THE BOOK OF ROMANS, CHAPTER 8

There is no condemnation to those who have invested their trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, since the Law of the Spirit has set us free from the Law of sin and death. For what the Law was unable to do because it had been weakened by the flesh, God accomplished by sending His Son in the guise of sinful flesh to be a sin offering for us.

And as Christ took upon Himself the sins of all men of all time, God was, through Him, in the process of overcoming man’s sinful nature. As a result, we are able to satisfy the requirements of the Law, if we simply avoid the ultimatums of the carnal man, and rather, we cooperate with the leading of the Spirit.

Those who live according to the flesh have their minds set on what the flesh wants, but those who live according to the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit wants. The mind governed which is by the flesh results in spiritual poverty and death, but the mind which is governed by the Spirit results in life and peace. The mind which is governed by the flesh is nothing less than the enemy of God. It does not submit to God’s Law, nor is it capable of doing so. Those who live according to the desires of the flesh are incapable of pleasing God.

You, however, do not live in and for the flesh, but in and for the Spirit, if indeed the Spirit of God lives in you. If a man does not have the Spirit of Christ, he does not belong to Christ.  However, if Christ is in you, though your body is subject to death due to sin, the Spirit will provide you life because of the righteousness with which He endues you.  And if the Spirit which is responsible for Christ’ resurrection is alive and well in you, He will also give life to your mortal bodies, as a result of that quickening Spirit.

Therefore, brothers and sisters, we have no obligation to the flesh; to live according to its demands. For if you live according to fleshly desires, you will die. But if you, by the Spirit, put to death the inappropriate thoughts and actions of the body, you will, without any doubt or contradiction, live.

For those among us who voluntarily submit to the unction of the Holy Spirit are the children of God. The Spirit which you received does not lead you into spiritual slavery, so that you continue in fear. But rather, the Spirit you received has caused you to be adopted as sons. And by Him God has gifted you with the wherewithal to use the words, “Abba, Father.” The Spirit Himself agrees with our spirit that we are the children of the living God. Yes, if we are children, then we are heirs, and we will share all that is His. If indeed we share in His sufferings, we cannot help but share in His preeminence!

In my humble estimation, I believe that which we endure now is hardly comparable with the inestimable, and everlasting future God has promised us.  For all of creation is desperately waiting for the sons of the Father to inherit all that God has stored up for them in heaven.

For the creation cannot, as yet, see the reward, not by its own choice, but by the will of the One who subjected it to this present dispensation. And yet, there is that hope which God instills in us. And the expectation is that every known and unknown creature will, one day, be released from its bondage to aging and decomposition, and will inherit the freedom and glory of the children of the Most High God!

 It is obvious that every animate, and inanimate thing which currently exists has been groaning, as does a woman in childbirth. Not only this, but we, ourselves, who are recipients of the first fruits of the Spirit are groaning within ourselves, as we wait eagerly for our heavenly adoption; the redemption of these frail human bodies. For as a result of this hope, we will be saved.

During this little season in which we now wait, we should encourage one another that hope requires waiting for something which has not yet transpired, but which is of inestimable and lasting value. If we exercise a spirit of hope, that which is invisible, but more real than what we call “real,” we must also exercise a spirit of patience.

The Spirit always inspires us to believe our redemption is at hand, and helps us when weakness overcomes us. So often, we find ourselves unsure just how to pray, but the Spirit, Himself intercedes and intervenes for us with inarticulate groanings. And He who searches the compulsions of our souls knows the Spirit’s aspirations for us, since the Spirit intervenes for believers in accordance with the will of the Father.

And we know that in all things, God works for the benefit of those who invest their expectations in Him; who were foreordained to achieve His wonderful plans. For those whom God foreknew, He also predestined to emulate the life, words and actions of His Son, that He might be the first among a myriad of brothers and sisters.

And God foreordained the destinies of many children before He ever breathed the earth and stars into place. And having foreordained them, He also appointed them. And having appointed them, He also validated them. And having validated them, we know and we are sure that He will exalt them.

How then can we adequately respond to all of these things? If God stands with us, who can ever stand against us? If this magnificent God of ours refused to intervene for His Son, and allowed Him to die a sacrificial death for us, why would we doubt His willingness to fulfill our every need?

