جارٍ تحميل الأرشيف الحي.
Luke 7:19
واصِل الاستكشاف
مرتبطة بالمقطع الكتابي أو بموضوعات مشتركة.
لم تُترجم هذه الصفحة بالكامل بعد. يظهر بعض النص أدناه أو كله بلغة English، وهي لغته الأصلية.
John the Baptist, sitting in prison, sends two of his disciples to Jesus with a question: "Art thou he that should come, or look we for another?" This simple question reflects a deep struggle—one that has troubled believers and skeptics alike throughout history.
Why doesn't God just show himself? It seems like a straightforward request, yet it reveals something profound about how we misunderstand God's nature. Even well-known atheists have posed this question, convinced it proves God's non-existence. But the question itself betrays a deeply unintelligent conception of God—one that imagines Him as merely an enlarged human being, when in fact He is infinitely beyond our comprehension.
We live in an age where we understand something of the vast universe—the endless constellations, the incomprehensible distances of space. Yet even this knowledge barely scratches the surface of God's infinite scope and power. If God were to reveal Himself in a way that gave us an adequate sense of His being, His power, and His glory, it would overwhelm and destroy us.
Consider a simple analogy: imagine being asked to evaluate a sound's quality and tone, and then having played to you something of immeasurable millions of decibels. That sound would shatter your being. God is infinite. The question "Why doesn't He show Himself?" is absurd because it presupposes a manageable, small God—which is not God at all.
Beyond His immensity, there is God's holiness. We are stained and sinful before Him, marred by our faults, failings, and wickedness. If God were to reveal something of His glory and holiness, we would be consumed and destroyed—as the Bible puts it, by a consuming fire.
Even our limited minds could not bear it. Our brains would explode in a millisecond if exposed to the full knowledge of God. Only when we cross the threshold into eternity—when God has purified and adapted us through His power—will we be able to sense and bask in His majesty and glory. That will be an atmosphere beyond human language to describe. But in this life, such a revelation is impossible.
Early in Scripture, we see this principle illustrated. Moses was a man of great faith and obedience. After delivering Israel from Egypt and receiving God's law, he asks God for a special favour: "Let me see thy glory."
God's response is remarkable in its restraint. He does not refuse Moses, but He qualifies His promise severely. God would reveal to Moses not His knowledge, power, holiness, wisdom, or other attributes—only His goodness and His tender mercy. And even this limited revelation required protection. Moses had to be placed in a great cleft in a rock, buried deep within it, while God passed by. Only in this sheltered position could Moses withstand even a fraction—perhaps a millionth or trillionth—of God's glory, and only as it pertained to His kindness and compassion.
This is the answer to the question: God cannot simply show Himself. The very structure of His being and our nature makes it impossible.
John the Baptist had been convinced that Jesus was the Messiah—the Lamb of God who would make atonement for the sins of all God's people. He knew Jesus was the Redeemer, the Saviour. So why does he now send disciples to ask if Jesus is truly the one, or if they should look for another?
The doubt seems to stem from disappointment. Since John pointed out Christ, Jesus has been going about preaching repentance and forgiveness, working miracles of healing and compassion. But from John's perspective, sitting in prison, nothing seems to be happening. Jesus is not gathering supporters who could overthrow the Roman occupation or re-establish the land as a theocracy under God.
John, worn down from imprisonment—a man accustomed to the open spaces by the riverside, now cooped up in a dungeon—is becoming depressed. Why is nothing happening? Art thou he, or do we look for another?
Christ's reply is immediate and direct. "In that same hour he cured many of their infirmities and plagues, and of evil spirits, and unto many that were blind he gave sight."
Then Jesus tells the disciples to go back to John and report what they have seen and heard: "The blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, to the poor the gospel is preached."
John would have recognized these words instantly. They come directly from the prophecy of Isaiah—chapter 35 and chapter 61. These are the precise signs that Isaiah foretold the Messiah would perform, in this exact order. By reciting them, Jesus is declaring: I am fulfilling the ancient prophecies. I am the Messiah.
But there is something even more significant in Isaiah's prophecy. The healings were literal—Jesus did heal blind eyes, lame legs, cleansed lepers, and opened deaf ears. But these physical healings were also a picture of something far greater: spiritual healing for all who repent and come to God.
The illnesses correspond exactly to spiritual conditions. Being converted—being delivered from spiritual blindness, lameness, disease, deafness, and death—these are what Isaiah was truly picturing. The prophet himself explains his own metaphor. When he speaks of the desert yielding wonderful plants and bearing fruit, this is not literal. Rather, it represents the spiritual transformation of people becoming Christians, being saved, having their lives renewed.
Isaiah explicitly interprets his picture language: "This is redemption, this is salvation." So when Christ sends word to John that He is literally fulfilling Isaiah's prophecy, He is also declaring that He will heal souls. That is His mission, His work, His purpose.
If God cannot reveal His glory directly, why doesn't He perform great works? The answer is simple: He has done exactly that. From the beginning of Scripture, the Bible is filled with God's great works.
There was Moses and the deliverance of Israel from Egypt. The parting of the Red Sea. The provision of manna for forty years in the wilderness. The river that flowed and followed them wherever they went. Magnificent, amazing, overwhelming things.
Yet what was the result? The people were awed for a moment, and then came rebellion and complaint and murmuring. They refused to exercise faith and to obey. An entire generation was lost in the wilderness and never entered the Promised Land.
Why is this recorded for us? God is demonstrating something crucial: Miracles alone do not change the human heart. God gave the Israelites miracle after miracle after miracle. It did not save them. They did not change their ways. This is not recorded to condemn them, but to teach us—the human race—a vital lesson about the nature of faith and the human heart.
