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In Love with Jesus Christ - by Roger Harris

 
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In Love with Jesus Christ

Slain Missionary's Mother

June 21st 2008 04:07
Fun Missionary Photo


As I studied material about the death of Bill McChesney in the Belgian Congo in 1964, I was anticipating an interview with Aldine McChesney, Bill’s mother. She had written a book entitled Through Congo Shadows, Story of the Life and Martyrdom of Bill McChesney in the Congo. My job as a writer for a local Phoenix newspaper was to get human interest material for our newspaper’s readers.

Since Bill was from a local family, many people were well aware of his death. However, many had not read Aldine’s book so they did not know many details of the family. His death had been about four years earlier than the publishing of Aldine’s book.

I arrived at the place for the interview since Aldine did not want to come to the newspaper office for the interview. I noticed that Aldine was already seated in the room where we would talk. She seemed comfortable enough sipping on a cup of coffee that one of the assistants had brought to her. As I entered the room, an assistant introduced me. Although Aldine was somewhat older than I am, she stood to welcome me. She seemed to be a very warm person.

After a little small talk, Aldine McChesney let me know that she was ready to give an interview, but the subjects would be less about her son and more about his love for the Lord Jesus. Not realizing exactly what all of that entailed, I agreed. I desperately wanted the interview for my story. My story had been forming in my mind as entitled something such as A Dead Missionary and His Mother. Perhaps Aldine would insist on a different type of title.

Let me express in question and answer form the things I learned from the interview with this mother of a saint.

Q. Can you give us some information about your son and the rest of the family, please?

A. Of course, My husband and I had two sons. Bill was the oldest one. He became a Christian when he was in his middle teen years. His younger brother was saved only after Bill went Home to be with the Lord.

Q. Why did Bill choose to go as a missionary and under which mission board did he go?

A. He began to talk about his obligation to Jesus Christ very soon after his conversion. He did not exactly choose to be a missionary at first; he simply had his heart open for whatever God would choose for him. He investigated several mission boards as well as other Christian service opportunities before he finally applied to WEC. WEC is Worldwide Evangelical Crusade. I think the first two words in their name were important to Bill. We have always been involved in evangelical church groups. Bill was open for anywhere in the world.

Q. If there were other countries to go to, why did he choose the Congo? Did he know other missionaries there? Maybe he had a girlfriend there?

A. Bill did not seem to know much about the place before he went. He went because there was an open door and because he was accepted to work there. He did not know anyone there before he went to the Congo. And no, he did not have a girlfriend going there and persuading him to go there.

(Mrs. McChesney seemed a bit uncomfortable with my questions and with her need to respond to such personal information about her late son. If my interview was to succeed, I needed to use caution lest I upset her too much.)

Q. Excuse me if I become too personal, Mrs. McChesney.

A. All right. I may decide to not respond if some dig too deeply into our lives. Also, please call me Aldine.

Q. I have heard that Bill did a little writing before he went away. Is that correct? And did he ever publish any writing?

A. He spent a lot of time alone at times. I think those times were his times of expressing himself in writing. I have not seen anything that he published although one of his poems has been published but not by Bill himself.

Q. I think I am aware of that poem, Aldine.

A. Here, I have a copy of it. You can publish it in your newspaper if you wish.

(Aldine handed me a paper on which a poem was written, a poem by her dead missionary son. The poem appears here and will be a part of the article I write.)

My Choice (By Bill McChesney)


I want my breakfast served at “eight”, with ham and eggs upon the plate;
A well-broiled steak I’ll eat at “one”; and dine again when day is done.

I want an ultramodern home, and in each room a telephone;
Soft carpets, too, upon the floors, and pretty drapes to grace the doors.

A cosy place of lovely things, like easy chairs and innersprings,
And then I’ll get a small TV - of course, “I’m careful what I see.”

I want my wardrobe, too, to be of neatest, finest quality.
With latest style of suit and vest, why shouldn’t Christians have the best?

But then the Master I can hear, in no uncertain voice, so clear,
“I bid you come and follow Me, the lonely Man of Galilee.”

“Birds of the air have made their nest, and foxes in their holes find rest;
But I can offer you no bed; no place have I to lay My head.”

In shame I hung my head and cried. How could I spurn the Crucified?
Could I forget the way He went, the sleepless nights in prayer He spent?

For forty days without a bit, alone He fasted day and night;
Despised, rejected - on he went, and did not stop till veil He rent.

A man of sorrows and of grief, no earthly friend to bring relief -
“Smitten of God,” the prophet said - Mocked, beaten, bruised, His blood ran red.

If He be God and died for me, no sacrifice too great can be
For me, a mortal man, to make; I’ll do it all for Jesus’ sake.

Yes, I will tread the path He trod. No other way will please my God;
So, henceforth, this my choice shall be, my choice for all eternity.


(I took time to read the poem to myself again. Looking into Aldine’s eyes, I could see that she was content with what life had offered her.)

Q. Aldine, may I ask some rather pointed questions? You may choose to not answer any of them which do not seem appropriate.

A. With those conditions, it is all right to ask.

Q. Did Bill die for his church?

A. No. He did not.

Q. Did he die for his religion, then?

A. That would be a poor reason to give one’s life. Religions are everywhere, and a great number of them are false hopes to desperate people. Bill McChesney did not die for any religion.

Q. Do you feel Bill died for a cause other than his church or his religion?

A. Not exactly. I would not say that, actually. He died for his God and Savior.

Q. Those Simba rebels who killed Bill were not much interested in his Savior or his God. Do you think…

A. Let me interrupt you, Miss. So many of the others who were with Bill when he was killed were religious people. Some Roman Catholic nuns were there and gave their interpretations of his death. Even though Bill did not wear any clothing to reveal his Christianity, those Simbas were aware that he was a Chrisian.

Q. Thank you, Aldine. If I accept that many of the people who were killed or misused by the Simbas were religious, even Christians, do you think they were killed because of their religious beliefs?

A. He was not murdered for being a Christian exactly. He was picked out because he was a US citizen. One of the questions the Simbas asked concerned nationality. He was in the Congo to do God’s work although that is not why he was killed.

Q. If I may…

A. Please allow another interruption. Consider this, please. Many young people are willing to die for their country whether the country is right or wrong. Most of us think of them as heroic. Bill died for a better place than his country. His goals were to help other people find peace in their hearts and lives such as he had found. He wanted to point people to Jesus, Who gives eternal life. How can we think that is so strange?

Q. So I feel sure that you do not think that Bill had any reason to want to die. He did not choose a dangerous place in hopes of escaping something negative in his life.

