Category: history

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blogspotting church eschatology history spirit

Pentecost In A New Key by Phil James

She could see the threatening glow gathering above the flat horizon in the East. The Hammer was rising.

Everyone else in the village had hidden themselves away- just as The Boundaries stipulated. The young mother was trying, but raising two young children alone was not easy, and getting them to move without violating the writings seemed impossible. They were always in danger of transgressing, and so, often in danger of dying. Every morning’s Heatrise was one of those times.

“Come on. Come on… but don’t hurry. Don’t….,” her voice grew loud in exasperation, but she caught herself and glanced around. Little children wanted to run. It seemed a perverse joke to give them desires that would only kill them.

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apologetics history religion rey's a point

Based on a True Story

A good introduction is like a good pair of shoes: when it fits it’ll go a long way. On the big screen, right after the title credits you see that line and automatically you start expecting historical fiction. Oh you’ll easily acknowledge what parts are fact (like the Revolution, or the signing of documents) and which parts are fiction (the messy love triangle maybe) but in the end you come out thinking you’ve actually seen a bit of history, Hollywood style. Well, maybe we’re not all that naïve-but do we ever go back and research the facts from the false?

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christ history personal

Thomas’ Lonely Week: Eighth Day

Sunday. The Eighth Day.

The door opens and Thomas enters in, the small hot room is filled with men. The meal is being set out on the table. John is wearing a towel, finishing washing Matthew’s feet. Matthew is weeping but there’s no sadness in the tears.

“Look who’s here!” Andrew shouting. Thomas waves as Andrew locks the door behind him.

“Tom” Peter bellows while Thomas says “Hey Pete”

“Tommy!” Phil shouts.

“Hey, you’re here!” John, rising from the floor coming over with bucket in hand. Thomas and Andrew walk towards the group.

“Guys, I’m only here for a little bit but I gotta’ tell you–“

“Shalom. Shalom be with you.” The voice comes to the right shoulder of Thomas. The door is still closed, the lockbar still in place.

Silence. The disciples are transfixed over Thomas’ shoulder and he doesn’t breathe as He closes his eyes and slowly turns around.

“Tom. Come over here with your finger and see My hands. Why don’t you also put your hand here, in My side. Stop doubting but believe.”

Thomas doesn’t move; he barely looks at the very real evidence of the risen Jesus. He stares at his eyes and his long, lonely week slam into him bringing him to his knees, knocking him down to understand and confess.

“You are the Lord Messiah–but more, you are my Lord Master. You are my Lord God. My Lord and My God.”

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christ history personal

Thomas’ Lonely Week: Saturday

Saturday.

The sun is shining brightly. We are outside of the house, looking in through the open window seeing Thomas standing at the open door. The table is no longer turned over. The stain on the wall is cleaned. Thomas’ personal effects lay neatly on the table, next to his satchel. We can’t hear the soft voice of the person Thomas is speaking with.

“No, I will not come Sabbath: the High Priest may still be looking for us. I will be leaving on tomorrow evening. They’re still in Jerusalem you say? Well, I’ll see them there then.

A pause.

“I have some words for them: even if He really isn’t alive the signs He did, the words He said, the authority He gave us: all those things are too much for a mere man. I still don’t think they’re specifically right about His being back that would imply–well, its not even worth thinking about that.”

A longer pause.

“Yes, yes, I know: I’m not doubting you. I’m saying that when people hope so much, anything is possible but, let’s not argue. I think I understand some things about Him now that I didn’t have a clue about when He was still alive.

“He knew, Martha! He planned it! I intend to tell them this.”

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christ history personal

Thomas’ Lonely Week: Friday

Friday.

Knocking on the heavy wooden door. No one is answering. Martha says something about the Disciples still being in Jerusalem and now we can see her walking away, sadly looking over her shoulder.

The table is still turned over. The pillows are still in disarray. A smear of dried liquid is on the wall. On the floor, staring up at the ceiling with tired yet active eyes is Thomas.

He raises his hands to his face, turns them upwards, then turns the palms back to himself.

“These hands performed miracles.” He squints at the dirty fingernails and the calluses “These hands cast out demons and yet they have no power.”

He sits up and continues to examine his hands then touches his lips “This mouth preached the Kingdom of God to the Jews and even” he smiles “the Samaritans. These lips.

“And yet they have no knowledge on their own.”

He reaches down to his feet, rubs the calluses and shakes his head “These feet walked about, preaching His Gospel and yet they have no reason to walk about if not for that Gospel.

Thomas’ head shoots up “We did all this because He was the one who told us to. We had no power, He gave it to us. We had no message, it was His words. We had no hope, it was all in Him.”

He smiles.