Mark 14 - I, Mark

July 25, 2007 1:45- 3:15

I’ve always been the type of guy who runs away at the first sign of trouble.  Things get tough, and I leave.  When I was run I’d run away rather than face trouble.  I didn’t want to get hurt.  I’d rather be made fun of than face danger.  

I remember one day a friend of my father’s visited our home in Jerusalem.  They talked about all sorts of things, but I particularly remember my father’s friend telling about something that happened to a little girl who lived across the road from him.  She was outside playing when a group of rough Roman soldiers found her.  They began making fun of her, picking on her, and scaring her.  This friend of my father’s saw what they were doing, ran out of his house, and yelled at the soldiers.

“Couldn’t they have hurt you?” I remember asking him.

“Sure,” he said, “but I didn’t care about getting hurt.  Protecting that little girl was the right thing to do.” 

That night I couldn’t sleep.  For hours I just laid in my bed wondering whether I would have done the same thing had I been in that situation.  I knew I wouldn’t and wondered why.  It’s because I was scared.

Twice in my life I remember really running when I should have stayed.  As a young man I received Christ as my Lord and Savior. I wanted so much to serve him, to tell others of him, to be a part of the big picture of spreading his message.  And I sure got the opportunity.  None other than the great apostles Paul and Barnabas asked me to travel with them.  I couldn’t believe the opportunity.  I just couldn’t believe it.  Even then these men were legends.  They traveled all over the known world telling people about Jesus.  They saw whole towns and villages saved.  They faced death and danger from Jews and Gentiles alike, but God himself protected them.  It didn’t take much effort to decide to go.  

For the first few weeks of the journey everything went well.  I served the men and listened to their preaching.  We traveled from town to town and saw the Lord work, but then things got tough.  Sure, the Lord provided for us, but many nights I went to bed hungry.  Traveling was harder than I thought.  Not only did I miss my friends and family, I missed my own home.  I missed the familiarity of Judea.  We’d spend one night here and two weeks there.  Many more people swore at us and threatened to hurt us than listened to what we had to say.  The work was hard.  We walked hundreds and hundreds of miles in the blazing summer sun.  

One night as we stayed in the home of a new Christian there was a knock on the door.  In tumbled two men supporting a bruised and bleeding third.  It was Simon, a young Christian who was bold in his testimony for Christ.  We heard from the two men that Simon boldly declared that the Caesar was not God.  Soldiers had come and taken him and whipped him almost to death for the outrage.  While the others tried to stop the bleeding I stood off in the shadows alone with my thoughts.  Is this the life I really want?  Persecution?  Affliction?  Hard daily work with little of nothing to show for your efforts?  Can’t I just go home and live a quiet, peaceable Christian life?  

I ran home.

While the house attended to Simon I gathered my few things and snuck away.  I figured the ministry life just wasn’t worth it.  My church and family was surprised to see me when I returned.  At first I used some silly excuses saying Paul and Barnabas had sent me home for a good reason, but when a letter arrived I had to admit the truth.  I had run away.  

For several months I worked a job, went to church, and felt completely miserable.  I knew I wasn’t doing what God wanted me to do.  I’d run from his plan for my life.  I prayed and prayed and prayed asking him to strengthen me to do what was right.  One night as I walked home from work it suddenly all made sense.  You see, though I’d run from a lot of things in my life, only two times stuck out.  Once, when I left Paul and Barnabas; and once when I was a young boy.  

We lived in Jerusalem then, and Jesus came to the city for what would be his last week.  My parents had already followed him for a time and both were believers.  We went to see him in the temple.  We invited others of his followers to stay in our home.  But we had no idea what God would allow to happen at the end of the week.  

One night as I lay in bed I heard the tromp of soldiers in the street.  We often heard small bands of Roman soldiers pass the house.  Usually they were drunk though.  On that night dozens of them passed by, and they weren’t Romans.  It was the guards and men from the temple authority.  Where were they headed at this time of night?  

My curiosity got the best of me, and I decided to sneak away to follow them.  I’m a little ashamed to admit this, but I ran out wearing only a cloth.  

It wasn’t long before I figured out where we were going, the Garden of Gethsemane.  I couldn’t figure out why a band of armed soldiers would want to go to Gethsemane late at night.  Was there some kind of illegal religious meeting there?  