A. Now, you are asking silly questions. Bill was one of the happiest young men I have ever known. People often called him “Smiling Bill”. Sunshine seemed to radiate from his face and personality. He had things to live for and hopes for the future. He was well aware that it was dangerous in the Congo. He sent me a photo once in which he was in a very large cooking pot. He was smiling since the picture was a joke about being cooked and eaten by African natives. He had a girlfriend after he arrived in Stanleyville. One of the women missionaries took is eye. No doubt, he would have considered marrying her if he had lived long enough.

Q. I apologize for even suggesting that you son could have had a desire to die. Forgive me, please.

A. Surely. You are simply wanting all the facts you can get.

Q. I think I should get some information about you, Bill’s mother. Is that all right with you?

A. You can give it a try. I will answer questions that I feel are acceptable.

Q. Given the very negative situation, why did you write a book about Bill?

A. I did not write a book about Bill. I wrote a book about his martyrdom and his love for the Lord Jesus. I also included the martyrdom and love of others at the same time and in the same place as Bill.

Q. I am sure that it was difficult for you to accept Bill’s death when he was trying to do good for other people.

A. Did you read my book? If you did read it, you would see that Bill understood that God does not deliver everyone who is facing death. Some of the people with Bill testified during a get-together that God had told them they would escape death. However, Bill testified to the effect that not everyone is destined to live through the coming events. He would not testify that God had promised to deliver his mortal body. He seemed to accept that God could be ready to take him to his Heavenly home.

Q. You wrote about others in the same situation, including Jim Rodgers, a British citizen who died immediately after Bills’ death.

A. Yes. The Simbas were out to get Americans. When they learned for sure that Bill was American, they put him to death. Bill had been very sick for some time with Malaria. He was hardly able to climb onto a truck as they demanded. Jim Rodgers carried Bill onto the truck and went with him. After a long and unpleasant night, the Simbas beat Bill and took his life. Jim had made a promise to Bill, “If you must die, Brother, I will die with you.” After Bill was killed, Jim gently lowered his body to the floor. Then, the Simbas attacked and killed Jim, too.

Q. It had to be hard for you, living in the USA, to accept that your son had been so mercilessly killed in Africa.

A. I struggled for some time. People visited me in my home to bring me some comfort. They tried to make me feel better.

(A long pause, during which Aldine dried her moistened eyes, was followed by one of the best questions I have ever heard.)

A. Sorry to be a bit emotional. You know, his death was a few years ago so some of the healing of my emotions has taken place. Still, my tears just now result from an event with one of my church friends.


Q. Take your time, Aldine.

A. My friend came to my home, knowing that it had been so hard to accept my son’s death. I mean, one expects that the parents should die before their children. That is not what happened in our situation. My son died before my death.

Anyhow, my friend came to help me through the grief. My friend asked me the right question, prompting me to give the right answer. Then, my Lord Jesus came and blessed me with spiritual and emotional healing immediately.

Q. May I ask what was the right question and the response you gave?

A. She asked me, point blank, “Isn’t it a privilege to give a son to God?”

When I said, “Yes”, my healing began. Jesus has been so close to me through this, especially after I consented to His will for Bill.

Q. Do you have anything more to add to our interview, Aldine?

A. Yes, I learned that when you grasp, you lose, but when you give to God, you gain. It took a while for me to give my son to God, but when I did, I gained so much.

Just think, I am absolutely sure that my son made it to Heaven. Many parents do not have any reason to think the same thing about their own children. What more could I want than to be sure of the eternal life of my children?



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Myrtle Waves Good-bye

May 27th 2008 01:44
I remember so much about her. Her name was Myrtle, but many people called her Mame. I didn’t, though. I had done some gardening work for her and some lawn mowing in my teen years and respected her enough to call her by her given name. Of course, that was over forty-five years ago.

She attended the little conservative Christian church in our small Wells County, Indiana, town of less than 300 population. She had always attended there, it seems.

It was in that little church that I bowed at the altar on March 8, 1959, and gave myself back to the One Who created me. It was the last Sunday that the pastor was serving. He would move on and let another pastor take the church from the next week. I remember it so very well in spite of the many years that have gone by between then and now.

Back to Myrtle, although she was old enough to be my grandmother, I felt close to her as a fellow Christian. She spent her days sitting in the little house on the gravel road, crocheting and entertaining any visitors who happened to come to see her. She was fairly heavy so she did not want to stand on her feet much. Her long hair, kept in a bun on the back of her head, surrounded a fat and wrinkled face with a big smile in the center of it.

The house where she lived actually belonged to her son, Charles. He usually lived there with her although there were times when he was elsewhere. I never asked where he was as it was none of my business. I guess her husband had died many years before I became acquainted with Myrtle. As to her son, he was well-known as one of the town drunks in the larger town about 3 miles away.

Myrtle was a quiet Christian. However, her Christian principles and values were clear to everyone in the area. I remember when the story spread about Charles bringing in a six-pack of beer and put it in her refrigerator, which was actually his refrigerator. He had brought it in during the late night hours when his mother was sleeping. In the morning, Myrtle found the beer, took it outside and put an axe through each of the cans. Later in the day, when Charles woke up, he quietly accepted the fact that he had done what he knew was unacceptable to his mother. Regardless of Charles' own life style, he had great respect for his mother and her religious outlook.

After I became a Christian in 1959, Charles showed the same degree of respect toward me whenever I would come over to mow Myrtle’s lawn or work in her garden. To the best of my knowledge, Charles never did decide to follow his mother’s example and ask Jesus to change his life. In fact, he later married Ruby, a woman he found at The Hoosier Bar in the next town. She, too, showed great respect for Myrtle as well as to me.

I really liked Charles and Ruby, maybe because of their relationship to Myrtle, my Christian good friend and mentor.

To the gist of my story now, Myrtle was faithful to the services at the church. She was always there on Sunday mornings, Sunday nights and Thursday evening prayer meetings. She never missed a night at any of the revival meetings which were usually held once per year for around two weeks.

One Sunday morning when Myrtle came into the church house, she had one eye closed. I and some others joked about her ‘winking’ at everyone, not realizing that she had experienced a stroke which caused her eyelid to not stay open. Being around twenty years old, I did not think of how my joking and the joking of others may make her uncomfortable. When we realized the reason for her ‘winking’, the joking stopped, and praying for her became a more common practice.

The eye problem persisted. Then, her speech became less clear after a few weeks. She sometimes talked about her time to leave Earth to go to Heaven. None of us really liked to think about that event which seemed more and more likely for our dear, saintly Myrtle.

As months came and went, Myrtle confided in close friends as well as her sister, Ione, that maybe she would not be able to talk when she would be on her deathbed. She told people that, if she could not talk at the time, she would try to wave good-bye whenever she saw Jesus coming to take her home.