Who would dare bring a false accusation against those whom God has chosen for Himself? After all, God is the justifier of men. Who then has any right to denounce us? Only Christ, Himself, (and He has no intention of doing so). For it was Christ who surrendered His life for us, and more than this, Who was raised to life for us, and more than this, who sits at the very right hand of His Father, and more than this, He has never failed to intercede for us.  

Who or what can possibly remove us from the never-failing, ever-enduring love of Christ? Will difficulty or hardship or persecution or suffering or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? (I tell you, no)!

As it is written,

“For Your sake we encounter death on a daily basis.
 We are like sacrificial sheep ready to be slaughtered.”

In every circumstance with which we contend, we win. We win! And we owe our victory to the One who has so often proven His love for us, and Who has never failed to fight the good fight with and for us.

For I am absolutely convinced that neither this life, nor the cessation of this life, nor the angels of heaven, nor the angels of hell, nor the status quo, nor that which awaits us in the future, nor rulers, nor mountains, nor valleys, nor anything else God ever created will be able to separate us from the overwhelming love of our Abba Father; which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

from the McDonald Paraphrase of the New Testament

Copyright 2019

ISLE OF HOPE. ISLE OF TEARS

Of course, the foregoing title is based upon a song by the same name which has as its subject matter a 17 year old girl from Ireland named Annie Moore, the first foreign immigrant to be admitted to the United States via the Ellis Island processing station on January 1, 1892.

There have been any number of disputed facts and misplaced identities in the quest for a legitimate biography of the real Annie Moore. Following is what is purported to be an authentic record of her life from the Annie Moore website.

Annie, age 17, and her brothers Anthony and Philip, ages 15 and 12, respectively, moved into their parents’ tenement apartment at 32 Monroe Street in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. The building was a five-story brick building, built at the turn of the century to house the influx of immigrants settling in New York City.

We do not know what happened to Annie immediately after she got to her new home. There does not appear to be information on whether she was allowed to attend school or was forced to work to help support her family. Smolenyak writes that she “had the typical hardscrabble immigrant life,” adding “she sacrificed herself for future generations.” We know that Annie married a German-born bakery clerk (or the son of a bakery clerk) named Joseph Augustus Shayer. He spent his entire career employed as an engineer and salesman at the Fulton Fish Market. They had at least 10 children, five of whom survived to adulthood. A famous picture of the wrong Annie and her first baby hangs in the National Archives Library of Congress.  

Annie was age 50 when she died of heart failure at 99 Cherry Street, in 1924. She lived and died within a few blocks on the Lower East Side. She is buried with six of her children (five infants and one who survived to 21) in Calvery Cemetery, Queens. In 2008 the Annie Moore Memorial Project raised the funds to place a Celtic cross headstone on her unmarked grave; lost to history for eight decades.

One detail which the official record does not make us aware is that, as the result of having been the first immigrant to be processed on Ellis Island, Annie received a $10 gold piece. Now, that may not sound like much to you or me, but in 2019 dollars, an 1890 ten dollar gold piece had the purchasing power of $250.

And while there’s no record of what Annie did with the money, I can only presume this gold coin “set her up” to navigate her first year on American soil.

Pt. 2

To my knowledge, none of my direct ancestors or close relatives immigrated to America as late as Annie Moore, nor did they make their way here via Ellis Island.

The ancient patriarch of my line of “McDonald’s” was, strangely enough, not a McDonald at all. For you see, Isham McDaniel, a man of Scottish descent, was born in what is now Northern Ireland in 1747. Isham was, apparently, unable to read or write, and it is thought that someone along the line interpreted his surname as, “McDaniel” based on his difficult to be understood pronunciation. Later, his son, William, adopted the surname “McDonald” as his own. I suppose we will never know the truth of the matter. Whatever the case, Isham preceded Annie to this country by well over a century, and fought on the side of the colonists throughout the entire American Revolution.

I thought of Isham, and a couple of the other of my Scottish immigrant ancestors, Mary Elizabeth Stewart and Daniel Cone, during our visit to the old country last year. (How could I have done otherwise)?

And while the adage has long since joined the ranks of “pat phrases,” my wife and I truly experienced, “the trip of a lifetime.”

