When I was doing the background reading on 1 Peter, I was reminded of the terrible sufferings which the early church endured.
The exact dating of Peter's letters is not clear. It could have been during the time of Nero, or a later time. But it is clear that it was during a time of persecution and suffering.
You remember the Emperor Nero. The legend is he fiddled while Rome burned.
Rome had large slum areas that Nero wanted to rebuild. The rumors were that Nero had ordered the burning of Rome, but the new Christian sect was a convenient target for Nero who charged they were responsible.
People misunderstood the Lord's supper and assumed they consumed real flesh and blood and imagined all sorts of debaucheries connected with it. So they were receptive to believe this horrible little group might set their city on fire.
Christians had legal protection as long as they were assumed to be a Jewish sect, but as the separation with Judaism became clearer, they lost . . .
Dr. Harold McNabb
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Mark Buchanan, pastor of New Life Baptist Church in Duncan, tells of a conversation with a philosophy student during a wedding reception. The student asked Mark if he really believed all that religious stuff he spouted every week in church. Mark writes,
I said I did. He smirked. I asked him what he believed. "I tried your religion for a while," he said. "I found it's just a burden to carry. You know what I've figured out? Life justifies living. Life is its own reward and explanation. I don't need some pie-in-the-sky mirage to keep me going. This life has enough pleasure and mystery and adventure in it not to need anything else to account for it. Life justifies living."
"Good," I said. "Very good. And I believe you. Today, here, now?feel the warmth of that breeze, listen to the laughter of those people, smell the spiciness of that shrimp cooking, look at the blueness of the sky. Yes, today I believe you. What a superb philosophy. Life justifies living. Bravo!
I said I did. He smirked. I asked him what he believed. "I tried your religion for a while," he said. "I found it's just a burden to carry. You know what I've figured out? Life justifies living. Life is its own reward and explanation. I don't need some pie-in-the-sky mirage to keep me going. This life has enough pleasure and mystery and adventure in it not to need anything else to account for it. Life justifies living."
"Good," I said. "Very good. And I believe you. Today, here, now?feel the warmth of that breeze, listen to the laughter of those people, smell the spiciness of that shrimp cooking, look at the blueness of the sky. Yes, today I believe you. What a superb philosophy. Life justifies living. Bravo!
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Passion week has names for many of the days we celebrate: Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Sunday, but Saturday has no special name. It's called Holy Saturday, but I think it should have its own name. It's that in-between day. I don't know what you did yesterday, but I was out in the rain burying my septic tank, and for me that is appropriate.
Philip Yancy writes about Saturday in The Jesus I Never Knew:
The other two days have earned names on the church calendar: Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Yet in a real sense we live on Saturday, the day with no name. What the disciples experienced in small scale'three days in grief over one man who had died on a cross?we now live through on cosmic scale. Human history grinds on, between the time of promise and fulfillment. Can we trust that God can make something holy and beautiful and good out of a world that includes Bosnia and Rwanda and inner-city ghettos and jammed prisons in the richest nation on earth? It's Saturday on planet earth. Will Sunday ever come?
Philip Yancy writes about Saturday in The Jesus I Never Knew:
The other two days have earned names on the church calendar: Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Yet in a real sense we live on Saturday, the day with no name. What the disciples experienced in small scale'three days in grief over one man who had died on a cross?we now live through on cosmic scale. Human history grinds on, between the time of promise and fulfillment. Can we trust that God can make something holy and beautiful and good out of a world that includes Bosnia and Rwanda and inner-city ghettos and jammed prisons in the richest nation on earth? It's Saturday on planet earth. Will Sunday ever come?
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One thing I have learned over the last while from Valerie is to be a better tipper. Not that I was cheap or anything, but I would leave a ten percent tip and figured that was enough. I have seen the light! Now I have learned to leave a decent tip of fifteen percent. It's amazing the difference it makes at a restaurant or cafe you attend regularly. People really like to welcome you and make you comfortable. Who woulda thought it?
Here is a story of a waitress who gets a tip she will never forget:
Franchesca Renderos, 22, was working as a waitress on an ordinary Wednesday night in Houston when she was stunned by grace.
At one of her tables sat Doug Brown, a mortgage broker trying to attract the business of six female real estate agents. When Franchesca came up to the table, Doug asked, "What would be the most special tip you could have? A pair of shoes, a purse?" She responded, "No, I need a car."
Here is a story of a waitress who gets a tip she will never forget:
Franchesca Renderos, 22, was working as a waitress on an ordinary Wednesday night in Houston when she was stunned by grace.
At one of her tables sat Doug Brown, a mortgage broker trying to attract the business of six female real estate agents. When Franchesca came up to the table, Doug asked, "What would be the most special tip you could have? A pair of shoes, a purse?" She responded, "No, I need a car."
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Journalist David Hajdu recently told a memorable story about Wynton Marsalis, one of the most easily recognizable jazz musicians in our day and one of the premier jazz trumpeters of all time. One night, Marsalis was playing with a small, little-known combo in a New York basement club. A few songs into their set, he walked to the front of the bandstand and began an unaccompanied solo of the 1930s ballad, "I Don't Stand a Ghost of a Chance with You." Hajdu records that the audience became rapt as Marsalis's trumpet virtually wept in despair, almost gasping at times with the pain in the music.
Stretching the mood taut, Marsalis came to the final phrase, with each note coming slower and slower, with longer and longer pauses between each one: "I'don't'stand?a?ghost?of?a?chance?"
Then someone's cell phone went off.