Myrtle’s attendance at church became less regular. Her health kept her home, often in her bed in the little house that she shared with Charles and Ruby. Her bedroom was downstairs. Charles and Ruby slept in an upstairs bedroom.

I was not there when Myrtle’s homecoming day arrived. Ione and others who were with Mame (Myrtle) told me about it. She was on her bed, not really able to communicate much. Of course, her eyes were closed. A slight smile formed on her withered old face. Her arms were at her side with the palms of her hands facing upward. In a while, the fingers of one hand began to move. It was obviously her agreed-upon sign that Jesus had come for her.

Through tears, the bystanders witnessed the homegoing of one of God’s saints. They cried at the loss of a dear Christian friend, but some of their tears may have been at the victory that Myrtle had won. She had made it into Heaven.

Before the funeral, Myrtle’s sister Ione penned a poem which was read at the funeral service. Although Myrtle had been waving good-bye, it appeared to Ione that the moving fingers were also beckoning people to “come”. The open palms facing upward had changed the ‘good-bye’ into an invitation to ‘come’.

I think of Myrtle from time to time. Her Christian testimony to family and friends included me. She really loved Jesus Christ because He had loved her first. She loved people, too, her son and his wife, Ruby. She loved me, a gangly teen boy who was learning to become a strong Christian and using her life as one of his examples.

This is an absolutely true story. No names have been changed. All of the named people in the story have died now. Some have gone on to meet Myrtle, just as I plan to do.
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ABOUT GOOGLE ADS

May 25th 2008 07:12
I do really appreciate that I can make a few cents on occasion by having Google place ads on my sites. This religious site is included.

However, I hope that readers of my material will NOT think that I am in sympathy with all of the Google ads. I have seen some that I do not like such as ones saying that there is no Hell or ads for what I consider to be false religions.

DO NOT JUDGE MY SITES BY THE NATURE OF THE ADS WHICH GOOGLE CHOOSES TO PUT ON THEM.

Roger
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A Dog Who Loved Jesus

May 6th 2008 07:39
dog loves Jesus, dog, healing
“Mommy,” cried the small boy, running toward his mother. “Mommy, you must help my sister. She is trying to take some food away from a dog. I think she will eat it.”

The fragile-looking woman hurried outside just in time to see her daughter putting some unclean food into her mouth. The dog had apparently decided that the food was too rotted to eat himself and allowed the child to have it.

“No! Don’t eat that. It is not clean,” the mother kindly scolded. She grabbed the dirty food and threw it back toward the dog, who smelled it and then let it lie on the ground.

Some neighbor women shook their heads in bewilderment. “That child of hers is possessed with some demon. She does such stupid things,” said one of the women.

“You’re right,” the other woman agreed. “The mother even tells people that she is at wit’s end, not knowing what to do with that kid.” Putting her hand slightly over her lips, she added, “I even heard her say that the girl has a devil inside her.”

“I don’t doubt it at all,” the first woman admitted. “There is definitely something very seriously wrong with her. She is like a dog or some other dirty animal, not like a human at all.”

Inside her humble little house, the mother tried to wash the young child who was crying and babbling some nonsensical string of chatter. The mother tried to show love, but the girl resisted and was out of control again. She tried to reach breakable items which had purposely been placed out of her reach to prevent her from breaking all their possessions.

During all of the commotion that was going on, an older son entered the house and tried to get his mother’s attention. “Mother! Mother, listen to me, please.” It took a few minutes for him to finally get his mother to look toward him with frustration written on her face.

“What is the problem?” she asked her older son. “Can’t you see that I’m overwhelmed with your sister’s destructive actions?”

The teen boy tried to lower his mother’s anxiety, touching her shoulder and trying to help control his baby sister’s attempts to destroy their property. “Now, Mother. Please listen to me. Let me help with the baby, but please listen to what I have to say.”

Sitting on a stool nearby while the teen tried to hold his struggling baby sister on his lap, he began. “Mother, that Jewish man named Jesus has just come to the edge of Sidon. You told us to let you know if He ever came around.”

A slight suggestion of hope for her devil-controlled daughter brought the mother to attention. “I could go there and ask Him to heal my baby.” Her thoughts were all on this small piece of hope for her daughter.

Rushing to make herself as presentable as possible, the mother felt some shame for the confrontation with her older son. “I am sorry to be short-tempered with you, Son.” She patted his cheek and tried to give him a smile. The smile did not hide her extreme negative thoughts about her youngest child and whether Jesus would rid her of the demonic spirit that the baby had.

It did not occur to her that cultural problems would interfere with the request for healing for her child. She found herself near a crowd of people, all seemingly wanting to see Jesus. Pushing through the crowd, she found opportunity to try to get the attention of this Man from Galilee. She lowered her body before Jesus saying, “My Lord, please consider my request. My daughter has some bad spirit, maybe a devil of some sort. Would you please have mercy and heal her?”

Some of the followers of Jesus, mostly Jewish men, tried to push her aside and encourage her to leave Jesus alone. Finally, someone said, “Tell her to go away, Jesus. She is disturbing us and also interfering with your work here.”

Jesus ignored both the man who made the suggestion and the woman who had asked for mercy. He seemed intent on listening to neither of them. He continued to walk and entertain questions from the crowd. They entered a small house where Jesus sat in such a manner that most of those present could hear his words.

The mother fell down at His feet as He sat. She again pleaded for her daughter and for mercy. “Lord, You’re the son of David the great king. Please have mercy on me and my family.”

For some time, the woman endured the quiet type of rejection which accompanies being ignored. She tried to reveal that she worshipped Jesus and loved Him.

Finally, Jesus told her that she was not a Jewish person and that His mission at the time was to the Jews. Thinking about that, the woman realized that being a Greek made her less likely to receive the blessing she had asked for.

Perhaps Jesus, too, tired of this foreign woman lying at his feet. At any rate, He decided to tell her, “It is not right to take the food which was meant for the children in the family and give it to the dogs.”

Some Jews in the crowd nodded toward each other, smiling because Jesus had actually called the woman a dog. Of course, Jews considered dogs to be very unclean animals. Now, maybe she would leave Jesus alone and go home to her undesirable family.

The woman could not conceal a slight smile as she said, “Oh Lord, it is true that You should not give to the dogs that which belongs to the children of the family.”

More smiles and nods from Jews who had accompanied Jesus. Impatiently, they waited for the woman to rise and trod toward her home.

“Dogs should not expect to be seated at the family table at mealtime. They belong on the floor,” the woman added. “They wait for some crumbs to fall from someone’s plate and onto the floor. Since the children do not want the food which falls onto the floor, the dogs can rejoice that they can have those small crumbs.”

