1 Timothy 1:18-19

“Let your conscience be your guide” is a well-known expression, but one that isn’t necessarily good advice. That’s because your moral compass is only as reliable as the principles with which you program it. If you store up proper biblical instruction and training, it will be dependable to safeguard you through life. But using false ideologies from popular culture to program your conscience will set you up for moral failure.

Our heavenly Father has given each person a conscience as a gift intended to be a tool of the Holy Spirit–our one true Guide. As such, it is designed to protect you from going astray. You can trust it only when the following seven statements are true of you:

Jesus Christ is your Savior and Lord.

The Bible is the basis for your conduct.

You have a strong desire to obey God.

You make decisions prayerfully.

Your conscience sounds the alarm when you consider a wrong direction in thought or action.

You feel guilty when you disobey.

You feel compelled to repent of your disobedience.

A trustworthy conscience reacts immediately to disobedience. There is no making excuses and no waffling over whether or not something may have been wrong.

To develop a reliable conscience, read and apply Scripture so God’s principles will override any prior bad programming. Then, under the Holy Spirit’s guidance, it will sound protective alerts. Don’t put faith in your conscience alone, but trust God to make it an effective tool for leading you.

Few of us would be able to recollect from our childhoods the moment when self-consciousness first came into being and the process of waking to self began. For most of us, awareness broke through in pieces. We found ourselves then as we continue to find ourselves now: at times stirringly wakeful to what it means to be human, aware of self and lifetime, and startled by the abruptness of its end.  Essayist Annie Dillard articulates the progression of consciousness with stirring lucidity:

“I woke in bits, like all children, piecemeal over the years. I discovered myself and the world, and forgot them, and discovered them again. I woke at intervals until, by that September when Father went down the river, the intervals of waking tipped the scales, and I was more often awake than not. I noticed this process of waking, and predicted with terrifying logic that one of these years not far away I would be awake continuously and never slip back, and never be free of myself again.”(1)

Dillard describes the rousing of self as strangely recognizable—”like people brought back from cardiac arrest or drowning.” There is a familiarity in the midst of the foreignness. We wake to mystery, but so somehow we wake to something known.

We find ourselves jarred awake in a different way to the idea of death, this unsettling notion of forever falling asleep to the life we have known. Spanish philosopher Miguel de Unamuno once observed that human beings are distinguished from other creatures in that we have the unique practice of burying our dead. In our funeral preparations, we make the dead ready for another stage; we make ourselves ready to continue on, our eyes further open to the weight of life. We stand ceremoniously present; we speak words over the dead body. Professor James Loder further notes the rebellion inherent in these preparations: “We will not let death have the last word. This is a mark of the human spirit that something in us knows we can overcome this thing.”(2)

The Christian voice calls the world to the wakeful awareness of this spirit, to the story reaching beyond self, beyond our lifetimes and our deaths, speaking words where death stings and tears flow: “The sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light; the stars will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken… They will see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of the sky, with power and great glory. And he will send his angels with a loud trumpet call… when you see all these things, you know that itis near, right at the door” (Matthew 24:29-33).

Jesus appeared on the scene of a people who had lived with God’s silence for hundreds of years. Not since the prophet Malachi had God given his people a message, an indication of where they stood, a sign of his presence. The heavens were silent. But even in silence, God was moving. The story of Christ’s coming, the Incarnation of hope and light, is a reminder to stay awake to the knowledge that this is still so. The story that can seize our lives with awakenings to more and more is still unfolding. For the Christian, this mystery is our consciousness. Christ has come. Christ has risen. Christ will come again.

In a letter to a group of fumbling believers, the apostle Paul wrote, “If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men. But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep.”(3) Like children waking to consciousness, we shall one day forever wake to our lives and true humanity. What if something in us knows that Christ is near, right at the door, longing to show us even now. It is worth being found awake, ready for something new and something we have known all along.

Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.

(1) Annie Dillard, An American Childhood (New York: HarperCollins, 1988), 11.

(2) James E. Loder, The Logic of the Spirit (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1998), 4.

(3) 1 Corinthians 15:19-20.

