Untold Stories

Do you ever wonder about the untold stories of the Bible?

How tall was Jesus? Exactly what did he do and say between the ages of 12 and 30? Who ate those 12 baskets of leftovers after Jesus fed the 5,000? What happened to the centurion who stood by the cross and said, "Surely he was the Son of God"? Did he later become part of the church? Who bought Ananias and Sapphira's property, and what did the apostles do with the money they donated?

The Bible doesn't answer these and a multitude of other questions. The Lord reveals his will on the sacred page, but he's under no obligation to satisfy our curiosity. The Holy Spirit guided the authors of Scripture not only to include what we need to know, but also to omit what we don't need to know. "The secret things belong to the LORD our God, but the things revealed belong to us and to our children forever, that we may follow all the words of this law" (Deuteronomy 29:29).

Still, sometimes I find myself wondering about the rest of the story . . . .

The Blessing

"Tell me a story, Abba!" begged eight-year-old Micah. He made the same request every day, just as the sun was setting.

Chuckling, his father scooped the boy up in his arms. "I will, my son, but first, have you finished your chores? Have you fed the donkey and watered the sheep?"

"Yes, Abba. Everything's done and the sheep are in their pen for the night."

"Then I will tell you a story. What would you like to hear?"

The boy thought for a moment and said, "Tell me about something that happened when you were my age."

"When I was eight? Actually, I remember something very important that I've been wanting to tell you."

Curious, the lad studied his father's face. Story time was always fun, but this time the mood seemed more serious than usual.

"When I was your age," his father began, "our village was filled with excitement about the great rabbi from Nazareth. My parents—your grandparents, Micah—were in the crowd one day, listening as the rabbi spoke in parables. My friends and I were playing nearby, when suddenly my parents grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. 'You must meet the rabbi,' they said. 'We want him to bless you.'"

Micah listened, wide-eyed. "Did you see him close-up?"

"Yes," the father replied, "and other parents brought their children as well. The rabbi's disciples tried to keep us away, but he said, 'Let the little children come to me.' He took me in his arms, just like I'm holding you now. He looked me in the eye and smiled, and then he said a prayer asking God to bless me."

"What was the rabbi's name, Abba?"

"His name was Jesus."

The two sat silently. Finally Micah asked, "Do you think about Jesus' blessing very often?"

The father slowly nodded. "Yes, my son," he said. "I think of it every evening while I sit and hold you as the sun is going down."

The Weaver

Swollen and stiff with age, the old weaver's fingers still moved nimbly as he pushed the thread through the needle's eye.

"You must repair this curtain," said the priests, draping a long piece of cloth across the worktable. The weaver had never seen more beautiful fabric. It was made of blue, purple, and scarlet yarn and finely twisted linen, but strangely, the cloth looked like it had been ripped in half.

"Fix it quickly," they demanded. "We will pay you well. You need the work, don't you?"

"Yes, but why the hurry?" the old man asked. "Such a large piece of cloth will take many days to sew back together."

"We can't wait long," one of the priests insisted. Lowering his voice, he continued, "It came from the holy place in the temple."

The weaver gasped. "This is the veil from the temple?" He whispered, "Why is it torn?"

The priests shook their heads. "We don't understand how this happened. It tore completely in two from top to bottom on the afternoon before the Sabbath—about the same time that strange earthquake shook Jerusalem."

Solemnly the weaver handed the cloth back to the priests. "No, I will not repair the curtain!" he exclaimed.

"But you must!" they snarled. "Some of Jesus' disciples are claiming they saw him come back from the dead. We must repair the damage before this gets out of hand."

The weaver scratched his chin. "If God could open this veil, could he not also open a tomb?"

"Don't lecture us," one of them muttered.

But the weaver continued, "I once heard Jesus speak about marriage. He said, 'What God has joined together, let no one separate.' And likewise I say about this curtain, 'What God has torn asunder, no one can put back together.'"

Laying aside his needle and thread, he said, "Israel's Weaver has already done his work."