Jesus seemed surprised and added. “Your faith in God and your obvious devotion to me and my cause have moved me. That which you asked for has been given. Your daughter is healed and delivered from the devilish spirit that controlled her.”

With extreme devotion, with great humility, and with praises in her heart, the woman backed away from Jesus and the crowd in the house. She found herself torn between love for Jesus and thankfulness for His mercy upon her home.

At home, everything was much different than when she had left home a few hours before. The daughter greeted her mother with a hug. The other children in the house were also quiet and even reverent when their mother entered the house.

The older son expressed his confidence. “Mother, we were aware of when you received your request from this Jesus. Everything changed here. The devil is gone out of our baby sister.”

“Yes,” the mother agreed. “Jesus said that I am a dog because I am not a Jew but asked Him to do for me what He usually does for the Jewish people.”

“You’re a dog?” the teen boy incredulously asked. “That does not sound like a nice thing for Him to tell you, Mother.”

“I think it depends on whose dog I am. I am a dog that belongs to Jesus. He takes good care of His own.”







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Moses' Prediction

April 18th 2008 23:11
Shortly before his death, Moses talked to Joshua, the man who was to take of the leadership role over the Israelites. They were at Mount Pisgah, the place where God led Moses in order to show him the land that the Israelites were to soon enter, the Promised Land.

“Joshua, I’m near the end of my earthly stay,” Moses told his right-hand man. “I am ready, even eager, to go to my eternal home.”

“It does appear that way, Sir,” Joshua agreed. “We have been aware for some time that you, yourself, will not get to enter the Promised land.”

“To a degree, I am in agreement with that statement, Joshua,” Moses cordially chided. “Still, I am sure that I am going to the better Promised Land, not this earthly piece of soil that I have just seen from the mountain top. I truly believe that there is a Promised Land that none of us can even begin to imagine, a spiritual place.”

“No doubt you are correct, Sir,” Joshua agreed with his superior.

“I’m not sure how much more time God will give me here in this earthly life. I’m sure that it is not much longer.”

Moses seriously considered this man, one of only two in the whole of the Israelites who was over the age of forty. God would not allow them to enter the Promised Land until all of the rebellious generation had died off. That took forty years to accomplish. Only two men were exempt from this decision of God’s to not allow any of the rebellious generation to enter the new homeland. Joshua was one of those two men.

“You will be the new leader, Joshua.” Moses spent a lot of time instructing Joshua on his duties and his outlook as the leader of the Israelites.

“Sir, I will instruct the people that as for me and for the people in my household, we will serve the Lord,” Joshua consoled the old leader. “I know it’s not the popular approach for me, but I intend to work hard to follow your leadership and the teachings that you are leaving for us.”

“Actually, those teachings are not from me,” Moses corrected his protégé. “I was always the person who had to express the teachings and commandments that God gave. I wanted my brother, Aaron, to be my spokesman, but that did not happen.”

“Frankly, I think you did a very good job of revealing what God wants us to know, even if you preferred that someone else be the spokesman,” Joshua added.

“I’m a slow speaker, and I think slowly. My brother would have said the words much more quickly and more fluently, I am sure.”

After a pause, Joshua expressed his thoughts about this. “However, you have been our deliverer, yourself. As I recall, you acted alone much of the time. Even Aaron and your sister, Miriam, were not always in agreement with you.”

“That seems to be the lot of leaders, Joshua. Accept it when you are alone in the future, doing that which you believe is God’s will,” advised the older man.

“You and Aaron were not always looking at things from the same angle, I think.” It was Joshua, feeling more free to tell his viewpoint. “I wondered at times why you chose Aaron to be the priest to our nation.”

“That was the best that was available at the time,” Moses confided. “Whenever we can’t do as we would prefer, we need to do the best that we can. I’m sure that Aaron did not always honestly represent God when he was High Priest. His priesthood was far from perfect. There was a much more perfect priest, one who served our father, Abraham.”

“You’re talking about Melchisidec?”

“Yes. He seemed to be a type of the much greater Deliverer Who will come sometime in the future. We don’t know a lot about Melchisidec, do we?” Moses’ eyes were looking beyond the present time and circumstance, remembering the stories that they had been told about the strange Melchisidec. After a few minutes of inward thinking, Moses went on. “We have been told very little information about him. He was called the king of Salem and at the same time, he was a priest, standing between men and God. He served Father Abraham, collected tithes from Abraham, and soon was not seen again. It seems, from our teachings, that he had no father or mother and no children of his own. It is hard to fathom, the part about him being a priest forever, even up to now, I guess. He was referred to as the King of Righteousness and sometimes as the King of Peace. I wish I understood more about him.”

“So do I.”

“Still, I believe that another High Priest is coming, sort of like Melchisidec, but even better,” Moses predicted. “Maybe you will see Him, Joshua. I kept hoping that I would meet Him, but surely that is not to be. Although I have not seen this new priest and deliverer, I feel a strong feeling of attraction for Him, a feeling much like love.”

“Since you have not met the One who is after the order of Melchisidec, you felt you needed to appoint Aaron to serve?” questioned Joshua.

“It seems something like that, yes,” Moses acknowledged.

The old Israelite looked over the lands that his people would soon call home. Clearly, he would have liked to go with them and see the country and oversee the battles that surely would take place.

“Oh, Joshua, be sure that Caleb gets to choose the part of the land before the other people. You and he are the only men of any age who will enter the land,” suggested Moses.

“Surely, yes, of course.”

“Speaking about things in my past which seemed to parallel the new priest and deliverer, I think that men in the future will speak of the first Passover as significant. I think the blood of a lamb, a lamb which died with no broken bones, this blood has significance.” Moses was doing so much deep thinking, wondering how many of his thoughts were related to a coming leader, king, priest and deliverer.

“You are probably correct about that, Moses,” Joshua agreed. “Maybe other things, too, are significant. I wondered about the bronze serpent that you had us raise on a tall pole. That was to heal people who had been bitten by serpents while we traveled.”

“You’re right,” Moses smiled, his eyes showing that he was remembering those days in the distant past. People who were bitten by the serpents were dying. He felt that God wanted him to raise a pole high in the air with a bronze serpent on it. Whenever people looked at the serpent and believed in its healing power, they did not die from the snake bites. “Strange, isn’t it?”

“What are you referring to, Sir?”

“It’s strange how God told us to not make any brazen images, no pictures to try to represent God or even earthly things. Still, He told me to have the serpent cast of bronze for people to see.”

“Are you ready to depart now, Sir?” asked Joshua. “It will soon be getting dark and will be hard to find our ways back to camp.”

