Typewriters, Roadshows, Universities, and ...
Crazy day for me...
Started in the morning with typing an invoice, on a typewriter! I have never used one of those in a loooooooooooooong time, and the last times I did, it was "play play only"! Well, this time, I had to type on a serial numbered invoice, and any mistake would render that invoice invalid and make a lot of people very unhappy... Not a good impression for people to have of me, especially just after 2 weeks of work with NUS Entrepreneurship Centre. And not to mention, with another Five-and-a-half months more to go...
Oh well... Went out for another Roadshow at Anderson Secondary. Spoke to a rather stiff teacher who thought he was cool... Well, even the way he spoke to the students and carried himself, a true poser, in every sense... Our speaker was Mr Adrian Lim from TYEM, and he spoke on Social Entrepreneurship... I had heard this particular speech before, and this served as just a refresher session for me. He showed exerpts from Patch Adams, and once again, I felt very drawn to him... Interesting.. One thing though - Patch Adams is really worth watching!
After that, I had to make a mad rush to the Singapore Institute of Management. They had invited the Professor-in-charge of the Bachelor of Science in Computing and Information Systems (B.Sc Comp. & Info. Sys. for short!) to come down and talk to us. Dr David of Goldsmiths College, London was a very interesting man... Tall and very typically English. He had a very disarming charm about him that made it easy for every to relax and just listen to him. I certainly wish all our local lecturers had that kind of aura about them. It would make lessons easier to absorb if you are able to just concentrate on listening and learning rather than some lecturer's weird antics and mannerisms that subconsciously throw us off at times..
Ah well, it's late... Good night!
Danny Boy.
Reunion with Blogger...
Hello everyone...
It's been a good year since I last blogged, and so much has happened. In brief, I've been through the Army, and am now a free man. I won't even want to go into detail as to what happened the last year, but yes - everything's been great so far...
I've been working with the National University of Singapore Entrepreneurship Centre for the last three weeks already. It's not a bed of roses - in fact, in many ways, the heavy and crazy workload somehow resembles army life - without the profanities. It's a real challenge, just getting up at 6am in the morning to try to leave by 7am so I can be there by 8.30am (Yeah, I know - one-and-a-half-hours just to get to NUS in the morning, and that much time just to get home - and that's just the average timing too!)
Well, I'm there as an Outreach Support Officer. What's happening now is, I joined in the midst of the publicity&marketing phase of this International competition they are organising. Called Startup@Singapore, its main aim is to promote the spirit of entrepreneurship in everyone. Having done some of the marketing and listened to many entrepreneurs in Singapore, I daresay it's been an enriching eye-opener thus far. Listening to diverse opinions from various people is a really good way to experience people and hard work - without going through it! The best part of the job is the Networking - I get plenty of opportunity to go around meeting all sorts of people, be it the eccentric entrepreneur, the ultra-strict-disciplinarian-of-a-vice-principal, or a young bubbly teacher who seemed to have the hots for me... *chuckles*
Anyway, that aside, it's all very stressful. Meeting deadlines, rushing people, being bossed around by a Poly Intern and the like - it's not entirely a stroll in the park in the office. Indeed, S$7/hour seems like paltry pay compared to what I'm doing! But I will hang on, all for the sake of a (hopefully) lovely testimonial from NUS, that hopefully (Wishful thinking!) can get me admitted into NUS... Let's hope it all works out and I get my placement!
That aside, I'm going to Singapore Institute of Management tomorrow evening for a talk on a Bachelor of Science (Honours) Degree in Computing and Information Systems. Will find out more... Just the prospect of having to spend S$50k on studies is a huge deterrent factor. Not to mention, the rather hip crowd there makes me feel like a complete misfit - even though I'm in what's normally considered a nerd course anyway!
Wish me luck.. I hope that this year, I can get places in NUS, NTU, SMU, NIE and SIM-UOL... That way, it's a testimonial to effort and trying - and working hard to get a place...
In the memorable words of Michael W. Smith,
Pray for me, and I'll pray for you.
Pray that we will keep the common ground.
Won't you pray for me, and I'll pray for you.
And one day love will bring us back around... again...
Cheerios!
Danny Boy.
Passengers on a small commuter plane are waiting for the flight to leave; they're getting a little impatient, but the airport staff has assured them that the pilots will be there soon, and the flight can take off immediately after that. The entrance opens, and two men walk up the aisle, dressed in pilots' uniforms--both are wearing dark glasses, one is using a seeing-eye dog, and the other is tapping his way up the aisle with a cane.
Nervous laughter spreads through the cabin; but the men enter the
cockpit, the door closes, and the engines start up. The passengers begin glancing nervously around, searching for some sign that this is just a little practical joke. None is forthcoming.
The plane moves faster and faster down the runway, and people at the windows realize that they're headed straight for the water at the edge of the airport territory.
As it begins to look as though the plane will never take off, that it will plow into the water, panicked screams fill the cabin--but at that moment, the plane lifts smoothly into the air.
The passengers relax and laugh a little sheepishly, and soon they have all retreated into their magazines, secure in the knowledge that the plane is in good hands. Up in the cockpit, the co-pilot turns to the pilot and says, "You know, Bob, one of these days, they're going to scream too late, and we're all gonna die."
Danny Boy.
A police officer in a small town stopped a motorist who was speeding down Main Street.
"But officer." the man began, "I can explain."
"Just be quiet," snapped the officer. "I'm going to let you cool your heels in jail until the chief gets back..."
"But officer, I just wanted to say...."
