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I’d like a little help here. First let me put you in the picture and then you can say if I’m right or not.
Like most of you, the first thing I do when I wake in the morning is smell my hands. However, this morning, I had a pressing reason. It all started yesterday evening when I went off to the Des Moines Baptist Biblical Science Convention to speak on why it is that meteorites always land in craters.
I was late as my car broke down about 2 miles from the hotel. I had “Boy” my chauffeur and faithful retainer, go off to find a garage and, in vile weather with shoes better suited for a soft carpet, I walked the rest of the way. When I arrived my feet were in wet, cold and in agony. God never gives us more than we can bear, although sometimes He comes close, so I considered this to be something like a revelation of what Jesus must have felt like when he walked to Jerusalem (Lu:19:27 Lu:19:28 ) only colder and wetter and I was pulling a suitcase along.
I had hoped simply to sit down in my room with my feet in warm water but even before I could check in I was cornered in the lobby by Pastor McFarlane who wanted my opinion on the thorny question of if coconuts hairy and produce milk, should therefore be classed as mammals. The old bats are birds and shrimps are fish arguments came out before I was able to drag myself away, only to be pulled to one side by Pastor Davidson was eager to discuss the obvious relationship between the end of the Cold War and the rise in the belief in global warming.
It took him a full 20 minutes to get to his point during which time my feet seemed to weld with pain to the marble floor. I chose a few verses, particularly Genesis 1:28 which we can translate as “We are men therefore we are looking after the earth – case closed.”, pointed at some food on the table and then turned to leave for the desk.
I walked straight into Pastor Eisbrand. He has always had a thing about moral corruption. He was concerned about the size of the pornography trade and the undoubted evils it inflicts on an otherwise Godly Nation. Even his graphic descriptions of a huge, and frankly incredible, list of abominable acts of lust available on TV did not make me forget my feet.
And then I had an idea.
I said to him, “Excuse me Frank! I have a duty to perform!” and I marched up to my goal – the check-in desk. Even though the guy was standing before me, I hit the bell hard. It had the desired effect. The babble of conversation stopped dead. Silence was as the grave, all eyes were upon me and, in my stentorian voice that served me well in the early days as a street preacher, I said,
“I hope the porn is disabled.”
The guy looked at me for a moment and, forgive me, for I quote his words, replies loudly.
“It’s just regular porn you sick fuck.”
That’s when the fight broke out. It was as if the hotel staff and the police that arrived had iron chariots for we were all ejected, and doubtless you will have read biased and insulting reports in the newspapers. I will make a statement later that relies heavily on Lu:9:5. However, the street of Des Moines on a December night are no place for a Pastor with wet shoes and it took another hour to find a hotel.
The next morning my feet were worse and I felt like I had spent 3 days in the saddle. I called “Boy” and he appeared in the now repaired car having spent the evening well-fed and watered in some warm hotel devoid of spiritual solitude and contemplation as it had a jazz band and cheap booze. The journey home was like the punishment Satan forgot to give Job as the heater in the car had given up. So when I arrived home all I wanted to do was throw away those shoes and stick my feet in warm water. Oh, the bliss! This was what heaven must be like all the time. My mind drifted and I fell asleep and dreamed a dream in which that reprobate Rodimer was being eaten alive by hedgehogs. This was all very pleasing but once they had eaten his screaming head, the little devils started towards me. As the first one bit my toes, I woke up with a start. The water was cold and a blister on my left foot was stinging.
I put more hot water in the bowl and scanned the room for ointment. Once my feet had warmed through, I dried them and made my way to Mrs Bathfire’s dressing table – she has hundreds of creams, salves, ointments, etc.
One caught my eye. It was an 8.4oz jar labeled “Crème de la Mer”. The jar said, “Born from the sea, the legendary Crème de la Mer has the power to transform the skin. Blah, blah, blah, With the nutrient-rich Miracle Broth™, Blah, blah, blah, skin is immersed in moisture, sensitivities soothed, radiance restored. ... Blah, blah, blah, profound benefits lies in a soothing ritual.” I scooped a handful out and rubbed it into my feet. To be frank, it was a bit like goose fat and had a perfume that was a little less than manly, but I trusted what was said and scooped another handful for my other foot.
