(Author’s Note: I have personally learned a great deal from allegories through the years, and often use them when teaching my Sunday school class. As part of my journey through Lent, I felt moved to put one down in writing.)
As you walk into the great dining hall you are amazed.
The magnificent hall seems to go on forever.
For all you know it might, for you cannot see the end of it.
The table is equally spectacular.
It, too, seems to go on forever.
The end of it, like the hall, simply disappears from view.
"There is an empty seat over here," you hear someone say.
You look upon the speaker, one of a vast multitude seated at the table, as they point out an empty chair next to them.
You walk over, thank them, and take your seat.
You look up and down the table and spot some very familiar faces, but you seem to know everyone you can see somehow.
Before you can ask yourself how it is that you know everyone here, a plate is set before you.
You are amazed by the meal placed before you.
Others are already enjoying their meal.
The meal in front of you looks so inviting that you simply must taste it.
This is without doubt the best meal you have ever had.
In time, you and the others finish and you are overwhelmed by a new sensation.
Complete and total satisfaction.
Never before have you ever felt this satisfied.
As you are about to discuss this with the one who offered you your seat, you notice someone come into the hall.
As he nears, you realize two things.
First, this man is the head waiter.
Second, he carries with him the bill for the entire meal.
This is something you certainly had not counted on.
The waiter is getting uncomfortably close to you.
Discomfort turns to something akin to panic when he stops at your seat and places the bill alongside your now empty plate.
What to do?
You certainly could not afford such a meal for yourself. let alone everyone else in the great hall.
Soon, it appears that all eyes are on you.
As you try to think of a way to explain your inability to pay you realize that it is not you they are looking at.
They are looking behind you.
You turn in your seat and look up into the kindest face you have ever seen.
The individual with the kind face looks at you knowingly and smiles.
He reaches for the bill and that is when you see the nail scarred hand.
As He picks up the bill, you turn to face Him again.
You want to say something, but mere words are not enough.
He places His other hand reassuringly on your shoulder.
It, like the other, is nail scarred.
He smiles and says, "It’s okay. You see, My Father wanted Me to pay for everyone that you see here. That means He wanted me to pay for you too."
Words cannot express the gratitude you feel to this man with the kind face, the warm smile, and the nail scarred hands,
The seeds of this allegory were planted years ago when I read of David’s act of kindness to a crippled Mephibosheth.
2 Samuel 9:13 (NET) - Mephibosheth was living in Jerusalem, for he was a regular guest at the king’s table. But both his feet were crippled.
David performed this act of kindness for the sake of Mephibosheth’s father, Jonathan.
Mephibosheth was crippled by a fall as a child, yet David made sure he had a place at the king’s table.
We are crippled from a different kind of fall.
One that goes back to Eden.
As we continue on our journey through Lent, let us be mindful of the kindness Jesus showed us as He obeyed His Father’s will to the cross and beyond.
We cannot earn salvation.
Neither do we deserve it.
Someone had to pay the price we could never hope to pay.
As the hymn reminds us, "Jesus Paid It All!"
Blessings,
Jim Pokorny
The Other Brother Jim
Look for me at http://faithfulfeetteam.blogspot.com/ on Friday, March 1, 2013.
Please enjoy the contributions of my fellow Christian bloggers while you are there!
I’ll be back here on Friday, March 8, 2013.
Schedule subject to change.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Thoughts of Home
A few weekends ago, I was in my old neighborhood.
As I drove through it, I noticed thick black clouds of smoke billowing into the sky.
Authorities redirected traffic so I was not able to get too near the source, but it was obvious that either a house or a business was going up in flames.
The winds were high that day, so I knew that there was not much hope in saving the structure.
As traffic was being diverted from the scene, I offered up a prayer for both the safety of the occupants and the firefighters.
About a week later, I found myself in the area again, and decided to drive past the site where the inferno took place.
A very strange feeling overtook me when I saw the remains of that house.
It was not just any house.
That house was my boyhood home.
I spent my first and most formative years in that house.
Although that was several decades ago, a flood of very vivid memories returned to me.
I remembered the floral wallpaper in the living room.
I remembered how the floor in that room leaned just enough so I could stack all but one of my wooden blocks.
Try as I might, I could never get that final block in its place on top of the stack.
Time and again the tower I created would tip over with that final block and come crashing to the floor (I was a rather persistent child).
I remembered the old black and white television in the corner that picked up the only three channels that were available.
I remembered the huge sink in which Mother or sometimes my grandmother would bathe me when I was very, very small.
I remembered the sandbox Father built for me on the back porch.
I remembered the large dining room table where my parents and I would share a meal and play games.