I followed at a distance and soon discovered the band of soldiers were nearing their goal.  They stopped following one another and began to spread out.  I hid in some bushes where I thought I might be able to see the action.  I was shocked to see who the soldiers had surrounded.  It was Jesus.  Jesus the Christ.  Why in the world would anyone send a group of soldiers to arrest Jesus.  Yes, some people considered his views to be a bit radical, but I’d never heard him accused of violence.  I couldn’t even imagine that.  Yet, here they were armed with clubs and swords, torches and chains.  

 One of Jesus disciples, Judas, approached Jesus and his followers and gave Jesus a kiss.  After that everything happened so fast.  Judas stepped back out of the way, and the soldiers almost pounced on Jesus.  It was as though they were afraid of him.  As it turned out Jesus wasn’t the one they needed to be afraid of.  Peter pulled a sword and nearly clove a man’s head in two.  The man turned only just in time and Peter only sliced off his ear.  The soldiers holding Jesus let go of him momentarily to defend themselves, and while the disciples began scampering away Jesus healed the man’s ear.  

I was so engrossed by the scene before me I didn’t realize my danger.  Some of the disciples ran right past me, and the soldiers chased after them, hoping to capture a few.  When I did realize my danger it was nearly to late.  None of the soldiers knew who Jesus’ disciples were.  If they found me out hiding in the bushes they would have just assumed I was with him and would have arrested me.  They hay have even crucified me as well, though I had no idea at the time that’s what would happen to Christ.  

When two soldiers were about ten feet away I finally stood and ran.  

“Look, there’s another one,” a soldier called.  

I had an advantage over them, in that they carried weapons and wore some armor, but my linen cloak kept getting in the way of my running.  It would catch on tree branches or bush limbs, and I was terrified it would trip me up and get me caught.  In the end, I tore it off and fled . . .  I ran away naked.  It was certainly not my finest moment. I am only thankful most of Jerusalem was still asleep as I snuck home.  

So why did I remember that story after I ran away from Paul and Barnabas.  I remembered it not because of what happened to me, but because of Jesus.  Think with me.  He didn’t flee.  Not one of his friends stood with him, but He didn’t flee.  If anyone could have gotten away from the soldiers - if anyone could have escaped death - it was Jesus.  Instead of running away when things got tough, He faced it.  He was persecuted more than I’ll ever be.  He suffered more that I ever could.  He bore abuse, beatings, whippings, mockery, a crown of thorns, and the agony of cross.   Why?  For me.  For you and me.  

You know the rest of my story.  Paul didn’t give me much of a chance, but Barnabas did.  He took me under his wing and we traveled again.  Actually we traveled again, and again, and again.  I just sort of figured if my Lord and Savior could bear all that He suffered for me - if He could love me that much -  I could give the rest of my life and bear any persecution for him.  

I’m not running away any more.

Mark 13 - Not One Stone

August 24, 2007  2:25-4:00

If those of us who walked with Jesus were to be honest, all of us would admit there were many things Jesus said that we didn’t believe.  Its not that we didn’t want to believe him, it’s just that some of those things sounded so outlandish and farfetched that we couldn’t believe them.  

You also have to understand that until the resurrection we didn’t realize he truly was the Son of God.  Yes, I admit Peter once called him that as we walked down the road, but Peter was always saying the first thing that came to his mind.  Odds are at least half of what he said would be right.  

For me, probably the hardest thing to believe He said on the last week of his life.  Of his earthly life, that is.  We had just entered Jerusalem, and what an entrance that was.  I felt like a Roman conqueror back from a victorious campaign.  People were waving the palm branches and shouting “Hosanna.”  I doubt I’ll ever experience anything like that again until heaven.  

We had just left the temple, which by all accounts was one of the most beautiful buildings in the civilized world, and one of us, I don’t remember who, commented on its matchless grandeur.  All of a sudden Jesus stops.  He just stops right where he was was standing.  He scans the scene, and as he does I noticed, and I think the other disciples did as well, He gets this sad look in his eye.  I was about to ask him what was wrong when he makes the most incredible and unbelievable statement. 

“Do you see these wonderful buildings?” he asked.  We nodded.  How could we miss them they loomed right in front of us.  

“There won’t be one stone on top of another that won’t be torn down,” he finished.  All we could do was stand and stare when he said that.  Most of you probably have never seen Herod’s temple, but the place was absolutely amazing.  Herod spared no expense.  His workman hauled massive stones and set them into place.  I found it hard to believe even an earthquake could dislodge them.  

None of us really believed those words of Jesus.  Was He mistaken?  Was He speaking literally or was this some special story with a hidden meaning?  For my part I couldn’t help looking at Jesus, looking at the massive structure, then looking back at Jesus again.  From the look in his eyes and the weighty tone of his voice I thought He really believed it, but I couldn’t.  

