Where Justice, Love, and Mercy Meet
Without safety ropes, harnesses, or climbing gear of any kind, two brothers—Jimmy, age 14, and John, age 19 (though those aren’t their real names)—attempted to scale a sheer canyon wall in Snow Canyon State Park in my native southern Utah. Near the top of their laborious climb, they discovered that a protruding ledge denied them their final few feet of ascent. They could not get over it, but neither could they now retreat from it. They were stranded. After careful maneuvering, John found enough footing to boost his younger brother to safety on top of the ledge. But there was no way to lift himself. The more he strained to find finger or foot leverage, the more his muscles began to cramp. Panic started to sweep over him, and he began to fear for his life.
Unable to hold on much longer, John decided his only option was to try to jump vertically in an effort to grab the top of the overhanging ledge. If successful, he might, by his considerable arm strength, pull himself to safety.
In his own words, he said:
“Prior to my jump I told Jimmy to go search for a tree branch strong enough to extend down to me, although I knew there was nothing of the kind on this rocky summit. It was only a desperate ruse. If my jump failed, the least I could do was make certain my little brother did not see me falling to my death.
“Giving him enough time to be out of sight, I said my last prayer—that I wanted my family to know I loved them and that Jimmy could make it home safely on his own—then I leapt. There was enough adrenaline in my spring that the jump extended my arms above the ledge almost to my elbows. But as I slapped my hands down on the surface, I felt nothing but loose sand on flat stone. I can still remember the gritty sensation of hanging there with nothing to hold on to—no lip, no ridge, nothing to grab or grasp. I felt my fingers begin to recede slowly over the sandy surface. I knew my life was over.
“But then suddenly, like a lightning strike in a summer storm, two hands shot out from somewhere above the edge of the cliff, grabbing my wrists with a strength and determination that belied their size. My faithful little brother had not gone looking for any fictitious tree branch. Guessing exactly what I was planning to do, he had never moved an inch. He had simply waited—silently, almost breathlessly—knowing full well I would be foolish enough to try to make that jump. When I did, he grabbed me, held me, and refused to let me fall. Those strong brotherly arms saved my life that day as I dangled helplessly above what would surely have been certain death.”1
...What a plight! The entire human race in free fall—every man, woman, and child in it physically tumbling toward permanent death, spiritually plunging toward eternal anguish. Is that what life was meant to be? Is this the grand finale of the human experience? Are we all just hanging in a cold canyon somewhere in an indifferent universe, each of us searching for a toehold, each of us seeking for something to grip—with nothing but the feeling of sand sliding under our fingers, nothing to save us, nothing to hold on to, much less anything to hold on to us? Is our only purpose in life an empty existential exercise—simply to leap as high as we can, hang on for our prescribed three score years and ten, then fail and fall, and keep falling forever?
So today we celebrate the gift of victory over every fall we have ever experienced, every sorrow we have ever known, every discouragement we have ever had, every fear we have ever faced—to say nothing of our resurrection from death and forgiveness for our sins. That victory is available to us because of events that transpired on a weekend precisely like this nearly two millennia ago in Jerusalem.
~~~
HE TOOK MY WHIPPING FOR ME
Unknown
In the mountains of Virginia years ago, there was a Boy’s School class which no teacher could handle. The boys were so rough that the teachers resigned. A young, grey-haired teacher had applied for the job. The old school director scanned him up and down, then said, “Young fellow, do you know what you are asking for? An awful beating, that’s what. Every teacher we’ve had up there just gives up in defeat.” The young teacher replied, “I’ll risk it. Let me try.”
Well, when he appeared for duty In the little school, one big fellow, Russell, whispered out loud, “I won’t need any help; I can lick him myself.”
The teacher said, “Good morning. We have come to conduct school.” The students yelled a sarcastic “good morning” back at the teacher at the top of their lungs. “Now, I want a good school,” the teacher continued, “but I confess, I don’t know how unless you help me. Suppose we have a few rules. You tell me and I’ll write them on the blackboard.” One fellow yelled, “No stealin’!” Another chipped in “on time!” Finally, ten rules appeared on the board. “Now,” said the teacher, “a law is no good unless there is a penalty attached. What shall we do with the one who breaks them?” “Beat him across the back ten times without his coat on!” came the shout. “That’s pretty severe punishment, boys. Are you ready to stand by it?” A yell in the affirmative greeted the teacher. “Alright,” said the teacher, “then school comes to order.”
In a day or so, ‘Big Russell’ found his dinner was stolen. Upon inquiry, the thief was located -- a little hungry fellow about ten. The next morning, the teacher announced, ‘We have found the thief, and he must be punished according to your rule, ten stripes ‘cross the back! Jim, come up here!”
