When I started blogging in 2012, I knew basically no one in the WordPress community, but I wanted to write. So, I like many others, just started to write. I'm not sure how it happened exactly, but one day I started getting lovely, encouraging, and sometimes hilarious comments from my now dear friend Stella. She had a different name, but the same sweet and friendly way.
She's a brilliant poet, and her prose will draw you into the world she has created. Check our her blog here.
Well, she recently reviewed my book, Encounters With Jesus, and I wanted to share her review here, with you all.
So - here goes:
Book Review–Don’t Miss This One!
Ben (Benjamin) Nelson, of Another Red Letter Day—a man I may never meet personally, but am proud to call brother—has written and published an anointed book. Encounters With Jesus is beautiful, from cover to lovely cover. Ben takes us through “40 days in the life of Jesus…through the eyes of those He touched”.
I first came across Ben’s blog six years ago and was impressed with his knowledge of the Bible, as well as his clear, concise, and engaging writing style. In his book, he’s written the short “encounters” to reflect a distinctive new shimmer on the Biblical passages from which Ben has drawn them.
Throughout each “encounter”, Ben intersperses a verse or two from The Message Bible which adds to the “you are there” feeling you’ll enjoy as you read. And although Ben suggests you not read the book in one sitting—but rather one story per day—I found it’s really hard to stop, once you open the first page.
I rarely do book reviews—and yes, I’m a little biased, but not over-much. This book will bless you in a way that warms and lights you up inside…and it makes a wonderful gift, too. It’s available on Amazon.com—so treat yourself to something special!
I’m already looking forward to Ben’s next book—that’s how good Encounters With Jesus is.
Thanks so much Stella! As I have told you before, your encouragement during my earliest days of writing online is a big part of why I decided to put Encounters out there in the first place.
If you've not gotten your hands on a copy of Encounters With Jesus, what are you waiting for? This is a great time to walk through the life of Jesus. March 1st is he beginning of Lent this year, and those 40 days would be well spent taking a fresh look at the life of Jesus.
Get your copy here. It's available in paperback and kindle.
If you want to use it for a Bible Study or discussion group, quantities of 5 or more, email me (Ben@AnotherRedLetterDay.com) and I can get you a price break.
“Just go, and go now before it’s too late,” my wife said when she realized Jesus was our only hope.
My son was sick—dying really—and the doctors gave us no hope. They couldn’t even give a name to his malady. He couldn’t keep his food down, and breathing caused such pain it made him shudder. For the last week, he’d had no more than a few cups of milk. He was dying. My little Marcus would leave this life as a twelve-year-old, and leave his mother and me broken.
It came on him suddenly, just three months ago. At first, we thought he had the flu. There were times we thought he would melt from the heat his body produced. Food was harder and harder for him to hold down. The doctors tried everything. I called in doctors from all the neighboring towns. Each one had the same advice. “Try to keep him comfortable.”
I’m a Roman, noble by birth. I’m part of Rome’s occupying force here in Galilee. I’m not military. There are many of Rome’s military forces spread over the region, but I’m here to create Roman culture. My counterparts and I come to these satellite conquests and live Roman lives. This way the people of our new territories can see what Roman life looks like. We live in relative luxury when compared to the rest of Capernaum. This luxury includes the servants we brought with us from Rome. I miss my homeland, though, and have wondered more than once if Roman doctors could heal my son.
My butler brought his family with him from Rome when we moved here four years back. They lived together in a suite of rooms in the servants quarters, off the main house. He is my most trusted confidant. I speak with him about things I would not even share with my wife.
Three days back, my butler mentioned that Jesus, the healer, was back in Galilee—in Cana. We had talked about taking my son to him a few weeks ago, but the reports had him in Jerusalem and around Judea. My son was too sick to travel that far. But Cana—Cana is only a few hours from here.
We first heard of this healer a few months back, when my butler took his wife to find him. It was one Saturday night after the Jew’s Sabbath was over, right here in Capernaum. He told me, the next day, there had been dozens of people waiting outside the home where Jesus spent his Sabbath. When He emerged He healed every one of them. Not one person went home without a touch from this healer, including my butler’s wife. She had been suffering from vision loss since he came into my service. In any practical sense, she was blind. But when he came back in that night, there was a ruckus in the servants quarters. I went to see what was going on and found a full-blown party going on. When he saw me, he didn’t even apologize for the noise or seem concerned. He ran over and gave me a hug. His eyes were wet with tears.
“She can see,” he said through his tears.
I looked at her across the room and our eyes met, and she was nodding. It was true. She was completely healed. She could see.
So when he told me Jesus was back in the area, I told him to get my horse and carriage ready. Then I ran to my son’s bedside. I found my wife holding him, tears running down her cheeks.
“What is it?” I asked.
