My heavy bible

The Lord rose from the dead today, some two thousand years ago. A couple of fishermen cum itenerant preachers, who just two days ago fled for their lives and cowered in an upper room, boldly went forth to tell the good news of God's Salvation. There was something about knowing that death had been defeated on the Cross of Calvary that brought new courage to a mortley crew of fledgling disciples.

Truth be known that many died terrible deaths on account of their faith in Christ and for proclaiming His ressurection. I am too painfully aware that many have given up their lives since that fateful Easter day, so that the truth about God may prevail. To regard the bible as a magnificient literary work and denying its Author denigrates the sacrifices of countless men and women who have perished and will continue to perish for a love story that will never end.

The crux of the matter is this. We love because God first loved us. Jesus said that there is no greater love than this, that a man should give up his life for another. For the love of God compels us, mere mortals so consumed with petty differences, to live for something greater than ourselves. Many have laid down their lives, willingly and unreservedly, so that many more may live anew in the Kingdom of God.

In the face of such enduring love, my tiny bible lies heavy in the palm of my hands.