| January 17, 1999 |
Vol. I, No. 38
|
Many Jews who lived during the time of Jesus' earthly ministry had been influenced by the Pharisee doctrine that it was a violation of the Sabbath to heal the sick on that day. As the Jews counted time, the Sabbath was over at sunset, thus "when evening had come, they brought to Him many who sere demon-possessed. And He cast out the spirits with a word, and healed all who sere sick" (Matt. 8:16). Jesus, of course, shows in other places that to heal and do good on the Sabbath did not violate God's law. See Mark 3:1-6, etc.
In Matt. 8:17, Matthew records that these healings took place "that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by Isaiah the prophet." The passage he quotes from is from Isa. 53:4. We learn from Philip's sermon to the Ethiopian eunuch in Acts 8:26-39 that the entire 53rd chapter of Isaiah was a detailed prophecy of the character, personality, and work of Christ, though it was written about 730 years before His birth.
There are several reasons for believing in the inspiration of Scripture. First, the Scriptures clearly claim to be Divinely inspired, 2 Tim. 3:16-17; 2 Pet. 1:21.
Second, Scripture records many scientific facts otherwise unknown to the people of ancient times such as the rotundity of the earth, and the laws of evaporation and condensation, Isa. 40:22; Job 36:27-28; Eccl. 1:7.
Third, even though the Bible was written by about 40 different writers from vastly different backgrounds and cultures over a period of more than 1,500 years, it contains no contradictions as it undoubtedly would if it were uninspired.
Finally, the Old Testament writers foretold in detail literally hundreds of events that were still future when the prophecies were written but have long since been fulfilled, proving their prophecies to be much more than human guess-work. One test God gave by which to measure a prophet was whether or not his prophecy came true, Deut. 18:22. The Old Testament prophets have passed that test with flying colors. What they foretold was indeed the word of the Lord.
--CRJ
"I cannot sing."
"I cannot preach."
"I cannot lead prayer."
"I cannot teach a class."
"I cannot go to Bible study."
"I cannot help at the Lord's table."
"I cannot speak to visitors. I'm timid."
"I cannot attend the mid-week services."
"I cannot give -- haven't any extra money."
QUESTION: What can you do?
ANSWER: Make a pile of excuses
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person -- her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. "Information Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone!
Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information." "I hurt my finger. . ." I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience. "Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me." I blubbered. "Are you bleeding?" "No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts." "Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts. Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information Please" and told her the sad story.
She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was un-consoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that at on the table in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information, Please." Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information."
I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?" There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now." I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time."
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls." I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister. "Please do, she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered Information." I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" She said. "Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, she said. Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?" "Yes," "Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called.
Let me read it to you." The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean." I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression
you may make on others.