“He’s gone,” she said.
“Dead?” I asked.
“No,” she answered, “but close. He’s not responding to anything anymore.”
“I want to take him to see the healer—up in Cana,” I said.
“He can’t travel. He’ll be dead before you get him in the carriage.” She said.
“But the healer is back in Cana. He can save him, I’m sure of it.” I urged.
“No. I won’t let you take him,” she insisted.
“Well, I’m going anyway,” I told her.
I threw on my cloak and rushed for the door.
“You’re leaving now?” she asked. “It will be nightfall by the time you reach Cana.”
“Look at him,” I said. “He’s at death’s door. I must see this man as soon as possible.”
“Just go, and go now before it’s too late,” she finally agreed.
I ran out the door and found the horse and carriage ready for me in front of the house. I briefly explained I was going alone. We separated horse and carriage and saddled him. I was off for Cana.
My last look at my son panicked me. His body seemed limp, his color, gray. I couldn’t get the image out of my mind. I had to find this healer and all I knew of his whereabouts was Cana.
When I got to the town, I headed toward the magistrates building near the town center. But before I got there, I saw a crowd gathered in the square. In the center was a man who seemed to have everyone’s attention. As I approached I began to understand why. His words drew me like a bee to a blossom. The sound of His voice seemed to exude peace if that’s even possible. After two hours riding in panic, a calm from without began to press its way into my soul.
When the crowd saw the royal insignia on my horse, they made room for me. I dismounted and walked through the assembly to Jesus.
He stood before me in silence.
“My son is at the point of death,” I began. “He may be dead already, but I’m sure if you will come with me to Capernaum, you can make him well.”
Jesus turned from me to address the crowd.
“Unless you people see signs and wonders, you simply will not believe.”
“Sir,” I almost barked, feeling the panic rising again. I gathered myself and started again, this time with a forced calm. “Sir, come down before my child dies.”
Jesus said, “Go; your son lives.”
The confidence in His tone—in His words—banished my fear and I believed Him. Three words turned my fear—panic—into peace. I turned and headed back toward my horse. I stopped. I realized I hadn't thanked Him. I turned to go back but He had His back facing me, holding another man in the crowd who knelt before Him.
As the evening hurried toward night, I found an inn at the side of the road. I slept well all night long, and that surprised me. I hadn’t slept that well since before my son fell ill.
I started awake, disoriented, forgetting where I was. For a split second, worry pressed upward from the depths. Then I saw my cloak and gear and remembered everything.
Only minutes after I left the inn, my butler and I met in the way.
“Master, master, your son lives!” he was calling as he ran to meet me.
We rejoiced for no short time, and then I asked, “When? When did things change?”
“Yesterday at the seventh hour the fever left him,” came his answer.
“It was Jesus!” I said with confidence. "That’s when He spoke the words."
“Words?” he asked.
“Your son lives,” I answered. “Those three words saved Marcus’ life. Three little words. Your son lives.”
We would be a few more hours on the road, but there was no gap in our talk of this fellow, Jesus. My servant told me of the things he had seen in Capernaum, and I told him my story again, and again, and once more.
“Your son lives.” His words resound in my mind.
When we arrived at home, my son greeted me at the end of the walk. He started telling me what happened at home, while I tried to tell him what Jesus had done. In the end, I told my story to everyone in the household. I told my son, my wife, my other children. I called all the servants together and told them to bring their families. I then recounted the miracle for them as well.
All who heard believed in this Healer from Nazareth.
To read the original story, see John 4:46-54.
Copyright - Benjamin Nelson - 2017
If you enjoyed this story you can find forty more like it in my book Encounters With Jesus. It takes you, as you read, from Christ's conception to His resurrection through the eyes of dozens who were touched by His ministry.
Encounters With Jesus just received another 5 Star review! Thank YOU!!
Here's what quierofuego has to say about Encounters With Jesus.
I remember a period of time when the gospels came alive to me. I read through
them again and again, thinking "I finally get it! It's all about Jesus' compassion! Jesus didn't just heal people and do miracles to prove that he was God. He showed us what God's heart is."
In "Encounters With Jesus," Ben Nelson shares stories from the gospels from the perspectives of the people Jesus touched. This work is semi-fiction, as scripture only gives limited details its stories. It certainly doesn't contradict the account of scripture, but it helps us to imagine what the people who met Jesus thought and felt.
"Encounters With Jesus" often brought me to tears as I considered again the wonderful compassion and nature of Jesus--God in the flesh, God come as a man. This is a great resource to help you meditate on the nature of Christ and to let his goodness and compassion transform you.
Thank so much, if you have reviewed Encounters. It's such an encouragement to me and helps others find it, too.
They entered the house and saw the child in the arms of Mary,
his mother. Overcome, they kneeled and worshiped him.
