WITH A MAN WHO WORE CHAINS (3 OF 15)
Great Interviews of Jesus (3 of 15)
With a Man Who Wore Chains
Clarence E. Macartney
Luke 8:29
Memory paints vivid pictures on the tablets of the
mind. Here is one of them: Four boys out on a camping
expedition. Up one river and then up another. Supper
by the campfire in a lonely ravine. At midnight a
terrific thunderstorm. The boys take refuge from the
storm in the haymow of a farmer's barn. Lying on the
hay, safe now from pouring rain, they hear-when the
thunder is not speaking-loud, wild cries of a human
voice. All through the night they hear that terrible
shouting. In the morning, when they come down from the
haymow, they learn the reason. The farmer's father is
insane, a maniac, and he is locked up like a dangerous
bull or other animal in one of the outbuildings of the
farm. Still the cries of the man echo in the memory of
one of those boys. There were two storms that night:
the storm of nature, the thunderstorm; and the storm
of human nature, the storm of insanity in that poor
man's mind and body.
Likewise there are two storms in the great story of
Jesus' interview with a man who wore chains. First
came the storm at sea when Jesus and the disciples
were crossing over, and they awakened Him, thinking
they were going to perish. And Jesus rebuked the wind
and said to the sea, "Peace, be still." Then, after
that storm and the quelling of the tempest, came the
storm in a man's soul and the stilling of that tempest
by the love and power of the Son of God.
There is nothing sadder than a wreck or ruin: the ruin
of a house where the sacraments of love and marriage
and birth and death have been celebrated; the ruin of
a great city where the tides of life and business have
once flowed, now scarred with flame, shattered by an
earthquake, or devastated by bombs; the ruin of a
primeval forest that has been swept by flames; the
wreck of a great ship bound for a distant port and
laden with a precio ...
With a Man Who Wore Chains
Clarence E. Macartney
Luke 8:29
Memory paints vivid pictures on the tablets of the
mind. Here is one of them: Four boys out on a camping
expedition. Up one river and then up another. Supper
by the campfire in a lonely ravine. At midnight a
terrific thunderstorm. The boys take refuge from the
storm in the haymow of a farmer's barn. Lying on the
hay, safe now from pouring rain, they hear-when the
thunder is not speaking-loud, wild cries of a human
voice. All through the night they hear that terrible
shouting. In the morning, when they come down from the
haymow, they learn the reason. The farmer's father is
insane, a maniac, and he is locked up like a dangerous
bull or other animal in one of the outbuildings of the
farm. Still the cries of the man echo in the memory of
one of those boys. There were two storms that night:
the storm of nature, the thunderstorm; and the storm
of human nature, the storm of insanity in that poor
man's mind and body.
Likewise there are two storms in the great story of
Jesus' interview with a man who wore chains. First
came the storm at sea when Jesus and the disciples
were crossing over, and they awakened Him, thinking
they were going to perish. And Jesus rebuked the wind
and said to the sea, "Peace, be still." Then, after
that storm and the quelling of the tempest, came the
storm in a man's soul and the stilling of that tempest
by the love and power of the Son of God.
There is nothing sadder than a wreck or ruin: the ruin
of a house where the sacraments of love and marriage
and birth and death have been celebrated; the ruin of
a great city where the tides of life and business have
once flowed, now scarred with flame, shattered by an
earthquake, or devastated by bombs; the ruin of a
primeval forest that has been swept by flames; the
wreck of a great ship bound for a distant port and
laden with a precio ...
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