“In a while, not yet. Let me think a while longer and admire your new homeland.”

Some more thinking, more looking in the distance across the lands. They could see so much from this peak, rivers, meadowlands, rocks, rolling lands, even the walls of cities which may have to be conquered by Joshua and the men he would be leading.

“Can I trust you to be truthful with me, Joshua, even if I ask questions which make you uncomfortable?”

“I will try, Sir,” Joshua replied. His facial expression showed that he hoped to not become uncomfortable.

“Am I impulsive? Do I do things that I later regret?” Moses asked.

Trying to think defensively, Joshua took a while to respond. “You worked miracles, Sir. Remember when we were fighting and you had your hands in the air? As long as your hands were up, we were winning.”

“Yes, I got very tired that day,” Moses remembered. “Then, Hur helped me by holding my hands up for me. My strength was quite gone. He helped us to win when I could not do enough for myself.”

“Remember when you struck a rock with your rod and water came out? We were so thirsty at that time,” Joshua expressed.

“That is one of the reasons why I asked you if I am impulsive.” Moses looked at Joshua intently. Joshua lowered his eyes. “Sure, I struck the rock and provided water when it was really needed. Think it through, however. That even is why I am standing on this mountain now, looking at the land that I cannot live in. I hit it too hard, too often. It displeased God. He then told me that I cannot enter the Promised Land; I can only look at it from the outside.”

“You are a man, a human, Sir,” said the man who would soon lead the Israelites into the land beyond this mountain. “Humans are frail; they make mistakes. We are all nothing more than dust, dust that God chooses to use.” After Moses did not answer, Joshua added, “You and your magic stick did great things for our people, in God’s name. Recall how that rod caused the great Red Sea to open a path for us and how that same rod caused the Red Sea to come down upon the Egyptians who were chasing us, drowning great numbers of them.”

“What a day that was!” Moses smiled strongly as he recalled that event.

“Your rod became a snake, remember?”

“Yes, that rod did so much. But it was God, not the stick, that worked the miracles,” Moses recalled. “It was not all good things, at least not good for the people of Egypt.”

“True, but it was because they had hardened their hearts against God.”

“I kept telling the Pharaoh that bad things would come unless he would give us the rights that humans should have,” Moses said. “The plagues of frogs and the grasshoppers, the dust storms that caused skin problems, the water all turning to blood. Of course, the final plague was the slaying of the firstborn child in every Egyptian family. How it hurts me to remember the wails and cries of the people. Because of the pride and corruption in Pharaoh’s court, all of the Egyptian people had to suffer.”

Some time lapsed before Moses could go on. Clearly, it did not please him that the Egyptians had suffered so much.

“In the eyes of some people, I was an Egyptian myself, Joshua,” Moses sadly admitted. “Somehow, God placed me into the Pharaoh’s own family, being considered a grandson. That probably did place me into the line of people who could conceivably become a pharaoh, myself.”

“Because of being adopted by the Pharaoh’s daughter when she found you floating on the river in a basket?”

“Yes, I was raised pretty much as an Egyptian,” Moses said. “Still, my own mother nursed me since the Pharaoh’s daughter was dry. She hired my own mother to provide milk for me for a year or so. It was then that I learned some of the Israelite language although the Egyptian language seems more like my own language, even to now.”

“Your life has been a blessing to me, Moses,” encouraged Joshua. “I hope that God will be as close to me as He has been to you.”

“It’s true that I have been blessed above other men,” admitted the departing leader. “For example, I doubt that many men have ever seen God in the flesh. Adam and Eve saw Him, at least until they sinned by unbelief and rebellion. Even I have not seen His face, only his back side, and that was astonishingly bright.”

“Yes, I know about that. We had to cover your face for a while until the brightness began to fade,” laughed Joshua.

“I told you a few minutes ago that I believe that there is a Prophet, a Deliverer, a much better High Priest coming. He is the One that I love and the One Whom I want to see. Remember what I wrote in Deuteronomy 18:18. I predicted that He is coming. I don’t really know when, but He is coming. How my heart wants to see Him.”

Noticing that darkness was settling in the East, Joshua began to stress the need to return to the camp.

“I’ll tell you what, Joshua,” Moses suggested. “You go on back to camp. Prepare your helpers and make plans to enter the Promised Land. Leave me here to look over the land for some time. If God permits, I will find my way back to camp. If I don’t come, just allow the thirty days of mourning and consider that God has taken me to my own Promised Land, the land of the Great One who will come later, bigger and more powerful and more important than I am.”

With some heaviness in his heart, Joshua did as Moses suggested. Moses was never seen again. They understood that he was spending quality time with the God Whom he had served for many years and the God would take care of any details concerning his death.
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Posted By: Roger Harris - Category: No Category
   


Old-time Christian

March 31st 2008 09:13
Middle-aged Gene Akers was walking down the street with his wife, Edna, in their little town of Churubusco. Gene was a foreman in a local factory and had been working there since graduating from high school some twenty-odd years earlier. He seemed to be highly respected by both the upper echelon of the company and by the workers who reported to him each day on their jobs.

Everyone in the factory knew that Gene and his family were devout Christians. Some people may even have felt that he and his family went overboard in their Christian lives. Gene always wore a long-sleeved shirt. He did not smoke or go with any coworkers to bars after work. He was jolly, self-assured, and easy to approach. His language was measured; he usually had some clean jokes to share or witty sayings but never used any words or phrases which he felt would not be appropriate for a Christian to use.

Gene’s wife and three daughters were also quite noticeable in their plain mannerisms and mode of dress. All of them had long hair, the daughters never having had their hair cut. All of them wore dresses or skirts and blouses, considering that jeans or slacks were men’s clothing, which they believed that women should never wear. Their dresses always were worn rather long, the hems always being well below their knees. Their sleeves, as the father’s, were long, well below the elbow.

As they walked, Gene noticed that one of the workers from his department was across the street. “Hey, there,” Gene shouted toward the other man. “Darryl. Pull the wax from your ears so you can hear me.” His grin showed that he was being his usual friendly self.

Darryl glanced over and saw Gene waving to him. “Yo, Boss,” Darryl greeted as he crossed over the quiet street to pass the time of day with Gene and his wife.

Gene shook Darryl’s hand with a warm smile and introduced him to Edna. “This here’s my wife, Edna. Dear, this is my boss at the factory.” His mischievous smile showed that he was joking again.

“Now, Boss,” corrected Darryl. “You’re the boss. I’m only a peon.” Looking at Edna, he added, “I’m kinda new on the job. Gene’s my boss; he’s only kidding about me being his boss.”