Then they opened their luggage and presented gifts:
gold, frankincense, myrrh.
A Star Speaks
Last night I had a dream—at least I think it was a dream. An angel stood before me and told me not to trust Herod, but to leave without passing back through Jerusalem.
In days past, my nation, Babylon, took captive many people from many places. Most of the people we conquered were content to be alive and, over time, assimilated to our culture. I don’t suppose anyone liked slavery or living in foreign lands. But our king in those days, Nebuchadnezzar, would have our captives evaluated. He believed it was a waste to put great minds in the fields or strong bodies in the counting house. People were not as likely to revolt if they were capable in their occupations.
You’re probably wondering who I am and what I’m doing here in Bethlehem.Some call my sect stargazers; some think we’re magicians. In reality, we’re students—students of the wisdom we’ve gleaned from the cultures we have conquered.
When I finished my apprenticeship about five years back, I took on the writings from a peculiar people, the Hebrews.
The strange thing about these Jews is that they would never assimilate. They never became Babylonians—not even Babylonian captives. They were Jews and only Jews. They kept their customs and their ways. They dressed alike and stayed together. There were some, of course, who intermarried and some who left the worship of their God. Some even mixed their religions with others in our massive melting pot of culture. But most Hebrews held tight to their traditions and to their God.
One notable Hebrew captive was a young man named Belteshazzar. His Hebrew name was Daniel. I call him “the dreamer.” He and a few of his fellow Jews rose to places of great influence in Nebuchadnezzar’s court. He was a seer. He could read dreams and was able to see into the future. He often spoke of a coming messiah revealed in the Hebrew writings. This deliverer would come to release captive Israel. He spoke of a king for the Jews who would come when the time was right.
One night about two years ago, a new star appeared in the heavens. We called it a star, but it was unlike any we’d studied before. Most of the other stars circled the night sky, but this star was always right overhead. We observed it for a few weeks, and there it stood every clear night, shining bright and strong.
We began calculations to determine what it might be and what it might mean, and everything pointed to Israel.
We brought this information to our nation’s leadership. They wanted nothing to do with a king born in the land now occupied by the Romans. Our day had past, and Rome was a force far beyond our grasp.
My fellow astronomers and I began to look to others to support a journey to see what this star meant. As we told of the ancient stories of a king born in Jerusalem and sent from the Hebrew God, many listened. There were many who still held to the religion of the Hebrews.
They donated supplies for our journey and gifts for this king—most notably gold, frankincense, and myrrh. It took a few months more to gather enough support to make the nine-hundred-mile journey. By the time we were ready to travel, we had not only accumulated much to offer this new king, but we’d gathered quite a following.
We decided to take the route used by Israel when they made the trek back to their land. 450 years ago, Ezra led many Hebrews back to Jerusalem to rebuild the city and their temple. Rather than heading straight across the desert toward the star, we traveled northeast along the Euphrates and then south along the Jordan River.
We arrived in Jerusalem three days ago and met with Herod and his counselors. They directed us to Bethlehem. He offered us a handsome reward if we returned and guided him to this young king. I see now that he was plotting to destroy the child and this threat to his own reign.
Yesterday, after almost two years of planning and travel, we met with this child king. I was beginning to fear that the whole thing was a huge mistake, but nothing could have been further from the truth.
It was late afternoon by the time we reached Bethlehem. We asked around, yet no one knew of a boy king. We stopped and considered the star once more as evening approached. It seemed to be guiding us. I can’t explain how we knew, but we followed this guide right to the house where Jesus was staying.
We knocked on the door. The man who greeted us seemed unsure what to make of our foreign garb and the entourage that followed after us. I was not sure what to say either. My heart raced.
“Is this the home of the King?” I asked, unable to contain my excitement.
When I said it, I saw the tension leave his face.
“You must mean the child, Jesus. Wait here,” he replied.
I could see that the home was far too small to welcome our company, so we waited without while the man of the house left us. Moments later, he returned with a couple and their young child.
“This is Joseph of Nazareth and his wife, Mary, and her child, Jesus.”
Mary’s eyes grew when she saw our troupe, and she drew Jesus behind Joseph.
“What business do you have with us?” Joseph said.
I then fell to one knee as I looked upon the child. He looked like any other Hebrew boy, but there was something different in the air. I sensed a calm flowing out of the house. The curious boy peeked around Joseph’s legs and stared at us, his little head cocked. I’m sure we looked strange to these Jews, with our camels and colorful robes.
“We have come to pay homage to the One born King of the Jews. Is this the child? Is this the One the prophets foretold, the One called Emanuel?” I said.
“Yes,” Mary said. “His name is Jesus, and His miraculous birth was foretold by our prophets for hundreds of years.”