The hardness of the human heart, the intransigence and resistance of human beings, our fundamental unwillingness to submit to God—these are the real obstacles. We simply do not want Him.
Consider the pilots of World War II whose aircraft caught fire and plummeted toward the earth. They cried out to God, promising to give their entire lives to Him if He would save them. He did. They survived with minor injuries. And yet, once safe and sound, once clear of the experience, they forgot. Later, when remembering that prayer, they said, "Oh, I once prayed, but it didn't lead me to anything." They gave no thanks. They did not remember God's mercy. They did not remember their own desperate prayer except to dismiss it: "Oh, that's just one of those things."
How sad is the human race. How constantly ungrateful. How persistently set against God.
Marvelous things have been done throughout history. But ultimately, God does the unimaginable: He comes Himself. The second person of the triune Godhead assumes human flesh and personality and walks on this earth.
Jesus does wonderful things—wonderful miracles, fulfills all the prophecies, lives a perfect life. Even His enemies had to admit: "Never a man taught like this man. Nothing to be compared with this, for simplicity and depth at the same time."
Thousands turned out to see Him. He fed four thousand. He fed five thousand miraculously. He walked on water. He is Christ the Lord, the Son of God. In many cities, entire families were touched—a former severe cripple here, a former blind person there, another person healed there. Everybody had personal experience of His power.
Yet what happened? They turned against Him. "Crucify him, crucify him!" Why? Because He told them a truth they did not want to hear: "You are all sinners. You must repent. You must find the Lord. The Lord must rebuild you, change you, and draw you to Himself."
"We don't want that," they said. So what good are miracles when people reject the Saviour of the world Himself?
When Christ says, "Go and tell John what things ye have seen and heard," He is speaking not only of literal healings but of spiritual transformation. Throughout history, since that day, millions have experienced these healings.
The blind see. I have seen many people who were spiritually blind receive sight. I myself was spiritually blind as a youngster. I would debate against God. I did not see it. I did not grasp it. I must have heard the gospel hundreds of times over the years, and I did not understand it. When it first came home to me—when I truly grasped that Christ had suffered and died for sinners, that I must repent and seek Him and yield to Him, that He would change my life—it was as though I had never heard it before. That is spiritual blindness. I had never caught on, never grasped it.
Yet I have seen many people who could not see the point, whose eyes have been opened at just the right moment in their lives. They have felt, "I am the sinner that needs the forgiveness of God," and they have repented and found Him.
The lame walk. I have known people over the years who were what we might call "inveterate liars." They could hardly help themselves anymore—though of course they could. Constant lying had gotten them into a state where they hardly knew the difference between truth and lie. They made false excuses and told lies as naturally as breathing. You might think, "How can such a person be changed? It's deeply embedded in them." They are spiritually lame. They cannot walk properly. They cannot tell the truth anymore. But if they repent and trust in the Lord, God can cure it and give them back their integrity and help them to walk in honesty.
The lepers are cleansed. A leper in Scripture represented someone so deeply diseased by sin that we would say the person was perverted. The disease runs so deep. Yet it can be cleansed completely by the power of God.
The deaf hear. Those who have become deaf to God's voice through years of unbelief can hear again. Those hardened hearts can be opened.
The dead are raised. Are you spiritually dead? You never pray. You wouldn't know how to if you needed to now. You've been in unbelief for so long. Your soul's faculty is not just asleep—it's sound asleep. Nothing can rouse it. You have no feeling, no desire for God. You are completely, spiritually, dormant or dead or inactive.
Yet even the spiritually dead can be brought to life. You can feel your need. You can be brought to see the love of Christ, to see how He died on Calvary for a sinner like you. And you can be changed. You can be a new person.
To the poor, the gospel is preached. The "poor" here are the spiritually poor—those who come to God with nothing, those who do not say, "Oh God, I have some faults. When you repair them for me, I'll be a worthwhile person. If you had me in your kingdom, you'd be doing well because I've got powerful gifts and abilities."
No. You must come to the Lord as a beggar. "Lord, there is no good in me. I depend entirely upon what Christ has done in suffering and dying for a sinner like me. Take me. Change me. I give my life to thee forever."
Jesus concludes with a tremendous promise: "Blessed is he, whosoever shall not be offended in me."
Supremely happy is he who Christ does not offend. But how may Christ offend you? When you say, "I don't want that. I don't need somebody to bear my sin for me. I don't need somebody to deserve on my behalf eternal glory and to unlock the door for me. I can earn my passage. I can be worthy before God."
It is an offensive message to be called a sinner, to be told you must repent and grovel before God. Many are offended by this.
But blessed is he who is not offended. He who says: "No, I need Him. He's done everything to save me. My condemnation can be lifted. I can go to heaven. I can have Him now. I can be supremely happy because He'll give me understanding and He'll give me power over my sin. He'll give me a walk with Himself. He'll hear my prayers and answer me. He'll comfort me in distress and strengthen me in my every need. I can turn to Him in every trial and tribulation, in every vicissitude of life."
How happy you ought to be! You have the Saviour of the world as your friend in heaven and your Lord. You will obey Him and follow Him.
That is the gospel of Christ. Will you let Him heal you? Will you let Him make you new, be your Saviour and your companion, your friend and your eternal God?
Christ the Lord, the Son of God—the eternal Son of God—desires to have His power with you and His kindness and His goodness. One day, you will know something of His mighty glory.
That's the Christian gospel. You must come to Him. You must repent of your sin. You must trust in Him alone and in what He's done to save you. You must hand over your life to Him so that He is your Lord and you live for Him.
And happy—supremely happy—is such a person.
