February 29
	Now about the midst of the feast Jesus went up into the temple, and taught.
	John 7:14
The first time Jesus went to Jerusalem, He cleansed the Temple (John 2:13-16). This time, He’s teaching in the Temple. And that’s always the way it is: Before Jesus can impart His Word effectively to me, there must first be a cleansing within me. The moneychangers must be driven out, the cattle chased away. That is why when you study the Word whether here corporately, or in your devotions individually, it’s always good to say, ‘Lord, before I even begin reading, search my heart. Show me that which needs to be confessed.’ ‘If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me,’ declared the Psalmist (Psalm 66:18). Why? Because our Father won’t allow us to live in sin which will hurt us and those around us, and still continue in intimate relationship with Him. He loves you and me too much for that. So He says, ‘I’m going to break communication with you not because I’m angry with you, not because I’m giving up on you, but because something’s amiss in your life — and if it’s not changed, it will bring pain into your life and problems into the lives of those around you. So when you don’t sense I’m listening, if your prayers aren’t being answered, or the Word isn’t speaking — call upon Me; let Me come in and cleanse your temple. And then I will teach; then you will hear My voice; then you will see My face.’ I think too many of us minimize the importance of quietly waiting on the Lord and asking Him to search our hearts. Before teaching, there must be cleansing.

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Idolatry

At the first beat of a drum, the noise in the tavern died away. There was silence as the musicians began playing a lilting air. The crowd recognised it at once; they were all shepherd-folk and had whistled or hummed it to their sheep on the hillsides. Soon they were joining in, beating time on the tables with their mugs. They recognised the musician, too. He was a shepherd who came down from the hills each evening to play for a few pence in the tavern of the village of Niklashausen. His name was Hans Bohm. Soon he was to be called the saviour of mankind and the herald of the end of the world. It was in 1474. Europe had been ravaged by wars, dynastic and religious, and the people were exhausted. They often sought release in fantasies. A recurrent belief was that so much war and devastation must have a purpose: must herald the Millenium, the destruction of the old, corrupt world and the creation of a new. In remote cells, men pored over parchments to discover when the event might happen. Two Bohemians argued that 1467 would be the year; but when it passed without incident, no one’s faith was in any way diminished – it was simply assumed that they had got their sums wrong. In the states of Germany, the feeling that the end of the world was approaching was especially strong. The people there had been heavily taxed to pay for their emperor’s armies and the armies themselves had carried off what the tax-gatherers had left. In no state was the atmosphere more apprehensive than in Wurzburg, which was governed by a powerful Prince-Bishop. And it was to his castle that rumours came of strange events in the village of Niklashausen. People spoke of a young shepherd who played the drum, who had declared that the world was to be destroyed and – here the Prince-Bishop choked in fury – who was laying the blame for it all on princes and bishops. Hans Bohm had assumed his role as prophet quite suddenly. One night in the tavern he had beaten his drum for silence. Then he had declared to the flushed audience in the taproom that he had had a vision. The Virgin Mary had appeared to him and had told him to stop entertaining the people and to save them instead. She had declared that the world as they knew it would be destroyed and that her statue in the village church was to be a rallying-point for all who wished to be saved; and she had ordered Hans to proclaim the news. Having delivered his message, Hans added a theatrical touch by burning his pipe and drum – a wasted gesture since after a message of that sort, no one felt like more music, anyway. At any other time, Hans might have been dismissed as a crank. But this was war-weary Europe and his message was just what people had been expecting. He was, in any case, a very eloquent preacher. On Sundays and holy days, crowds surged into the village streets to hear him. He began by preaching repentance, urging them to burn their gaudy clothes and elegantly-pointed shoes. Then he went further: he claimed he had worked miracles. Thanks to his personal intercession, he told farmers, God had refrained from sending a frost to kill off their corn and vines. The farmers were duly impressed; if the lad really was a prophet, they told each other, he clearly had his priorities right and with a bit of luck – and prayer, of course – they might even have a decent summer. Then Hans attacked the clergy. They were, he said, proud, lazy and greedy and the root of the evil that had contaminated the earth and made its destruction necessary. And in case anyone thought that the nobles were getting off lightly, he urged his listeners not to pay rents and taxes to them: “The time will come,” he declared, “when they, too, will work for their daily bread.” Attacked like this on both fronts, it was small wonder the Prince-Bishop was beside himself with rage. Soon, from the Alps and the Rhineland, bands of pilgrims were trudging along the roads to Niklashausen, anxious to be saved. Craftsmen downed tools and left their workshops; butchers and bakers shut their shops and set off also; and peasants in the fields left the seed unsown as they bundled up their few possessions and took to the road. As they walked they carried banners and sang their own songs. “To God in Heaven we complain,” ran one of the more moderate verses, “That the priests cannot be slain.” The less restrained choruses sent the clergy scurrying into their churches where they alternately quaked and prayed until the columns of pilgrims had passed. Meanwhile Hans was treated like a modern pop star. Wherever he went, men and women fell on their knees before him, begging to be saved. They scarcely allowed him to eat or sleep and on several occasions almost crushed him to death. They ripped off his clothes and tore them to fragments to be kept as relics as precious, they said, “as the hay from the manger in Bethlehem.” During April 1474, seventy thousand pilgrims were gathered at Niklashausen. A vast camp surrounded the village with traders, craftsmen and souvenir-sellers to cater to the pilgrims’ needs. The Prince-Bishop could stand it no longer. The gates of Wurzburg were closed to pilgrims and the citizen-militia was put on the alert. Eventually the State Diet, or Parliament, decided that Hans must be arrested. One night in July, a troop of the Prince-Bishop’s cavalry galloped through the pilgrim camp trampling the tents and stalls and making straight for the house of the “Holy Youth.” The soldiers seized him and carried him off to Wurzburg Castle. After the initial shock, the pilgrims rallied. One of them, a local peasant, claimed that he, too, had had visions and that if they marched on Wurzburg, the walls of the city would crumble before them like those of Jericho. Unarmed, except for the great candles they carried, the pilgrims marched to the city and surrounded it. They waited for the walls to fall, for their saviour to emerge and for the world to end. They were disappointed on all three counts. The walls did not crumble. The Prince-Bishop, who did not want a riot on his hands, sent a messenger to point out this fact to the pilgrims but he was driven off by a hail of stones. Then the crowd grew angry and threatened to take the castle by storm. The Prince-Bishop ordered his master-gunner to fire a few cannon-balls over the pilgrims’ heads. The master-gunner obliged and, being good at his trade, successfully avoided hitting anybody. The crowd, however, took this as a sign that Hans and the Virgin were protecting them from harm and attacked. The Prince-Bishop delayed no longer and sent out his cavalry. Forty pilgrims were killed. The rest fled. A few days later Hans was burned at the stake for heresy. So perished the Drummer of Niklashausen and his prophecies. His ashes were thrown into the river lest any of his followers should treasure them as relics. Nevertheless, some pilgrims crept back at night to scrape away earth from the foot of the stake and preserved that instead.