I was just rubbing the last bit into my heel when in walks Mrs Bathfire. I was just putting the jar back on the dressing table and she noticed this. She pulled it from my hand and looked in the jar. There was a silence and then a ear-rending scream broke out. My jaw started to fall as my eyebrows rose. Mrs Bathfire was upon me like a banshee. She pushed me to the floor and started stoning me with all the jars, bottles, and tubes that she could lay her hands on. Her constant refrain was “You idiot! You cretin! You [profanity deleted]! That was 8 oz of “Crème de la Mer”! It cost $1,030! This went on for sometime, so avoiding the missiles I collected some fresh socks and shoes and departed followed by the odd jar and more cries of “$1,030!”
As I sat in my prayer closet, it turned out the price was correct (http://www.cremedelamer.com/product/...ch-dewy-finish) but despite that, I was somewhat disturbed by the smell of the ointment that was rising from my now warm feet and thinking of what I could have done with over $1000, when I recalled
Joh:12:1: Then Jesus six days before the passover came to Bethany, where Lazarus was which had been dead, whom he raised from the dead.
Joh:12:2: There they made him a supper; and Martha served: but Lazarus was one of them that sat at the table with him.
Joh:12:3: Then took Mary a pound of ointment of spikenard, very costly, and anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped his feet with her hair: and the house was filled with the odour of the ointment.
Joh:12:4: Then saith one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, which should betray him,
Joh:12:5: Why was not this ointment sold for three hundred pence, and given to the poor?
Joh:12:6: This he said, not that he cared for the poor; but because he was a thief, and had the bag, and bare what was put therein.
Joh:12:7: Then said Jesus, Let her alone: against the day of my burying hath she kept this.
Joh:12:8: For the poor always ye have with you; but me ye have not always.
My life seems not to follow that of Jesus, although I note that the poor are still with us. I thought how Mary was only too willing to put the expensive ointment on Jesus and realized that Mrs Bathfire had obviously been angry that I had put it on by myself. She must have felt that I should have waited for her to put it on my feet and then wipe it off with her hair.
This insight surely came from Jesus, so I went downstairs to find her and explain that I forgave her. I found her in the kitchen speaking, in tears, on the telephone and recounting to the widow Talitha what I had done.
I held up my hand and told her how I understood and that I was wrong to stop her putting the stuff on my feet and rubbing it off with her hair. You can imagine my surprise as pots and pans flew in my direction accompanied by screams of anger. I retreated in line with Proverb:21:9
How could I have been wrong? Jesus had spoken to me! I returned to my prayer closet. There, upon the floor was my bible. It was open at
M'r:14:1: After two days was the feast of the passover, and of unleavened bread: and the chief priests and the scribes sought how they might take him by craft, and put him to death.
M'r:14:2: But they said, Not on the feast day, lest there be an uproar of the people.
M'r:14:3: And being in Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at meat, there came a woman having an alabaster box of ointment of spikenard very precious; and she brake the box, and poured it on his head.
M'r:14:4: And there were some that had indignation within themselves, and said, Why was this waste of the ointment made?
M'r:14:5: For it might have been sold for more than three hundred pence, and have been given to the poor. And they murmured against her.
M'r:14:6: And Jesus said, Let her alone; why trouble ye her? she hath wrought a good work on me.
M'r:14:7: For ye have the poor with you always, and whensoever ye will ye may do them good: but me ye have not always.
Ignoring the fact that Mark says it was Simon the leper’s house and John says it was Lazarus’s (Jesus probably went to two houses) I now see that the second story is the right one, and either I, or better still Mrs Bathfire, should have poured the Crème de la Mer over my head, although what that would have done to my feet, I don’t know.
I have spent the night in my prayer closet. Oh, and as for smelling my hands this morning, it’s that perfume: the smell gets everywhere.
__________________________________________________ ________
I'm thinking of mentioning Mark's message when things calm down. Is this the right approach?