Now most of you know the rest of the story.  What Jesus said did come true.  It came exactly true.  The Jews rebelled for the last time.  The Romans had had enough.  When they marched on Jerusalem its a grace of God that any of his chosen people survived.  The soldiers were so furious for the death of their own men that they torched the temple and tore it apart stone by stone.  It’s said that the gold from the temple melted and ran down forming lines and puddles between the creases of the blocks.  Anything not yet torn asunder was then stripped apart by the greedy soldiers.  Not one rock was left standing on another.  

So what is my point other than I should have believed Jesus?  That is exactly my point.  Every word I heard him speak was true.  The times I doubted and the times I disbelieved he proved me wrong over and over again.  Its one thing to find a prophecy about the world coming true.  It’s another thing to find a prophecy for one’s life coming true. 

What Jesus said about rebellion and disobedience, it’s true.  If you fight against God, if you disregard his plan for your life, if you choose to do only what you want to do- you’ll find only sorrow, pain, and despair.  Yet, if you give your life to God, if you’re willing to suffer reproach for the sake of his name, if you throw yourself with joyous abandon into the work of his ministry- you may suffer, but you will find peace, joy, and contentment never before offered.  

Jesus’ words are true. Listen to them.  Heed their warnings.  Reap their blessings.  Love the Savior, and put your faith in his faultless word.  

Mark 12 - No Greater Love

August 23, 2007 11:05-1:00

A bit of advice.  Never try to stump the Creator of the Universe.  I did, and instead of receiving a simple answer I ended up entrusting him with my soul. How’s that for turnabout is fair play?

Jesus had been the default topic of conversation among the scribes for almost three years.  Before that had been John the Baptist, but even his obvious eccentricities paled in comparison with those of Christ.  

For hours we debated the words he shared.  Some rang true.  Others seemed so unbelievable.  We all decided that he was either the most religious Jew in history, comparable with Father Abraham, Moses, and Elijah; or he was the worst heretic of all time.  Many leaned toward the later.  I think they disliked him not so much because his preaching rang false, but because it threatened to reveal the hypocrisy in our own lives.  How would it be if those professing to know the law better than all others were shown to be wrong by a mere Nazarene carpenter?  

As a result we almost began a simple type of competition, each scribe attempting to concoct some sort of question which would absolutely stump this false prophet.  Many thought and pondered for several weeks on end trying to find the hardest question imaginable.  Other scribes met together in small groups hoping that a multitude of minds could better assemble the impossible question.  

When the questions were created and every possible solution worked out of them, certain scribes would go out to find Jesus.  Not all were able to approach the master with their questions.  I wonder if some used crowds as the excuse for failing to ask Jesus a question whose answer would have been obvious to even a Roman lowlife.  The scribe who were able to pose the question never received an obvious answer.  Jesus always either presented a solution which had not been considered, or he turned the question back on those asking and thus making them look like fools in the process.  

I must admit although I was still quite unsure whether Jesus ought to be believed or not, I could not help but admire his resilience.  It was not as though he answered two or three questions well, he answered dozens of thoughts that the brightest minds in Judaism had assembled.  That could not have been mere luck or a fool’s wit.  

I never tried my hand at the questioning.  I guess I just figured I’d leave that to more intelligent men than I.  One day as I strolled toward the temple I heard word all along the street that Jesus had returned to Jerusalem.  We should not have been surprised as the time of the Passover drew near.  I couldn’t resist finally seeing the man with my own eyes and hearing his words firsthand.  Before long he arrived a small entourage of disciples and followers trailing along behind.  No sooner did I arrive than I also noticed two dozen of my colleagues had shared my idea.  From the looks on their faces I could see a readiness to attempt stumping the prophet.  

When Jesus stopped to rest the scribes swarmed.  They let loose with the most difficult questions their minds could conceive.  What shocked me was how hopeful they were that this man would fail.  They listened with nervous excitement to see the man stumble in his answer, but he never did.  Each response carried great wisdom and simple eloquence.  Never had I heard a man speak this way before.  

After several questions and answers there the conversation lulled for a moment and I found myself speaking.

“What is the greatest commandment?”  

I shocked myself that I had asked.  Though my peers nodded approvingly that, yes, this was indeed a difficult question; in my heart I knew I had not asked to stump this man. I had asked because I believed he would know the correct answer.  For a long moment our eyes met. He seemed to peer into me, searching my heart.  

