Matt. 28:6.
I WAS standing before the window of an art store where a picture of the crucifixion of our Lord was on exhibition; as I gazed, I was conscious of the approach of another, and turning, beheld a little boy gazing intently at the picture also. Noticing that this mite of humanity was a sort of street Arab, I thought I would speak to him; so I asked, pointing to the picture,
“Do you know who it is?”
“Yes,” came the quick response, “that’s our Saviour,” with a mingled look of pity and surprise that I should not know. With an evident desire to enlighten me further, he continued, after a pause, “Them’s the soldiers, the Roman soldiers,” and with a long-drawn sigh, “That woman crying there is His mother.”
He waited, apparently for me to question him further, thrust his hands into his pockets, and with a reverent and subdued voice, added,
“They killed Him, mister. Yes, sir, they killed Him.”
I turned away and resumed my walk, leaving the little boy looking at the picture. I had not walked far when I heard his childish calling,
“Mister, say, mister.”
I turned. He was running toward me, but paused; then up went his little hand, and with triumphant voice he said,
“I wanted to tell you, He rose again. YES, MISTER, HE ROSE AGAIN.”
“Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures; and that He was buried, and that He rose again the third day according to the scriptures.” 1 Cor. 15:3, 4.
ML 09/11/1927