“We have come to worship this Messiah of the Jews with gifts from our nation.”
Then we presented our many gifts. The gold we carried made a fitting offering for a king and the frankincense a worthy homage to a holy man. The myrrh was a curiosity to me, because it was so melancholy. Yes, it was a precious and costly gift, but it spoke of death, which did not seem a fitting gift for child or king.
Our gifts accepted, the young couple took us into town to find a place for our party to stay the night. The inn was full but offered to let us rest in their stable. Before they left us for the night, Mary told me this was the place of the child’s birth.
How could it be that One so important, foreseen for centuries, could be born in such lowly surroundings and to such common people? Their house was tiny, and there were no attendants or servants to care for Him. This child of peace and grace should be in Jerusalem, in the great palace there.
It was as I slept in the hay that I had the dream. A man—an angel perhaps—stood before me and warned me not to return to Herod, but to go home another way. We returned to the house the next morning and told the couple of my dream. Some wanted to stay in Bethlehem and serve the young king, but his parents insisted we go, for our safety and theirs.
There is something within me that does not want to leave. This place has a hold on me. The child has captured my imagination. I don’t want to leave, but how can I stay?
What will become of this young king?
To read the original story, see Matthew 2:1-12.
Copyright - Benjamin Nelson - 2015
The story above is a chapter from my book Encounters With Jesus, which is a compilation of forty such stories. It takes you from Christ's conception to His resurrection through the eyes of dozens who were touched by His ministry.
Truly I say to you,
this poor widow put in more than all of them;
for they all out of their surplus put into the offering;
but she out of her poverty
put in all that she had to live on.
All She Had
I still remember the first time I saw this one they call Jesus. Who could forget that day? It’s been just about three years. My husband Ari was still alive then, but he was not well. We barely collected enough money to buy a pair of turtledoves this year, let alone a lamb like we did when the kids were young.
Passover was always my favorite time of year. All the children were part of it and Ari always made sure we did everything, every game and story for the children, every glass of wine for the adults, every song for all of us.
Passover wasn’t simply a remembrance of days gone by to Ari and me. We often dreamed of a day when Israel would be free again. It’s true, Rome lets us sacrifice in the temple and have our meetings. But we prayed that the Lord would come and restore the true worship, as in the days of King David. In those days worship toward the Lord God would be offered twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Ari used to tell me the prophets spoke of a real son of David sitting on the throne again. We longed for those days.
That was before Ari got sick. But three years ago, when we came to the temple to offer our sacrifice, it was to be just two turtledoves. Our family was scattered and would not come home for Passover.
Just as we were getting ready to purchase our offering, that young man, Jesus, started dumping tables. Ari pulled me back as we looked on in shock as table after table went tumbling, coins rolling this way and that.
At first, I was angry. Why was this young rebel disrupting our worship? We had come, as we have been coming for forty years together, to worship the Lord.
From where we were standing I could see His face as He drove sheep and cattle out of the gate, and let the doves and pigeons out of their cages. His actions were angry and violent, but in His eyes—well—his eyes were wet with tears.
His voice echoed around the courtyard.
"Take these things away; stop making My Father's house a place of business."
It almost seemed His heart was broken over what He found in the temple.
As I said, that was almost three years ago now. My Ari died the next fall.
Initially, when he passed on, I thought I would be all right, I thought I could make what he left for me last. I sold the little shop where he and I sold butter and cheese. The young man who bought it from me lets me stay in one of the back rooms. But he can’t afford to feed me, so I’ve been living on the few eggs my sweet hens lay.
This last winter was so cold and long—you remember, don’t you—I had to trade my few chickens for firewood to keep the stove going in my little room. Now I have nothing left.
I’ve decided to give myself to serve in the temple. They take in widows and let them keep the courtyards clean. This way I can make my whole life about worshipping the Lord God. Maybe I’ll never see the son of David on the throne or public worship day and night, but at least I can worship Him with the rest of my life. He has kept me through these hard times and cares for my every need. My few remaining years are the least I can give back.
My landlord and his family received news of my decision to leave with mixed feelings. His wife was expecting, so they really needed my room for their growing family.
I really had nothing in the room that I wanted except one small box. Enclosed within were a few letters Ari had written to me decades earlier. We were betrothed, and he was serving in the army when he wrote them.I think I read every one of them one hundred times before he came home to me. Since his passing, I’ve taken to reading them often. Now when I read them, I think about him waiting for me to come home.
The box also contained two tiny copper coins. These were a remembrance of that
day in the temple when the young prophet Jesus dumped the tables. As we stood out of the way, in the midst of all that chaos, these two mites rolled up and stopped at our feet.
We looked up to see who they belonged to, but in the tumult, there seemed nothing we could do.
