Sometimes I wish that I had the availability of a time machine,

that I could crawl in and have it transport me back through the centuries

and even the millennian that I might be an eyewitness

of the great events of history.

And as I was thinking about the of the great events of history.

And as I was thinking about this, this morning, I realized that the only time machine that I have

is my imagination.

And so I imagined that I lived 2,000 years ago in the little village of Bethany, above the Mount of Olives and right down the street from the home of Lazarus and Mary and Martha.

And I remember waking up that morning, that Sunday morning, the first day of the week,

and that my heart was heavy. On that previous, I had gone down the road and crossed the Brooke Kidron and journeyed

to the place of the skull called Galgotha, and I watched my hero, the man in whom I had

invested all of my hopes, be executed as a criminal.

And I watched as he breathed his last, and I gazed as the soldiers took his body down from the cross.

And then I turned and left that odious place as a man now without Christ and therefore

without hope.

My feet were heavy as I made my way back home.

And those memories were still in my mind that Sunday morning.

As I got out of my bed, and of course I couldn't step outside and get the newspaper

because they didn't have newspapers, nor could I turn on my radio because they didn't have radios,

nor could I switch on my television to CNN to see what the latest bulletins would be in world history because

there was no television. In those days, important messages of important events were transmitted

by messenger. So I went out of my house and I gazed across the valley of Kidron.

...