I have been spending a lot of time in doctors’ offices and hospitals lately.  My ophthalmologist has now transferred me permanently to the University of Florida/Shands Teaching Hospital where I receive excellent care, and regularly excite the interns.  These handsome young men run up and down the halls, grabbing their buddies and saying, “You gotta come!  You’ll never get another chance to see someone like this!”  For an elderly, gray-haired, slightly overweight woman, that is quite an ego builder.
             
Then there are the Fellows.  Notice, that is a capital “F.”  I have not quite figured out the whole hierarchy, but these seem to be young doctors who have finished medical school, and are now attached, almost literally, to an older, experienced doctor for a year or so before they go out on their own.  I met the latest Fellow a few weeks ago.  I go in fairly often—often enough that even the cleaning lady recognizes and greets me. Since it was our first time together, he got to do the initial work-up himself.  He tried reading the chart, but my doctor has notoriously bad handwriting, even worse than most doctors—he obviously aced the bad handwriting class that med schools seem to require all doctors to take. The pharmacy regularly has to call the office to find out what he prescribed, and that’s his good handwriting.  
              
Since this Fellow was having such a tough time of it, I just started talking.  He shut the file and listened, and then asked quite a few questions.  I have learned more about eyes than I ever hoped to know, including anterior chambers, corneal depths, iris prolapses, capsular tension rings, and zonules. The look he gave me was half surprise and half amusement.  Before we were through he said, “In your next life you will be an ophthalmologist.”
        
Opportunity knocked and I was totally oblivious.  Let me describe this young doctor and see if you miss it, too.  He was medium height, about five-nine, slim build, probably one-sixty.  His hair was dark, with heavy eyebrows, his face square and his skin dark as well.  His name was Indian, as in Gandhi, not Geronimo.  The University of Florida is nothing if not a melting pot.  Now think back to what he said.  “In your next life…”  Even if he no longer believes in his native country’s faith, his culture was showing:  reincarnation.  About 6
hours later, I realized what I should have said:  “In my next life, I won’t need
an ophthalmologist.”  Here he was, so imbued in his own culture’s faith that such a statement would pop out of him, and I, supposedly imbued in mine, missed a golden opportunity to reaffirm what I know to be true.
             
What do I do?  I blame it on my slow mind.  I’m getting older, you see, and don’t think as quickly as I used to.  Nonsense!  I had that problem twenty years ago, too.  “Old” has nothing to do with it.  What has everything to do with it, is a focus on the here and now, rather than on the eternal.  I was too concerned about what the doctor would tell me about this life to see what I might be able to do about the next one. I was too concerned with my physical fate and not concerned at all with the spiritual fate of another.  
              
A few months ago, I did a little study on spiritual immaturity.  Do you know what the apostle Paul equates that with?  Carnality.  Walking after the manner of men, 1 Cor 3. Thinking more about the physical than the spiritual, more about this life than the eternal life to come.  As I get more and more mature in Christ, this life should be less and less on my mind.  It should be easier to think of the “right” thing to say, not harder.  Have I not gotten any better at all?
             
Well, yes, I am some better.  I do not rail at God about this illness.  I do not ask him, why me?  I don’t whine--well, not very often anyway.  And just when I think I have accomplished something, the Lord sends me a wake-up call.  What I don’t  do is not even half of it.  My faith should be a positive thing, not a negative thing.  Here I had a chance to sow a seed, however small, and I stumbled in what might have been freshly plowed ground and fell flat on my face.   
           
I can hear some saying, “Don’t be so hard on yourself.  You have serious issues to deal with in your life right now.” Didn’t Paul have serious issues when he was beaten and thrown into prison?  But didn’t he sing God’s praises and preach to whoever would listen while he was there?  Isn’t his focus on the spiritual the reason he was able to say I have learned in whatever state I am to be content, Phil 4:11?  How else do you handle beatings that flay you open to the bone, stoning, shipwrecks, and betrayal by so-called brethren, to the point of rejoicing that those traitors were preaching the gospel, 1:15-18?  
 