We have traveled the highways and byways of Scotland, Ireland, and Northern Ireland. We have gazed in wonder at the snow-capped mountains, we have marveled at the singular color of the lush grassy pastures; upon which sheep and cattle feed, we have listened to the mournful sound of the bagpipes, and watched Scottish and Irish dancers strut their stuff, we have sampled foods which baffle the taste buds, we have interacted with the loveliest people to grace the planet, we have walked the quaint lanes and admired the most colorful and interesting of flora and fauna.

Dublin and its massive cathedrals and ancient pubs. The stone ruins of a monastic village. Forty shades of green. 19^th century remnants of the “Famine Houses.” Sea gulls and ocean waves. A Depression-era farm house. Dingle Bay. Massive castles. The Massacre of the MacDonald Clan. The English Occupation of Ireland, and the cruelty they exercised. The Potato Famine. The “Trouble” of Northern Ireland. Sharing “Danny Boy” and “Amazing Grace” with our amazing group of fellow travelers. The Titanic Museum. Drunken and aimless young adults. Street Beggars. Waterford Crystal. A mythical, but very real island. Greyfriar’s Bobby. Sheep shearing. Edinburgh’s pipers. Family roots.

Pt. 3

One of the most poignant, and almost magical moments which I experienced during our trip to the Old Country occurred at a dinner theater in Dublin referred to as “Taylor’s Three Rock.” During the course of the evening my daughter and I were afforded some wonderful food, singing, dancing and comedy. However, as I have previously implied, one moment stood out from all the rest.

Almost without warning, a video appeared on the overhead screen which featured numerous ancient photographs of 19^th century men, women and children, immigrants all, ships, mountains, rivers, ocean waves, the Statue of Liberty, and Ellis Island, the proverbial (and literal) gateway to the golden door which was and continues to be America.

But “what got me,” what really grabbed me and would not let me go, what struck a spine-tingling cord within me, and inspired my innate sensibilities was the music which accompanied the video.

Isle of Hope. Isle of Tears

On the first day of January 1892
They opened Ellis Island and they let the people through
And the first to cross the threshold of that isle of hope and tears
Was Annie Moore from Ireland who was all of 17 years

Isle of hope, isle of tears
Isle of freedom, isle of fears
But it’s not the isle you left behind
That isle of hunger, isle of pain
Isle you’ll never see again
But the isle of home is always on your mind

I’d never heard the song before, but I can so identify with it. While most or all of my immediate ancestors immigrated to the United States in the 17^th, 18^th and 19^th centuries, before there was an Ellis Island, they came nonetheless; in most cases, leaving all they ever knew and held so dear. Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, friends, homes and land. And in most cases, those who boarded those old triple-masted ships were left with mental images of what was, and would never be again, and they never returned to the lands from whence they sprang.

As the video and its accompanying melody continued, tears sprang to my eyes, and, subsequently, rolled down my cheeks.

In a little bag, she carried all her past and history
And her dreams for the future in the land of liberty
And courage is the passport when your old world disappears
But there’s no future in the past when you’re 17 years

Isle of hope, isle of tears
Isle of freedom, isle of fears
But it’s not the isle you left behind
That isle of hunger, isle of pain
Isle you’ll never see again
But the isle of home is always on your mind

Pt. 4

I simply cannot imagine the hardships Annie Moore, and my ancestors endured, nor the primitive conditions they experienced, both in the old country, and in the land to which they migrated.

As our tour bus neared our hotel on the Isle of Skye, Scotland, having just been transported to the island by a ferry boat, our resident guide said,

“Now, I need to prepare you. Our hotel is not as modern as the ones we have frequented on the mainland. The accommodations are sparse, and things are just not as convenient. And I can tell you the walls are paper thin, so you married couples may want to avoid any ‘hanky panky’ or your travel companions may give you a knowing smile during breakfast.”

But all humor aside, I don’t think the 21^st Century inhabitants of Scotland and Ireland, or for that matter the United States have a clue. The hotel in which we lodged on the Isle of Skye was ultra-modern and spacious compared to what my 3x great Grandmother endured there.

They lived in one room houses which afforded them little or no privacy, (and it is a wonder they discovered a way to generate twelve or fifteen children to assist them on their failing farms).