The trembling little fellow came up slowly with a big coat, buttoned and pinned up around his neck. He pleaded, “Teacher, you can lick me as hard as you like, but please don’t make me take off my coat.” “You helped make the rule,” reasoned the teacher. “Take the coat off.”
“Oh, teacher, don’t make me!” he begged. But, the teacher’s stern face displayed no leniency so he began to unbutton. And, what did the teacher behold? The lad had no shirt on, and only strings for suspenders over his little bony body.
“How can I whip this boy?” thought the teacher. “But, I must do something if I am to keep this class’ respect.” Everything was quiet as death. “How come you came to school without a shirt, Jim?” asked the teacher. “My father died, and we ain’t got much. I only have one shirt, and mother’s washing it today, so I wore my brother’s coat to keep warm.” With the sigh of a heavy heart, the teacher hesitatingly grasped the rod in his hand. Just then, ‘Big Russell’ jumped to his feet and said, “Teacher, if you don’t mind, I’ll take Jim’s licking for him.” ‘Very well, there is a certain law that says that one can take another’s punishment for him. Are you all agreed?” With the class’ consent, Russell removed his coat, and after five hard strokes the rod broke. The teacher bowed his head and thought, “How can I finish this awful task?”
Then, he heard the entire class sobbing and what did he see? Little Jim had reached up and caught Russell with both arms around the neck. “Russell, I’m awful sorry Russell, I was so hungry. I’ll love you ‘till I die for taking my licking for me. Yes! I’ll love you forever!”
~~~
THE BIRD CAGEFrom Paul Harvey, News Commentary March 30, 1991, over KVNU Radio
A Boston Preacher, Dr. S. D. Gordon, placed a rusty, beat-up and bent bird cage beside his pulpit, and then he told its story:
An unkempt, unwashed little boy about ten was coming up the alley swinging this old caved-in bird cage. Inside, on the floor of the cage, were several tiny shivering birds. The compassionate Dr. Gordon asked the little boy where he got the birds. The lad said he had trapped them. “What are you going to do with them,” the Preacher asked. “Sooner or later you are going to get tired of them. Then, what are you going to do with them?” The lad answered, “I have some cats at home, and they like birds. I’ll feed them to my cats.” Dr. Gordon said, “Son, how much do you want for the birds?” Surprised, the boy hesitated, and then he said, “Mister, you don’t want to buy these birds. They’re just plain old field birds. They can’t even sing, and they are ugly.” The Preacher said, “Just tell me how much you want.” The grubby little lad thought about it. He squinted up one eye as if to be calculating, hesitated, and then said carefully, “two dollars.” To his surprise, Dr. Gordon reached into his pocket, and handed the lad two one dollar bills. In exchange, the boy handed him the cage, and then he disappeared down the alley.
In a sheltered crevice between the buildings, Dr. Gordon opened the door of the cage. Then, he tapped lightly on the rusty exterior, trying to encourage the birds, one at a time, to find their way through the narrow door and fly away. Thus, this accounted for the empty cage beside his pulpit.
The Preacher went on to tell what seemed, at first, like a separate story:
Once upon a time, Jesus and Satan engaged in a negotiation. Satan had boasted how he had baited a trap in Eden’s garden, and caught himself a world full of people. “What are you going to do with all those people in your cage,” Jesus wanted to know. Satan said, “I am going to play with them, tease them, make them marry and divorce, and fight and kill each other. I am going to have fun with them!” Jesus said, “You can’t have fun with them forever. When you get tired of playing with them, what will you do with them?” Then, Jesus asked, “How much do you want for them?” Satan said, “You can’t be serious. If I sell them to you, they will just spit on you. They will hate you, hit you, and they will hammer nails into you. They are no good.” Jesus said, “How much?” Satan answered, “All of your tears and all of your blood. That’s the price.” Jesus took the cage, and He paid the price. He opened the door.
~~~
“THE
IMPOSSIBLE ROSE”
Once upon a
time, in a far country, there was a big, big school. This is a story about a
young boy who attended this school.
One day, as
he was walking down the hail, he stopped, startled...for there, coming towards
him, was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Now, this girl was so
beautiful and lovely that every boy in the school wanted to date her. She could
pick whomever she wanted to date. Boys were asking her out all of the time, and
if a boy asked her to go out that she didn’t want to go with, she would say,
“Yes, if you will bring me a red rose.”
Now, it was
a fact that in this city there were no red roses to be found. White roses grew
everywhere. There were beautiful fields of white roses, but no red ones.
One day,
this young boy could not stand it any longer. He gathered all his courage and
said, “Today is the day. Today I’m going to ask her for a date.”
