A Voice In The Wilderness MINISTRIES ESSAY:

"Then came Peter to Him, and said, Lord, how oft shall by brother sin against me, and I

forgive him? till seven times?

Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, until seven times; but until seventy times

seven." (Matthew 18:21,22)

Jesus spoke in this parable concerning forgiveness; He alluded to how much mercy we

should have toward each other.

Dateline: 1986. We find it difficult to forgive one time. And its been that way for

centuries--even as Jesus spoke.

To forgive one time is a deed deserving of a positive note, even reward. To forgive

seven times is unheard of.

"Turn thy other cheek." No way. "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame

on me." Now that's more like it.

Man is an interesting product of heredity, tempered by environment. He is reactionary,

highly illogical--but of the greatest value of all known quantities.

He is the only species on earth that preys on itself for no other reason than greed and

unnecessary aggression.

He is also made in the express image of God--body, mind, and spirit(Father, Son, and

Holy Spirit)--gone far, far astray.

He is a pearl of great price; and the price that was paid was, and is, the life of the Son

of God--whom many, many of us think was just a good man.

Seventy times seven was told to Peter, not so much as an example Jesus expected

him to follow--or any of us for that matter; it was told so we could understand the depth

of Grace--and the depth of our depravity.

The question of sin I have dealt with in other essays: man is in a unique and

unfathomable position, by the Will of God, and one day all will be explained to us. For

now, we are in need of redemption.

Through Christ, that redemption is realized.

Now, we either accept Him, or we don't. No one, not even Peter or Paul, was intent on

twisting anyone's arm. Will, and the desire for oneself, is the ultimate determinus--not

fire-and-brimstone bludgeoning.

The subject is serious; more serious and important that anything else in history. But

you can't be dragged, kicking and screaming, to Christ. You must walk, under your own

power, and with your own volition.

All we can do is spread the word, and let the Holy Spirit do his work.

The matter of will is inescapable; we must all make our own, individual choices, based

on what we want. That is all that is of value to God.

If He had wanted a race of automatons, without will, or choice (provided by Satan), He

could have created us that way.

He chose not to, for His own unique and closeted reasons.

Because of this, and the struggle we face every day, even those born again into the

body of Christ(who still are far from perfect), He shows us mercy to the tune of seventy

times seven.

He could chastise us beyond belief, out of righteous anger, even after we are saved,

let alone before. He doesn't; only to the extent absolutely necessary, and never out of

anger.

Because of Christ, God can never be angry with us again.

He forgives us, because of mercy, due to grace, through faith in Jesus Christ, seventy

times seven times.

We must all strive to realize how great this show of love for us really is. He loves us so

much that, even in our darkest sins, He sees all, and forgives all.

When we strike out in anger; when we lust; when we covet; when we are jealous; when

we are petty; when we betray; when we are impatient; when we are callous; when we

are dishonest.

When, in the deepest darkest corner of our subconscious minds--where lie monsters

too terrifying to even describe, due to our sins; where the most incredible perversions

are often found; where things that we cannot imagine, or describe, or never, ever tell

anyone--are found--He still is there with us, All-Seeing, All-Loving, and All-Forgiving.

When we sin the sin too great for us to believe may be relieved; when we grieve for

years due to the enormity of it; when we fail to fall to our knees and confess Christ

because we believe it is too much to be forgiven: He forgives.

When we give up; when the Frankenstein of our minds, out of the darkness of our

souls, threatens to devour us--He delivers.

When we betray ourselves; when we betray our loved ones; when we betray God

Himself, as Peter did by denying him thrice--He knows already, and forgives.

Seventy times seventy. According to our desire to be forgiven; according to our

anxiousness to be correct; according to our faith in Jesus, who faced all those sins,

and all those perversions, and betrayals--upon the cross at Golgotha. The same Jesus

who, in our places, and for our sakes, was found worthy, so that all sins, in Jesus's

name--would be FORGIVEN.