And what shall I more say? for the time will fail me if I tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah; of David and Samuel and the prophets: who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, from weakness were made strong, waxed mighty in war, turned to flight armies of aliens. Women received their dead by a resurrection: and others were tortured, not accepting their deliverance; that they might obtain a better resurrection: and others had trial of mockings and scourgings, yea, moreover of bonds and imprisonment: they were stoned, they were sawn asunder, they were tempted, they were slain with the sword: they went about in sheepskins, in goatskins; being destitute, afflicted, ill-treated (of whom the world was not worthy), wandering in deserts and mountains and caves, and the holes of the earth. And these all, having had witness borne to them through their faith, received not the promise, God having provided some better thing concerning us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect.   Heb 11:32-40. 
 
All of these folks, some of whose names are not even recorded for us, like their father Abraham, desired a better country, v16, [greeting it] from afar, v13.  And because of that focus on a spiritual life, they were able to meet the challenges of the physical.
             
Yes, I will see this young man again, probably many times. But I may never again get that golden an opportunity to make a comment that might make him think.  But at least next time, I will be listening for the knock.
             
Are you listening?

Dene Ward

It’s that time of year—college football season, overlapped and immediately followed by, college basketball season.  My family will be excitedly quoting stats from September through the first weekend in April—from the first kickoff of the year till the last tip-off.  

Of course, I begin hearing about it during spring practice.  Who is outplaying whom for which position?  Who will the starters be?  I bet if one of the players went to the coach and asked, “Do I have to be at every practice to be a starter?  Do I have to do extra work in the weight room?  Do I have to show up early and stay late shooting baskets?” that he needn’t bother checking the list to see if he even made the team, much less if he made the starting line-up. 
And I bet those players do not have to be told so.

My parents recently celebrated their 64 wedding anniversaries.  I wonder how many they would have made if they had each said, “Now give me a list of what I have to do to be a satisfactory spouse.  How many times do I need to remember your birthday?  How many times do I need to remember our anniversary? How many times do I need to say I love you?  How many
times do I even need to be polite?”  They never would have married in the first
place.

What would my boss think if I showed up tomorrow and asked for a list of
the minimum I need to do not to lose my job?  Hmmm. I think I just lost it, especially since this is something I get paid to do.

Service is, by definition, voluntary.  Otherwise it is forced labor.  It does not expect repayment.  It does not seek to know the minimum to get by.  Asking that very question does not even cross its mind because it desires to do the most it possibly can, and by doing that often succeeds in doing even more. 
But it understands from the depth of its soul that even that is not enough.

Here is the problem for those who want to just get by: on God’s team, everyone is a starter. Sitting on the bench is not an option. There will be no
third-stringers, who never set foot on the field during a game, but still
receive a championship ring. Only God’s starters get the trophy, and with God you either make the starting lineup or you don’t make the team at all.  
 
Now, what was that question you had?  

Now beloved, we are persuaded better things of you, and things that accompany salvation, though we thus speak; for God is not unrighteous to forget your work and the love which you showed toward his name, in that you ministered unto the saints and still do minister.  And we desire that each one of you may show the same diligence unto the fullness of hope even to the end. That you be not sluggish, but imitators of those who, through faith and endurance, inherit the promises, Heb 6:9-12.  

Dene Ward

I have had a terrible time with my basil this year.  It will not grow.  It just sits there exactly the same height and with the same number of leaves, day after
day.  Usually, even though I use it a lot, it becomes a shrub, and I must cut four cups at a time making pesto every couple of weeks to keep up with it. 
This year I had to ration it in things like my orzo salad with grape tomatoes, green onions, pine nuts, feta, and basil, and the cherry tomato salad with basil, fresh mozzarella, garlic, and balsamic vinegar. Pesto was not even in the forecast, and my late summer marinara may be blander than it has ever been before.