 Morning  “I will meditate in thy precepts.” / Psalm 119:15

 There are times when solitude is better than society, and silence is wiser

than speech. We should be better Christians if we were more alone, waiting

upon God, and gathering through meditation on his Word spiritual strength for

labour in his service. We ought to muse upon the things of God, because we

thus get the real nutriment out of them. Truth is something like the cluster

of the vine: if we would have wine from it, we must bruise it; we must press

and squeeze it many times. The bruiser’s feet must come down joyfully upon the

bunches, or else the juice will not flow; and they must well tread the grapes,

or else much of the precious liquid will be wasted. So we must, by meditation,

tread the clusters of truth, if we would get the wine of consolation

therefrom. Our bodies are not supported by merely taking food into the mouth,

but the process which really supplies the muscle, and the nerve, and the

sinew, and the bone, is the process of digestion. It is by digestion that the

outward food becomes assimilated with the inner life. Our souls are not

nourished merely by listening awhile to this, and then to that, and then to

the other part of divine truth. Hearing, reading, marking, and learning, all

require inwardly digesting to complete their usefulness, and the inward

digesting of the truth lies for the most part in meditating upon it. Why is it

that some Christians, although they hear many sermons, make but slow advances

in the divine life? Because they neglect their closets, and do not

thoughtfully meditate on God’s Word. They love the wheat, but they do not

grind it; they would have the corn, but they will not go forth into the fields

to gather it; the fruit hangs upon the tree, but they will not pluck it; the

water flows at their feet, but they will not stoop to drink it. From such

folly deliver us, O Lord, and be this our resolve this morning, “I will

meditate in thy precepts.”

 

Evening “The Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost.” / John 14:26

 This age is peculiarly the dispensation of the Holy Spirit, in which Jesus

cheers us, not by his personal presence, as he shall do by-and-by, but by the

indwelling and constant abiding of the Holy Ghost, who is evermore the

Comforter of the church. It is his office to console the hearts of God’s

people. He convinces of sin; he illuminates and instructs; but still the main

part of his work lies in making glad the hearts of the renewed, in confirming

the weak, and lifting up all those that be bowed down. He does this by

revealing Jesus to them. The Holy Spirit consoles, but Christ is the

consolation. If we may use the figure, the Holy Spirit is the Physician, but

Jesus is the medicine. He heals the wound, but it is by applying the holy

ointment of Christ’s name and grace. He takes not of his own things, but of

the things of Christ. So if we give to the Holy Spirit the Greek name of

Paraclete, as we sometimes do, then our heart confers on our blessed Lord

Jesus the title of Paraclesis. If the one be the Comforter, the other is the

Comfort. Now, with such rich provision for his need, why should the Christian

be sad and desponding? The Holy Spirit has graciously engaged to be thy

Comforter: dost thou imagine, O thou weak and trembling believer, that he will

be negligent of his sacred trust? Canst thou suppose that he has undertaken

what he cannot or will not perform? If it be his especial work to strengthen

thee, and to comfort thee, dost thou suppose he has forgotten his business, or

that he will fail in the loving office which he sustains towards thee? Nay,

think not so hardly of the tender and blessed Spirit whose name is “the

Comforter.” He delights to give the oil of joy for mourning, and the garment

of praise for the spirit of heaviness. Trust thou in him, and he will surely

comfort thee till the house of mourning is closed forever, and the marriage

feast has begun.

The helper, the Holy Spirit.   John 14:26

This age is peculiarly the dispensation of the Holy Spirit, in which Jesus cheers us not by His personal presence, as He will do soon enough, but by the indwelling and constant abiding of the Holy Spirit, who is forever the Comforter of the church. It is the Spirit’s role to console the hearts of God’s people. He convinces of sin; He illumines and instructs; but the main part of His work still lies in gladdening the hearts of the renewed, confirming the weak, and lifting up all those who are bowed down. He does this by revealing Jesus to them. The Holy Spirit consoles, but Christ is the consolation.

If we may use the figure, the Holy Spirit is the Physician, but Jesus is the medicine. He heals the wound, but it is by applying the holy ointment of Christ’s name and grace. He does not take of His own things, but of the things of Christ. So if we give to the Holy Spirit the Greek name of Paraclete, as we sometimes do, then our heart confers on our blessed Lord Jesus the title of Paraclesis. If one is the Comforter, the other is the Comfort.

Now, with such rich provision for his need, why should the Christian be sad and despondent? The Holy Spirit has graciously committed to be your Comforter: Do you imagine, weak and trembling believer, that He will neglect this sacred trust? Do you suppose that He has undertaken what He cannot or will not perform? If it is His special work to strengthen you and to comfort you, do you suppose He has forgotten His business or that He will fail in fulfilling His loving task of sustaining you? Don’t think so poorly of the tender and blessed Spirit whose name is the Comforter.

He delights to give the oil of joy for mourning and the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. Trust in Him, and He will surely comfort you until the house of mourning is closed forever, and the marriage feast has begun.

Family Reading Plan   Ezekiel 45  Psalm 101