"And I said to keep quiet! You're going to jail!"
A few hours later the officer looked in on his prisoner and said, "Lucky for you that the chief is at his daughter's wedding.
He'll be in a good mood when he gets back."
"Don't count on it," answered the fellow in the cell. "I'm the groom."
Danny Boy.
02/20/2000 Noah's Ark--2000 Version
The Lord spoke to Noah and said, "Noah, in six months I am going to make it rain until the whole world is covered with water and all the evil things are destroyed. But, I want to save a few good people and two of every living thing on the planet. I am ordering you to build an ark." And, in a flash of lightning, he delivered the specifications for the ark.
"OK," Noah said, trembling with fear and fumbling with the blueprints, "I'm your man."
"Six months and it starts to rain," thundered the Lord. "You better have my ark completed or learn to swim for a long, long time!"
Six months passed, the sky began to cloud up, and the rain began to fall in torrents. The Lord looked down and saw Noah sitting in his yard, weeping, and there was no ark.
"Noah!" shouted the Lord, "where is My ark?" A lightning bolt crashed into the ground right beside Noah.
"Lord, please forgive me!" begged Noah. "I did my best, but there were some big problems. First, I had to get a building permit for the ark's construction, but your plans did not meet their code. So, I had to hire an engineer to redo the plans,only to get into a long argument with him about whether to include a fire-sprinkler system."
"My neighbors objected, claiming that I was violating zoning ordinances by building the ark in my front yard, so I had to get a variance from the city planning board."
"Then, I had a big problem getting enough wood for the ark, because there was a ban on cutting trees to save the spotted owl. I tried to convince the environmentalists and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service that I needed the wood to save the owls, but they wouldn't let me catch them, so no owls."
"Next, I started gathering up the animals but got sued by an animal rights group that objected to me taking along only two of each kind."
"Just when the suit got dismissed, the EPA notified me that I couldn't complete the ark without filing an environmental impact statement on your proposed flood. They didn't take kindly to the idea that they had no jurisdiction over the conduct of a Supreme Being."
"Then, the Corps of Engineers wanted a map of the proposed flood plan. I sent them a globe!"
"Right now, I'm still trying to resolve a complaint with the Equal Opportunities Commission over how many minorities I'm supposed to hire."
"The IRS has seized all my assets claiming that I am trying to leave the country, and I just got a notice from the state that I owe some kind of use tax. Really, I don't think I can finish the ark in less than five years."
With that, the sky cleared, the sun began to shine, and a rainbow arched across the sky.
Noah looked up and smiled. "You mean you are not going to destroy the world?" he asked hopefully.
"No," said the Lord, "the government already has."
Danny Boy.
THE OTHER WOMAN
After 21 years of marriage, I discovered a new way of keeping alive the spark of love. A little while ago I had started to go out with another woman. It was really my wife's idea.
"I know that you love her," my wife said one day, taking me by surprise.
"But I love you," I protested.
"I know, but you also love her," my wife said.
The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit was my mother, who has been a widow for 19 years, but the demands of my work and my three children had made it possible to visit her only occasionally.
That night I called to invite my mother to go out for dinner and a movie.
"What's wrong? Are you well?" she asked. My mother is the type of woman who suspects that a late night call or a surprise invitation is a sign of bad news.
"I thought that it would be pleasant to pass some time with you. Just the two of us," I responded.
She thought about it for a moment then said, "I would like that very much."
That Friday after work, as I drove over to pick her up I was a bit nervous.
When I arrived at her house, I noticed that she, too, seemed to be nervous about our date. She waited in the door with her coat on. She had curled her hair and was wearing the dress that she had worn to celebrate her last wedding anniversary. She smiled from a face that was as radiant as an angel's.
"I told my friends that I was going to go out with my son and they were impressed," she said, as she got into the car. "They can't wait to hear about our meeting".
We went to a restaurant that, although not elegant, was very nice and cozy. My mother took my arm as if she were the First Lady.
After we sat down, I had to read the menu. Her eyes could only read large print. Half way through the entree, I lifted my eyes and saw Mom sitting there staring at me. A nostalgic smile was on her lips.
"It was I who used to have to read the menu when you were small," she said.
"Then it's time that you relax and let me return the favor," I responded.
During the dinner we had an agreeable conversation - nothing extraordinary but catching up on recent events of each other's life. We talked so much that we missed the movie.
As we arrived at her house later, she said "I'll go out with you again, but only if you let me invite you".
I agreed.
When I got home, my wife asked, "How was your dinner date?"
"Very nice. Much more so than I could have imagined," I answered.
A few days later my mother died of a massive heart attack. It happened so suddenly that I didn't have a chance to do anything for her. Some time later I received an envelope with a copy of a restaurant receipt from the same place mother and I had dined.
An attached note said:
"I paid this bill in advance. I was almost sure that I couldn't be there but, nevertheless, I paid for two plates - one for you and the other for your wife. You will never know what that night meant for me. I love you."
At that moment I understood the importance of saying, in time: "I LOVE YOU" and to give our loved ones the time that they deserve. Nothing in life is more important than God and your family. Give them the time they deserve, because these things cannot be put off to "some other time".
Danny Boy.
Medical checkup.
A man went for his regular checkup. After a lot ot tests, the doctor shook his head and sighed. The man, a little fearful of the worst, asks the doctor what is happening. The doctor sighed again and asked, "Do you want to hear the bad news or the really bad news?"
The man, taken aback, managed to stammer out, " Tell me the really bad news first, doc."
''You have cancer."
