Watching

This past week I read the book “1984” by George Orwell. If you have ever read it, you know about the ‘telescreens’. These television-like objects see into the homes of the owners and plays only government propaganda. I thought the telescreens were quite an interesting object in the story, considering it was written in the early
1900’s, and began reflecting on what that would be like in today’s world.

Well, I hate to say it, but we actually have propaganda spewed into our homes every time we turn on our modern-day televisions.

Think back to the commercials and shows that you have watched this past week. My family does not make a habit of watching TV, except to watch a game show every now and then. Although those shows are not harmful in and of themselves, the commercials we see in between contain enough sex, drugs, and lies to indoctrinate us immediately. (This is why my family is constantly talking about the humanist and evil influence on today’s world. We HAVE to be able to recognize it when we hear it!) Have the shows you’ve seen had a lot of immorality and humanist ideas?

At first you might say no, but if you take a closer look, I can guarantee that you have seen something that is a lie. It might be that a character in your drama was immoral with several different men. This allows the watcher to think that it is okay, and that sex should not be saved only for marriage. Or maybe a character committed suicide, allowing the watcher to think that life is not a precious gift. Or maybe a husband and wife got a divorce shortly after getting married, conveying that marriage is not meant to be forever.

These ideas are not displayed only through the shows but in the commercials, as well. You absolutely MUST be on your guard at all times so that you are not brainwashed into thinking that these things are okay. Not only should you make sure to recognize the untruths displayed on television, but you should seriously consider which shows you watch and which are simply too inappropriate or humanistic to waste your time on.

99% of American homes own a television. I don’t know if this statistic shocks you, but to me it seemed unbelievable. If all Christians got rid of their televisions and watched only what was appropriate and praiseworthy, imagine the effect it would make.

I’m not saying everyone should simply throw their TV’s out the window, but it is something to seriously consider. A lot of evil and humanistic thought comes from the influence of television, and I’m not sure that the pros outweigh the cons (are there any pro’s?).

Please consider what you are watching…because you never know what might slip into your brain when you are not paying attention to what God wants you to hear, think, and see.

“Blessed is the man who listens to me, watching daily at my doors, waiting at my doorway.” Proverbs 8:34.

Risen Indeed!

(This is continued from Friday’s post on the death and crucifixion of Jesus. It is still from Mary’s perspective. Have a very Happy Easter, and remember that CHRIST IS RISEN!)

I walked around as if I had died, too. When my son gave up his spirit on the cruel, ugly cross, something perished within me. I cried out to God all day long, but was beginning to feel numb to His whispers. How could God have killed His only son? Surely there was no plan in this horrible deed!

He was dead for three days before I finally decided to visit the tomb. I simply could not bear the pain and suffering it would bring. My friend Mary Magdalene let me lean on her on the way there. She, also, was a follower of Jesus, and was much grieved by his death.

We finally got to the tomb, and I fell on my knees in despair. The ground began shaking, and I was sure it was punishment for being angry with God. However, Mary Magdalene felt it, too, her eyes wide with fear. I tried to stand up, but was knocked back down. What could this be? And earthquake, perhaps?

And then the stone that covered the tomb of my beloved son rolled away. Mary Magdalene and I both shrieked in confusion and burst through the small opening into my son’s grave room.

It was empty.

I cried out in despair, thinking that someone must have taken his body. Who could be so callous as to do something so cruel? And then I heard a voice that was quietly calling my name.

“DO NOT BE AFRAID!” the man, an angel of God, boomed. Those words brought a flood of memories back to me. Those were the first words I heard from an angel when he told me that I would bear the son of God.

Immediately, my trembling stopped. I knew that this brightly shining man was from God and had brought us good news!

“I KNOW YOU ARE LOOKING FOR JESUS, WHO WAS CRUCIFIED. HE IS NOT HERE! HE HAS BEEN RAISED FROM THE DEAD, JUST AS HE SAID WOULD HAPPEN. COME SEE WHERE HIS BODY WAS LYING, THEN GO QUICKLY AND TELL HIS DISCIPLES THAT HE IS GOING AHEAD TO GALILEE!” the angel said.

Excitement and hope, two feelings I had not felt for three days, began beating within my heart. My friend and I took one last look at the tomb, then began running toward the town, our feet nearly flying.

Before we got there, however, a man stepped out into the path, blocking our way. We skidded to a halt, and soon realized that the man was Jesus, my son! Joy sang from my heart, and I ran to hug him. He took me in his arms, and reassured me that all would be well. Then he said, “Go. Spread the news to all the earth!” Mary Magdalene and I heeded his words and once again began our journey of joy.

“He is RISEN! He is RISEN! Jesus is ALIVE!” I cried. The people in the street all stopped to stare, and many of them joined me on my delivery of the greatest news ever to be known to people. Shouting, dancing, and singing began, making the atmosphere seem almost like a party or holiday of some kind. People all around began clapping and shouting for joy, just as I had upon seeing my son.

Forty days passed in which I could not stop smiling and singing for joy. But on that fortieth day, I woke up knowing that something bittersweet was about to happen. I walked out of my house, and headed for the place where I knew Jesus would be meeting his disciples.

When I got there, a large crowd was gathered and was walking behind Jesus, who was leading them to Bethany. I did not know exactly what was happening, so I followed.
I somehow worked my way up beside Jesus, and he gave me one last loving look that I would not forget for the rest of my life. I smiled at him, and let myself fall back into the crowd once more.

