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The Risk of Reach
Dr. David Davis
Mark 3:1-5
Mark 3:1-5 - "and he entered again into the synagogue; and there was a man there which had a withered hand. (2) and they watched him, whether he would heal him on the sabbath day; that they might accuse him. (3) and he saith unto the man which had the withered hand, stand forth. (4) and he saith unto them, is it lawful to do good on the sabbath days, or to do evil? To save life, or to kill? But they held their peace. (5) and when he had looked round about on them with anger, being grieved for the hardness of their hearts, he saith unto the man, stretch forth thine hand. And he stretched it out: and his hand was restored whole as the other."
It was afternoon in the early summer ...a strange quiet on the battlefield. Bright sunshine, air was balmy...smelled like a garden. A bird was singing. On the firing line stood a private in a grey uniform, rifle lying in a groove ready to fire, his uniform stained with blood and mud.
His face was young., yet marked with the lines of war that made him look old. He had a faraway expression...he was enjoying the sunshine and the quiet of this strange lull in the firing. The heavy guns were silent...there was no sound to break the eerie stillness.
Suddenly a butterfly fluttered into view and landed on the ground... Almost at the end of his rifle - a strange visitor in a battlefield -- so out of place -- so out of keeping with this grim setting...rifles and bayonets, barbed wire, shell holes and twisted bodies.
There was a gorgeous creature...wings like gold lay swaying in the sunshine, as this war-weary youngster watched the butterfly. He was no longer a private dressed in field gray.
He was a boy again, fresh and clean, swinging in the fields near his home...knee deep in clover, buttercups and daisies. This strange visitor brought to his mind memories long since forgotten in the horrors of war.
A time when he collected butterflies and placed them in bottles. I ...
Dr. David Davis
Mark 3:1-5
Mark 3:1-5 - "and he entered again into the synagogue; and there was a man there which had a withered hand. (2) and they watched him, whether he would heal him on the sabbath day; that they might accuse him. (3) and he saith unto the man which had the withered hand, stand forth. (4) and he saith unto them, is it lawful to do good on the sabbath days, or to do evil? To save life, or to kill? But they held their peace. (5) and when he had looked round about on them with anger, being grieved for the hardness of their hearts, he saith unto the man, stretch forth thine hand. And he stretched it out: and his hand was restored whole as the other."
It was afternoon in the early summer ...a strange quiet on the battlefield. Bright sunshine, air was balmy...smelled like a garden. A bird was singing. On the firing line stood a private in a grey uniform, rifle lying in a groove ready to fire, his uniform stained with blood and mud.
His face was young., yet marked with the lines of war that made him look old. He had a faraway expression...he was enjoying the sunshine and the quiet of this strange lull in the firing. The heavy guns were silent...there was no sound to break the eerie stillness.
Suddenly a butterfly fluttered into view and landed on the ground... Almost at the end of his rifle - a strange visitor in a battlefield -- so out of place -- so out of keeping with this grim setting...rifles and bayonets, barbed wire, shell holes and twisted bodies.
There was a gorgeous creature...wings like gold lay swaying in the sunshine, as this war-weary youngster watched the butterfly. He was no longer a private dressed in field gray.
He was a boy again, fresh and clean, swinging in the fields near his home...knee deep in clover, buttercups and daisies. This strange visitor brought to his mind memories long since forgotten in the horrors of war.
A time when he collected butterflies and placed them in bottles. I ...
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