Basil is one of the easiest herbs to grow.  Being Mediterranean, it can take the Florida heat and humidity.  It may wilt on a hot summer afternoon, but recovers quickly in the evening and looks like new the next morning.  It can handle the worst of circumstances.  It doesn’t even have its own particular pest like parsley has parsley worms.  So what is the problem this year?  We watered it during the dry weather and fertilized it as usual.  I have no idea what happened.  Maybe I took it for granted that it was a strong plant needing no special care.

Strong Christians can be like that.  People get so used to them being strong
that no one checks on them, no one asks how things are going, no one gives them an encouraging word—that’s what they are supposed to do.

When was the last time you patted an elder on the back and thanked him
for his work, maybe even apologized for any trouble or worry you might have
caused him?  When was the last time you sent him a note or a card of appreciation?  How about his wife?  She must not only deal with some of the same problems he does, but watch the effect of it all on him—distress etching lines in his face, frustration turning his hair gray a bit too early,  his smile all but disappearing over the sorrow for lost souls.

How about the preacher?  Even people who don’t mean anything by it can say hurtful things, can judge harshly, and can expect the impossible—perfection. 
Preachers and their wives must watch their children grow up too early as
they see their father mistreated over and over, everywhere they go.  It’s a wonder any of them stay faithful.

The worst thing you can do to a strong Christian is tell him or her that you know he is strong and can take anything.  Sometimes they can’t.  Sometimes it just gets to be too much, and instead of having brethren who will pull them out of the abyss, they must climb out all by themselves because no one thinks they need any help.

Find a strong Christian today and do them a favor--forget they are strong.  Treat them as if they needed a boost and then give them one.  They will appreciate it more than you can imagine.

[And Jehovah said] Charge Joshua and encourage him and strengthen him, for he shall go over before this people and he shall cause them to inherit this land which you shall see, Deut 3:28.

Wherefore brethren, exhort one another and build each other up, even as you also do.  But we beseech you brethren, know those who labor among you, and are over you in the Lord, and who admonish you. to esteem them highly in love for their work’s sake, 1 Thes 5:11-13.

[Paul said] Finally brethren, pray for us…2 Thes 3:1.
 
Dene Ward

Every time I go outside Chloe comes running, tail wagging, waiting for me to scratch her head.  If my hands are full, she butts the back of my leg with her nose until I manage to free my arms, bend over and scratch her head. If I am taking a load somewhere, she follows along, and I feel that little round nudge constantly all the way until FINALLY  (I am sure she is thinking) she gets
that longed for scratch on the head.  
 
This morning I suddenly wondered if I do that with God.  Am I so anxious for His attention that every morning I can hardly wait to talk with Him? Or do I just leave Him in the back of my mind until I can find a spare minute, and if He is lucky,  I might actually have a whole minute?

Yes, Chloe is making a little pest of herself to get my attention, but do you know what?  It doesn’t bother me a bit.  In fact, I find myself hurrying to put down my armload so I can pat her even sooner. It’s endearing to have a little creature want you so much.  Some days I go outside just to see her run up to me with that swishing tail, and actually sit down and spend a few minutes with her for no other reason  than to be with her.  I guess that’s what happens when your children grow up and the dogs are all you have around to dote on.

What was it Jesus said?  If you then being evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your Father who is in heaven, give good things to those who ask him? Matt 7:11.  I don’t for a minute pretend to understand how God feels about things, but Jesus gives us a hint here.  If I, an imperfect person who sometimes still allows sin into my life, can love my
children enough to give them good gifts, if I can still care enough about a
small animal to want to satisfy its desire for attention, what will God not do
for me? If that small child’s pestering endears him to me because it makes me know he wants to be with me, certainly if it can happen with an animal’s little nose bumping my leg, won’t my pestering do the same for God?  
 
And to the other side of the question, if I act like God’s attention means little to me, why should He give me any of it when I decide I could use it?  My mother always says, “If I say to God, ‘I’m too busy for you right now,’ what’s to keep Him from saying that to me?”  I think she has a point there.