Like most of you, the first thing I do when I wake in the morning is smell my hands. However, this morning, I had a pressing reason. It all started yesterday evening when I went off to the Des Moines Baptist Biblical Science Convention to speak on why it is that meteorites always land in craters.
I was late as my car broke down about 2 miles from the hotel. I had “Boy” my chauffeur and faithful retainer, go off to find a garage and, in vile weather with shoes better suited for a soft carpet, I walked the rest of the way. When I arrived my feet were in wet, cold and in agony. God never gives us more than we can bear, although sometimes He comes close, so I considered this to be something like a revelation of what Jesus must have felt like when he walked to Jerusalem (Lu:19:27 Lu:19:28 ) only colder and wetter and I was pulling a suitcase along.
I had hoped simply to sit down in my room with my feet in warm water but even before I could check in I was cornered in the lobby by Pastor McFarlane who wanted my opinion on the thorny question of if coconuts hairy and produce milk, should therefore be classed as mammals. The old bats are birds and shrimps are fish arguments came out before I was able to drag myself away, only to be pulled to one side by Pastor Davidson was eager to discuss the obvious relationship between the end of the Cold War and the rise in the belief in global warming.
It took him a full 20 minutes to get to his point during which time my feet seemed to weld with pain to the marble floor. I chose a few verses, particularly Genesis 1:28 which we can translate as “We are men therefore we are looking after the earth – case closed.”, pointed at some food on the table and then turned to leave for the desk.
I walked straight into Pastor Eisbrand. He has always had a thing about moral corruption. He was concerned about the size of the pornography trade and the undoubted evils it inflicts on an otherwise Godly Nation. Even his graphic descriptions of a huge, and frankly incredible, list of abominable acts of lust available on TV did not make me forget my feet.
And then I had an idea.
I said to him, “Excuse me Frank! I have a duty to perform!” and I marched up to my goal – the check-in desk. Even though the guy was standing before me, I hit the bell hard. It had the desired effect. The babble of conversation stopped dead. Silence was as the grave, all eyes were upon me and, in my stentorian voice that served me well in the early days as a street preacher, I said,
“I hope the porn is disabled.”
The guy looked at me for a moment and, forgive me, for I quote his words, replies loudly.
“It’s just regular porn you sick fuck.”
That’s when the fight broke out. It was as if the hotel staff and the police that arrived had iron chariots for we were all ejected, and doubtless you will have read biased and insulting reports in the newspapers. I will make a statement later that relies heavily on Lu:9:5. However, the street of Des Moines on a December night are no place for a Pastor with wet shoes and it took another hour to find a hotel.
The next morning my feet were worse and I felt like I had spent 3 days in the saddle. I called “Boy” and he appeared in the now repaired car having spent the evening well-fed and watered in some warm hotel devoid of spiritual solitude and contemplation as it had a jazz band and cheap booze. The journey home was like the punishment Satan forgot to give Job as the heater in the car had given up. So when I arrived home all I wanted to do was throw away those shoes and stick my feet in warm water. Oh, the bliss! This was what heaven must be like all the time. My mind drifted and I fell asleep and dreamed a dream in which that reprobate Rodimer was being eaten alive by hedgehogs. This was all very pleasing but once they had eaten his screaming head, the little devils started towards me. As the first one bit my toes, I woke up with a start. The water was cold and a blister on my left foot was stinging.
I put more hot water in the bowl and scanned the room for ointment. Once my feet had warmed through, I dried them and made my way to Mrs Bathfire’s dressing table – she has hundreds of creams, salves, ointments, etc.
One caught my eye. It was an 8.4oz jar labeled “Crème de la Mer”. The jar said, “Born from the sea, the legendary Crème de la Mer has the power to transform the skin. Blah, blah, blah, With the nutrient-rich Miracle Broth™, Blah, blah, blah, skin is immersed in moisture, sensitivities soothed, radiance restored. ... Blah, blah, blah, profound benefits lies in a soothing ritual.” I scooped a handful out and rubbed it into my feet. To be frank, it was a bit like goose fat and had a perfume that was a little less than manly, but I trusted what was said and scooped another handful for my other foot.