So, he went
to school and looked for the beautiful girl. The muscles in his stomach got
tighter and tighter. He was just about to give up finding her when he looked
up, and there she was. The most beautiful, the most lovely, the most terrific
girl he’d ever seen. He put it all together and asked, “Will you please go out
with me?” She replied, “Yes, if you will bring me a red rose.”
Wow, talk
about disappointment. He was so disappointed and discouraged that he went right
home. He did not want to see any of his friends or talk to anyone.
Like many
of us do when we want something really bad, we talk out loud to ourselves. This
boy was no different. So, that evening, as he went out in his backyard, he
said, “I wish… I wish I had a red rose… oh how I wish I had a red rose. I’d
give anything for a red rose.”
Well, he’d
made friends with a little hummingbird, and as the young boy wished out loud,
the little bird was thinking, “How can I help him get his red rose?” That night,
the little hummingbird wanted so very bad to help, he went over to the white
rose bush and asked the white rose, “Is there any way we can grow a red rose?”
The white rose said, “Yes, there is one way -- by the sacrifice of the
blood of a friend.” “Is there no other way?” asked the hummingbird “There is no
other way,” replied the white rose.
The little
hummingbird flew up In a tree to think it over. Knowing how very much his dear
friend wanted this red rose, and knowing there was no other way, he decided to
make that great sacrifice and give his life so that his friend could have his
red rose. He saw a thorn high above a white rose, and he bravely stuck out his
little chest and dove straight for the thorn. As it pierced his chest, and his
life dripped away, his little body fell to the ground. The drops of blood
dripped on the white rose, and it became a beautiful, red rose.
The next
morning, as the young boy awoke and looked out the window, right in the middle
of the huge white rose patch was one beautiful, red rose. He couldn’t believe
his eyes. He jumped up, dressed hurriedly, and ran out and picked the lovely
red rose, not even noticing the lifeless, withered body at the foot of the rose
bush.
He was so
excited about the red rose that he ran toward school to find the beautiful girl
who had asked for the impossible red rose. As he was running to school, he
passed an area where his school mates were playing football, and they hollered
to him. “Come on…come over and play with us.” The young boy hesitated, looked
at the red rose, and again heard his friends call. Again, he looked at this
lovely, impossible red rose, and throwing it to the ground said, “I really
didn’t want it anyway.”
Now, this really
isn’t a fairy tale...this is really about you and me. This is really about our
elder brother who, because he loved us and wanted to make us happy, gave his
life for us. He died for each of us ...for me as an individual, and if I don’t
work, and study, and live, and keep his commandments, then His supreme sacrifice
will be like me throwing it down and saying, “I really didn’t want it anyway.”
~~~
WHO’LL
TAKE THE SON?
A wealthy man
and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their
collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together, and admire
the great works of art.
When the
Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous, and
died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified, and
grieved deeply for his only son.
About a month
later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood
at the door with a large package in his hands. He said, “Sir, you don’t know
me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives
that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the
heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art.
The young man held out his package. “I know this isn’t much. I’m not really a great
artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.”
The father
opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He
stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in
the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up
with tears.
He thanked the
young man, and offered to pay him for the picture. “Oh, no sir, I could never
repay what your son did for me. It’s a gift.”
The father hung
the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home, he took
them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other
great works he had collected.
The man died a
few months later, and there was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many
influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having
an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.
On the platform
sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. “We will start
the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?”
There was
silence. Then, a voice in the back of the room shouted, “We want to see the
famous paintings. Skip this one.” But, the auctioneer persisted. “Will someone
bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding?
$100, $200?”
Another voice
shouted angrily. “We didn’t come to see this painting. We came to see the Van
Goghs, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!”
*****
But, still the
auctioneer continued. “The son! The son! Who’ll take the son?”
Finally, a voice
came from the very back of the room. It was the long-time gardener of the man
and his son. “I’ll give $10 for the painting.” Being a poor man, it was all he
could afford.
“We have $10,
who will bid $20?”
The crowd was
becoming angry. They didn’t want the picture of the son. They wanted the more
worthy investments for their collections.
The auctioneer
pounded the gavel. “Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!”
A man sitting on
the second row shouted. “Now, let’s get on with the collection!”
The auctioneer
laid down his gavel. “I’m sorry, the auction is over.”
“What about the
paintings?”
“I am sorry.
When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation
in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only
the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would
inherit the entire estate, including the paintings. The man who took the son
gets everything!”
God sent His only son 2,000 years
ago to die on a cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is, “The
Son, the Son, who’ll take the Son?” Because you see, whoever takes the Son gets
everything.