And he spoke a parable unto them to the end that they ought always to pray, and not to faint; saying, There was in a city a judge, who feared not God, and regarded not man: and there was a widow in that city; and she came often to him, saying, Avenge me of my adversary. And he would not for awhile: but afterward he said within himself, Though I fear not God, nor regard man; yet because this widow troubles me, I will avenge her, lest she wear me out by her continual coming. And the Lord said, Hear what the unrighteous judge says.  And shall not God avenge his elect that cry to him day and night and yet he is longsuffering over them? I say unto you, that he will avenge them speedily.  Luke 18:1-8.
 
Dene Ward

Lucas bought me a bird book for Mother’s Day one year.  This was not your average Audubon Society coffee table slab.  On the side of the book is a speaker, a push button and a tiny screen.  Each page in the book pictures a North American songbird with the usual blurb about its range, habits, and call.  Under the bird is a number.  When you put the correct number on the screen then push the button, you will hear that particular bird, actual recordings taken by the ornithology lab at Cornell University. 

I’ve heard the ugly squawk of blue jays all my life.  It seems fitting for this thug of a bird which bullies smaller birds and steals nests.  I’d been hearing a bird with a clear wooden whistle call for years.  I was positive it was a cuckoo, based solely on the cuckoo clocks I have heard, but as soon as I checked the cuckoo’s sound in my book, I knew I was mistaken.  On a whim one day, I punched in the blue jay’s number, wondering why in the world it was considered a songbird.  Suddenly a wooden whistle came floating out of the speakers.  This was a blue jay?  This was the sound I had become so enamored with?  It had never dawned on me that a bird could make more than one sound.

So blue jays were not the kindest birds in the forest.  I loved hearing that loud, clear call of theirs, and the fact that a blue jay could make such a lovely sound was strangely uplifting. I knew I would miss it if suddenly it disappeared.

How many times do we let our judgment of people, especially people we disagree with or have dealt with in less than ideal circumstances, keep us from seeing anything good about them?  How many times do we filter our views, not through the rose-colored glasses of kindness, but through a specialty lens we grind ourselves, one of malice that blocks out the good and magnifies the bad?  Ounce for ounce, hummingbirds are among the most vicious creatures on earth, actually attempting to impale one another on those long, sword-like beaks as they fight over the feeders we humans put out, yet we ooh and aah over them.  I really don’t think that the people with whom I have personality conflicts are actually out to murder me, so why can’t I see any of the pluses in their characters?

Isn’t there a human blue jay in your life?  Find that person today and take off the blinders.  Do something kind; say something kind.  Instead of pushing the button that releases a squawk, push the button that brings beautiful music.  Give him a chance to show his good side.  Isn’t that what you wish he would do for you?

The wicked one craves evil; his neighbor gets no mercy from him, Prov 21:10.

Love suffers long and is kind…does not behave itself unseemly, seeks not its own, is not provoked, does not keep track of evil…bears all things, believes all things, and hopes all things…love never fails, 1 Cor 13:4-7. 

Dene Ward

We were only in that big old frame house for 5 months, but I will never forget it.  Uneven flooring, tall drafty ceilings, and, when we moved in, no heat and no running water.  It was January 1st.  We sat around the table in hats and coats eating oatmeal or soup for every meal, and hauling water in buckets.  Eventually the truck company next door let us hook our garden hose to their well spigot.  We pulled the hose through an inch wide gap under the kitchen window and ran it into the sink beneath, which at least made the haul shorter. 

After about a week the well man came out and fixed the pump, and the gas man filled the tank.  Still it wasn’t warm.  Room-sized gas space heaters in the bathroom, kitchen, and living room did little to mollify the effects of fifteen foot ceilings and cracks between the planks in the floor through which we could see the ground three feet beneath.  It was the coldest winter I remember in this area—but maybe it was just that house.

