My Friendly Stories?
SAT., NOV. 11, 1995, 7:20 AM
FARM, STUDY
Again tomorrow you and your class will read and discuss some of the stories I reportedly told, as Jesus. These don’t seem, to you, to be “friendly” stories… ones that friends would share. They are not as harsh as the prophesies of Isaiah, but they seemed to be more like those than you would expect from Me. As Holy Spirit, with you, I am more understanding, more accepting, more gentle. So, as God, Who am I, really?
I told the story of the entrepreneurial farmer who was not satisfied with what he produced and harvested, so he built bigger barns to hold more. In effect, he was a good capitalist… good in the sense that what he was producing was quite worthwhile (much better than nuclear silos) and that he wanted to produce more. Yet the implication is that he was giving his attention solely to the physical and neglecting the spiritual in his success. He was not assuming, as you do, more and more frequently, that I was a partner in what he was doing, and that I liked to be thanked for apparent help. (Continue to do this.)
You don’t do this excessively, but you still have too much of the feeling that you must provide for yourself and Lenore, and even your sons, as they need it. I tell you that it is I who provide, and you do know this, but earlier learnings and the pressures of your culture erode that knowledge. If you died today could you stand up before Me and defend the actions in your life? (Well, the fact that you are here, on an unexpectedly snowy morning would be to your credit.) In this last portion of your life I do want you to give much attention to Me, and very little to making more money. Enjoy this life, and appreciate more, each day, My friendly participation in it.
In another story I compared a sinful, corrupt tax collector with a righteous, law-keeping Pharisee. This would be like comparing the owner and proprietor of a gay bar with a carefully living, pious Baptist minister… for example. The latter is proud of his righteous living and is sure I appreciate how hard it is to be pious and that as I see him, standing tall, in comparison with the obvious sinner who is bowed in penitence, I just naturally bless him more.
I want you to see the truth in this “upside-down” story, for this is important to you, too. You are not exceedingly righteous in your actions. If you had to be judged on what you do and don’t do you certainly wouldn’t be No. 1. I give you tasks, and you don’t do them. Though you are not an obvious, abject sinner you could do better, and you know it. Your real righteousness comes in accepting My grace and this friendly relationship with Me, as Spirit. With your hand in Mine you are forgiven and accepted. That’s righteousness that is quite beyond good works. Better “works” come from a close relationship with Me.
In the story in which I say that only God is good I, as Jesus, am bowing before the more powerful aspect of Myself. Then I go on to urge a rich young man, similar to the successful farmer, to give away his wealth and follow Me. He, too, had lived a righteous life, but assumed that what he had accumulated was from his abilities and energies alone. It was not Mine… but I asked for it. He went away sadly, for he was not ready to give up all that he had.
But you like that “version” that has him coming back to Me and saying, “I’ve thought it over, and My sprit tells Me to give it up, for a treasure beyond what I now have. You challenged Me, and I initially failed, but humbly I come back to give.” And I accepted him.
SAT., NOV. 11, 1995, 7:20 AM
FARM, STUDY
Again tomorrow you and your class will read and discuss some of the stories I reportedly told, as Jesus. These don’t seem, to you, to be “friendly” stories… ones that friends would share. They are not as harsh as the prophesies of Isaiah, but they seemed to be more like those than you would expect from Me. As Holy Spirit, with you, I am more understanding, more accepting, more gentle. So, as God, Who am I, really?
I told the story of the entrepreneurial farmer who was not satisfied with . . .
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