Then saith the woman of Samaria unto him, How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest drink of me ...
	John 4:9
Why isn’t Jesus a Gentleman here? Why doesn’t He say, ‘Let Me draw water for you?’ It seems that would be the right thing to do. In actuality, however, Jesus is demonstrating a very important principle. ‘Give to Me,’ He says to the woman — not because He wants the water, but because He wants her heart. He wants to see her saved. You see, oftentimes, we as believers err on this point. We think, ‘What can I do for other people to find a way of entry into witnessing or sharing?’ While there certainly is a place for that, often letting people do something for you — humbling yourself and allowing them to make an investment in or give assistance to you — is the most effective way to reach them. Jesus knew that wherever a person’s treasure is, his heart would be there as well (Matthew 6:21). If someone shares with you something of his ‘treasure’, something of his heart will be sure to follow — affording you the opportunity of touching his heart with the Gospel. It’s hard because we want to be helpers, not help-ees. We want to be the givers because it’s truly more blessed to give than to receive. But, as Jesus shows us, sometimes it’s imperative to receive in order that another might come into the Kingdom. The classic Biblical example of this principle is found in Numbers 10. As Moses prepares to lead the people of Israel on their journey towards the Promised Land, he invites his Gentile brother-in-law to join them. ‘Hobab, come with us. It’s a good land to which we are going, and good things will happen to you if you travel in our company.’ ‘Sorry,’ said Hobab. ‘I’m going back to my own people.’ It was then that Moses changed his tactic. ‘Hobab,’ he said, ‘we need you. You understand the wilderness. You can be our eyes. Would you help us?’ Hobab agreed, and ended up in the Promised Land with the people of Israel (Judges 4:11). How important it is that we don’t come across simply as those who say, ‘We’re going to Heaven. We’re great. Join us.’ Rather, sometimes we need to say, ‘We need you. The talents you have, the abilities you’ve been given would be such an asset to us.’ So it is, that, although in Chapter 3, Jesus said to Nicodemus, ‘You must be born again,’ here in an entirely different situation, He says, ‘Woman, give me to drink.’ And both would be saved.

Love is really the love of perfection (God.)

"Life is in part a bundle of choices with a bundle of consequences; the earlier one learns which choices bring forth which consequences, the better."

Jesus, therefore, being wearied with his journey ...
	John 4:6
Hebrews 2 says Jesus was made like unto his brethren — like you. He knows how it feels to be bone-tired. I’m glad about that, because I feel that way not infrequently. The battles rage. The problems mount. The struggles continue — and I just feel weary. Yet it is often at this point, when we are weary or feeling weak, that we will be used to the greatest degree, for, as Paul learned, when we are weakest, we’re actually strongest (2 Corinthians 12:10). A couple of nights ago, there was a knock at our door. It was 10:30. After a particularly taxing day, the lights were out and I was ready to crash. So when I saw a brother at the door who I knew had needs, my heart sank. But I invited him in, and as we began to share, even though my mind was blurry and my body fried, I sensed the Lord’s strength flowing through me in a uniquely powerful way. It’s often when you’re feeling particularly tired or spiritually dry that suddenly there will be an opportunity the Lord will bring your way. I have found that if, by faith, you begin to share the Lord with others, you’ll experience renewed vitality.