When early spring rolled around I remember standing on the back stone steps in the sun—probably for the warmth.  Keith was on his haunches petting the dog, a black and brown mixed breed we had picked up at the pound a year earlier and named Ezekiel.  The boys were standing next to him listening, probably to some daddy advice.  They were 4 and 2, oblivious to our living conditions, and perfectly happy. 

Suddenly the breeze picked up and over the house something floated down out of the sky and landed across Keith’s shoulders, hanging down on each side of his chest.  It was a snakeskin.  When we figured out what it was, he couldn’t get it off fast enough.  It must have been four feet long, with perfect scale imprints all along its length.  It creeped me out, as the kids say these days.  I still shudder when I think of it.  Maybe that’s why I still remember that house so well.

I remembered that house and that event again recently when we passed a fifty gallon drum by the woodpile and there lying across it was another perfect snakeskin, three feet long, hanging over each side of the barrel.  They still give me the creeps when I see them, or the heebie jeebs, or whatever you choose to call that horrible feeling that runs down your spine and makes you shiver to your shoes.  Maybe it’s because I know that somewhere nearby there is a real snake.  I can’t pretend there aren’t any out there simply because I haven’t seen one lately.

I’m sure you could make of list of things that give you that feeling.  What worries me is that nowhere on anyone’s list is the three letter word “sin.”  It ought to give us the creeps to be around it, to see its effects on the world, people fulfilling their every lust, their hearts full of hate and envy and covetousness, lying as easily as they breathe.  It ought to make us shiver to hear the Lord’s name taken in vain from nearly every mouth, even children, or the coarse, crude, vulgar language that passes for conversation—and entertainment!-- these days.  Why?  Because you can be positive the Devil is somewhere nearby.  He’s just waiting to drop out of nowhere and drape his arm around your shoulder.  Before you know it, you will be dressing like everyone else, talking like everyone else, and acting like everyone else.  In short, you will be like everyone else, walking around swathed in snakeskin, hugging it to yourself instead of ripping it off in disgust.  

Don’t think it can’t happen to you, especially if sin doesn’t give you the creeps to begin with. 

The fear of the LORD is hatred of evil. Pride and arrogance and the way of evil and perverted speech I hate... Seek good, and not evil, that you may live; and so the LORD, the God of hosts, will be with you, as you have said. Hate evil, and love good, and establish justice in the gate; it may be that the LORD, the God of hosts, will be gracious to the remnant of Joseph…Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good, Prov 8:13; Amos 5:14,15; Rom 12:9.

Dene Ward

Today's post is by guest writer Keith Ward.

How do you make choices? What counts in a buying decision? Is your focus on looks, glitter? How much does it matter to you that it is the choice of the rich and famous? Will a fast-talking salesman get you to over-commit for features that were not in your plans? We have lived on a tight budget for so long that we learned to make good choices from necessity. We try not to make the same mistake twice and to learn from the mistakes of others.

When I began to consider a new mower, it was not a whim, the old one had become unreliable and its steering actively hurt my arthritic hands (RA, the kind that both aches and damages). I talked to a friend who had bought a good mower, but then the dealer quit carrying that brand, and their service became grudging. He must now drive further. I talked to neighbors and even tried out their mowers. I listened to a salesman and he skillfully explained all the benefits of his brand. Then I talked to others who own that brand and others who have dealt with that dealer. I asked the dealer, you are my age, what happens when you retire and he replied, “My two sons have been in the business with me for __ years”. Furthermore, he has dealt the same brand for 30+ years.

How do you make your spiritual decisions? It is a mighty big investment, much more than a mower. Do you check out the features and consider the consequences of getting an inferior product? Can you afford to start over later if you “lose your shirt” on a bad choice?

Paganism ruled for thousands of years and came to despair by the time of Christ —no hope, no meaning, no answers, no power. This is one reason that it was “the fullness of times” for Christ, and the gospel swept the world.
God is stable. He has always been there with the same product—life. He has always offered mercy and grace as part of his finance plan. His power has been proven over and over by prediction, miracles, resurrection. The life he gives does not offer as much glitter and fun as the popular one. He places limits on your choices and makes demands that no other philosophy does. If “weekends” are the goal of your life, He is not for you. But make an informed choice. If you go for the pleasure here, that is all there is, ever, and there is no guarantee you will have much pleasure at that.