Not only was there no access to electricity at the time, (it had not yet been conceived or installed), but there was no running water. The populace of the island used chamber pots at night, and emptied them into a privy the next morning. If they were fortunate enough to take a bath once a week, they filled a tub with water from a well, or bathed in the nearest stream or pond.

Not only this, but the citizens of Scotland and Ireland were engaged in ongoing strife with, and domination by England during the 18^th and 19^th centuries. While we were in Ireland my wife snapped my photo standing next to a so-called “Famine House.”

During the occupation of Ireland, and the era of the Potato Famine, the British commandeered private land from Irish farmers, and charged them rent for their own property. When they were unable to pay, they and their families were driven into the streets, and the roofs of their homes were destroyed, so that they could not be occupied again. As a result, thousands of men, women and children became homeless, their tattered clothing afforded them little respite from the cold, and they had very little to eat. Many died of hunger and exposure. The lucky ones made their way to America. 

Afterward

I can only imagine the hardships which our ancestors experienced and endured. I can only imagine the circumstances which they, “not knowing any better,” took for granted, and overcame on a daily basis.

There was a custom among the immigrants who sailed from Ireland in the 18^th and 19^th centuries in which a parent or sibling on the beach held a spool of yarn, while their son, or daughter or brother or sister on the deck of the ship held the loose end. As the ship cast off, and sailed away from the shore, the yarn played itself out ‘til the spool was empty, and the cotton thread dropped into the Atlantic. Of course, the implication was to maintain their connection with their loved ones as long as possible.

The vast majority of the immigrants who journeyed to the New World would never see their beloved countries or relatives again. I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been to comprehend this, nor to think of “the what and the who” they had left behind every day for the remainder of their natural lives.

I can only admire and applaud the Annie’s, and Isham’s, and Mary’s and Daniel’s who preceded us, and who set the proverbial stage for those of us who would follow after them.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

If you would like to copy, share or save, please include the credit line, above

FOR I AM PERSUADED...

"For I am absolutely convinced that neither this life, nor the cessation of this life, nor the angels of heaven, nor the angels of hell, nor the status quo, nor that which awaits us in the future, nor rulers, nor mountains, nor valleys, nor anything else God ever created will be able to separate us from the overwhelming love of our Abba Father; which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:38-39. McDonald Paraphrase of the New Testament)

A ONE OF A KIND CHARACTER

(Originally written several months ago)

Herman Brown was one of a kind. 

This dear parishioner passed away last week having attained the more than respectful age of 85. Herman never married, was a jewelry maker, and somehow made his way to central Florida from the great State of Massachusetts.

And like so many others among us, yours truly included, Herman was a singular character.

He was, as the phrase so aptly describes it, ‘tongue tied.’ Even having gotten used to interacting with this dear man on a weekly basis, I was only able to decipher about half of what he said. (I had to ‘wing it’ on the rest of his words). When I couldn’t quite make out a word, or phrase, but the jest of his verbal syntax indicated whatever he was saying was narrative, (rather than quisitive) I would just smile and nod my head. I think if I, (or anyone else) had consistently interjected, “What was that” or “I don’t understand you,” it would have only embarrassed him.

Herman was, as the Gospel writer described Nathaniel, “a man without guile.” What you saw is what you got. He was, perhaps, the most humble man I have ever met during the course of my almost 70 years on this planet.

And if the word, ‘humble’ described him well, he might have just as well be characterized as devout. It was not unusual for Herman to spend a few minutes at the altar prior to the beginning of the a.m. and p.m. Sunday worship services. At other times, he would sit on his center aisle, second row seat, pull a song book out of the rack, and quietly sing one of the old hymns of the Church. Speaking of singing, during the song service, Herman would often gesticulate with his hands; having apparently, somewhere along the way, learned American sign language.

From time to time, Herman would ask the pastor whether he could sing a p.m. solo, and more often, than not, Pastor K. would acquiesce. And almost as often as Herman stood behind the pulpit, and “waxed eloquent” in song, he did so without the benefit of accompanying instruments. I suppose I heard the old fella sing a special vocal selection all of eight or ten times during the past decade.

