God and His People- Romans 11:1-24

A little boy heard the noted American preacher, Howard Thurman, preach in India. One night after he and Mrs. Thurman had gone to bed, there was a knock at the door. Opening it, there stood a lad whose clothing marked him as an untouchable. In broken, but polite, English he said: “I stood outside the building and listened to your lecture, Sahib Doctor. Tell me, please, can you give some hope to a nobody?” Whereupon the Indian boy dropped to his knees in admiration and reverence as the compassionate black Christian attempted to communicate the meaning of Christ’s invitation: “Please come, everything is now ready” (Luke 14:17, NEB).

In Christianity Today, Philip Yancey writes:

I remember my first visit to Old Faithful in Yellowstone National Park. Rings of Japanese and German tourists surrounded the geyser, their video cameras trained like weapons on the famous hole in the ground. A large, digital clock stood beside the spot, predicting 24 minutes until the next eruption.

My wife and I passed the countdown in the dining room of Old Faithful Inn overlooking the geyser. When the digital clock reached one minute, we, along with every other diner, left our seats and rushed to the windows to see the big, wet event.

I noticed that immediately, as if on signal, a crew of busboys and waiters descended on the tables to refill water glasses and clear away dirty dishes. When the geyser went off, we tourists oohed and aahed and clicked our cameras; a few spontaneously applauded. But, glancing back over my shoulder, I saw that not a single waiter or busboy—not even those who had finished their chores—looked out the huge windows. Old Faithful, grown entirely too familiar, had lost its power to impress them.

Few things are more quickly taken for granted than God’s faithfulness. But few things are more important. God’s faithfulness deserves our untiring praise and wonder.

The folklore surrounding Poland’s famous concert pianist and prime minister, Ignace Paderewski, includes this story:

A mother, wishing to encourage her young son’s progress at the piano, bought tickets for a Paderewski performance. When the night arrived, they found their seats near the front of the concert hall and eyed the majestic Steinway waiting on stage.

Soon the mother found a friend to talk to, and the boy slipped away. When eight o’clock arrived, the spotlights came on, the audience quieted, and only then did they notice the boy up on the bench, innocently picking out “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

His mother gasped, but before she could retrieve her son, the master appeared on the stage and quickly moved to the keyboard.

“Don’t quit—keep playing,” he whispered to the boy. Leaning over, Paderewski reached down with his left hand and began filling in a bass part. Soon his right arm reached around the other side, encircling the child, to add a running obbligato. Together, the old master and the young novice held the crowd mesmerized.

In our lives, unpolished though we may be, it is the Master who surrounds us and whispers in our ear, time and again, “Don’t quit—keep playing.” And as we do, he augments and supplements until a work of amazing beauty is created.