The greatest gift, within the greatest gift.

Remember: let not your knowledge of your sins, or transgressions, or darkest thoughts

and deeds, keep you from Christ--who knows them already.

Let not those same sins convince you, after your rebirth, that you have lost your

salvation. IT CANNOT BE LOST. EVER.

You may lost faith; you may backslide; you may be unrepresentative of your faith, and

your God. You may deny him in the eyes of the world.

After you have come to Him in sincere repentance, accepting Him as your Lord and

Savior--he will never deny you.

We may stand before Him one day, desperately ashamed and saddened by the depths

of our degredation; we may stand and look, hearts broken, at the times of our

incontinence. We may weep and wail that we were not more faithful--but we can "in no

wise be cast out."

Legalism--and religion--tell you something different. Religion, in its zealous refrains,

will never give up trying to get you to work for something which is free. It will never

stop trying to get you to accomplish something which was already accomplished at

Calvary. Salvation comes through the grace of God alone. Faith is the hope of our

hearts in that salvation, and the fruit of that faith is the works we accomplish.

However, until the day we die, we are sinful humans--and He is well aware of this fact.

Therefore, He is merciful to us-ward.

He judges our hearts, not the wickedness of our deeds.

He judges our intent, no the depth of the perversion.

He will forgive, and heal us, if our hearts reach toward Him, and not away.

Seventy times seven. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. Every second.

He is Faithful and True. Believe in Him--and don't be confused by the things you do, or

think, or say; believe that He will heal you, according to the desires of your heart. And

along the way, as you grow in Christ: when you do fail, know He will forgive you, and

never leave you, even unto the end of the world:

Seventy times seven.

Seventy thousand times Seventy thousand...

Here next is the story of one single solitary soul forgiven:

He sat alone in the antechamber. The weight of the world was crashing down upon

him.

The rain fell upon the roof--chill, icy droplets as the storm gathered strength. His ears

intensified the sound, raising it to the level of gunshots. His nerves were shattered, and

the depth of his depression confounded even the learned men...

He compartmented himself away most days, down in this chamber. His home,

spacious and once filled with the sounds of happiness, was now a place of ominous

portent. He could not remember when things began to change--he only knew that his

life had taken on nightmarish proportions--only from this nightmare, there was no

awakening.

His wife and children, huddled away in their bedroom, prayed their silent prayer they

prayed each night: that the husband and father would return, and the stranger would

depart. Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered the man who was--terrified of the

man who now is.

She knew that he did not function of his own doing; she knew it was a terrible

oppression, and she knew from whom. He was unapproachable now--and all she could

do was pray.

He used profanity now, profusely; he threatened her with violence, and the children--

even the three-year-old baby who loved him so much. This once kind and cheerful man

was becoming a snarling, dangerous beast.

In his own mind, however, he could not see his behavior deteriorate. He only felt low--

depressed and despairing of life. As he sat this late evening, listening to the

cannonade of rainfall in his ears, alone, he reached the ultimate state of despair; his

gun lay on the table, loaded. He had reached the point of no return.

She had talked to him about church, about the Bible. He had sincerely tried to listen,

but could not understand. The words simply made no sense. In his life were hidden

sins--things which could never be forgiven. As his faith in his future failed, his faith in

himself did also, and his waning strength made him a target for an adversary he did not

even recognize...

On another plane, that adversary sat, watching his minions do their work. They crawled

all over the man like maggots, seeking to consume. They brought thoughts of doom,

despair, rotting the fiber of his being until it began to rend like old cheesecloth. They

whispered things into his spiritual ears, things unnameable which caused imaginations

to be set up in his mind--imaginations which further corrupted the fiber of his spiritual

existence...

They wanted him. They believed that through him his family could be taken. They

feared his potential--and were resigned, through the will of their unholy master, to keep

him from fulfilling it.