Buy from God.

The kingdom of heaven is like unto a treasure hidden in the field; which a man found, and hid; and in his joy he goes and sells all that he hath, and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a man that is a merchant seeking goodly pearls: and having found one pearl of great price, he went and sold all that he had, and bought it. Matthew 13:44-46.

Keith Ward

Have you ever said as you left the meetinghouse on Sunday morning, “I didn’t get much out of the worship today?”

Just examine that statement for a moment.  We are there for our group worship, the worship we are commanded to do when we are “gathered together.”  Who is it that we are worshipping?   I don’t think it’s me, and I don’t think it’s you.  When it comes to the worship aspect, I think it matters what God thinks of it, not us. 

We sit in an auditorium with a raised platform in front of us.  Several different men take turns standing before us to lead us in various aspects of our worship to God.  Sometimes that gives us the mistaken idea that we are the audience.  No, we are the performers.  God is the audience, and if He “doesn’t get much out of our worship,” it’s our fault, not His, nor that of the men who try so hard to lead us, and seldom get anything but complaints for their efforts. 

What would you think of a performer who gave a lackadaisical performance, who acted like he couldn’t care less that someone was watching him?  If I paid good money for a ticket, I would want my money back.  I wonder if that’s what God thinks as we “worship” by barely mumbling through our songs, daydreaming during prayers, and making faces at the babies in front of us during the sermons.  I wonder if He would like to have back what it cost Him for us to be able to come before Him and worship Him.  You see, He is watching our performance; He is the audience.  It doesn’t really matter if I don’t like the songs chosen, if I think the prayer is too long, if I think the sermon is boring.  What matters is, did I worship God with all my heart in spite of those things?  That’s what this Audience grades us on.  I don’t want Him to ask for a refund.

So this Sunday as I leave the meetinghouse I should ask myself this, “How well did I worship my God this morning?”  Whether or not this is all there is to my worship is another matter entirely, but this question certainly makes a good start on answering that one too, don’t you think?

Oh Jehovah, truly I am your servant;
I am your servant, the son of your handmaid.
You have loosed my bonds.
I will offer to you the sacrifices of thanksgiving,
And will call upon the name of Jehovah.
I will pay my vows unto Jehovah,
Even in the presence of all his people.
In the courts of Jehovah’s house,
In the midst of you, O Jerusalem,
Praise Jehovah.

Psalm 116:16-19

Dene Ward

I read an article in the newspaper several months ago that I wanted to stand up and applaud.  Then I wanted to sit down and cry.  Let me give you some quotes from that article written by Debra Nussbaum.

             “…Sometimes when I’m at Dunkin’ Donuts I think of [that] quote from Hamlet... ‘The apparel oft proclaims the man.’ 
            “What is the guy in front of me proclaiming with his pajama bottoms?  And the woman behind me in an oversize white tank top that shows every inch of her black bra, what is her proclamation?  Is the guy revealing 80 percent of his boxers sending a message?
            “We have lost the subtle internal rule that tells one not to…wear a skirt the size of a dish towel to school or a religious sanctuary; and not, not, not to feel the need to reveal one’s underwear to the public.
            “A funeral isn’t the place for a miniskirt and 5 inch heels.  A lot of cleavage is…not appropriate for a Tuesday morning at the office or in school.  In fact, it’s bad manners.”

Why is it that the world knows when something is inappropriate, and the people of God make excuses for it?  Why is it that the world cares more about rudeness than we do about sin?

I was in my neighbor’s home one day visiting.  “Did you see the movie--?  No, wait,” he interrupted himself.  “You’re a Christian.  You wouldn’t have seen that movie.”

