I know. Utterly surprising. But really, my site has been in a constant state of red alert for the last year, being the victim of several sql injections into my database with the wp-stats trojan, which is easily blocked by any malware detection tool on a computer but unfortunately, renders my site flagged by google. This means that anytime folk come to visit my site (especially on Firefox) they see a big sign (on Firefox 3 it’s huge and red) warning them that my site is a supporter of viruses.
Memorial Day 2008
As we grill or enjoy the sun or just sit down and do nothing, just remember to be grateful for the country we live in, the cost of the people who fought to ensure freedoms we enjoy today and look further back at a God who paid the ultimate price so that people could be eternally free. That’s the real memorial right there. Enjoy.
Two expressive hands, punctuating sentences with either callous, dismissive waves or dour, exasperated shrugs. That’s what I remember about my recent exchanges with friends of mine. Somehow the conversation turns to the benefits of this preached sermon or a visit to a recent church and of their own volition, like lawyers in court shouting “objection!”, my hands are up and waving.
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.”
Thomas’ Lonely Week: 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.
“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.”