With a rather quiet manner, Edna smiled slightly and answered, “I’m happy to meet you Darryl. And, yes I know. Gene’s been joking like that ever since we met many, many years ago. I understand him quite well, and I know when he’s pulling my leg.”

Darryl looked down toward Edna’s long skirt, then felt embarrassed that he’d appeared to be showing impropriety.

With a big smile, Gene came to Darryl’s rescue, not wanting him to feel embarrassed. “We’re Amish, Darryl,” he joked. He stroked his clean-shaven chin as if there were a long Amish-style beard there.

Relieved that Gene and Edna did not seem to be judging him, Darryl replied, “Aw, Gene. You’re not Amish. You don’t have a beard.”

Edna interrupted with a bigger smile, “Oh, yes. He has a beard, but he cuts it every morning. I make sure of that.”

“Can I ask you something?” It was Darryl’s question.

“Shoot,” smiled Gene. Edna’s open-faced smile revealed her agreement to being questioned.

Darryl hesitated a bit in trying to formulate his question. “If you’re not Amish, what are you? I mean, I don’t want to be offensive. Still, you’re almost as plain as the Amish are, if you know what I mean.”

Edna and Gene each added elements to their explanation to Darryl. They explained their quite exact interpretations of New Testament Scriptures, especially concerning how to dress to avoid confusion about one’s gender and how Paul had written in a Corinthian letter that women should have their heads covered with long hair as well as how people should dress modestly without the adornment of jewels.

Whether Darryl understood their point of view was not determined. To avoid the conversation being too heavy, Gene added some levity before proceeding to the shopping that he and Edna had come to town to do. “Darryl,” he said. “God has been really good to me. Just think about it; I have the biggest house in the state.”

Darryl had a rather incredulous look on his face, but he realized that Gene was about to provide a humorous punch line, as usual.

Gene continued, “God gave me a house that covers five Akers.” He put his hand on Darryl’s shoulder, waiting for Darryl to catch the point, to understand the pun.

Finally, Darryl burst out laughing, “Oh, I get it. Your name is Akers, and you have three children. That makes five people with the family name of Akers. It sounded at first like you meant to say that your house is five acres in size. That’s a good one, Gene.”

With appropriate remarks, Darryl went on about his business, and Gene Akers and Edna did their shopping before heading back to their little farm outside the Churubusco city limits.

After lunch, the three Akers girls were all home, planning to help their father buzz some wood for the burn-burning stove that they used during the winter. Gene wanted a large pile already cut to size before cold weather set in. The oldest daughter, however, had already made plans to be with her boyfriend at the mall in the big city, about 35 miles away. That left only Karen, the second daughter and Rhonda, the youngest, to help their father with the cutting of the wood.

It was a cloudy day in September, the weather not yet becoming cold in that part of the state. Gene went out to start his Massey Furguson tractor which already had the buzz saw attached to the back. Karen and Rhonda followed him out, and each sat on a fender of the little tractor, waiting for their father to drive to the wooded area of the farm.

Edna recommended, “Girls, why don’t you put your hair up in a knot while you are working around that dangerous saw. You’re both old enough to begin wearing your hair that way most of the time.”

Rhonda refused, saying, “I’m still a teenager, Mom. I like my long hair, and I like for it to be flowing so everyone can see how beautiful it is. Also, with it hanging freely, everyone will know that it has never been cut.”

“It’s your decision, Child,” Edna replied, shaking her head. “How about you, Karen? You’re over twenty years old now?”

Karen jumped off the tractor and ran inside the house, returning shortly with a bandana wrapped around her hair which was now in a tight knot on the back of her head. Edna smiled approvingly.

“Off to the slave pit!” teased Gene to his daughters. Edna watched as they rode toward the woods in the back of the farm. Then, she went in to begin preparing the meal that they would want in the late afternoon.

Within an hour, Gene rushed into the house. “Call an ambulance, quick! Rhonda’s hurt bad,” he yelled to Edna.

Edna was falling apart, not being able to make the call. Gene grabbed the phone and called for help.

In the meantime, Karen was helping Rhonda, who was making an effort to get off the tractor and into the house. Edna found enough composure to grab some towels and cover Rhonda’s bleeding head.

Rhonda had so much blood on her head and shoulders that Edna could not see exactly where the blood was coming from, but it appeared to be from her head. She noticed that there was very little hair present, but she saw that Karen had taken off the bandana that she had been wearing and had a mass of bloody hair and skin wrapped in it.

Quite soon an ambulance and paramedic were there. They rushed Rhonda to the local hospital. Edna rode in the ambulance with her teenaged daughter who was going in and out of consciousness. Gene and Karen followed in the family car.

The doctors at the hospital required several hours to work on Rhonda. While waiting, Gene and Karen explained what had happened so that Edna would understand. They explained that Gene turned off the tractor after they arrived at the wooded area. While the girls were looking for tree limbs which had already fallen and were somewhat dried, Gene fixed the buzz saw attachment to the power takeoff of the tractor so it would be ready whenever they had enough wood piled up to be cut into useable lengths for the wood-burning stove. After about an hour, Gene told the girls to stand aside while he started the tractor. He put his foot on the clutch before turning on the ignition key of his tractor. This was to keep the power takeoff disengaged. He slowly lifted his foot from the clutch to allow the saw to slowly begin rotating. Then, he increased the speed of the motor to make the saw spin fast enough to buzz the wood.

“All of this was just a normal as the sunrise,” explained Gene to his wife.

“Well, how did she get scalped, then?” was Edna’s logical question.

Karen explained, “Mom, you know Rhonda. She loves little critters. She saw this little willy worm crawling on the ground. She started bending over and following its meanderings. Before she realized it, she was really close to the back of the tractor. I think the wind blew her hair, and it blew into the whirling buzz saw. It happened so fast! In just a couple of seconds, her hair was all ripped off her head, and she was screaming in pain. Dad turned off the tractor, and we tried to help her.”

“I knew immediately that it was very serious, Dear,” said Gene. “I unhooked the power takeoff as fast as possible and drove Rhonda to the house.”

After a few hours, a doctor came to the waiting area to report that Rhonda would survive but that her scalp would never grow hair again. He said that she would need extensive medical care. They were going to keep Rhonda in the hospital for some time for medical attention as well as the emotional therapy that he was sure she would need. He told them that Rhonda was sedated, that they could see her, but that she would not be conscious for several hours.

Edna stayed all night at the hospital although she actually did not need to be there since Rhonda did not awaken until well into the next day.

Gene went to his foreman’s job the next day. Although feeling intense emotional pain, he tried to be faithful to his employer’s expectations. He took the time to report Rhonda’s accident to the owner of the factory.