Satan wanted souls; especially the souls of those who would be exponents for the

Lord. Those were the greatest prizes of all. He must have this one...

He sat and watched the spiritual body decaying under the unholy onslaught. The victim

would feel no physical pain--just the vague uneasiness that accompanies the dealing

of one's soul into the infernal. He would feel depression, dejection; he would have no

joy, or temperance, or patience. He would no longer give, or accept love. He would not

recognize God's spirit. As his spiritual body was fashion--feeling an odd loss as he

passed into pandemonium...

Satan smiled.

The man sat at the desk, eyes on the gun. In an odd way, it didn't seem to matter

anymore. It was no longer a fearful thing to have the bullet take his life. Nothing could

be worse than the pain of this life--not even the pain of it's death.

His fingers closed upon it, testing the weight in his hand. As he turned it, inspecting the

size and shape, he saw it as the final escape from a stalag of torture he could no

longer stand.

He had lost his job--and it was soon to lose his house. He had been arrested for

shoplifting--imagine, him stealing--and thrown into jail. He was no thief, but his children

had to eat…

There he saw a darkside of humanity that frightened him to the core--but he survived,

barely.

His wife was terrified of him, literally.

He hated the way he looked, hated the way he sounded, hated himself. He hated the

way in which he had failed to reach his true potential, and fallen by the wayside. He

had money and possessions and they meant nothing. Nowhere was joy to be found.

His poor children. They loved him so much, but no longer knew him. His predisposition

was not for reaching out to them, but for withdrawing away. They were losing him.

He hated the self-righteous prattlings of the television and radio evangelists; they all

seemed to know God personally through their chats with Him, and His power in their

lives. He only knew that they made him feel worse about himself, due to the

overwhelming silence which returned to him when he tried to pray...

He saw the end, finally. He hurt inside--pain from an illness not born of this world. The

pain grew, urging him to look upon the gun once again. The despair mounted, anxiety

tearing at him, goading him toward the exit from which there was no exit. He saw

inside himself--saw the fear and torment, and tears welled in his eyes. He remembered

the sweet child he had once been--never knowing that his life would one day lead him

to this dead end.

His life flashed before him, as though the bullet had already done its work. He saw his

struggle in his early years. His search for his identity, his college years, his marriage.

Then the pain, the loss of his parents and his best friend, within two months. The dull

ache that replaced the core of joy which had been his. The doctors promised that time

would heal the wound--but it did not. The hole in his chest where once had beaten a

heart remained empty...

It all was for nothing, this life. His despair mounting, reaching ever greater heights, he

realized that this life was a mockery in the universe--a path sewn for nothing, leading to

nowhere. He wanted off this absurd path, for good.

He had strangely felt this way for years; had wanted to end it all. It made no sense—

but the adversary of all men provided the unbalanced incentive…

His fingers closed tightly about the gun, about the trigger. Looking upward toward the

ceiling, he heard the sounds from his bedroom where his little family stayed, praying

for his life. He didn't need them, didn't need their prayers. He only wanted to rest...

He pointed the gun at his head, anaesthetized by the depression, surging forward on

the crest of the demonic oppression. The demons clawed the remaining scraps of his

spiritual body away like murdering piranha, insatiable, lusting for this single, solitary

soul to feed their unholy appetites. He sat, tears welled in his eyes, training down his

face, tightening his finger on the trigger. No one cared, and he didn't care. It would be

over in seconds.

He heard the voice of his five-year-old, crying. "I love you Daddy--wherever you are."

He frowned. I'm here, he thought to himself. What did she mean by that? You see, I've

even failed my children. Time's up--

He pulled the trigger.

He heard the snap! and waited for the bullet to traverse the short distance at 665 miles

per hour. It would only take .000042 seconds to reach his skull from three inches away.

He knew that he should already be dead...