“To love the Lord our God with all your heart, mind, and strength.  And the second is like this, to love your neighbor as yourself.”  

My heart thrilled.  He hadn’t chosen some fine detail of the Mosaic law.  He hadn’t even chosen one of the ten commandments.  In a few words he’d laid out for each of us a lifelong challenge, namely loving God with every ounce of our being through that same love loving others.  

I couldn’t believe the response.  Though I would never have known before I asked, it was the answer my heart wanted to hear.  At that moment my life changed.  From then on I had purpose and cause for all my learning.  Though most my colleagues shook their head head as though they would have said the exact same thing, the few of us who nodded in sincere agreement realized that this carpenter was no mere man.  He held God’s wisdom because he was God.  

Several days after they put Jesus to death, I saw him again as I met with those who believed his words.  From then on I knew He was God, and since that day I’ve tried to love him as God deserves, with all my heart, mind, and strength.  

Mark 11 - All I Had

July 25, 2007 1:45-3:00

Never had much money or possessions.  Never found a really good paying job.  Fact is, seemed like any time I made some money a surprise bill came due.  Sometimes we’d save up a little and one of the children would get sick or our home would need repaired.  We never really had much.

  

On the other hand, the Lord always took care of us.  He was good to us.  We never went to bed real hungry.  Always had a roof over our heads.  Can’t complain about that.  It’s probably a good thing we had some extra money when those tough times came.  It got us through.  It took care of all our basic needs.

  

My father always taught me that what the Lord gave us was actually still his.  It wasn’t ours.  Since every good thing came from God, and most people think of money and possessions as a good thing, my dad figured they were really his too.  Now I know some people say that same thing, but with my dad it was more than a nice thought.  He meant it. He showed he meant it.  When one of the neighbors was having some rough times, I remember mom and I taking them some food.  If a visitor came to town looking hard up we’d take him in for a few days.  

Only problem I seem to remember was people trying to take advantage of dad.  But that didn’t bother him none.  He figured that was between them and the Lord.  “God will do his part, son.  He just asks us to do ours.”  He’d give to others even when most wouldn’t.  I guess that’s what set the example for me. 

 

Probably my best memory of giving came at the beginning of one of the best and worst weeks in my life.  Times were unusual hard.  There was a lot of talk about the Romans and finances.  A lot of rumors floating around that the Romans were going to crack down on us.  Plain tough times.  I owed a couple people money and a couple people owed me money. 

 

Well, it turns out that I came out of my house one afternoon early in the week and there were two men untying my colt.  Think about that. You ever had anyone just up and take your horse or donkey.  I couldn’t believe what they were doing.  Sure times was tough, but that didn’t mean you could just take what wasn’t yours.  

So when they’re almost done untying my colt I says to them as though I was just a stranger, I says, “Where you going with that colt?”  I expected them to get all embarrassed that they’d been caught.  I half expected them to run away at the sound of my voice.  But they done neither.  Instead one turns around and says,  “The Lord has need of him.”  Course they was talking about Jesus, but I didn’t know who they meant by Lord.  

“The Lord has need of him.”  I had to think about that for a moment.  Probably a lot of people would have considered one of the Romans as Lord, but I didn’t.  Pilate, Herod, Caesar - they wouldn’t have needed my mangy colt at all.  Plus, I didn’t really count any of them as my Lord.  See I only got one Lord, that’s the God of Abraham, the God of my people.  

It seemed to me as I looked at those men that they were talking about the same Lord.  They weren’t thieves, and they weren’t borrowing for no government official.  No, these men were servants of God.  

Then for a moment I thought about how tough times were.  Our family was tight on money as it was, let alone if I had to get a new colt.  I’d never be able to afford it.  Plus, if things did get worse for us I could always sell the colt for some money to keep us alive a bit longer.  “The Lord has need of him.”  At that point I couldn’t help but remember my father’s theory about who owned everything anyway.  Really that colt wasn’t mine, it was the Lord’s.  If the Lord needed his colt who was I to keep it from him.  I let the colt go.  In some ways it was one of the hardest things I ever done.  I ain’t saying that just to make yall feel bad about me or think I’m really spiritual.  It was hard, but at the same time, it was one of the easiest things I ever done.  

Sure enough, a few hours later a little boy came leading him back up to my house.  You might think I’m telling a stretcher, but after that day with the Lord I never saw that colt the same again.  He must have lived almost forty more years.  Oldest animal I ever owned.  Best one too.  You see, I didn’t have much, but when I gave the Lord what He asked for, it was the best decision of my life.  