“You don’t have insurance on her, Gene,” his employer reminded. “Don’t you remember that you asked us to drop the insurance for your dependants and have coverage for only you and Edna? You said that the girls will soon be on their own so you stopped their coverage.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that,” Gene answered. “That was a bad move on my part, but I made my bed so now I gotta lie in it, so to speak. The only reason I came in here was to tell you about Rhonda’s accident, not to ask for handouts.”

The next day, after spending some time with Rhonda, and after seeing a portion of the hospital and doctor’s bills, Gene did a good amount of private praying at home. When he got to the factory to begin his night shift foreman job, the factory owner called for him to come to the office.

“I’m here,” yelled Gene as he entered the office which appeared to be empty. The owner, calling from a side room, told him to be seated. In a minute or so, the owner approached Gene with a paper.

“Gene,” the factory owner began, “I’ve talked with our insurance provider about you and your daughter. We’ve agreed to add your daughter’s name to the company accident insurance policy. We will simply say that our secretary had made an accidental omission of her name when she typed the policy update.”

Gene’s normal jolly smile was gone. “Absolutely not!” he said. “I don’t have insurance on my girls now, and I won’t lie about it.”

“But Gene, the medical bills will be staggering by the time this is all over,” the owner countered. “I can save you a lot of money. Simply sign this update form, and we’ll date it for last month. Just think, you’ve been paying for medical and accident insurance for your girls for many years and never needed to use it. Now, you need it. Here, sign this paper, and I’ll do the rest.”

“I appreciate your offer,” said Gene, trying to appear jolly again. “But I can’t take it. It’s not honest, and therefore, it’s not the Christian thing to do.”

The factory owner was becoming perturbed. “Now, don’t be so obstinate, Gene. I’ve watched you for years, ever since you came here after finishing high school. I have confidence in you and your religious beliefs. However, I can’t agree that it would be against your religion to accept this help.”

“Against my religion is not the issue,” Gene replied. “Religion is not nearly as important as a relationship with Jesus Christ. That relationship is more dear to me than any religion. I intend to continue to be true to my Savior.”

“You’re too obstinate, just as stubborn as a mule,” accused the owner. “I guess that what you refer to as your ‘relationship’ is more important to you than your own daughter, too.”

“It is.” Silence followed Gene’s short statement. In a short while, Gene continued, “I love my girls. I love my job here. But I love Jesus even more than all of those combined. I can arrange to pay Rhonda’s medical bills on a monthly basis. It will probably take many years, but I can do it and keep my Savior’s smile on my life.”

Gene continued to work for the company. It took him a very long time to pay for Rhonda’s medical bills. He kept his integrity and his family and most importantly, his relationship with the Savior Whom he considers to be altogether lovely.

Gene and Edna are thankful that Rhonda was not taken from them. She wears a hairpiece now to cover the empty scalp.

Gene is still jolly and warm and positive in his outlook. He and Edna enjoy hearing their grandchildren singing in church, their long hair and long dresses and long sleeves and lack of jewels making them beautiful as they sing. One of their favorite choruses to sing is:

I’d rather be an old-time Christian than anything I know.
I’d rather be an old-time Christian with a Christian love to show.
I’m marching up the Grand Old Highway,
Singing everywhere I go.
I’d rather be an old-time Christian than anything I know.

Did Gene love Rhonda, his youngest daughter? Of course, he did. Did he love the Savior Whom he considered ‘altogether lovely’? Of course, he did.

This account is loosely based on real events in the lives of a family in the USA.



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Posted By: Roger Harris - Category: No Category
   


Jesus' Mother

March 10th 2008 00:50
Jesus' mother
Jesus' mother
Mary was sitting under a tree outside her home, which seemed unpretentious but stylish for the times. Clearly, someone had done a lot of work on the little house with some intricate carving in the wood of the door, wood sculptures of a sunrise over a lake. Mary was sorting pomegranates, throwing the less-than-perfect fruits to a piglet in a nearby sty. She stopped her humming of a familiar tune when she heard footsteps approaching the back gate of her home.

Mary looked up at the young lady who was approaching the gate. “Hello, Friend,” she began. “What’s the rush?”

The stranger stopped, eyes widening, and bowed toward Mary. “Are you Mother Mary?” she asked.

Smiling, Mary responded, “I’m not sure what you mean by the term ‘Mother Mary’. My name is Mary, and I am the mother of several children. There are other women in this village with the same name, however. Tell me more about the ‘Mary’ that you are looking for.”

“I’m looking for the mother of God,” the stranger answered. “I heard she lives here in this area, and I know that her given name is Mary.”

Laughing but being careful to not appear to be mocking the stranger standing at her back gate, Mary corrected her. “My dear friend, I don’t believe that God has a mother. He’s always existed and did not have any beginning. Therefore, I don’t see how He could have had a mother.” Walking toward the gate and opening it, Mary offered, “Please come inside and have some rest. I can offer you some grape juice that I just squeezed this morning.”

The stranger timidly entered the gate and walked toward the back door of Mary’s little house. Mary led her inside where a middle aged man was sitting on a mat.

“John, this is…Oh, I think I did not get your name, young lady,” began Mary. “Well, anyhow, my name is Mary, and this is my foster son, John.”

“I’m sorry, Mother Mary,” said the stranger. “I should have introduced myself earlier. My name is Junia. I am so elated to meet you, Mother Mary. Also, you, John.”

“What is the purpose you have for looking for someone named Mary, Junia?” asked the older woman. “Do you have a message for her, perhaps?”

“Forgive me, Mother. I should be on my knees before you. It is so improper of me to be standing in your presence,” Junia confessed.

Waving her hand in a dismissing gesture, Mary said, “Why, child? I’m just another human, just as you are. Please take a seat here beside me, and we can talk.” Looking toward John, Mary said, “Could you bring her some grape juice, Son?”

John genially replied, “Of course, Mother.” He went toward another part of the house to bring a refreshing drink for their guest.

Keeping her eyes lowered while sipping the grape juice, Junia nevertheless absorbed some of the atmosphere of the little home and the attitudes of the people who lived in it.

Mary kept the atmosphere friendly and open by making small talk while waiting for their guest to begin to open up and share the purpose of her visit. She learned that Junia had some family members in Rome and that she had been to Rome a couple of times and hoped to return there sometime to live. She learned that Junia was not yet married, a rather unusual state for a young lady in her early twenties. Still, Mary did not probe into that area of Junia’s life.

After Junia seemed less excited, Mary said, “Let me be more forthright, Junia. Am I the woman you were seeking?”

“If you are Mary, the mother of Jesus of Nazareth, I have found the person I was looking for,” Junia confided. “Is that who you are?”

