EMBARRASSED ABOUT RELIGION
T. DeWitt Talmage
Luke 9:26
One night, well on toward nineteen centuries ago,
there was a stir in the hostlery of an Eastern
village. The excitement was caused by a birth-cry.
Ring all the bells of earth and heaven! Jesus in the
manger. At that point he started out to bless all the
world. The smoothness of his forehead, the lustre of
his eye, the color of his cheek, the symmetry of his
poise, a perfect type of a perfect soul. The loveliest
being, the most unselfish being, that ever lived; he
could not make a piece of bread so large as his finger
to appease his own hunger, but he must make bread for
five thousand. He could not cook one little fish on
the banks of Gennesaret to feed his own hunger, but he
must fill the net of the disciples until the net
broke.
With so much sorrow of his own, he might have cried
all his lifetime; yet, he cannot see a funeral pass
without breaking it up, and restoring the dead young
man to his mother. Everywhere he went sprinkling
sunlight on the blind eye, music on the deaf ear,
touching the dropsical limb until it subsided to its
natural proportions; and when one day the wing of
God's wrath shut out the sun, he died for you and me,
not lying on a couch, nor seated in a chair, but an
upright stake for his dying bed and a pillow of his
own broken heart. Dying at twelve o'clock, noon, still
dying at half-past twelve, dying at one o'clock in the
afternoon, at half-past one, dying at two, dying at
half-past two - dead.
Whom had he killed, that they should kill him? Whom
had he stabbed, that they should stab him? Whom had he
hurt, that they should so dreadfully hurt him? Of what
crime had he been guilty? Of only one crime had he
been guilty - the crime of dying for his enemies. Oh,
my soul, was there ever such a crime? Was there ever
such a criminal? And thousands in every land are
unanimous in assuring me that Christ was the
lovelie ...
T. DeWitt Talmage
Luke 9:26
One night, well on toward nineteen centuries ago,
there was a stir in the hostlery of an Eastern
village. The excitement was caused by a birth-cry.
Ring all the bells of earth and heaven! Jesus in the
manger. At that point he started out to bless all the
world. The smoothness of his forehead, the lustre of
his eye, the color of his cheek, the symmetry of his
poise, a perfect type of a perfect soul. The loveliest
being, the most unselfish being, that ever lived; he
could not make a piece of bread so large as his finger
to appease his own hunger, but he must make bread for
five thousand. He could not cook one little fish on
the banks of Gennesaret to feed his own hunger, but he
must fill the net of the disciples until the net
broke.
With so much sorrow of his own, he might have cried
all his lifetime; yet, he cannot see a funeral pass
without breaking it up, and restoring the dead young
man to his mother. Everywhere he went sprinkling
sunlight on the blind eye, music on the deaf ear,
touching the dropsical limb until it subsided to its
natural proportions; and when one day the wing of
God's wrath shut out the sun, he died for you and me,
not lying on a couch, nor seated in a chair, but an
upright stake for his dying bed and a pillow of his
own broken heart. Dying at twelve o'clock, noon, still
dying at half-past twelve, dying at one o'clock in the
afternoon, at half-past one, dying at two, dying at
half-past two - dead.
Whom had he killed, that they should kill him? Whom
had he stabbed, that they should stab him? Whom had he
hurt, that they should so dreadfully hurt him? Of what
crime had he been guilty? Of only one crime had he
been guilty - the crime of dying for his enemies. Oh,
my soul, was there ever such a crime? Was there ever
such a criminal? And thousands in every land are
unanimous in assuring me that Christ was the
lovelie ...
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