His wife clasped her hands together, praying. He sat with the gun to his head, still

alive. Then he realized that he was not dead. Bringing the gun down, he inspected the

chamber, seeing that one bullet was missing from the chamber--the chamber that the

hammer from the gun had just struck.

It was missing because it was suspended in mid-air, frozen in time and space.

Satan whirled. Looking up, he saw the Dove, hovering, looking down at him. Then it

flew away, straight into the north. Looking down at the almost-spent spiritual carcass,

his eyes widened as he could see what was coming next...

The man looked at the empty chamber in disbelief. He was alive. He should now be

dead. For a brief instant, in from of his eyes, he was allowed to see the horrific visage

that was the demon-spent spiritual carcass of his soul. Rended and torn, he screamed

as he recognized himself in it, seeing it almost destroyed, leaping to his feet. The gun

fell clattering to the floor as the vision persisted, blotting out his vision. He saw the

demons, still feeding, feeling the connection between their activity and the ache he

always felt inside.

They looked up at him as he watched the spectacle of his own degradation, grinning

horrifically as they waited for him to give himself up to them in death…

He knew it was almost too late. Desperately trying to clear his vision, running from the

vision, he crashed into a table. His wife jumped as she heard it--but was too afraid to

go see what it was. She desperately tried to go back to sleep. Looking at the clock, she

saw that it was after three in the morning...

As his eyes cleared, he saw the clock on his desk first, it's numerals blaring in the

darkness. The time was now "3:16."

How could this be? Only seconds ago, it was just past 10:00! Looking down at his

watch, he realized that it was indeed after three.

Time had been distorted; a bullet was missing; his had seen his own corrupted, almostdestroyed

spiritual self, and had unsuccessfully attempted suicide. He saw the

demons, feeding on his spiritual self, waiting for the eternity of the feast to begin

through his suicide--what was going on?

It was still "3:16." As his eyes continued to clear, he saw the photo of his young

daughter on his desk. He then saw the opened Bible beside the photograph. It had

been opened and unattended for months, since the last time he had tried to make

sense of it. Now, the words seemed to loom large in front of him. It was opened to

John, Chapter 3--and his eyes, from where he stood, fell upon verse 16. "3:16....."

In spite of himself, he read it again: "For God so loved the world, that he gave His only

begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but should have

eternal life...."

In a flash, after he read the words, his spiritual body appeared before him again,

almost dead from the consumption of the demons. He stared at it, then down at the

words again. Slowly, through the haze in his brain, the idea began to coalesce...

Dropping to his knees from fright, he screamed, "Father!"

The demons screamed. Satan began to cringe, looking through narrow slits.

Their activity stopped. He commanded them to finish. They could not move--frozen in

time.

His wife leaped up in the bed, calling his name, now wide awake. He heard her,

looking upward. The clock still read "3:16"--the longest minute of his life. He repeated

the word, "Father," in a weakened and broken voice.

The demons scurried away, leaving Satan seated alone on the cold stone.

He finished the prayer he would never pray before. Seeing the little child within himself,

speaking with it's voice; seeing the wasted spiritual self, mourning for it. Seeing the lost

man on his knees knowing that time almost ran out. He prayed:

"I don't know what to say, or do now. I will just depend on Jesus--"

Satan whirled, looking at the spiritual body--

"--to help me now. I am a sinner--I see my sinful self, a failure and a pity… .

Satan smiled at the self-deprecation.

“… but I claim him as my Savior— and through Him I am washed clean, started anew,

justified, and made a different man; a man now in the image of Jesus Himself… .

… and more than ever now, I want to LIVE!”

The spiritual body was instantly enwrapped in holy flame.

Not cold; not hot; but shekinah glory, blazing forth, engulfing the figure.

Satan moved away, hands in front of his face.

The pain in the man's body began to ebb. He noticed that he instantly felt better.

Nothing else--he just felt better.

Satan watched the familiar scene. As the flame died, he saw a new creature--the

familiar spiritual body taking shape, being glorified.