The man screamed and cried and cursed the heavens for the injustice in the world. When he finally regained nis composure, he continued, "so Doc, what's the bad news?"
"You have Alzheimer's."
''Phew" the man sighed with relief. ''At least I don't have cancer!"
Danny Boy.
Something a little light to read, since the past few posts have been rather heavy....
Composition.
During the English lesson, the teacher said to the students "Young ladies, this is your first essay for the year. Now, as you are all in secondary 2, I want you all to write clearly and maturely. Therefore, your essay must include the following topics: Religion, Royalty, Sex and Mystery.
5 minutes later, a girl handed in her work. The puzzled teacher looked at it and found the following written on it:
"My God" Said the Queen. '' I'm pregnant! I wonder who did it?"
Danny Boy.
CLEAN BLOOD
The day is over, you are driving home. You tune in your radio. You hear a little blurb about a little village in India where some villagers have died suddenly, strangely, of a flu that has never been seen before. It's not influenza, but three or four fellows are dead, and it's kind of interesting. They're sending some doctors over there to investigate it.
You don't think much about it, but on Sunday, coming home from church, you hear another radio spot. Only they say it's not three villagers, it's 30,000 villagers in the back hills of this particular area of India, and it's on TV that night. CNN runs a little blurb; people are heading there from the disease center in Atlanta because this disease strain has never been seen before.
By Monday morning when you get up, it's the lead story. For it's not just India; it's Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, and before you know it, you're hearing this story everywhere and they have coined it now as "the mystery flu". The President has made some comment that he and everyone are praying and hoping that all will go well over there. But everyone is wondering, "How are we going to contain it?" That's when the President of France makes an announcement that shocks Europe. He is closing their borders. No flights from India, Pakistan, or any of the countries where this thing has been seen.
That night you are watching a little bit of CNN before going to bed. Your jaw hits your chest when a weeping woman is translated from a French news program into English: "There's a man lying in a hospital in Paris dying of the mystery flu. "It has come to Europe. Panic strikes. As best they can tell, once you get it, you have it for a week and you don't know it. Then you have four days of unbelievable symptoms. Then you die. Britain closes it's borders, but it's too late. South Hampton, Liverpool, North Hampton, and it's Tuesday morning when the President of the United States makes the following announcement:
"Due to a national security risk, all flights to and from Europe and Asia have been canceled. If your loved ones are overseas, I'm sorry. They cannot come back until we find a cure for this thing." Within four days our nation has been plunged into an unbelievable fear. People are selling little masks for your face. People are talking about what if it comes to this country, and preachers on Tuesday are saying, "It's the scourge of God. "It's Wednesday night and you are at a church prayer meeting when somebody runs in from the parking lot and says, "Turn on a radio, turn on a radio." While the church listens to a little transistor radio with a microphone stuck up to it, the announcement is made," Two women are lying in a Long Island hospital dying from the mystery flu." Within hours it seems, this thing just sweeps across the country.
People are working around the clock trying to find an antidote. Nothing is working. California, Oregon, Arizona, Florida, Massachusetts. It's as though it's just sweeping in from the borders. Then, all of a sudden the news comes out. The code has been broken. A cure can be found. A vaccine can be made. It's going to take the blood of somebody who hasn't been infected, and so, sure enough, all through the Midwest, through all those channels of emergency broadcasting, everyone is asked to do one simple thing: "Go to your downtown hospital and have your blood type taken. That's all we ask of you. When you hear the sirens go off in your neighborhood, please make your way quickly, quietly, and safely to the hospitals." Sure enough, when you and your family get down there late on that Friday night, there is a long line, and they've got nurses and doctors coming out and pricking fingers and taking blood and putting labels on it.
Your wife and your kids are out there, and they take your blood type and they say, "Wait here in the parking lot and if we call your name, you can be dismissed and go home." You stand around scared with your neighbors, wondering what in the world is going on, and that this is the end of the world. Suddenly a young man comes running out of the hospital screaming. He's yelling a name and waving a clipboard. What? He yells it again! And your son tugs on your jacket and says, "Daddy, that's me." Before you know it, they have grabbed your boy. "Wait a minute, hold it!" And they say, "It's okay, his blood is clean. His blood is pure. We want to make sure he doesn't have the disease. We think he has got the right type."
Five tense minutes later, out come the doctors and nurses, crying and hugging one another some are even laughing. It's the first time you have seen anybody laugh in a week, and an old doctor walks up to you and says, "Thank you, sir. Your son's blood type is perfect. It's clean, it is pure, and we can make the vaccine." As the word begins to spread all across that parking lot full of folks, people are screaming and praying and laughing and crying.
But then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and your wife aside and says, "May we see you for a moment? We didn't realize that the donor would be a minor and we need. . . we need you to sign a consent form." You begin to sign and then you see that the number of pints of blood to be taken is empty. "H-h-h-how many pints?" And that is when the old doctor's smile fades and he says, "We had no idea it would be a little child. We weren't prepared. We need it all!" "But but..." "You don't understand. We are talking about the world here. Please sign. We - we need it all - we need it all!" "But can't you give him a transfusion?" "If we had clean blood we would. Can you sign? Would you sign?" In numb silence you do. Then they say, "Would you like to have a moment with him before we begin?"
Can you walk back? Can you walk back to that room where he sits on a table saying, "Daddy? Mommy? What's going on?" Can you take his hands and say, "Son, your mommy and I love you, and we would never ever let anything happen to you that didn't just have to be.