As Herman proceeded to sing, “Rock of Ages,” or “Crown Him With Many Crowns,” or “Great is Thy Faithfulness,” he was suddenly easier to understand, and his words became more intelligible. Not unlike those Scottish, or Cockney, or French songsters who, when they begin to sing, do so without so much as a trace of an accent.

Herman was a handshaker. Any of my fellow parishioners would immediately vouch for that. He would catch you before the service. He would follow up during the meet and greet, (or what I refer to as ‘Howdy Doody’) time. And he would catch you on your way out the door. I always wondered whether he remembered whose hands he had previously shaken, or whether his nature was just so amiable that he simply didn’t care; since he took such great pleasure in “pressing the flesh.”

A couple years ago, I sat with this good man at a church dinner, and I recall remarking, “Herman, you look years younger than you really are, and you seem healthier than the average man your age.”

However, when Herman began to decline, he declined on a rapid basis. His gait slowed, and he had a habit of getting up during the service and heading out the side door; which led to the bathrooms. Ultimately, our ailing friend required the use of a catheter. And whereas, this development might have kept some people home, Herman was not to be denied.

I readily admit, I have never in my natural days seen anything like it.

Herman began wearing a green canvas bag on his hip to catch the liquid contents of the drainage tube which ran down his pants’ leg, and back up to the plastic receptacle. (You had to give him credit for his commitment to God, his beloved church, and his fellow parishioners).

Did I mention Herman liked to shake hands? (Yeah, I thought I did). Sometimes, after he began wearing the external bag, and my wife and I pulled into our driveway, I would laugh and say, “I need to go wash Herman off my hands!”

But all kidding aside, (and as I have previously inferred) among his most prominent characteristics, Herman was, it might be said, simple, humble, and devout. A man without guile.

During the church service today, Pastor K. uttered a statement which could not have been truer, and which absolutely embodied the thoughts of his parishioners.

“Sometimes you don’t appreciate someone ‘til they’re gone. We loved Herman, and we will miss him terribly.”

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

If you would like to copy, share or save, please include the credit line, above

HOW A CLOCK RADIO TURNED ITSELF ON AND PREVENTED A HOMICIDE & SUICIDE

"When I go into the studio to record this broadcast, it may be morning, afternoon or late at night; depending on my schedule and God’s direction. However, it’s always five to eight weeks before the actual air date of the radio program.

So, only God in His infinite wisdom can have any idea how I can say something at 2PM in Rockford, Illinois, and many weeks later, at night, someone listening in New England, the Deep South, on the West Coast or just about anywhere will be impacted by the broadcast.

And only God could have directed to cause a bedroom clock radio to turn on at 10:40PM in a small Indiana town inside a home filled with despair and conflict where a wife had decided that she could no longer live with all the pain and problems besetting her. She had devised a plan to kill her children and then to take her own life.

Only God could have planned that my subject would be Suicide, and as the clock radio unexplainably turned itself on, this woman heard me saying, “If you are in the process of taking your life, STOP for a moment, please. Listen to me!”

My words stopped the woman in her tracks. Even in her desperate state of mental frustration and confusion she was forced to stop and think.

Then the woman somehow found a pastor in a Bible-believing church, asked for counseling, and accepted Christ as Lord and Savior! Our office staff has never been more jubilant than when we received word of the outcome of that broadcast!"

(Bill Pearce, “Turning Points," No Copyright)

"Night Sounds" is available 24/7/365 on www.nightsoundsradio.org/ 

A MESSAGE TO MY GREAT GRANDCHILDREN

I peddle a bicycle 10 miles a day. Some days as much as 30. As a result, I have managed to drop some serious weight over the past few years, and have accumulated over 12,500 road miles.

Perhaps the last word of the first sentence is a bit of a misnomer. Actually, more often than not, I peddle 10 miles a night, for I’m often out on the road by 330am. And it is in the wee hours of the morning that I must often choose to pray, as well as reflect on the legacy I am leaving behind. 

I have touched a multitude of lives, as during my Christian walk, I have had the privilege of leading numerous children’s groups, preaching, teaching, and singing behind multiple pulpits, counseling literally thousands of individuals, couples and families, sharing conceptual knowledge with hundreds as a professor in university classrooms, and mentoring and training dozens of bright-eyed young interns who were preparing to undertake formal or informal ministry, and to impact their world.

