,
Think of the boys you have molded to manhood,
Dream of their future and lie down to rest.”
It is so easy to point out the beauty
Of rivers and mountains and flowers and trees;
One can relate of their glorious splendor
With sweetest serenity, unlabored ease.
The sorrows of life are not noted so sweetly,
It’s hard to see clearly through torrential rain;
And who is the man who can note them discreetly
With lips laying quiet, not speaking of pain?
-Wayne Manning Bass
THE PAINFUL CALLING
It is so easy to point out the beauty
Of rivers and mountains and flowers and trees;
One can relate of their glorious splendor
With sweetest serenity, unlabored ease.
The sorrows of life are not noted so sweetly,
It’s hard to see clearly through torrential rain;
And who is the man who can note them discreetly
With lips laying quiet, not speaking of pain?
Chang was a young man of unequaled stature
Whose virtue and kindness could not be surpassed;
His was the gift to give strength to the weary,
Give hope to the skeptic and faith to the last.
Chang was the master of schools by profession,
His task was to turn the young boys into men;
His spirit was certainly one of correction,
He’d whip them for wrongs and he’d whip them again.
So none of his students quite knew of his kindness,
His patience, they reasoned, was hopelessly nil;
They hated his strictness and loathed his correction
And constantly questioned his unchanging will.
But Chang labored onward with each of his students
And helped them from boyhood adapt into men;
And after each group of the young boys had finished,
He started a new one and did it again.
Soon hundreds of moons had descended behind him
And Chang found it harder to give it his best;
He noted the seasonal changes came quickly,
And thought, resolutely, to go to his rest.
But something inside him was vaguely uncertain
If life had been always a meaningful task;
If problems had tainted the years of his teaching,
If earth-shaking questions had never been asked.
So one crisp clear day near the closing of autumn
That tired old instructor walked out through the trees;
He noted the cold and the coming of winter,
The cruel desolation, the falling of leaves.
“Chang!” cried a voice from high in the treetops,
“Will you have a problem in coming up here?
Or shall I come down in the midst of the garden
To tell you just how much your students do care?”
Chang called disbelieving and doubting his senses,
“Is someone here with me, or am I insane?
Or can it be someone who’s watched me in secret,
Observing my sorrow and incessant pain?”
“No work that’s done well is done ever for nothing,”
Answered the voice from out the air,
“You’ve changed the world through the teaching of manhood,
A task that’s accomplished with intricate care.”
“You’ve taught little boys to forsake all delusions,
To boldly take charge of the deeds of this life,
To rout all injustice, to live in the freedom
Of shaping reality’s boons and its strife.”
“Now you may rest, in the dews of the ages,
Sleep while night-breath gathers deep in your breast,
Think of the boys you have molded to manhood,
Dream of their future and lie down to rest.”
It is so easy to point out the beauty
Of rivers and mountains and flowers and trees;
One can relate of their glorious splendor
With sweetest serenity, unlabored ease.
The sorrows of life are not noted so sweetly,
It’s hard to see clearly through torrential rain;
And who is the man who can note them discreetly
With lips laying quiet, not speaking of pain?
-Wayne Manning Bass
My sisters and brothers, let’s aim higher in the coming year. Be continually blessed!
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