Just makes me wonder what the Lord might want from you.

Mark 10 - The Sad, Young Ruler

January 9, 2007 9:00-9:30

I had the opportunity to meet Jesus early in his ministry.  Although many people don’t seem to like him now, especially after the rumors and trouble his followers have started, but I found him to be a great man.  The people loved him then.  They followed him around by the thousands just hoping to hear him speak or see him heal a blind man.  It was a very special time. 

 

I was very impressionable back then.  I was young and probably a bit rash in some things.    Not that that’s an excuse at all; its not.  But I did get caught up in all the excitement that surrounded Jesus.  I ran into a lot of people along the way like myself.  We wanted to be one of his close followers like Peter and John.  Boy, how I used to envy those guys.  They were constantly with Jesus, learning from him, watching him, asking him questions.  We wondered how those guys got chosen to do that and not us.  Maybe I just wanted the excitement or the popularity, but I honestly think it was more than that.  A lot of us thought that this might be the beginning of something great.  It wasn’t.  I realize, we all realize that now that He’s dead, but back then when we saw his power and heard His words we truly believed He was the one. 

 

In fact, every once in a while I’ll run into someone who I remember seeing in the gatherings.  If they recognize me too they have different reactions.  Some are embarrassed that they got caught up in a movement that never panned out.  I mean, the Romans are still here aren’t they.  He never got rid of them.  Other people just shake their heads in disappointment as though they wish it had turned out to be true.  That’s how I feel most of the time, but I should have listened to the older, wiser people who warned me that this type of thing was to good to be true.  They were right.  They were right.

 I did have one opportunity to talk face to face with Jesus.  Not many people got to do that, but I can honestly say that I did.  I’m glad I got to talk with him, because in the end that conversation is what convinced me to step back and reevaluate things. 

 

I’d been following him on and off for a few months.  At first my parents felt a little leery about the whole thing, but as news of Jesus teachings and miracles spread they began to encourage me to go out and see if Jesus would accept me as one of his followers or students.  Some of the other guys my age had heard a rumor that Jesus didn’t even charge when he spoke, but I found that a little hard to believe.  What teacher doesn’t charge followers?  I took a bunch of money with me figuring that even if He didn’t charge He’d probably look favorably on me for a nice donation.  

Well, by and by some of the crowds fell away.  Most people didn’t have the money to stay away from home or leave their jobs for a long time.  So one day after I accidentally slept in, I saw Jesus and his disciples leaving a group of children and heading to the next village.  Other than the disciples there were very few people around him.   This was my chance, I thought.  I went running up to him, afraid that if I waited I would get much to nervous to actually say what I wanted to say.  

So, I’m there panting in front of Jesus and the whole group stops and turns and looks at me.  For weeks I’d been planning a question to ask Jesus to get into his good graces.  Obviously, I couldn’t just ask to join his followers.  I decided to ask him how to receive eternal life. I figured the question would do two things.  First, it was a bit of a setup.  He would have to say, “Obey the law.”  That was exactly what I was hoping He’d say.  I’m a good person.  I’ve kept the law all my life whether I wanted to or not.  I have my parents to thank for that.  I believed if He saw how devoted I was to the law, He’d ask me to be one of his followers.  Jesus would have to be impressed by my goodness.  Second, I thought the question would show my mind is tuned to spiritual things.  I’m a good, religious person.  That’s what I wanted to see.  

Well, my plan worked flawlessly to begin with.  

I asked him, “Good Master, what should I do to inherit eternal life?”

He seemed suspicious when I called him good.  I don’t know why.  Everyone except the Pharisees and Sadducees thought of him as good.  But then He said exactly what I hoped He would say.  

“You know the commandments.  Do not kill.  Do not steal.  Do not commit adultery.”

I cheered inside.  This was perfect.  As soon as He finished talking, I blurted out, “Master, I’ve obeyed all of these since childhood.”  

I thought I was in.  When I gave that response Jesus looked so pleased with me.  He put his hand on my shoulder and smiled at me.  I just knew the next thing He was going to say was to ask me to be one of his disciples.  Even most of them looked impressed with me.  But what He said next blew me away.  I could not believe it.  Even now I still don’t really understand it. 

He said, “You lack one thing.  Sell all your possessions, and give to the poor and you’ll have treasure in heaven.  Then take up your cross and follow me.”

Should I say that again, or did you get it?  

Listen carefully this time, because I want to make sure you understand his words.

He said, “You lack one thing.  Sell all your possessions, and give to the poor and you’ll have treasure in heaven.  Then take up your cross and follow me.”