Do you understand that?" And when that old doctor comes back in and says, "I'm sorry, we've - we've got to get started. People all over the world are dying." Can you leave? Can you walk out while he is saying, "Dad? Mom? Dad? Why - why have you forsaken me?"
And then next week, when they have the ceremony to honor your son, and some folks sleep through it, and some folks don't even come because they go to the lake, and some folks come with a pretentious smile and just pretend to care. Would you want to jump up and say, "MY SON DIED! DON'T YOU CARE?"
Is that what God is saying? "MY SON DIED. DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I CARE?"
"Father, seeing it from your eyes breaks our hearts. Maybe now we begin to comprehend the great love you have for us. Amen "
-- Author Unknown
Danny Boy.
The Medical Account of the Crucifixion, by Dr. C. Truman Davis
About a decade ago, reading Jim Bishop’s "The Day Christ Died", I realized that I had for years taken the Crucifixion more or less for granted — that I had grown callous to its horror by a too easy familiarity with the grim details and a too distant friendship with our Lord. It finally occurred to me that, though a physician, I didn’t even know the actual immediate cause of death.
The Gospel writers don’t help us much on this point, because crucifixion and scourging were so common during their lifetime that they apparently considered a detailed description unnecessary. So we have only the concise words of the Evangelists: "Pilate, having scourged Jesus, delivered Him to them to be crucified—and they crucified Him." I have no competence to discuss the infinite psychic and spiritual suffering of the Incarnate God atoning for the sins of fallen man.
But it seemed to me that as a physician I might pursue the physiological and anatomical aspects of our Lord’s passion in some detail.
What did the body of Jesus of Nazareth actually endure during those hours of torture?
This led me first to a study of the practice of crucifixion itself; that is, torture and execution by fixation to a cross. I am indebted to many who have studied this subject in the past, and especially to a contemporary colleague, Dr. Pierre Barbet, a French surgeon who has done exhaustive historical and experimental research and has written extensively on the subject.
Apparently, the first known practice of crucifixion was by the Persians. Alexander and his generals brought it back to the Mediterranean world— to Egypt and to Carthage.
The Romans apparently learned the practice from the Carthaginians and (as with almost everything the Romans did) rapidly developed a very high degree of efficiency and skill at it. A number of Roman authors (Livy, Cicer, Tacitus) comment on crucifixion, and several innovations, modifications, and variations are described in the ancient literature.
For instance, the upright portion of the cross (or stipes) could have the cross-arm (or patibulum) attached two or three feet below its topiin what we commonly think of as the Latin cross.
The most common form used in our Lord’s day, however, was the Tau cross, shaped like our T. In this cross the patibulum was placed in a notch at the top of the stipes.
There is archeological evidence that it was on this type of cross that Jesus was crucified.
Without any historical or biblical proof, Medieval and Renaissance painters have given us our picture of Christ carrying the entire cross.
But the upright post, or stipes, was generally fixed permanently in the ground at the site of execution and the condemned man was forced to carry the patibulum, weighing about 110 pounds, from the prison to the place of execution.
Many of the painters and most of the sculptors of crucifixion, also show the nails through the palms.
Historical Roman accounts and experimental work have established that the nails were driven between the small bones of the wrists (radial and ulna) and not through the palms. Nails driven through the palms will strip out between the fingers when made to support the weight of the human body.
The misconception may have come about through a misunderstanding of Jesus’ words to Thomas, "Observe my hands." Anatomists, both modern and ancient, have always considered the wrist as part of the hand. A titulus, or small sign, stating the victim’s crime was usually placed on a staff, carried at the front of the procession from the prison, and later nailed to the cross so that it extended above the head.
This sign with its staff nailed to the top of the cross would have given it somewhat the characteristic form of the Latin cross.
But, of course, the physical passion of the Christ began in Gethsemane. Of the many aspects of this initial suffering, the one of greatest physiological interest is the bloody sweat. It is interesting that St. Luke, the physician, is the only one to mention this. He says, "And being in Agony, He prayed the longer. And His sweat became as drops of blood, trickling down upon the ground."
Every ruse (trick) imaginable has been used by modern scholars to explain away this description, apparently under the mistaken impression that this just doesn’t happen.
A great deal of effort could have been saved had the doubters consulted the medical literature. Though very rare, the phenomenon of Hematidrosis, or bloody sweat, is well documented. Under great emotional stress of the kind our Lord suffered, tiny capillaries in the sweat glands can break, thus mixing blood with sweat. This process might well have produced marked weakness and possible shock.
After the arrest in the middle of the night, Jesus was next brought before the Sanhedrin and Caiphus, the High Priest; it is here that the first physical trauma was inflicted. A soldier struck Jesus across the face for remaining silent when questioned by Caiphus. The palace guards then blind-folded Him and mockingly taunted Him to identify them as they each passed by, spat upon Him, and struck Him in the face. In the early morning, battered and bruised, dehydrated, and exhausted from a sleepless night, Jesus is taken across the Praetorium of the Fortress Antonia, the seat of government of the Procurator of Judea, Pontius Pilate. You are, of course, familiar with Pilate’s action in attempting to pass responsibility to Herod Antipas, the Tetrarch of Judea.
Jesus apparently suffered no physical mistreatment at the hands of Herod and was returned to Pilate. It was then, in response to thecries of the mob, that Pilate ordered Bar-Abbas released and condemned Jesus to scourging and crucifixion.
There is much disagreement among authorities about the unusual scourging as a prelude to crucifixion. Most Roman writers from this period do not associate the two.