And yet at this point in my life much, perhaps most, of my focus and priority is on… you. When I say “you,” I am referring to those who will come after me; my direct or indirect descendants. And I pray for you on a daily basis, though I may never know your name until hopefully we meet “on the other side.”

We stand on the shoulders of giants, and as Christians “who give a rip,” and have chosen to impact their world for good and for God, we are part and parcel of an unbroken chain of one person impacting another person stretching all the way back to one of the original disciples, and in turn to Jesus, Himself. 

I don’t want to be responsible for breaking the chain. I refuse to be responsible for breaking the chain. I desperately want to impact those whom God sets in my pathway, and I desperately want to see them impact the next generation. One link after another being added to that long and weighty chain. 

I have so often looked at those large old family photos; pictures of my GG grandfather and GG grandmother. The edges of the celluloid backing is curling now, the tint of their flesh still maintains its artificial color, their lips are tight and unsmiling, their eyes are devoid of light, and they stare blankly into space.

I have wondered if they ever thought of me, or if they took time out of their busy schedule to pray for me. Few, if any, (though to be fair, there have been a few) have bothered to leave a message behind; words which served as an entre into their lives, an understanding of who they were, what they believed, whom they loved, what they did, whom to who they practiced the fine art of impact.

Well, though by the time you read these pages I may have gone on to my reward, dear grandchildren, I can tell you I have, I do, and I will continue to pray for you; as long as I continue to breathe in and out. Though at this writing, you are “not yet a twinkle,” your existence on this earth is inevitable, and God knew the plans He had for you before He made the worlds.

So, if by chance you one day have the opportunity to gaze upon a caricature of my own features, as I have had the opportunity to look into a portrait of my ancestors’ features, never doubt that I looked forward to your appearance on this earth, cared for you, prayed for you, and loved you with an everlasting love.

GrandDad

A BIT OF HUMOR FOR TODAY

My husband and I went through the McDonald's driveway window and I gave the cashier a $5 bill.
Our total was $4.25, so I also handed her 25c.
She said, 'you gave me too much money.'
I said, 'Yes I know, but this way you can just give me a dollar back.'
She sighed and went to get the manager who asked me to repeat my request.
I did so, and he handed me back the 25c, and said 'We're sorry but we don’t do that kind of thing.'
The cashier then proceeded to give me back 75 cents in change.
Do not confuse the people at MacD's.

We had to have the garage door repaired.
The repairman told us that one of our problems was that we did not have a 'large' enough motor on the opener.
I thought for a minute, and said that we had the largest one made at that time, a 1/2 horsepower.
He shook his head and said, 'You need a 1/4 horsepower.'
I responded that 1/2 was larger than 1/4 and he said, 'NOOO, it's not. Four is larger than two.'
We haven't used that repairman since...

I live in a semi rural area.
We recently had a new neighbor call the local city council office to request the removal of the DEAR CROSSING sign on our road.

The reason: 'Too many dears are being hit by cars out here! I don't think this is a good place for them to be crossing anymore.'

My daughter went to a Mexican fast food and ordered a taco.
She asked the person behind the counter for 'minimal lettuce.'
He said he was sorry, but they only had iceberg lettuce.

I was at the airport, checking in at the gate when an airport employee asked,
'Has anyone put anything in your baggage without your knowledge?'
To which I replied, 'If it was without my knowledge, how would I know?'
He smiled knowingly and nodded, 'That's why we ask.'

The pedestrian light on the corner beeps when it's safe to cross the street.
I was crossing with an 'intellectually challenged' co-worker of mine.
She asked if I knew what the beeper was for.
I explained that it signals blind people when the light is red.
Appalled, she responded, 'what on earth are blind people doing driving?!'
She is a government employee.....

When my wife and I arrived at a car dealership to pick up our car after a service, we were told the keys had been locked in it. We went to the service department and found a mechanic working feverishly to unlock the driver’s side door.
As I watched from the passenger side, I instinctively tried the door handle and discovered that it was unlocked.
‘Hey,' I announced to the technician, 'its open!'
His reply, 'I know. I already did that side.'