Even typing the title chills ripple up my spine. As a young boy I grew up on a heavy dose of Star Wars and Indiana Jones. Unfortunately, this next generation knows them for the more recent additions to the franchise. At that young age though, they awakened in me a passion for adventure.
Sunday afternoons were when that passion could be momentarily sated. After church, many days I could be found at my grandparents house, scaling the cliffs, defending the valley from hordes of invaders. Our I would be at my cousins house, tromping through the woods, sliding into every hole we could find, hoping the next might be the cavern in which we would find the lost kings treasure. A constant by my side was my cousin Mike.
There were many a Sunday we found ourselves far from home, discovering a new pasture where the insects made a unique buzzing, that sounded like time travel. Or we would be, what seemed like, miles underground, exploring a cave we had found, sliding into a hole where the ceiling was covered with bats and sometimes being chased out as we began to hear monsters awaken from their slumber. What were our parents thinking?
When Jesus sends out the disciples (Matt 10), it sounds a lot more like my Sunday afternoons. Actually the whole book of Matthew is messing me up in a good kinda way. "Foxes have holes and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to rest his head." Birds don't live in nests, unless they reproduce.