Many scholars believe that Pilate originally ordered Jesus scourged as his full punishment and that the death sentence by crucifixion came only in response to the taunt by the mob that the Procurator was not properly defending Caesar against this pretender who allegedly claimed to be the King of the Jews.
Preparations for the scourging were carried out when the Prisoner was stripped of His clothing and His hands tied to a post above His head. It is doubtful the Romans would have made any attempt to follow the Jewish law in this matter, but the Jews had an ancient law prohibiting more than forty lashes. The Roman legionnaire steps forward with the flagrum (or flagellum) in his hand. This is a short whip consisting of several heavy, leather thongs with two small balls of lead attached near the ends of each. The heavy whip is brought down with full force again and again across Jesus’ shoulders, back, and legs. At first the thongs cut through the skin only.
Then, as the blows continue, they cut deeper into the subcutaneous tissues, producing first an oozing of blood from the capillaries and veins of the skin, and finally spurting arterial bleeding from vessels in the underlying muscles.
The small balls of lead first produce large, deep bruises which are broken open by subsequent blows.
Finally the skin of the back is hanging in long ribbons and the entire area is an unrecognizable mass of torn, bleeding tissue. When it is determined by the centurion in charge that the prisoner is near death, the beating is finally stopped.
The half-fainting Jesus is then untied and allowed to slump to the stone pavement, wet with His own blood.
The Roman soldiers see a great joke in this provincial Jew claiming to be king. They throw a robe across His shoulders and place a stick in His hand for a scepter.
They still need a crown to make their travesty complete. Flexible branch covered with long thorns (commonly used in bundles for firewood) are plaited into the shape of a crown and this is pressed into His scalp. Again there is copious bleeding, the scalp being one of the most vascular areas of the body.
After mocking Him and striking Him across the face, the soldiers take the stick from His hand and strike Him across the head, driving the thorns deeper into His scalp.
Finally, they tire of their sadistic sport and the robe is torn from His back. Already having adhered to the clots of blood and serum in the wounds, its removal causes excruciating pain just as in the careless removal of a surgical bandage, and almost as though He were again being whipped the wounds once more begin to bleed. In deference to Jewish custom, the Romans return His garments.
The heavy patibulum of the cross is tied across His shoulders, and the procession of the condemned Christ, two thieves, and the execution detail of Roman soldiers headed by a centurion begins its slow journey along the Via Dolorosa.
In spite of His efforts to walk erect, the weight of the heavy wooden beam, together with the shock produced by copious blood loss, is too much. He stumbles and falls. The rough wood of the beam gouges into the lacerated skin and muscles of the shoulders. He tries to rise, but human muscles have been pushed beyond their endurance. The centurion, anxious to get on with the crucifixion, selects a stalwart North African onlooker, Simon of Cyrene, to carry the cross. Jesus follows, still bleeding and sweating the cold, clammy sweat of shock, until the 650 yard journey from the fortress Antonia to Golgotha is finally completed.
Jesus is offered wine mixed with myrrh, a mild analgesic mixture. He refuses to drink. Simon is ordered to place the patibulum on the ground and Jesus quickly thrown backward with His shoulders against the wood.
The legionnaire feels for the depression at the front of the wrist. He drives a heavy, square, wrought-iron nail through the wrist and deep into the wood. Quickly, he moves to the other side and repeats the action being careful not to pull the arms to tightly, but to allow some flexion and movement.
The patibulum is then lifted in place at the top of the stipes and the titulus reading "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews" is nailed in place. The left foot is now pressed backward against the right foot, and with both feet extended, toes down, a nail is driven through the arch of each, leaving the knees moderately flexed.
The Victim is now crucified.
As He slowly sags down with more weight on the nails in the wrists excruciating pain shoots along the fingers and up the arms to explode in the brain—the nails in the writs are putting pressure on the median nerves. As He pushes Himself upward to avoid this stretching torment, He places His full weight on the nail through His feet. Again there is the searing agony of the nail tearing through the nerves between the metatarsal bones of the feet.
At this point, as the arms fatigue, great waves of cramps sweep over the muscles, knotting them in deep,relentless, throbbing pain. With these cramps comes the inability to push Himself upward. Hanging by his arms, the pectoral muscles are paralyzed and the intercostal muscles are unable to act.
Air can be drawn into the lungs, but cannot be exhaled. Jesus fights to raise Himself in order to get even one short breath. Finally, carbon dioxide builds up in the lungs and in the blood stream and the cramps partially subside. Spasmodically, he is able to push Himself upward to exhale and bring in the life-giving oxygen. It was undoubtedly during these periods that He uttered the seven short sentences recorded:
The first, looking down at the Roman soldiers throwing dice for His seamless garment, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do."
The second, to the penitent thief, "Today thou shalt be with me in Paradise."
The third, looking down at the terrified, grief-stricken adolescent John—the beloved Apostle—he said, "Behold thy mother." Then, looking to His mother Mary, "Woman behold thy son."
The fourth cry is from the beginning of the 22nd Psalm, "My God, my God, why has thou forsaken me?"
Hours of limitless pain, cycles of twisting, joint-rending cramps, intermittent partial asphyxiation, searing pain where tissue is torn from His lacerated back as He moves up and down against the rough timber. Then another agony begins... A terrible crushing pain deep in the chest as the pericardium slowly fills with serum and begins to compress the heart. One remembers again the 22nd Psalm, the 14th verse: "I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint; my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels."
It is now almost over. The loss of tissue fluids has reached a critical level; the compressed heart is struggling to pump heavy, thick, sluggish blood into the tissue; the tortured lungs are making a frantic effort to gasp in small gulps of air. The markedly dehydrated tissues send their flood of stimuli to the brain.
