Dying to Self

DYING TO SELF

by Bill Britton

When you are forgotten, or neglected, or purposely set at naught and you don't sting and hurt with the insult or the oversight; but your heart is happy, counting it worthy to suffer for Christ—THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When your good is evil spoken of, when your wishes are crossed, your opinions ridiculed and you refuse to let anger rise in your heart or even defend yourself-, but take it all in patient loving silence—THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When you lovingly and patiently bear any disorder, any irregularity, any unpunctuality or any annoyance; when you can stand face to face with waste, folly, extravagance, spiritual insensibility and endure it as Jesus endured it—THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When you are content with any food, any offering, any raiment, any cli­mate, any society, any solitude or any interruption by the will of God—THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When you never care to refer to yourself in conversation, or itch after com­mendation, when you can truly love to be unknown—THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When you can see your brother prosper and have his needs met and can honestly rejoice with him in spirit and feel no envy nor question God while your own needs are far greater and in desperate circumstance—THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When you can receive correction and reproof from one of less stature than yourself and can humbly submit inwardly as well as outwardly finding no rebellion or resentment rising up within your heart—THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

Are you dead yet? In these last days the Spirit would bring us to the Cross. "That I may know Him ... being made conformable to his death." Philippians 3:10

For more of this and other messages, write to‑
Church In Action — Bill Britton Ministries — PO Box 707 — Springfield MO 65801

Back in October 1975, I began attending House of Prayer in Springfield, Missouri. I was desperate for something in my life. When I walked in the doors of that building I felt a strange peace - I KNEW without a doubt I'd come home. I didn't know a soul around me, except my Dad and strange as it seems, he and I were never really close.

I'd felt God calling me to return to Him for several months and finally one day I told him, "Okay - but I can't go back to the UPC church I was raised in. Please find me a place with great music, people my age and where life is real - not just rules and regulations." I'd never discussed this with my family; my sister and her husband attended a Baptist church across town that she loved, but it didn't click with me. One day Dad mentioned House of Prayer (He'd met Bro. Bill on the golf course) and thought I might try it. As I said earlier, I walked in and knew I'd found my place.

The main doors of the church opened to the building the "wide" way. Instead of the pulpit being at one of the long ends of the room, it was in the wide end so everyone felt closer to the pulpit. The pulpit was "open." Anyone could speak - even me if I wanted - but I could have never gotten up in front of anyone, ever!

There was another entrance to the building (on one of the short ends) and there in that vestibule (just outside the bathrooms) was a tract stand. The cloak area was just across the hallway. So while waiting for the bathroom or to get a coat, one could peruse the tract stand and this is where I found this wonderful poem written by Bill Britton, the founder of House of Prayer in Springfield, MO.

I used to carry several copies with me - to refer to in my early days of my recommitment to God, but I eventually gave them all away. Thank God for the internet where everything is accessible all over again.

As I re-read the poem, I see the beauty in the words and with even more clarity see how difficult they are to live by. The one who can live by those words is full of grace and beauty - just like Jesus.