As I looked at the two stars pressed into the copper, I knew just what to do with them. They were intended for worship that day in the court. I’ll put them in the treasury as an offering to the Lord.
I headed out the door for the last time, just this morning. We said our goodbyes with hugs and tears. They wished me the Lord’s best, and I touched their unborn child and spoke a blessing over it.
As I approached the temple I noticed that the booths and vendors were outside the temple gates, selling doves and sheep for the offerings. Even the money changers were outside the gates exchanging Roman currency for the temple coins.
I stopped and spoke to a boy selling doves at the side of the road.
“Why are you outside the temple court today, boy?” I asked.
“That Jesus person is in the temple again today,” he replied with annoyance. “He drove us out on the first day of the week after His little procession.”
I wasn’t sure what procession he was talking about, but it sounded like that young prophet was back in Jerusalem for the holy days again this year. My heart pounded a bit as I wondered whether I would see Him again today.
I wanted to take care of these coins before I talked to the temple administrators aboutkeeping me on as a caretaker in the temple. Once I put them in the offering, I could honestly offer myself to the service of the Almighty without any ties to this world.
As I entered the women’s court of the temple I found crowds of spectators at the treasury. During the holy days, the rich come to fulfill their pledges while the crowds are in town for the festivities. People love to stand and watch as the rich come and make their donations. I wondered if I would be shunned from this group of givers.
Each of these wealthy men before me had their servants surrounding them. As they gave, they would have a crier announce the amount they were giving. Some gave more in one offering than our whole village could earn in a year.
Part of me wanted to go back to my village. I didn’t belong here among all the rich and powerful people. But I knew I had to give the Lord my tiny offering. After one large entourage stepped away from the treasury with great fanfare, I quietly approached.
My nerves were on high alert. I could feel the eyes of many watching as I fumbled with my two tiny copper coins. I knew the money would never make any difference to the temple, but my heart hoped that the Lord would be pleased with my offering. I had to keep reminding myself that I was not meeting a need, but honoring my Lord.
I heard some people laugh as my coins dropped into the box, and wondered if they were mocking me. I didn’t care. I would go my way and give myself to the service of my Lord.
As I walked away from the treasury and headed toward a priest I had seen near the East Gate, I felt a deep peace. A peace that started in my belly and rose, lifting my spirits and filling me with joy.
It was as though giving my last possessions to the Lord set me free somewhere deep inside.
To read the original story, see Mark 12:41-44,
Luke 21:1-4 and John 2:13-21
Copyright - Benjamin Nelson - 2016
If you enjoyed this story you can find forty more in my book Encounters With Jesus. It takes the reader from Christ's conception to His resurrection through the eyes of dozens who were touched by His ministry.
There is no way to
get rid of this kind of
demon except by prayer.
Help My Doubts
Father of a Demon-Possessed Boy
I remember the doctor saying to us, years ago, “Keep a record of his bad days.” My son—my eight-year-old boy—Enoch and I visited the doctor often in those first days. It’s been another eight years since we stopped going to doctors. For seven of them, we’ve found it easier to record the good days than count the bad.
The first sign the demonic attack has begun—we now know it’s a demon—is Enoch’s eerie silence. His eyes glaze over and it seems like he has gone away. He can’t hear—or at least he doesn’t respond to sound—and never speaks.
In the beginning, we thought he was sick. My wife, Havah, and I took him to our family doctor in the village. At first, this demon did not awaken while we were with the doctor, so he didn't know how to help. Enoch, couldn’t tell the doctor much. He couldn't remember what happened during his episodes. He just fell—no—not fell—it was like being thrown to the floor. Then he rolled around the ground as stiff as a board, foaming at the mouth. If there was anything dangerous nearby, like fire, or water, or a steep drop, he’d head right for it.
Our third visit to the doctor was after a furious episode where Enoch found his way right into an open fire. It scorched more than half the skin on his left side. The doctor said he could treat the burn, but he told us we should see a priest or rabbi. He didn’t think Enoch had any disease.
“This boy is possessed by a devil, and I can’t help you,” he told us as he gave us some salve for his burns.
After that, we went from rabbi to rabbi, each one shrugged his shoulders and wished he could do more.
It’s been seven years of rabbis and priests. We’ve given special offerings at the temple and paid for professional intercessors. We’ve gone to every house of prayer in Judea. Once we even traveled up to the temple at Shechem in Samaria to see if they could help us.
About a year ago, I started hearing stories of a rabbi from Galilee who was casting out demons and healing the sick. At first, I didn’t want Enoch and Havah to get their expectations aroused, but as the stories multiplied my heart began to hope.
One of my neighbors returned from a visit with some family up north near Tiberius. He told me of a pair of Jesus’ disciples going through the town. They were healing the sick and casting out demons in the streets. I’ve know Ari for many years, and he wouldn’t repeat these stories if there were any doubt in his mind. He was there. He saw men and women healed before his eyes, even some possessed by demons like my boy.