The man knelt, hands outstretched. His anxieties lessened, the depression faded. He

knew something was happening.

He saw, one last time, the spiritual being that was himself. He saw what was

happening to it.

Instantaneously, as his eyes adjusted to the brilliance, he saw the baptism of the Spirit-

-the dove descending and the Spirit cascading all over the spiritual body. It glowed

golden now, embodied and washed by the Spirit. The flesh filled out, and it was once

again robust and stronger than ever before.

Several other things had happened in the blink of an eye: the man saw that the body

had been regenerated--it was now eternal. It was indwelt by the Spirit that had just

baptized it--the light could be seen within. And the forehead--

On the forehead was a seal, with a name which he could not read. Somehow he knew

it was his new name, and that all who was in this realm would know that Jesus's name

was in it also, and sealed him unto the Father as His own.

In the corner of his eye, he saw a gigantic shape move away from the seal, and down

into the depths. He could not quite see it--but he could hear the unholy wail of anger

that trailed behind it...

His attention was back to his spiritual self. He saw himself anointed, stamped and

consecrated, and spiritually immortalized--all in an instant of time.

Then, in a flash, the spiritual body was gone--and he saw the wall of his study was in

place of the vision.

As he knelt, he could tell that the weight was gone, the oppression was gone. And for

the first time in his life, he felt peace. He was not perfected; he was not totally well; he

was not without fault. He was however, saved. He had seen it, the salvation. He knew

it had happened. He knew it could never be changed. He knew that as long as he

walked with that Spirit, the oppression would never return.

There was a knock at the door, startling him. He looked to it, past he desk, and the

clock hanging from "3:16" to "3:17" to his wife. She tentatively opened the door, still

afraid, but courageous. Looking over at him, on his knees, she instantly knew the truth.

He had been literally saved, and saved indeed. The gun lay on the floor--six cartridges

out and in a circle around it. Whispering a silent prayer, she rushed to him as he rose,

hugging her in his arms, wondering how he ever could have made it without her...

EPILOG:

Born again.

A term that we have fully become accustomed to in this fulness of times. A term that

means rebirth; rebirth from the flesh, and reborn in the Spirit.

It is a term that describes in no uncertain terms the depth of change, spiritually, that

occurs when one becomes regenerated in Christ.

Like unto being reborn.

It is a term which has now fallen into the hands of the comedic, the irreverent, and the

ignorant.

It now means a variety of things--most of which bear no resemblance to the original,

God-given gift.

Why must we be so irreverent? Why must we be so blasphemous? Why must we be so

ignorant?

Why is it that everything must be tainted, tarnished, and reduced in value; so far,

sometimes, that the original meaning is lost completely?

Man continues on in his way; the way of destruction. Knowing certain doom--and is too

ignorant to even truly be aware of it.

Born again. Representative of the final, all-encompassing chance to come to God,

through His Son, Jesus.

The final chance for this, the terminal generation.

To be born again: confused by pentecostalists and some charismatics and being

accompanied by spiritual fireworks, and the most-confused gift of tongues. Tongues is

a fact; but only to some, seemingly not for all, and certainly not a sign of salvation. To

be born again is a spiritual thing, yes, but not always accompanied by fanfare.

Sometimes, the outward symbol is an awesome, overwhelming stillness in your heart

and soul. The peace and comfort that has escaped you all your lives, and now, you

possess.

To be born again is to become another creature; to become empowered by the Holy

Spirit, as you ask for your heart to be filled, to preform God's Will, and become more

and more like Christ, in your salvation.

To be born again is no joke. It is the greatest gift ever freely given in the universe: for

this and all times, and the greatest attestation to love toward man, and now and

forever, immutable.

Take time to pray for your salvation; your soul might be required of you this night, and

your time might be shorter than you think. Pray for the salvation of your soul--while

there is still time.

Brian L. Jackson, Through A Glass, Darkly, Unpublished, 1989