I know this has been beat to death by Pastors and Priest alike over the last 2000 years but I haven't had my stab at trying to inspire someone so here it goes.
I have recently picked up the book "The Robe" for about the 5th time in as many years. It was recommended to me by my grandfather back when I was in college and really struggling to believe in... well, anything, let alone Christ. He told me it would give me a different perspective on what it meant to be Christian, but not just as a title, but as a person. This of course meant nothing to me and the pages went by with little impact on my life.
The book is centered around a young Tribune named Marcellus in Rome around the beginning of the common era. Without giving away too many of the details, the main character comes into contact with this revolutionary by the name of Jesus. Marcellus being of high integrity, and for a Roman, good moral fiber, recognizes the strength in this "criminal" and seeks to find more about him.
As I've read the book before, it's a tale about a guy finding out stuff about another guy and decides to believe in his teachings and become his follower, yadda yadda yadda.
This time is somehow different. Not only have I been reading it as a story, but a semi-historical account of someone who was actually in and around Jerusalem and Galilee at the time Christ was crucified. He himself witnessed the crucifixion, but not the resurrection. Hearing accounts of this man Jesus, he discovers that he is risen and finally believes.
I cannot help but rewind one fact over and over in my head. He is interviewing witnesses who knew Jesus. How easy would it be to look into the eyes of Peter or Thomas, hear their empassioned testimony, maybe a few anecdotes, and believe? Truly believe.
Look back at my first sentance for a second... Pastors and Priests for 2000 years... Jesus met with how many after the resurrection. They told their friends, they told their friends and somewhere down the line, someone told me. I'm hearing the same story that someone who legged it around the Sea of Galilee with the Good Teacher told his friend. Somewhere it would have been disproven long before now if it weren't totally and absolutely true, so why do I doubt.
I think that we are allowed to doubt, because without doubt, how could we have faith.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Little Conquests
It's been a battle to keep my head above water some days and I was really having a tough time with some things last week when I saw something completely random that got my mind to wandering. My church is on a busy road that runs east-west through Springfield and into Eugene, along it there are 4 different school zones, so naturally the amount of kid traffic on the road is... entertaining at times.
I was driving to church the other morning and there were 3 kids sitting at Page Elementary School. This isn't at all strange, in fact there was nothing strange about what they were doing at all. They were just sitting there, on top of the newspaper recycle box.
First glance, they were out of the ordinary, just sitting, but I looked again and noticed that they were all very young, about 5 or 6. They had bikes strewn around the bottom of the box, which stood about a foot taller than the tallest of them, and they were sitting on top, just talking. What an accomplishment that had to have been for all of them to be on top. They had to climb, no, they had to conquer that box, and they did.
I began to remember some of the many things that I had to conquer in my youth. I still remember the sense of achievement that went with each one of them, but think about what it was that my friends and I did, and it's not impressive in the least. Spelunking in the storm drains near Costco, climbing a hill that is all of 10 feet high, swinging on a rope out over my grandpa's pond and not getting wet, they don't strike me now as any major undertaking, but then, I was Sir Edmond Hilary, Neil Armstrong, and Marco Polo all rolled into one.
Fast forward to me still sitting in my car out in front of my church. I couldn't remember the last time that I felt accomplished the way a simple thing in my youth could bring out the inner explorer within me. I decided that I need to discover something new, explore the unknown. I need to conquer something again.
I was driving to church the other morning and there were 3 kids sitting at Page Elementary School. This isn't at all strange, in fact there was nothing strange about what they were doing at all. They were just sitting there, on top of the newspaper recycle box.
First glance, they were out of the ordinary, just sitting, but I looked again and noticed that they were all very young, about 5 or 6. They had bikes strewn around the bottom of the box, which stood about a foot taller than the tallest of them, and they were sitting on top, just talking. What an accomplishment that had to have been for all of them to be on top. They had to climb, no, they had to conquer that box, and they did.
I began to remember some of the many things that I had to conquer in my youth. I still remember the sense of achievement that went with each one of them, but think about what it was that my friends and I did, and it's not impressive in the least. Spelunking in the storm drains near Costco, climbing a hill that is all of 10 feet high, swinging on a rope out over my grandpa's pond and not getting wet, they don't strike me now as any major undertaking, but then, I was Sir Edmond Hilary, Neil Armstrong, and Marco Polo all rolled into one.
Fast forward to me still sitting in my car out in front of my church. I couldn't remember the last time that I felt accomplished the way a simple thing in my youth could bring out the inner explorer within me. I decided that I need to discover something new, explore the unknown. I need to conquer something again.
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