That’s when I started planning. I didn’t tell my wife, or even my son, what I was really up to. I didn’t want to lie to either of them. I just told Havah I wanted some time alone with my boy. I started planning for a trip with Enoch to find this Healer. I would tell Him my boy’s story. If He refused or couldn’t help, the disappointment would only fall on me.
I learned that He had been seen teaching and healing near Cana up in Galilee, so I packed our things and Enoch and I headed north.
Traveling with Enoch is no holiday. Everywhere we go, we have to be prepared to deal with his oppressor. This trip was no exception. In fact, the spirit's brutality the first night made me think we were might be headed in the right direction. The vile captor in Enoch’s young body protested more than ever. We didn’t sleep at all the first night we were on the road. Before I even had the fire burning hot enough to cook some dinner, he was flailing around and smothered it, at great cost to his own flesh. It was a grueling three days and two nights.
When we got close, someone told us the Teacher was on Mount Tabor. So we followed the road down from Cana to the east. As we approached the mountain, we found crowds at the base. I expected this. The accounts I’ve heard always have large crowds around this Healer.
It was nearly sundown when we came upon a few of the Healer’s disciples surrounded by dozens of on-lookers. They had just healed a couple of blind men. Next, they were laying hands on a lame woman lying on a sort of mat in the middle of the group. As we pressed our way into the center of the gathering, we saw this woman on the bed getting to her feet. Then she started jumping and running around the circle of spectators.
The disciples looked almost as stunned as the no-longer-bedridden woman. One of these men called out, “It’s the name of Jesus that heals the sick and delivers anyone in bondage.”
We had found Him.
I started waving frantically, crying out “My son, help my son!” I must have looked a little mad myself. I began to tell my son’s story to the one they were calling Andrew. There were three other groups like the one I was in, each surrounding what looked like a few disciples.
"I'm Andrew," said the man who was speaking, "and this is Simon the Zealot."
As soon as I began to describe Enoch’s condition, my son flew to the ground. I had my back to him, so I didn’t see the warning signs. I would have steered him away from the crowd before he went it to the full display of fury that is my son’s daily reality.
He was rocking back and forth, jerking up and down, six inches into the air and then slammed down again, rolling over so the foam covering his mouth was full of the Galilean dirt. Andrew and Simon hurried over to him and began to command the demon to come out.
“In the name of Jesus of Nazareth, come out,” they called.
Nothing changed. They said it a little louder. “In the name of Jesus, come out.”
They asked others in the crowd to hold him still while they prayed for him, laying their hands on his head and chest.
He thrashed and freed his arms. Then began slashing at them with his fists and scratching with his fingernails.
Andrew and Simon called two of the other disciples over to them and they started out the same way.
“In the name of Jesus of Nazareth, come out.”
I have to say, they didn’t give up. The sky grew fully dark and the air chilled as this failed exorcism went on into the night.
Finally, sometime after midnight, I took Enoch away from the crowd and we found a quiet place to get some rest. He had been in full manifestation for hours, and when he finally calmed, he was ready to sleep.
The sun was already well above the horizon when we awoke. The commotion that woke us was the arrival of Jesus and three more of his followers. They had apparently spent the night on the mountain. I’d never seen anything like Jesus. He was glowing—glowing! It wasn’t just the sun shimmering off his robes. The light emanated from Him.
As we approached Andrew called to Jesus, “Here they are Mater. We did everything you taught us and nothing changed.”
Once I realized that Jesus was right there, I said, “Teacher, I brought my mute son, made speechless by a demon, to you. Whenever it seizes him, it throws him to the ground. He foams at the mouth, grinds his teeth, and goes stiff as a board. I told your disciples, hoping they could deliver him, but they couldn’t.”
Jesus said “What a generation! No sense of God! How many times do I have to go over these things? How much longer do I have to put up with this? Bring the boy here."
Andrew took Enoch by the hand and led him to the Master.
The demon in my boy did his worst. He slammed him to the ground with no warning whatsoever. He pushed him right into a nearby fire. He convulsed and foamed and moaned, teeth grinding and eyes wild.
Jesus asked, “How long has this been going on?”
“Ever since he was a little boy,” I replied. "Many times it pitches him into fire or the river to do away with him. If you can do anything, do it. Have a heart and help us!"
Jesus’s eyes looked eager. “If?” He responded. “There are no ‘ifs’ among believers. Anything can happen."
That brought me up short. “I do believe;” I blurted, but then I wondered if I did, so I added, “Help me with my doubts!”
I think the crowd knew something big was about to happen because they started to press in. Some just realizing that Jesus was back, others hearing the conversation. Everyone wanting to see what He would do.
