May 2

"A certain man lame from his mother's womb . . . whom they laid daily at the gate of the temple."—Acts 3:2.

THERE are many cripples amongst us still—cripples in morals, in will-power, in the energies of the soul; cripples through the sins of others and through their own. The world is full of these poor, disabled, impotent men and women. In the spiritual sphere they are helpless. Made to glorify God and to enjoy Him for ever, they are doing nothing whatever towards the fulfilment of their chief end.

And they lie at the Beautiful Gate of the temple. The doors of the Church stand open on every side of them. Sacred and Christian influences permeate the atmosphere which they breathe. The streets where they spend a miserable existence are filled with the worshippers of our God and His Christ. Strange—is it not?—that they are not cured ere now. Strange that they should be so near to health and grace and the life which is life indeed, and still should miss them after all. Strange and shameful and wrong.

But if I am to bless the despairing, dying cripples, the love of God must be pulsing and flowing through me. I will be their good physician, only if the name of Jesus Christ is all my boast, and if the Holy Spirit dwells in me richly. Then He who fills my soul, who regenerates my being, who uses my words and deeds, will accomplish through me His own miracles of tenderness and power. He will repeat by my hands His mighty works.

Because the helpless world needs a true Christian so much, Lord, make and keep me one. May the life of my Redeemer in me overflow its banks, and carry its divine refreshment to parched and perishing souls.