Black Saturday

Jesus died. Hope is gone. They thought he was the one who would free them from Roman domination but he died just like all the others who had tried and failed. What now? They'd been connected to him for three years. Would they too be crucified? Hope died yesterday, buried in the rubble of the earthquake that eerily shook the earth  with his last breath and covered the sun with the debris of their dreams. Never again! I will never dream again. Dad was right. Trust the known. You are a fisherman, son. Who do you think you are? A hero? No Dad, I am a fisherman. Why would God pull an ordinary man like me from his family business---yes, I said ordinary---too stupid in the Torah to move beyond the basics of schooling to follow a messiah against the elite of our religion and the dominion of Rome. Who did I think I was? Jesus, Jesus, why did you have to die? I will never dream again.

That is how I feel about ministry today. Who do I think I am---going to school to become a theologian, a pastor? Me, when at my age I should be shopping for a rocking chair. There have been so many negative voices lately asking me to rethink my life. The difference, however, between me and the disciples on that first Black Saturday two millennia ago is that I KNOW my Redeemer lives. And that Jesus is King over all. At His command chaos becomes order. Death becomes life. Hope springs eternal. And so I wait with expectation for tomorrow to arrive.

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