Jesus gasps His fifth cry, "I thirst." One remembers another verse from the prophetic 22nd Psalm: "My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou has brought me into the dust of death." A sponge soaked in posca, the cheap, sour wine which is the staple drink of the Roman legionaries, is lifted to His lips. He apparently doesn’t take any of the liquid.
The body of Jesus is now in extremes, and He can feel the chill of death creeping through His tissues.
This realization brings out His sixth words, possibly little more than a tortured whisper, "It is finished." His mission of atonement has completed. Finally He can allow his body to die.
With one last surge of strength, he once again presses His torn feet against the nail, straightens His legs, takes a deeper breath, and utters His seventh and last cry, "Father! Into thy hands I commit my spirit."
The rest you know. In order that the Sabbath not be profaned, the Jews asked that the condemned men be dispatched and removed from the crosses.
The common method of ending a crucifixion was by crurifracture, the breaking of the bones of the legs.
This prevented the victim from pushing himself upward; thus the tension could not be relieved from the muscles of the chest and rapid suffocation occurred. The legs of the two thieves were broken, but when the soldiers came to Jesus they saw that this was unnecessary. Apparently to make doubly sure of death, the legionnaire drove his lance through the fifth interspace between the ribs, upward through the pericardium and into the heart. The 34th verse of the 19th chapter of the Gospel according to St. John reports: "And immediately there came out blood and water." That is, there was an escape of water fluid from the sac surrounding the heart, giving postmortem evidence that, Our Lord died not the usual crucifixion death by suffocation, but of heart failure (a broken heart) due to shock and constriction of the heart by fluid in the pericardium.
Thus we have had our glimpse — including the medical evidence — of that epitome of evil which man has exhibited toward Man and toward God.
It has been a terrible sight, and more than enough to leave us despondent and depressed.
How grateful we can be that we have the great sequel in the infinite mercy of God toward man—at once the miracle of the atonement (a tone ment) and the expectation of the triumphant Easter morning.
Well, even the Medical Specialists made very good depth in the Crucifixion. How about you?
Danny Boy.
Alrightie, I have a nice health condition, and I'm scared... Very scared...
I did a stupid thingy - I opened the letter meant for my MO to peep, and I copied it down to see if someone could help me make some sense of it...
Here it goes:
TO: SAF
FROM: Cardiac Dept, NUH
Mr XXXX XXX XXXX DANIEL has had palpitations sudden onset supportive of AVnode Dependent arrythmia / reentrant mediated.
We have scheduled him for EPS Electrophysiologic Study and Radio Frequency ablation on 28/05/2004.
That's it. After my 23rd birthday, I'm gonna die...
Die...
Die..
Hmmm... it doesn't sound so bad, does it?
Hmm...
Danny Boy.
A testimonial I read online... It's very touching, and very true.
The Hand
My daughter, Kathleen, was 15... too young to seriously date but she had a boyfriend. One evening, when I was leaving to pick up my son, Paull, from baseball practice, she asked if she could just go with her boyfriend to pick up his little brother at a friend's house. She said they would come right back. I said, "All right, just make sure you wear your seatbelt, and come right home."
It was my father's birthday and my youngest daughter, Therese, was already at my father's house waiting for us to come over with the cake I had yet to pick up at the store. I left to pick Paul up at school, but decided to take the highway, rather than the shortcut along the back roads. After leaving the school, Paul and I ran in the store for the cake and some last minute goodies. As we were getting into the car, we heard and saw paramedics, fire trucks, three ambulances and of course a multitude of police cars. I got a sick feeling in my stomach and said to Paul, "Somebody needs our prayers, quick." I wondered if there was a fire or a bad car accident.
At one of the intersections I had to stop to let more emergency vehicles through, and prayed, "Lord, those people need you right now, go to them and place your protective hand over them." We stopped at my parents to drop off the food, before going home to pick up Kathleen, but my father met me at the car and told us to postpone the party because Therese had fallen asleep. "Which way did you go to the school?" he asked, "Because there was a bad accident on the back road, I heard someone was killed. It happened just about the time you had to pick up Paul at the school and I know you always go that way. I was so happy to see you pull in, I had a gut feeling it was you."
As Paul and I drove the short distance home, I could see our house was dark and when Kathleen is home alone, she always burned every light. As I turned off the ignition, tears fell, "It was Kathleen," I told Paul, "I know it." I ran in the house and checked our answering machine, no one had called. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that someone would have called by now. Paranoid," that's what Kathleen always called me, and that's what I was telling myself, "You're just paranoid!" Then, the phone rang. It was her friend's mother, who worked in the emergency room of our local hospital. She only told me that the three of them were in an accident and were being transported to the hospital. I didn't call my husband at work, nor my parents. Paul and I just left for the hospital.
As I pulled into the parking lot, one of the paramedics, someone we have known for years, met us at our car. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he said with tears streaming down his face. The next thing I remember after was talking to the doctor in the hallway of the ER. He asked me if I believed in God, and with that my knees gave way. "No," he said, "you don't understand, do you believe in divine intervention?" I stammered, a weak, "Yes." Not having a clue what he was talking about. He smiled at me and asked, "Do you know what shirt your daughter is wearing, tonight?" Nodding no, he told me to go down the hall and look.
"Your daughter is blessed with angels and so are you. From what the emergency personnel told me, there is no way that your daughter should be alive, let alone only have a few scratches."