“Yes, you have found me,” Mary said with a warm smile. “Everyone in this town seems to know who I am so I’m not surprised at your success in getting my attention. Now, what is your purpose here?”

Upon hearing that news, Junia fell to her knees before Mary. “Oh, Blessed Mother, I’m so unworthy to be near you.”

“I’m as unworthy as anyone on Earth can be,” corrected Mary. “I recall when a stranger came to me about thirty-seven years ago. He told me that I was going to have a child. When I told him that I was not married and not living a vulgar life style, the stranger told me that I was chosen for that very reason. He told me that he needed a clean woman, a virgin, to become the mother of a special child, the Messiah.” Mary paused, looked at Junia kneeling before her. She took Junia by the shoulders and forced her to stand. Looking into Junia’s eyes, Mary added, “When that stranger told me such news, I also felt quite unworthy. You and I are very much alike, Junia.”

John smiled in agreement when Junia glanced in his direction. “I, too, feel unworthy,” he said. “Why Jesus chose me to be among the twelve chosen disciples, and why the church chose me after Pentecost to become one of the twelve apostles, these are overwhelming thoughts to me.”

With questioning eyes, Junia looked at these two people who had shared so much time with Jesus. She finally put into words the problems she was trying to answer. “Both of you were intimately involved in His life. You both were able to talk to Him and enjoy meals with Him, to share your thoughts with him. Yet, you are both acting as if He was just someone instead of the most special person the world has ever known. How can that be? Isn’t Jesus special to you at all?”

“Absolutely, yes!” Mary resounded. “He was more than a son to me. I have other children, even other sons. Of course, I love all my children. However, God simply used me to bring Jesus into His earthly life. Therefore, Jesus is not the same as James or any of my other children. They are the offspring of me and my late husband, Joseph. Jesus was, and still is, the Son of God. Jesus did not come to Earth to be considered my son. He came to Earth to become my Savior. That’s much more important than being my son. I hope you can understand my point of view, Junia. I needed a Savior just as much as anyone else. I had sins in my life, just as everyone else has had.”

John joined in. “We are all like sheep which wondered away from the flock. We all needed someone to save us from being lost forever. Jesus came for that reason, to rescue all humanity from our sinful tendencies. He came to be our Savior. That’s much more than being our friend.”

Junia asked, “Wasn’t He your friend, John?”

“Certainly. He was and still is my very best friend,” John responded. “But I’m not talking about the many hours we spent together during his short three year ministry. I’m referring to the daily walk together that we still have. I and Jesus spend a lot of time together, even now that He is no longer physically present.”

Mary was trying to understand the viewpoint of Junia, her visitor. Was she wanting to find a person to worship, someone here on Earth? Was she already a follower of the Christian way? She ventured some questioning to try to discover answers.

“May I ask you something, Junia?” Mary began.

“Of course, Holy Mother. You can ask me anything,” Junia obligingly answered.

“First of all, please refrain from using that term with me, the term about Holy Mother. It does not fit me at all.” Mary reprimanded while Junia’s eyes lowered in contrition. “May I ask where you came from, just before you came here?”

“Antioch, Hol……er….um .. Mary.”

“So you are quite aware of the term ‘Christian’, correct?” asked Mary.

“Yes, it’s a rather new word but becoming common in Antioch,” Junia replied.

“Of course, the believers in Jesus had been referred to as ‘Christians’ in Antioch first. Now, the term is becoming more common all over Asia,” Mary added. “Now, does the term ‘Christian’ seem to describe you, Junia?”

“Uh, I think so, Mary. I want to be one of them.”

John entered the conversation. “I think you are honest about wanting to be a Christian. However, it’s possible that you have some kind of incorrect ideas about it. Try to see the Christian life as spiritual more than physical or material.”

“Well, all right,” she tried to agree. “Still, we are living in a material and physical world. That being true, we sometimes have material or physical problems to deal with.”

Eyes brightening with sudden understanding, Mary guessed, “That’s why you are here, isn’t it? You want some kind of material or physical problem solved.”

Junia would not look into the face of Mary. She confessed, “I came to find the mother of God. I have found that you are that person. I came to beg for you to ask your Son to do something for me, not exactly for me, but for my sister.”

Mary became a bit more stern upon hearing this. “Junia, I learned a lesson several years ago. It’s a lesson about trying to manipulate Jesus. I vowed within myself to never try to do that again.”

John asked Mary, “Is that when we all were invited to a wedding in Cana?”

“That’s right, John,” Mary answered. “See, I was invited to this marriage feast. Also, Jesus and most of His disciples were also invited. When we got there, the father of the bride came to me to report that they were out of drinks for the wedding guests. He wanted me to ask Jesus to make some miracle happen so that they would not be embarrassed at being so poorly prepared for the feast.”

John looked toward Junia, saying, “See, this is a material need, a shortage of drinks.”

Junia nodded agreement and listened as Mary continued. “I came to Jesus to tell Him about the problem of shortage of drinks.” Looking upward as if trying to recall the expression that Jesus had on His face at that time, Mary finally continued, “I will never forget the way that Jesus looked at me when I asked Him for a miracle. Also, His words reprimanded me strongly. Clearly, He was very displeased that I would be so bold as to use my position as His earthly mother to try to manipulate Him.”

There was silence, unpleasant and awkward silence, for a few minutes.

Junia finally broke the silence. “How can I get the message to Jesus that my sister seems to be dying? If I understand the point of your last statement, you will not ask Him for a miracle for my sister.”

“That’s true,” agreed Mary. “I will never again try to be a go-between for someone wanting something from Him. Actually, I am sure that Jesus sees me now as other women. I feel sure that He does not see me as the “Mother of God” as some sects seem to think of me. I need a Savior just as much as anyone else. I have no clout, no special power to influence God. I’m another woman that Jesus came to Earth to save from sin.”

John tried to soften the message a bit. “I suspect that you came here to ask Mary to ask her Son to do this miracle for your sister. I suspect that you expected Jesus to yield to whatever Mary would ask. You need to view the relationship between Mary and Jesus in a different light. God intended Mary to be a vessel that He would use to give Jesus an entrance into human life. God did not intend for Mary to have any special powers or any special influence in God’s plan for mankind by becoming a high priestess.”

“Exactly!” Mary chimed in. “I’m not a priest. Now that Jesus died on the cross and rose again, He is our priest. You must come to God yourself concerning your requests.”

“All right, I will do that, pray to God myself instead of trying to use Mary, the mother of Jesus, for leverage,” Junia promised.

“Bless your heart,” consoled Mary, giving Junia a hug.

“Could I ask you one more thing, Mary?” Junia timidly asked.

“Of course.”

“What did He look like, your son, Jesus? Was He the most handsome man around?”<