I must have looked dazed to Jesus after he said that.  I felt absolutely stunned.  I was so stunned, I don’t think I even said anything else I just took a few steps backwards then turned and walked away.  

Think about what He asked me to do.  Sell all my possessions?  At first I wondered if He was confused about exactly how much I own.  Did He think I didn’t have much to lose?  After thinking about it, I believe He knew just how wealthy I am and still wanted me to give it all up.  Sell all my possessions?  You know how hard my parents worked, and now how hard I have worked to gain those possessions.  Their mine.  It seemed more than a bit foolish to give them all away.  

And give to the poor?  If the poor worked as hard as I do, they wouldn’t be poor.  I could not believe this man who had seemed so wise just wanted me to give up my hard earned things to people who don’t deserve a bit of it.  That kind of mercy seems a little overrated.  

He promised if I did all this, I’d have treasures in heaven.  Frankly I think all my good works have earned me more than enough treasure in the future life.  When I die, I’ll get exactly what I deserve from God.  

Now, as shocking as the first part was, that doesn’t begin to compare to what He asked in the second part of his request.  “Take up your cross and follow me.”  We all know what a cross stands for.  We’ve lived with the Romans long enough to know that when we see a man carrying a cross he isn’t going to be alive much longer.  Jesus was asking me to die for him.  He was asking that.  Anyone who doubted me before when I told the story doesn’t doubt me now.  Jesus died on the cross.  James was killed by Herod.  Everyone knows what happened to Stephen whether or not they think he deserved it.  Half of the guys who stood with Jesus on that road will probably be dead within a year.  

“Take up your cross.  Sell all your goods.  Follow me.”  No.  I’m glad I didn’t follow Jesus that day.  I’m glad I was wise enough to know what really counts.  Now I’m here enjoying my wealth, my home, and my life while those Christ-like ones are suffering.  I’m sure history will prove their little revolution to be short lived.  

Mark 9 - My Son

January 4, 2007 7:00-9:30

The day John was born my wife and I realized there was something wrong with him.  He never cried.  Well, he did cry, but no sound came out.  I don’t really know how to explain it.  He was mute.  Some friends of ours joked they wished their babies were mute, but I felt bad.  I’d wake up every night and check on him, only to find him crying.  How long he’d been crying I never knew.  I felt so bad that he would be laying there alone, so upset about something, but my wife and I never heard to go help him. 

 

A few weeks after John’s birth we began to notice he didn’t seem to hear us when we spoke to him.  I don’t know exactly how we figured this out, but I could just tell.  I convinced my wife that we should take him to the doctor.  He confirmed our fears.  John was both deaf and mute.  A few days after we heard the news my wife left us.  I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.  She was never as concerned about John as I was.  When she discovered the full scope of his disabilities she decided it’d be easier to leave us.  I don’t want to make her sound like a bad person or anything.  She wasn’t.  She just didn’t want to have kids.  When she found out she was pregnant with John I could tell she wasn’t really happy about it.  I guess I can’t blame her.

So, it was just John and I.  For the first few years things went pretty well.  Yeah, it was hard being a single parent.  John was my life.  Good friends helped take care of John while I went to work.  They always said what a well-behaved boy he was.  John accepted from an early age that he couldn’t speak, but he certainly had all the emotions of a regular boy.  When something funny happened he’d laugh and laugh without making a sound.  When he was old enough he began to slap something or clap his hands to show he thought the thing was funny.  I remember one time we were playing catch.  John threw the ball over my head, trying to prove how strong he was.  As I backed up to catch the ball I tripped right over a rock and fell on my backside.  John ran up to me a little scared I’d been hurt.  When he saw me smiling and OK, he began to laugh and laugh and clap his hands.    He doubled over with his arms crossed over his belly.  I laughed too.  How silly I must have looked sitting there in the dust.    

It was one of those times he was laughing with me that suddenly the look of joy left his face.  In its place I saw a look of both fear and questioning.  Immediately I stopped laughing as well.  John started to come toward me, his hands up and pleading.  Then he started shaking.  I grabbed him, unsure of what was happening.  He just convulsed over and over again and began foaming at the mouth.  I held him loosely in my arms, my hand supporting his head so he wouldn’t hurt himself while jerking around.  In several minutes he was fine again except that he started to sob out of fear.  I had heard of others having these convulsions, but had never seen one myself.  I put him to bed and nothing happened again for several months.  