When we reached Bethany, Jesus raised his hands and began blessing the crowd. A silence had fallen over the crowd, and I was able to hear every word Jesus spoke. Then the crowd began worshiping my son with song and dance, and Jesus began rising up into the air.

He was ascending into heaven to be with his Heavenly Father.

As my son began to disappear into the clouds, my heart did not become burdened, but happy, for I knew that no one could hurt my Jesus any longer.

For he was in heaven with his Father who truly did have a plan for the crucifixion.

The Sacrifice

(In remembrance of Good Friday, I wrote this post from Mary’s perspective as she is gazing on the cross. Most of it is embellished from how I think she must have felt, but it is the true story of God’s only son’s crucifixion.)

I was taking a walk in the beautiful sunshine when I heard it. The cry came from not one person, but many! A steady wailing came from several streets over, and I ran to see what could have happened. Thoughts flashed through my head faster than I could interpret them: Had someone died? Was there a stoning going on? Neither events were uncommon, but I was afraid all the same.

“Mary! Have you not heard? Were you not there?” my friend Ada asked. I looked at her in puzzlement and her eyes got wide and fearful. “Oh, Mary…it’s Jesus. He’s been arrested,” Ada cried.

Those words alone were enough to knock me to my knees. I had known something would happen to my son, the only son of God, but I had prayed that nothing would. From the crowd’s murmurings, I gathered that Jesus had already been tried before the Sanhedrin, and they had passed him off to Pontius Pilate, the governor.

I followed the crowd, not knowing if I was walking or running, my heart beating wildly. I caught a glimpse of my son, and saw that he was heavily burdened and in pain. My heart broke for him, wondering if he knew exactly what was going to happen. We got to the place where Pilate was, and Jesus was put before him. My heart beat in time to the words, “Please, God. Please, God,” and I could think of nothing else.

“Are the things these people say about you true? Are you the king of the Jews?” Pilate asked. Jesus replied that he was and Pilate looked at him in bewilderment. Then Pilate shouted, “It is Passover, the time where I release one prisoner. Which do you want? Jesus or the murderous Barabbas? Who shall I turn over to you?”

The crowd thundered and screamed, “WE WANT BARABBAS!” My heart sank to my knees. I knew what would come. Surely my son would be thrown in prison for life.

“And what should I do with this man called Christ?” Pilate asked, looking fearful of their answer. “CRUCIFY HIM!” the crowd shouted.

Time seemed to slow to a stop all around me. A crucifixion? They wanted to crucify my son, God’s son? No! That could not be what they said…they were only going to throw him in prison, right? The sound became deafening in my ears, and I realized that the crowd was serious about my son’s crucifixion. Did they not see that he was the son of God?

Pilate brought out a bowl of water and washed his hands, signifying that he had nothing to do with Jesus’ death. I couldn’t believe how cowardly he was being! Perhaps he had no power over the raucous crowd, but to kill an innocent man? That was too far!

Jesus was then made to walk to the place where he would pick up his cross. The soldiers beat and mocked him, leaving scars on his face and back. My perfect child was being brutally mocked, and the crowd was letting him? Except for the few hundred people who were sobbing over the coming death of Jesus, the rest of the city was allowing the only Son of God to be killed.

My son was so weak he could not carry his cross. A friend had to help him, and I was eternally grateful for the burden of it being taken from my son. Every step he took was determined, but sad. I could see in his eyes the great pain he was bearing, and not from any physical source.

Every step I took led me closer to the cross. Every breath brought me one step closer to seeing my son die. I could not take it anymore. I had to talk to my son. I ran ahead of the crowd, pushing and shoving my way through. I got up to where Jesus was, although a few feet away, and I cried, “Jesus!”

He looked at me, and somehow seeing his determination brought me a peace and calm that transcended my soul. He nodded at me that he was not doing something against his will, and I breathed the words, “I love you,” in his direction. A small smile lifted his lips, but it came from sorrow rather than happiness.

Once more, the crowd swept me away, bringing me closer to the moment I dreaded most. Nothing could compare to seeing my son die…nothing at all. Not the moment when I found out I was pregnant by an angel, not the moment when I told my fiancé and parents, not the moment when I gave birth to the Christ-child.

The nails were driven into his hands and feet with three resounding pounds. My heart broke with each one as I watched tears flow down my son’s cheeks. “God,” I whispered, “I do not know what you are doing!” Anger and pain flowed over me, but a whisper came from the God I loved: “I am with you, daughter.” The anger eased, though the pain tripled, as my son was hoisted above the ground.

A mocking sign over my son’s head read, “THIS IS JESUS, THE KING OF THE JEWS.” Oh, how I wanted to rip it down and stomp on it! They did not believe it, it was only sarcasm. Then a cry came from my son.

“My God, my God! Why have you forsaken me?” Jesus cried.

I began sobbing at those words. The hopeless, confused words of the son of God. The one who was being crucified unfairly by people who had no idea who he was.

Then Jesus cried, “It is finished!” and let his head drop one last time. He was gone.

I stayed many hours at the foot of the cross, crying and asking God why this had happened. My heart was full of misery and sorrow, and I knew I would never forget the day that the son of God died on a cross.

Did God have a plan? Was He even there? Once more whispers in my heart soothed my spirit, and I knew for certain that God had a plan.