I remembered my bedroom where my parents taught me how to pray at the close of my day.
Then there was my favorite memory of all.
On one of those very rare occasions that it snowed, I remember Mother opening all of the curtains in the dining room for me.
As this was my first snowfall, she did this just for me so that I could watch the snow as it gently fell blanketing everything in white.
I remembered staring out of each one of those windows in turn completely mesmerized by that sight.
These were but some of my memories from that home all those decades ago.
All that physically remains now is the badly charred frame of what was a very old house.
But, there still remains something of a wonderful home forever preserved in some very old and very precious memories.
Memories that I will carry with me always.
There is indeed a difference between a house and a home.
A house is a but structure designed to provide shelter.
A home is where you live... really live.
As I considered that, scripture came to mind.
A house, like any other possession is temporary.
Matthew 6:19-20 (NET) - "Do not accumulate for yourselves treasure on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal. But accumulate for yourselves treasures in heaven , where moth and rust do not destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal."
A house, even that which we consider home, is a necessity while we are here, but our real home awaits us in heaven.
Philippians 3:20 (NET) - But our citizenship is in heaven - and we also await a savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ,...
Unlike the houses we live in here, our home in heaven will be permanent.
It will be moth proof, rust proof and yes, even fire proof.
I guess some old sayings have at least some truth in them.
Home is where the heart is.
We just need to make certain that our hearts are in the right place.
Jesus can help us with that if we will but let him.
Blessings,
Jim Pokorny
The Other Brother Jim
Look for me at http://faithfulfeetteam.blogspot.com/ on Friday, February 15, 2013.
Please enjoy the contributions of my fellow Christian bloggers while you are there!
I’ll be back here on Friday, February 22, 2013.
Schedule subject to change.
As I drove through it, I noticed thick black clouds of smoke billowing into the sky.
Authorities redirected traffic so I was not able to get too near the source, but it was obvious that either a house or a business was going up in flames.
The winds were high that day, so I knew that there was not much hope in saving the structure.
As traffic was being diverted from the scene, I offered up a prayer for both the safety of the occupants and the firefighters.
About a week later, I found myself in the area again, and decided to drive past the site where the inferno took place.
A very strange feeling overtook me when I saw the remains of that house.
It was not just any house.
That house was my boyhood home.
I spent my first and most formative years in that house.
Although that was several decades ago, a flood of very vivid memories returned to me.
I remembered the floral wallpaper in the living room.
I remembered how the floor in that room leaned just enough so I could stack all but one of my wooden blocks.
Try as I might, I could never get that final block in its place on top of the stack.
Time and again the tower I created would tip over with that final block and come crashing to the floor (I was a rather persistent child).
I remembered the old black and white television in the corner that picked up the only three channels that were available.
I remembered the huge sink in which Mother or sometimes my grandmother would bathe me when I was very, very small.
I remembered the sandbox Father built for me on the back porch.
I remembered the large dining room table where my parents and I would share a meal and play games.
I remembered my bedroom where my parents taught me how to pray at the close of my day.
Then there was my favorite memory of all.
On one of those very rare occasions that it snowed, I remember Mother opening all of the curtains in the dining room for me.
As this was my first snowfall, she did this just for me so that I could watch the snow as it gently fell blanketing everything in white.
I remembered staring out of each one of those windows in turn completely mesmerized by that sight.
These were but some of my memories from that home all those decades ago.
All that physically remains now is the badly charred frame of what was a very old house.
But, there still remains something of a wonderful home forever preserved in some very old and very precious memories.
Memories that I will carry with me always.
There is indeed a difference between a house and a home.
A house is a but structure designed to provide shelter.
A home is where you live... really live.
As I considered that, scripture came to mind.
A house, like any other possession is temporary.
Matthew 6:19-20 (NET) - "Do not accumulate for yourselves treasure on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal. But accumulate for yourselves treasures in heaven , where moth and rust do not destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal."
A house, even that which we consider home, is a necessity while we are here, but our real home awaits us in heaven.
Philippians 3:20 (NET) - But our citizenship is in heaven - and we also await a savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ,...
Unlike the houses we live in here, our home in heaven will be permanent.
It will be moth proof, rust proof and yes, even fire proof.
I guess some old sayings have at least some truth in them.
Home is where the heart is.
We just need to make certain that our hearts are in the right place.
Jesus can help us with that if we will but let him.
Blessings,
Jim Pokorny
The Other Brother Jim
Look for me at http://faithfulfeetteam.blogspot.com/ on Friday, February 15, 2013.
Please enjoy the contributions of my fellow Christian bloggers while you are there!
I’ll be back here on Friday, February 22, 2013.
Schedule subject to change.
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