From here:

Hast thou no scar?
No hidden scar on foot, or side, or hand?
I hear thee sung as mighty in the land;
I hear them hail thy bright, ascendant star.
Hast thou no scar?

Hast thou no wound?
Yet I was wounded by the archers; spent,
Leaned Me against a tree to die; and rent
By ravening beasts that compassed Me, I swooned.
Hast thou no wound?

No wound? No scar?
Yet, as the Master shall the servant be,
And piercèd are the feet that follow Me.
But thine are whole; can he have followed far
Who hast no wound or scar?

(also used by yours truly in the morning sermon)

Our students have been studying the life of missionary Amy Carmichael (1867-1951), who freed many children in India from temple slavery. pic.twitter.com/rDmKQ5dmbt

— Matthew Sullivan (@Passer_Solomon) May 25, 2017

A few weeks ago I was asked to write an essay tracing the history of the modern missions movement based on an assigned text. I worked through prominent figures in the modern missions movement and traced its development in India, on the African continent, and throughout the South Pacific. As I worked through the text, I found one thing conspicuously missing—the contributions of African-Americans to the modern missions movement.

While I have come to appreciate the work of William Carey, Adoniram Judson, David Livingstone, and others, there are other unsung heroes neglected in many historical accounts of the modern missions movement. One such hero is Lott Carey—often known in missions circles as “the other Carey.”

Read it all.

“Doing something” meant reminding her of all the reasons it was worth staying alive – how good we had it, how much our families loved us, how much there was to look forward to. It almost became a script, a choreographed dance: she told me she felt suicidal; I tried to overwhelm her feelings with why she shouldn’t feel that way. It never convinced her of anything. But on that afternoon, exhaustion had beaten me down into shutting up. I sat quietly and held her hand.

She looked at me in surprise. Cautiously, she ventured with another thought. “I hate myself so much, and I want to die,” she said, and I said nothing.

“I wish I had never been born,” she said.

More silence.

She continued through her tortured feelings. I listened, and hated what I heard, but I knew that at this moment she was safe. We weren’t actually there on the bridge railing. We were at home, together, and there was no way she could act upon her pain. These were just words.

Read it all (used in the morning sermon by yours truly).

The lack of church organists across the UK is leading to the rise in services being accompanied by guitars and rock bands. Dan Damon looks back at how once upon a time organs were seen as the new wave in ecclesiastical music – yet not everyone was thrilled by the idea.

Watch and listen to it all.

O God, who hast taught us that in thy mysterious providence suffering is the prelude to glory, and hast made much tribulation the entrance to thy heavenly kingdom: May we learn from this thy will, and also from creation around us, to wait for our deliverance from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of thy children; through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord from the heavens,
praise him in the heights!
Praise him, all his angels,
praise him, all his host!

Praise him, sun and moon,
praise him, all you shining stars!
Praise him, you highest heavens,
and you waters above the heavens!
Let them praise the name of the Lord!
For he commanded and they were created.
And he established them for ever and ever;
he fixed their bounds which cannot be passed.

–Psalm 148:1-3