For about five years John would have convulsions several times a year.  The doctors couldn’t find anything medically wrong with him.  They tested him and poked and prodded him each time charging a fee and ultimately only frustrating John and depressing me.  Even the families who had helped us for so many years go to scared to help any more. They didn’t want John to get severely hurt while he was with them.  One family was down at the river washing clothes when John had convulsions.  While the mother’s back was turned toward him he fell into the water shaking and jerking.  Luckily some of the other children saw what happened and told the mother.  By the time they pulled him out of the water he had nearly drowned.  That poor mother, she was beside herself.  I could barely console her.  Her husband told me a few days later that she couldn’t watch John anymore.  I don’t blame her.  He was my responsibility. 

 

One day, I remember it clearly, I heard about a man named Jesus said to heal people of blindness, lameness, and leprosy.  Of course, I wanted to believe it, but for years people had come to me with suggestions or recommendations of physicians or remedies.  None had worked, so why should I think this Jesus would be any different?  At first the talk about him came only in rumors.  A friend heard from a friend that a brother in law’s mother had been healed of a tumor.  After a few months though a man from several towns away was healed of his blindness.  Here seemed to be truth.  I knew this man.  As long as I had known him he had sat on the edge of his town begging money.  Now he was running into our town shouting of what Jesus had done for him. 

 

I didn’t wait any longer.  John and I left town right away and within a day we had found the disciples of Jesus.  Jesus had left town and no one seemed to know where He was or when He would return.  I took John before the disciples and one of them tried to cast out the demon.  Nothing happened.  John just stood and looked at me with disappointment written across his face.  I couldn’t believe it.  Even this would not work.  

Just then several of the townspeople on the edge of the crowd began a fervor.  I turned around and saw the man who I knew must have been Jesus with three other men.  I rushed to him and told him everything.  He was my final hope.  If this man who could heal the blind, sick, and lame could not heal my son, then nothing could. 

 

As I brought John to the Master my son turned and looked at me.  I knew then what was coming.  No sooner did I wrap my arms around him than he began to shake as he never had before.  He jerked and shook so violently I thought I would lose him right there.  He foamed at the mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head so far that those surrounding us gasped in fear.  “God, please don’t let him die,” I thought.  

When the spell finally passed I laid John on the ground and knelt beside him fearing the worst.  He looked as though he wasn’t even breathing.  I could not believe this.  I finally find someone who I actually thought might heal him, and he dies before that could happen.  I could not believe this.  Tears filled my eyes for my son.  He was all I had left.  I began to sob.

As I wept and wept I felt someone kneel beside me.  I turned and looked into the eyes of Jesus.  Behind us people were whispering and some cried quietly, “He’s dead.  The boy is dead.”  

“If you believe,”  I heard Jesus saying, “All things are possible for those who believe.”

Could He really mean that, I wondered.  My son lay dead in the dust before me, were all things truly possible if I only believed?  I wanted to believe, but it seemed so impossible.  I looked into the eyes of Jesus and spoke the most honest words I could.

“I believe, Lord.  Help my unbelief.”

Jesus said nothing but only smiled the most calming, assuring pitying smile I’ve ever seen.  He placed his hand on the boy and spoke quietly, “You deaf and dumb spirit come out of him and trouble him no more.”

As if on cue John’s body convulsed one more time almost as badly as before.  I reached to grab him afraid this would kill him, but Jesus firmly held me back.  In a moment John’s body fell motionless one last time.  I almost gave up hope, but looking into Jesus face I saw that merciful smile again, and refused to believe he had failed.  Jesus reached down and took John’s hand.  John’s fingers slowly grasped the hand of Jesus.  He inhaled a huge breath and his eyes opened.  I began to sob again, but this time out of joy.  My son, my only son was alive.  We locked eyes and John smiled.

“Dad,” he spoke for the first time in his life, “I love you.” 

Mark 8 - See

November 19, 2001  9:30 - 10:30

There’s a good many things a person misses seeing when they are blind.  I think the thing I missed seeing the most was just light.  You see, I hadn’t always been blind.  In fact, I believe children who are born blind, in a sense, have it better than those who go blind.  You don’t believe me.  Yes . . . I understand . . . those who go blind for whatever reason at least have seen a bit of the world.  That’s true.  But those who have never had the opportunity to see don’t know what they are missing.  It’s like giving someone a spoonful of delicious food.  They try it and find that they like it, but when they ask for more it’s denied them.  That’s how I felt.  I had seen the beauty of the earth.  My young eyes had looked on the light of a gorgeous sunrise.  I had seen the bright crimson sunset.  Many times I had just lain on the roof of our house talking with my father and staring at the shapes the stars formed in the sky.  I had tasted the beauty, and just as I was beginning to see how much I loved it, it was snatched from me.