"Dumb and deaf spirit, I command you—Out of him, and stay out!" Jesus spoke directly to the spirit who had tormented my son—my whole family—for the last eight years.
Enoch cried out, lifted off the ground and then fell back down with a thud. This time not rigid, as in times past, but more like a rag doll, begin tossed away. He lay there for what seemed an eternity. The crowd started murmuring.
“He killed the boy.”
Jesus walked over to Enoch, leaned down and grabbed his hand and pulled. At that moment, Enoch’s eyes opened, the color came back into his face. He nearly bounced up off the ground. With his hand in the hand of the Healer, he looked more alive than he had since the evil first took him. The joy was back in his eyes, the joy of a child with a future.
The two days traveling home seemed like a dream to both of us. In every village, at every meal, we shared our story with everyone we met. We were not just witnesses to a miracle. We were changed by our short visit with Jesus. His Words changed my boy and turned my hope into an unshakable faith.
My Havah could hardly believe her eyes. One look at Enoch’s countenance told the whole story. My son was bound, but now his chains are gone. His captivity is over. He’s free!
Messiah truly has come in our day.
To read the original story, see Mark 9:15-30. Quotes come from the Message Bible.
Copyright - Benjamin Nelson - 2016
If you enjoyed this story you can find forty more in my book Encounters With Jesus. It takes the reader from Christ's conception to His resurrection through the eyes of dozens who were touched by His ministry.
How has it come to this? I’m standing here with a rock in my hand amidst all this anger. The anger is not mine, but I can feel it. It’s all around.
I didn’t see this coming as I sat at breakfast with my wife, Anna, and my two little ones. I think of myself as a good father, a good husband. I have a steady job working with the dairyman. We sell our milk from a cart near the sheep gate. I almost have enough saved to buy a few cows of my own.
But at noontime, as I sat in the square eating the lunch my Anna had packed for me, I saw her. I have known her for a few months. I say known, but not really, though our eyes have met often. The few words we have traded have been suggestive and flirtatious, but meant nothing.
When I first saw her, the words of my father rang in my ears. On my wedding day he told me I must be like Job and make a covenant with my eyes if I wanted to be faithful to my Anna. But that day, my eyes saw only my sweet bride, and I can remember thinking such evil could never tempt me.
The day I first saw this woman in the market, she caught me staring. I looked away immediately, but I felt temptation’s net, and it had me. The next time, I let my eyes linger a bit longer.
Once I saw her walking through the temple gate with a man I took to be her father. I later learned it was her husband. Not a great match for her.
Today, she walked right up to where I was eating and sat down beside me. I told her she should not sit next to me right there in the square because people would whisper.
“I just need someone to talk to,” she said, right on the edge of tears. “Where can I talk with you?”
I took her to a place I knew would be empty and quiet at that time of day, and she began to cry in earnest. She told me of her life, and at first I just listened. I told myself she needed me to listen. She needed a friend. She just needed to talk about it. I needed to be compassionate, to listen like a friend.
Soon I was holding her as she sobbed and trembled.
The rest is a blur. What started as a comforting touch became an embrace, and soon I found myself overwhelmed. Compassion became passion, and the next thing I knew, the door burst open.
A group of men broke in, some in religious robes, including my own rabbi. This rabbi had married Anna and me; he had circumcised my little Yacob. They grabbed us and started dragging us out into the square.
“Let the boy go,” my rabbi said. “I know him.”
The woman’s husband was among our intruders. “You Jezebel! You harlot!” he yelled in our wake.
I followed the angry group out into the square, where they had gathered up stones. I’d lived in Jerusalem my whole life, but I’d never seen anyone stoned in the streets. We read about it in the Law of Moses, but we never took it that far. My rabbi stood beside me. He bent down and picked up two stones. They were bigger than a man’s fist. He took my right hand and forced me to take the cold, hard lump of hatred.
I dropped it, but he reached down, picked it up, and gave it back to me.
“If you will not do this thing, you will be up there with her,” he said to me. I could hardly breathe.
Then the crowd swelled forward. One of the rabbis called out, “Jesus is in the outer court. Follow me, and let’s hear what that upstart will have us do with her.”
Soon the woman lay face down in the dust. I could still hear her sobs. Before her stood a man dressed in common robes. There was already a good-size crowd with Him before we pushed our way through.
“Teacher, this woman was caught red-handed in the act of adultery. Moses, in the Law, gives orders to stone such persons. What do you say?”
It was then I realized this was not about the woman, or about her sin, or about the law. It was a test for this preacher. It was not the woman in the dirt who was on trial here. It was this Jesus. This was a test for Him. They wanted to see what He would do.
