How Slow of Heart to Believe

It's been a while since I've posted. I could say that I've been busy, but that would be only partly so. The truth is, I've been depressed and discouraged, an old familiar pain that spans my entire lifetime. I can distinctly recall it since my early teens. If I could find it, I'd point you to a journal from those days in which I scrawled, "What good to live, if but to die.

Sounds like the Book of Ecclesiastes, one Biblical book I avoid, because it is too painful for me. "Meaningless! Meaningless!"
says the Teacher.
"Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless."

It doesn't help that I've been reading a dismal book. Why do I dip into such stuff? I've just finished One Second After by William R. Forstchen. He writes about what might happen if enemies of the USA were to manage to explode nuclear bombs a couple hundred miles above Kansas, causing an EMP (electro-magnetic pulse). Telephones, cars, the entire electrical grid, everything electronic--all of it--could in theory be destroyed while people and animals would not be affected. However, that would leave us helpless, pushed back to a civilization like that in medieval times. Millions upon millions would die.

My goodness, what moves me to read such stuff? Fiction, of course, but potentially . . . Well, you get the picture.

As I read that I suddenly began to realize how the two disciples on the road to Emmaus must have felt when they thought Jesus was dead. Everything they hoped for, dreamed about, was gone. Their Messiah was dead, murdered by the Romans and their own country's leaders on a cross outside of Jerusalem.

"He was a prophet, powerful in word and deed before God and all the people," they told the stranger who encountered them on the way. "The chief priests and our rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him; but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel" (Luke 24).

"We had hoped. . ." The dream was gone, dissipated by the cruel reality of the day. The night was now closing in and with it hope was dying.

And yet, here was this stranger. They didn't recognize him. They couldn't. Their eyes were blinded by their disbelief. Rather blunt, no very blunt was he. "How foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe . . ." And from there he went on to explain that it was all part of the plan, all written through the prophets centuries before.

I guess I'll have to take another look at my depression, wiggle my little finger at my doubts and ask, "Is what you believe really the truth? Is God dead? Has Satan won after all?"

Perhaps not. Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Hallelujah!

I'd best get on with the tasks of the day before me. I pray you will do the same.