Kathleen was laying on a cart, waiting for more x-rays. When I got to her, we both sobbed. As I was hugging her I had the urge to check her shirt, unzipping her jacket. I read the words, "Jesus Saves." I knew then, what the doctor had meant. All three were treated and released. On the way home that night, Kathleen told this story:
"It was really weird, about a quarter of a mile before the accident, I said, 'Wait, we forgot to put our seat belts on, my Mother will kill me.' Then a car was coming towards us in our lane, he swerved, and I knew we got hit on the passenger a total of three times because the car kept spinning in a circle. I felt his little brother's hand on my shoulder, holding me tightly in place.
"But Mom, after it was all over, I could still feel the hand on my shoulder. I looked and his little brother had flown out the back window of the car, as we later found out, on the first spin. "It was an angel, Mom, I know it!" I knew it too, especially when we went the next day to look at the car, it had been split in half, right underneath my daughter's seat. The driver of the other car, witnesses said, was traveling 90-95 miles per hour and the point of impact at that speed was directly at Kathleen's door.
The police report stated that the car door was found fifty feet away from the accident scene, with the seat belt attached. So when the door broke loose, "the hand" was the only thing that saved my daughter's life. The Lord, knew, long before I did that my child was in trouble, and I will always praise Him for saving her life and restoring mine. I have been meaning to write this story for the past couple years. Kathleen just turned 21. While I was writing this I smiled and cried, but it's all true.
Barbara
Danny Boy.
THE EMPEROR'S SEEDS
Once there was an emperor in the Far East who was growing old and knew it was coming time to choose his successor. Instead of choosing one of his assistants or one of his own children, he decided to do something different. He called all the young people in the kingdom together one day. He said, "It has come time for me to step down and to choose the next emperor. I have decided to choose one of you." The kids were shocked! But the emperor continued. "I am going to give each one of you a seed today. One seed. It is a very special seed. I want you to go home, plant the seed, water it and come back here one year from today with what you have grown from this one seed. I will then judge the plants that you bring to me, and the one I choose will be the next emperor of the kingdom!"
There was one boy named Ling who was there that day and he, like the others, received a seed. He went home and excitedly told his mother the whole story. She helped him get a pot and some planting soil, and he planted the seed and watered it carefully. Every day he would water it and watch to see if it had grown. After about three weeks, some of the other youths began to talk about their seeds and the plants that were beginning to grow.
Ling kept going home and checking his seed, but nothing ever grew. Three weeks, four weeks, five weeks went by. Still nothing. By now others were talking about their plants but Ling didn't have a plant, and he felt like a failure. Six months went by--still nothing in Ling's pot. He just knew he had killed his seed. Everyone else had trees and tall plants, but he had nothing. Ling didn't say anything to his friends, however. He just kept waiting for his seed to grow.
A year finally went by and all the youths of the kingdom brought their plants to the emperor for inspection. Ling told his mother that he wasn't going to take an empty pot. But she encouraged him to go, and to take his pot, and to be honest about what happened. Ling felt sick to his stomach, but he knew his mother was right. He took his empty pot to the palace.
When Ling arrived, he was amazed at the variety of plants grown by all the other youths. They were beautiful--in all shapes and sizes. Ling put his empty pot on the floor and many of the other kinds laughed at him. A few felt sorry for him and just said, "Hey nice try."
When the emperor arrived, he surveyed the room and greeted the young people. Ling just tried to hide in the back. "My, what great plants, trees and flowers you have grown," said the emperor. "Today, one of you will be appointed the next emperor!"
All of a sudden, the emperor spotted Ling at the back of the room with his empty pot. He ordered his guards to bring him to the front. Ling was terrified. "The emperor knows I'm a failure! Maybe he will have me killed!"
When Ling got to the front, the Emperor asked his name. "My name is Ling," he replied. All the kids were laughing and making fun of him. The emperor asked everyone to quiet down. He looked at Ling, and then announced to the crowd, "Behold your new emperor! His name is Ling!"
Ling couldn't believe it. Ling couldn't even grow his seed. How could he be the new emperor?
Then the emperor said, "One year ago today, I gave everyone here a seed. I told you to take the seed, plant it, water it, and bring it back to me today. But I gave you all boiled seeds which would not grow. All of you, except Ling, have brought me trees and plants and flowers. When you found that the seed would not grown, you substituted another seed for the one I gave you. Ling was the only one with the courage and honesty to bring me a pot with my seed in it. Therefore, he is the one who will be the new emperor!"
"I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life" (John 12:24-5). This scripture reminds us that the person who is willing to take less now will receive more later. By "dying" to ourselves now, we live forever.
Jesus said, "Not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven" (Matthew 7:21). It's not enough to just look like a Christian on the outside. Jesus wants us to be genuine.
Danny Boy.
A Train Story
There was once a bridge that spanned a large river. During most of the day, the bridge sat with its length running up and down the river, parallel with the banks, allowing ships to pass through freely on both sides of the bridge. But at certain times each day, a train would come along and the bridge could be turned sideways across the river, allowing the train to cross it. A switchman sat in a shack on one side of the river where he operated the controls to turn the bridge and lock it into place as the train crossed.
Then, coming across the bridge from the direction of his control shack, he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. "Daddy, where are you?" his four-year-old son was crossing the bridge to look for him. His first impulse was to cry out to the child, "Run! Run!" But the train was too close; the tiny legs would never make it across the bridge in time. The man almost left his lever to snatch up his son and carry him to safety. But he realized that he could not get back to the lever in time if he saved his son. Either many people on the train - or his own son - must die. He took but a moment to make his decision. The train sped safely and swiftly on its way, and no one aboard was even aware of the tiny broken body thrown mercilessly into the river by the onrushing train. Nor were they aware of the pitiful figure of the sobbing man, still clinging to the locking lever long after the train had passed. They did not see him walking home more slowly than he had ever walked; to tell his wife how their son had brutally died.