Would this so-called Son of Man side with the sinner, or would He side with the religious leaders? They hated the title He had taken. They worked so hard to be more than mere men. These priests, scribes, and Pharisees craved the esteem of men; they were anything but common.
But this Jesus, He would eat with sinners. He was not ashamed to be with them in their homes and in the streets. How would He deal with this woman? Would He take her part and defy the Lord God’s own law? Would He take up a stone with us and break faith with the people?
This had me nervous. If He took up the law, I might just be next.
As I stood, stone in hand and awaiting His judgment, I thought back to those glances that brought me to this place. I wasn’t so innocent. A place in my heart had sought out this adultery. I allowed my eyes to draw me into dissatisfaction with a life full of blessing.
Jesus positioned Himself between those of us with stones and the woman. She was still weeping with her face in the dirt. He knelt down and wrote something in the dust.
I could not see what He was writing, but, in the silence my guilt and shame were mounting. Again I heard my father’s words: “Remember son,” he would say, “Hell and destruction are never full, so man’s eyes are never satisfied.”
How had I fallen so far? How could this man expose my heart without speaking one word?
Then He stood and looked at us—at me!
“The sinless one among you, go first: Throw the stone,” He said.
After a moment, He got back down in the dirt with the woman. As He continued to write in the dust, His finger tracing the law in my heart, I saw for the first time the wickedness of my actions.
And I was not the only one. First the elders began to back off, some dropping their stones, others taking them away as they quietly pulled back from the crowd.
As I stood there, I could hear my own voice speaking my vows to dear Anna those eight years ago. What I wanted to do was fall down and beg Him to forgive me. That’s when I had to leave. I wanted to run, but I just dropped the stone and backed away. My sin, my unfaithfulness, filled my heart. I had to be rid of it. But how? How could I be free of this guilt? I never knew this darkness of guilt and shame until I stood in the presence of such holiness, such wisdom, such purity.
Who is this man?
What must I do to be saved from this condemnation that fills my heart?
To read the original story, see John 8:1-11.
If you find yourself asking these same questions check out this post - What Peace? - where I lay out God's plan in simple terms.
I grew up in a church tradition that knew nothing of lent. I thought it was a Catholic only tradition, and it was foreign to me. The church we are part of now uses lent as a time of focus.
When I was putting Encounters With Jesus together last year, I was initially hoping I could get it published in time for lent, but there were just too many things I had to learn about self-publishing and whatnot.
But now, the book is ready to go and there's time for you to order one in time for Lent. Why not spend the forty days leading up to Easter getting to know Jesus in a new and fresh way?
Starting with a few stories surrounding Christ's conception and birth, walking through His ministry years and culminating in His passion and resurrection, this book takes you right through the life of Jesus. As we approach Easter, your heart will be full of joy as we celebrate His glorious resurrection.
Perhaps you would like to go through the book with a Bible study group or Sunday school class. Read the stories and the scriptures behind each.
Amazon has the book on sale now for 7.99 in paperback. It's also available for your Kindle. I'm also adding it to the Kindle lending library today, so you can borrow it at no cost if you're an Amazon Prime member.
Can I ask a favor from you my blogging friends? Would you consider sharing this little ad on your favorite social media outlet to help me get the word out? It would be a huge blessing. Just post the photo below with a link to the Amazon page.
Want to get a great start in the New Year? How about 40 days with Jesus?
Encounters With Jesus makes a great daily reading plan. You'll find yourself immersed in His life. The narratives will let you see Jesus heal, forgive, love and even rebuke. Then they'll lead you to the original stories in the Bible.
It's a great way to get to know Jesus from a fresh perspective, or dozens (of perspectives that is.)
If you read on a Kindle you can be up and running on the first of the year. If you're the "hold it in your lap and turn pages" type, you'll have a couple days to get ready while you wait for Amazon to ship your copy to you.
40 familiar stories, creatively re-written (with a little imagination included), that will astound you and cause you to love and worship Christ all over again. We know that Jesus is Healer. We know that He taught with authority. We know that He freed people from their demons and that He loved the outcasts.
But Ben writes these stories from the perspective of those who encountered Jesus,helping us see Jesus and experience His power in a new way. It puts us in the shoes of those who met Him personally, helping us identify with them in their desperation. Included in this 40-day devotional are the stories of individuals like Elizabeth, Simon, Mary, and Peter. But my favorites are the lesser-told accounts, and the stories of people who encountered Jesus yet maybe didn’t fall on their knees in worship. For example, the story of the Samaritan Woman, the Rich Young Ruler who walked away sad, the Woman with the issue of blood, and the Servant whose ear Peter cut off. (From Kristyn Mogler's book review.)
I hope you'll consider starting the year with Jesus, whether with Encounters, or with your own plan. Give the year to Jesus, and you'll never regret it.