At the gate

Maybe Uncle Eli had dropped him a little roughly today but Samuel was always glad that someone carried him to the gate. He settled himself into his familiar spot, anxious for his day to begin.

Behind him, the doors of the gate rose majestically. It took several men to push wide the gigantic gates and Samuel always marveled at the ornate bronze plating illuminating the wood. These were beautiful gates and he knew that many people would soon be making their way through them into the temple.

Samuel had never seen inner part of the temple, although he often tried to imagine it. He’d understood all his life that he’d never go in. His legs were crippled at birth, making him unclean. He could never enter the temple to worship. His focus was always to learn his trade well.

“Alms!” he cried out suddenly as a cluster of people approached. Jews, he knew, were encouraged to give to the poor as part of their worship. And he heard the sound of coins clattering into his basket.

The sun was shining brightly, warming Samuel. He pushed his limp legs out to make his uncleanness even more evident.

He saw two men approaching the gate. “Alms for the poor!” he called out.

Then he heard a strong voice: “Look at us.” Samuel was confused, for he knew his uncleanness was repulsive to most. The people ignored him, tossing in a coin to meet their worship duty, before marching into the temple courts. He had learned to keep his eyes down.

“We have no gold or silver,” the man said to him. Samuel glanced at the second man and then back to the first. Why was this man addressing Samuel if he had no alms?

“But what I have, I give to you.” He strode to Samuel’s side and extended his hand. When Samuel gripped his hand, the man lifted him to his feet. “In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.”

Fear shook Samuel but then he realized that he was standing. His legs were no longer weak. He took a step.

“What…” Samuel couldn’t speak for a moment. And then the reality of these muscular legs filled him. He tested them. He walked, ran, jumped. They worked.

But suddenly a greater reality hit him. He could enter the temple now. He was no longer unclean.

Walking and leaping and praising God, he joined the two men in the temple to worship.

He didn’t understand fully, but he knew that this Jesus Christ had removed his uncleanness so that he could go into the presence of God.

For Samuel, the worship had only begun.

Weather complaints?

Truly, then, God governs inanimate matter. Earth and air, fire and water, hail and snow, stormy winds and angry seas, all perform the word of His power and fulfill His Sovereign pleasure. Therefore, when we complain about the weather we are, in reality, murmuring against God.

-Arthur Pink, The Sovereignty of God

Guilty as charged - and now repentant.

Worst of times?

The present time always seems like the worst of times, just like some time in the past always seems like the best.

But these times do seem tough for those of us coddled by entertainment and ease, because we smell rain in the air. Change is coming.

How do we respond? Some would look for an escape route - figuratively for some, literally for others. Tough times can trigger flight.

But a writer, in the midst of a rough time, asked, "how can you say to me, 'flee like a bird to the mountains'?" Advice is usually free in all times, and the enemy seemed poised to overwhelm.

More advice: "if the foundations are destroyed, what can the righteous do?" (Ps 11:3)

But our writer was not so easily swayed. He didn't believe all was lost. "The Lord is in his holy temple," he declared. "The Lord's throne is in heaven....his soul hates the lover of violence." (Ps 11:4)

Faced with a "run for the hills" plan, the writer said, "In the Lord I take refuge."

Nothing had changed, as the writer knew. The Lord still sat on his throne and knew the works of people. He still tested the righteous and the wicked. He still offered a scorching wind to the evil.

These are the worst of times. And the best of times, for God is still on his throne.

In the Lord I take refuge (Ps. 11:1)