  

My eyes had always been pretty good.  At least I thought so.  I never had much to compare them with.  But at the age of twelve things started to change.  First I noticed that when I read, the words at the edges of the page were not as clear as they had always been.  I was concerned, but not greatly.  By that age I understood that not everyone had the clearest eyesight.  I thought mine was just changing a little.  Within a month, though, I couldn’t even see the words on the outside edges of the page.  Its not that they were to blurry, instead they had simply vanished into a blackness that was continually growing.  More and more my range of eyesight was slowly shrinking.  I told my parents, and visited the doctors, but there was nothing they could do except confirm my fears.  I was going blind.  Several months later my eyesight had been reduced to almost nothing.  It seemed as though I was staring down two long, dark tunnels.  The pictures that greeted me at the ends rarely matched.  After six months the pictures were gone altogether.

My last days of sight were spent in fervent memorization.  Not of words on pages, but of beauty.  I wanted to etch green grass, blue sky, golden sand into my memory.  I remember even longing for the dark clouds of storm to return before I lost my sight, so I would never forget what they were like.  Most of all, I spent time just sitting . . . sitting and staring at the faces of my parents.  They were not faces of strength or beauty, but they were pictures of the ones I loved most dearly.  They seemed much different than they had looked even a year before.  My blindness had taken its toll on them as well.  More crevasses crossed there brows.  More wrinkles crept from the corners of their eyes.  But always I could look back into their eyes, and there find something that I always remembered seeing.  A light.  It was a light that had always meant everything was going to be alright.  The light was there as we would give gifts on each other’s birthdays.  The light was there even after I was paddled for disobedience or talking back.  The light would even shine in the darkness of night, when my parents would comfort me after a bad dream.  There was always that light which told me I was loved.  

It’s been almost forty years since I last saw my parents.  I stared long at them one night before going to bed, and when I woke in the morning they were gone.  Yes, it was their voice that woke me.  It was their hands that helped guide me out of bed, but they were gone from sight forever.  I never saw them again.  Dad passed away when I was thirty-four.  Mom, when I was forty-seven.  We . . . we had some good times, even after my blindness set in.  Dad would just get in those romantic moods every once in a while.  He would come home from work every once in a while and just by the things he said, you knew he was a man in love.  He would walk in the door, and say “Hey guy!  How was your day?”  I would say something back, then he would greet my mother.  If I didn’t hear anything being said for several moments I knew what was going on.  “Are you guys kissing on each other?”  I would say.  “You can’t see anything, what do you care?” He’d respond, and we’d all laugh.  Mom and I sure missed him after he died.  I still remember his last words.  “Take care of mom for me.”  It was hard to let him go.  Hard to know that light had left those eyes.  

Mom and I got along well for those years.  We kept each other going.  But when she died . . . that’s really when things got tough.  No, it wasn’t being blind, as much as simply being alone.  Knowing that all the lights in my world had finally gone out.  The people who truly loved me were all gone.  Yes, there were family friends, but none so close as my parents had been.  It was those friends though who introduced me to Jesus.  I had heard of him, of his work, but I was a blind man.  It was not as if I could just go hear him speak, and I wasn’t going to burden any of my friends with the task of leading a blind man on some fool’s errand.  But Jesus came to me.  It was early in the day when friends came in and practically dragged me out of the house to meet him.  It all happened so fast I felt a bit embarrassed by everything.  But when I got to Jesus He simply took me by the hand and led me down the road outside the gates of the village.  As he led me, that’s when I knew this was no jokester, no con man playing games with people.  This was real.  

Moments after we stopped I felt Jesus warm, wet fingers gently press my eyes.  As he rubbed them it seemed he washed away the darkness.  Light!  After forty years I finally saw light again.  Things were not clear though, as they had once been.  My sight was still blurry, probably from light penetrating eyes that had been dark for so long.  He asked me if I could see anything.  I told him I saw men walking, but they were deformed, looking to me like trees, broad at the top, and skinny at the base.  Again his fingers rubbed over my eyes, and they were clear.  I looked down at the vivid detail of my feet in the dusty dirt.  Then the full realization of what had happened finally gripped me.  I looked up, into the face of this man who had returned to me my sight.  A man who had let me at last taste what I had once found to be so delicious.  And in his eyes I saw what I had not seen for many years.  In his eyes I saw the light.  The light of love.  And I was healed.