I was just rubbing the last bit into my heel when in walks Mrs Bathfire. I was just putting the jar back on the dressing table and she noticed this. She pulled it from my hand and looked in the jar. There was a silence and then a ear-rending scream broke out. My jaw started to fall as my eyebrows rose. Mrs Bathfire was upon me like a banshee. She pushed me to the floor and started stoning me with all the jars, bottles, and tubes that she could lay her hands on. Her constant refrain was “You idiot! You cretin! You [profanity deleted]! That was 8 oz of “Crème de la Mer”! It cost $1,030! This went on for sometime, so avoiding the missiles I collected some fresh socks and shoes and departed followed by the odd jar and more cries of “$1,030!”
As I sat in my prayer closet, it turned out the price was correct (http://www.cremedelamer.com/product/...ch-dewy-finish) but despite that, I was somewhat disturbed by the smell of the ointment that was rising from my now warm feet and thinking of what I could have done with over $1000, when I recalled
Joh:12:1: Then Jesus six days before the passover came to Bethany, where Lazarus was which had been dead, whom he raised from the dead.
Joh:12:2: There they made him a supper; and Martha served: but Lazarus was one of them that sat at the table with him.
Joh:12:3: Then took Mary a pound of ointment of spikenard, very costly, and anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped his feet with her hair: and the house was filled with the odour of the ointment.
Joh:12:4: Then saith one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, which should betray him,
Joh:12:5: Why was not this ointment sold for three hundred pence, and given to the poor?
Joh:12:6: This he said, not that he cared for the poor; but because he was a thief, and had the bag, and bare what was put therein.
Joh:12:7: Then said Jesus, Let her alone: against the day of my burying hath she kept this.
Joh:12:8: For the poor always ye have with you; but me ye have not always.
My life seems not to follow that of Jesus, although I note that the poor are still with us. I thought how Mary was only too willing to put the expensive ointment on Jesus and realized that Mrs Bathfire had obviously been angry that I had put it on by myself. She must have felt that I should have waited for her to put it on my feet and then wipe it off with her hair.
This insight surely came from Jesus, so I went downstairs to find her and explain that I forgave her. I found her in the kitchen speaking, in tears, on the telephone and recounting to the widow Talitha what I had done.
I held up my hand and told her how I understood and that I was wrong to stop her putting the stuff on my feet and rubbing it off with her hair. You can imagine my surprise as pots and pans flew in my direction accompanied by screams of anger. I retreated in line with Proverb:21:9
How could I have been wrong? Jesus had spoken to me! I returned to my prayer closet. There, upon the floor was my bible. It was open at
M'r:14:1: After two days was the feast of the passover, and of unleavened bread: and the chief priests and the scribes sought how they might take him by craft, and put him to death.
M'r:14:2: But they said, Not on the feast day, lest there be an uproar of the people.
M'r:14:3: And being in Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at meat, there came a woman having an alabaster box of ointment of spikenard very precious; and she brake the box, and poured it on his head.
M'r:14:4: And there were some that had indignation within themselves, and said, Why was this waste of the ointment made?
M'r:14:5: For it might have been sold for more than three hundred pence, and have been given to the poor. And they murmured against her.
M'r:14:6: And Jesus said, Let her alone; why trouble ye her? she hath wrought a good work on me.
M'r:14:7: For ye have the poor with you always, and whensoever ye will ye may do them good: but me ye have not always.
Ignoring the fact that Mark says it was Simon the leper’s house and John says it was Lazarus’s (Jesus probably went to two houses) I now see that the second story is the right one, and either I, or better still Mrs Bathfire, should have poured the Crème de la Mer over my head, although what that would have done to my feet, I don’t know.
I have spent the night in my prayer closet. Oh, and as for smelling my hands this morning, it’s that perfume: the smell gets everywhere.
__________________________________________________ ________
I'm thinking of mentioning Mark's message when things calm down. Is this the right approach?
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