It seems the world knows what a Christian ought to be better than some of my brethren do.  The Corinthians had that problem too.  It is actually reported that there is sexual immorality among you, and of a kind that is not even tolerated among the Gentiles…1 Cor 5:1.

Maybe we should take a poll.  Ask your neighbors what a Christian would and wouldn’t do.   I understand that they are not completely informed, that there may be aspects of New Testament Christianity they miss or even categorize as hateful, mean-spirited, and ignorant.  Just stick with basic morality.  What would a Christian wear or not wear?  What movies or TV shows would he not watch?  What behaviors would he avoid?  Drinking?  Smoking?  Gambling?  Why is it they can clearly see the problems with these things while we tie ourselves in knots trying to excuse them?

When amoral people know how a Christian ought to act, ought to dress, and ought to speak and we who call ourselves the true followers don’t, something is wrong.  The same thing happened to God’s people of old, and the words He sent then will apply to us too.  Read them and weep with me.

Therefore thus says the Lord GOD: Because you are more turbulent than the nations that are all around you, and have not walked in my statutes or obeyed my rules, and have not even acted according to the rules of the nations that are all around you, therefore thus says the Lord GOD: Behold, I, even I, am against you. And I will execute judgments in your midst in the sight of the nations. And because of all your abominations I will do with you what I have never yet done, and the like of which I will never do again, Ezekiel 5:7-9.

Dene Ward

            When my boys were young they were enchanted with a movie called “The Never-Ending Story.”  You see, when the movie ended it started all over again, and then again, and again. 

            Maybe it’s because I am a woman that I never saw the appeal.  All I could think of was housework—laundry that needs washing over and over, shirts that need ironing again and again, dust that keeps settling, meals that need cooking three times a day.  Oh for something that when I finish with it will stay finished!

            I think the Old Testament Jews understood a little.  Have you ever read the complex procedure for the Day of Atonement?  You should sometime, and then think about the promise of a forgiveness that lasts forever.

            Every year the sins that were forgiven the year before were once again remembered against God’s people, and every year the pile grew bigger and bigger.  At least when I do the laundry, I know a shirt that I washed and ironed will not be back in the hamper until it has once again been worn.  Imagine if everything you ever washed got dirty again the next week just because clean would not stay clean! 

            The first century Jewish Christians surely appreciated the blessing of forgiveness far better than we can.  They had been waiting for that promise to be fulfilled for hundreds of years.  Behold the days come, says Jehovah, that I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and with the house of Judah, not according to the covenant that I made with their fathers in the day that I took them by the hands to bring them out of the land of Egypt…But this is the covenant that I will make…says Jehovah:  I will put my law in their inward parts and in their heart will I write it, and I will be their God and they shall be my people, and they shall teach no more every man his neighbor and every man his brother saying, Know Jehovah, for they shall all know me, from the least of them unto the greatest of them, says Jehovah; for I will forgive their iniquity and their sins will I remember no more, Jer 31:31-34.

               A high priest was coming who would offer himself, a perfect sacrifice that would cleanse each sin forever.  That pile of guilt would no longer build up on each one, becoming heavier and heavier, needing yet another sacrifice every year.  Think what that must have meant to a people who through the years had seen oceans of blood pouring down that manmade altar, knowing that next year, the same thing must happen again, not only for new sins, but for exactly the same old ones as well.  What a relief.

            And what a relief for us to know that God forgives and forgets, and that because of that wonderful blessing we can enjoy another “Never-Ending Story” that will remind us of a blessing, instead of a burden. 

And they indeed have been made priests many in number because by death they are hindered from continuing; but he, because he abides forever, has his priesthood unchangeable.  Wherefore also he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, seeing he ever lives to make intercession for them.  For such a high priest became us, holy, guileless, undefiled, separated from sinners, and made higher than the heavens, who needs not daily, like those high priests to offer up sacrifices, first for his own sins, and then for the sins of the people, for this he did once for all, when he offered up himself,. Heb 7:23-27.

Dene Ward