He laid there squinting his eyes against the sun that was beginning to rise in the sky, outside the beautiful Golden Gate on the eastern side of the temple. They had to carry him so far to get to the temple every morning, that by the time he arrived, he was disheveled, and tired already. No matter. He had time to rest now, as he was powerless to move any further than he could drag his dead worthless legs. He had all the time in the world, like a prisoner sentenced to chains, his days had been arrested from birth, born crippled, a man child. And, what kind of man was he?
One of the passers-by stopped at that moment and tossed a coin in his hat, before shuffling along through the busy gate. Here he lay outside the gate, and here he saw all the most newsworthy events of his day. That perhaps was all that he was valued for, the news that he brought back home to his mother's household. He was reduced to a groveling, begging, newsboy, and the gossip was likely more valuable to those who listened to him than the measly few coins he contributed to his upkeep.
As he lay there on the lovely stonework, watching the well-dressed men and women come and go, he marveled at what it must be like, the independence of walking about; what it must be like to go beyond Solomon's Porch, on beyond the Court of the Women. What would it be like to be able to take his place there with the men of Israel? He was sure he might never know. He had hoped for a while, at least when he had heard news of the Healer who had been in town. He laid there waiting almost every day of his life, over four decades, just waiting for the day to end. This Healer never seemed to appear. Then suddenly He knew the man was coming through, could tell from the noise, and the shouts of Hosanna, yet then he hadn't been able to see Him there for the crowd. Oh, but he heard all about how he had ridden right past him on a donkey. He had been proclaimed as the long-awaited Messiah by many. But, he hadn't seen anything at all. Then he had heard of the crucifixion. Any hopes he had maintained had fizzled out after news reached him of the violent execution.
Raising his hands and extending them out before him, he marked off the hours remaining to the day. Ooohhh! It would never end. He hated the waiting more than anything. And, what was he waiting for anyways? Would he ever have the power and strength to walk away from this gate? Or, was he waiting for another day just like today?
Acts 3:2 And a certain man lame from his mother's womb was carried, whom they laid daily at the gate of the temple which is called Beautiful, to ask alms of them that entered into the temple;
One of the passers-by stopped at that moment and tossed a coin in his hat, before shuffling along through the busy gate. Here he lay outside the gate, and here he saw all the most newsworthy events of his day. That perhaps was all that he was valued for, the news that he brought back home to his mother's household. He was reduced to a groveling, begging, newsboy, and the gossip was likely more valuable to those who listened to him than the measly few coins he contributed to his upkeep.
As he lay there on the lovely stonework, watching the well-dressed men and women come and go, he marveled at what it must be like, the independence of walking about; what it must be like to go beyond Solomon's Porch, on beyond the Court of the Women. What would it be like to be able to take his place there with the men of Israel? He was sure he might never know. He had hoped for a while, at least when he had heard news of the Healer who had been in town. He laid there waiting almost every day of his life, over four decades, just waiting for the day to end. This Healer never seemed to appear. Then suddenly He knew the man was coming through, could tell from the noise, and the shouts of Hosanna, yet then he hadn't been able to see Him there for the crowd. Oh, but he heard all about how he had ridden right past him on a donkey. He had been proclaimed as the long-awaited Messiah by many. But, he hadn't seen anything at all. Then he had heard of the crucifixion. Any hopes he had maintained had fizzled out after news reached him of the violent execution.
Raising his hands and extending them out before him, he marked off the hours remaining to the day. Ooohhh! It would never end. He hated the waiting more than anything. And, what was he waiting for anyways? Would he ever have the power and strength to walk away from this gate? Or, was he waiting for another day just like today?
Acts 3:2 And a certain man lame from his mother's womb was carried, whom they laid daily at the gate of the temple which is called Beautiful, to ask alms of them that entered into the temple;