Now, if you comprehend the emotions that went through this man's heart, you can begin to understand the feelings of Our Father in Heaven when He sacrificed His Son to bridge the gap between us and eternal life. Can there be any wonder that he caused the earth to tremble and the skies to darken when His Son died? How does He feel when we speed along through life without giving a thought to what was done for us through Jesus Christ?
Danny Boy.
IN THE BOY'S HEART
The surgeon sat beside the boy's bed; the boy's parents sat across from him.
"Tomorrow morning," the surgeon began, "I'll open up your heart..."
"You'll find Jesus there," the boy interrupted.
The surgeon looked up annoyed.
"I'll cut your heart open," he continued, "to see how much damage has been done..."
"But when you open up my heart, you'll find Jesus in there."
The surgeon looked to the parents, who sat quietly.
"When I see how much damage has been done, I'll sew your heart and chest back up and I'll plan what to do next."
"But you'll find Jesus in my heart. The Bible says He lives there. The hymns all say He lives there. You'll find Him in my heart."
The surgeon had had enough. "I'll tell you what I'll find in your heart. I'll find damaged muscle, low-blood supply, and weakened vessels. And find out if I can make you well."
"You'll find Jesus there too. He lives there."
The surgeon left.
(Later)
The surgeon sat in his office, recording his notes from the surgery.
"...damaged aorta, damaged pulmonary vein, widespread muscle degeneration. No hope for transplant, no hope for cure. Therapy: painkillers and bed rest. Prognosis:, "here he paused, "death within one year." He stopped the recorder, but there was more to be said.
"Why?" he asked aloud. "Why did You do this? You've put him here; You've put him in this pain; and You've cursed him to an early death. Why?"
The Lord answered and said, "The boy, My lamb, was not meant for your flock for long, for he is a part of My flock, and will forever be. Here, in my flock, he will feel no pain, and will be comforted as you cannot imagine. His parents will one day join him here, and they will know peace, and My flock will continue to grow."
The surgeon's tears were hot, but his anger was hotter.
"You created that boy, and you created that heart. He'll be dead in months. Why?
The lord answered, "The boy, My lamb, shall return to My flock, for he has done his duty: I did not put My lamb with your flock to lose him, but to retrieve another lost lamb."
The surgeon wept.
(Later)
The surgeon sat beside the boy's bed; the boy's parents sat across from him.
The boy awoke and whispered, "Did you cut open my heart?"
"Yes", said the surgeon.
"What did you find?" asked the boy.
I found Jesus there," said the surgeon.
(Can you guess who the lost lamb was that the boy was sent to retrieve was.)
Danny Boy.
The Miracle of a Brother's Song.
Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could to help her 3-year-old son, Michael, prepare for a new sibling. They found out that the new baby was going be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael sang to his s sister in Mommy's tummy. He was building a bond of love with his little sister before he even met her.
The pregnancy progressed normally for Karen, an active member of the the Creek United Methodist Church in Morristown, Tennessee. In time, the labor pains came. Soon it was every five minutes, every three, every minute. But serious complications arose during delivery and Karen found herself in hours of labor. Would a C-section be required?
Finally, after a long struggle, Michael's little sister was born. But she was in very serious condition. With a siren howling in the night, the ambulance rushed the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary's Hospital, Knoxville, Tennessee.
The days inched by. The little girl got worse. The pediatrician had to tell the parents there is very little hope. Be prepared for the worst. Karen and her husband contacted a local cemetery about a burial plot. They had fixed up a special room in their house for t heir new baby they found themselves having to plan for a funeral. Michael, however, kept begging his parents to let him se his sister. I want to sing to her, he kept saying. Week two in intensive care looked as if a funeral would come before the week was over. Michael kept nagging about singing to his sister, but kids are never allowed in Intensive Care. Karen decided to take Michael whether they liked it or not. If he didn't see his sister right then, he may never see her alive. She dressed him in an oversized scrub suit and marched him into ICU. He looked like a walking laundry basket. The head nurse recognized him as a child and bellowed, " Get that kid out of here now. No children are allowed." The mother rose up strong in Karen, and the usually mild-mannered lady glared steel-eyed right into the head nurse's face, her lips a firm line. He is not leaving until he sings to his sister" she stated. Then Karen towed Michael to his sister's bedside. He gazed at the tiny infant losing the battle to live. After a moment, he began tossing. In the pure-hearted voice of a 3-year-old, Michael sang: "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray." Instantly the baby girl seemed to respond. The pulse rate began to calm down and become steady. "Keep on singing, Michael," encouraged Karen with tears in her eyes. "You never know, dear, how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away. "As Michael sang to his sister, the baby's ragged, strained breathing became as smooth as a kitten's purr. "Keep on singing, sweetheart."
"The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms". Michael's little sister began to relax as rest, healing rest, seemed to sweep over her. "Keep singing, Michael." Tears had now conquered the face of the bossy head nurse. Karen glowed. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Please don't take my sunshine away..."
The next, day...the very next day...the little girl was well enough to go home. Woman's Day Magazine called it The Miracle of a Brother's Song. The medical staff just called it a miracle. Karen called it a miracle of God's love.
Danny Boy.
