<TITLE>03. Par 10-13</TITLE>L-10 And when he got up, and he was late getting over to his post, to where he done his daily work by begging. There was many beggars in the city and around the country in them days: very poor country, and poor people under bondage of the Roman Empire. The beggars would have to get to the street pretty early. And each one had a place where he stayed. It was 'lotted to him. And they would stand there.
And when the merchants would come down the street, they would cry out for alms. And the merchant, perhaps the first beggar he met he'd give him a piece of money. Why, that probably ended it for the day, because he couldn't afford to give too much, because maybe he couldn't afford each day giving a coin. Roman denarius, or something, might been a whole lot to him. So he placed in his coin, and then he went on. And maybe the next fellow got a coin from somebody else.
But they must be there early when the merchants came into their places of business, and the markets. There's many places the beggars couldn't stand, so they would... The soldiers would 'lot them a place, and they had to stand there.

L-11 And our friend tonight as we know him as Bartimaeus (some of them pronounce it Bartimaeus), while we find him late at his post of duty... And his place was just out on the north side of the gate, where he stood at the gate to catch the merchants as they come in. And looked like he had a pretty good place. And he had been blind since he was a little fellow. And that night... The reason he was late that morning (we'll say to make it a drama), that he had dreamed all night that he could see again. He'd thought that he could once more see the skies, and the stars, and the sunlight.
But now, he lived in a world to himself, all shut in in darkness, blind. I think it's one of the most horrible things is a blind person. And I feel sorry when I see a man or woman on the street with that white cane, pecking along. Many times have I stopped my car, and run over, and see some poor old mother about to go into a post or something, down along the street, and help her across--some young fellow or old man. Blindness, I think it's the most pitiful thing.

L-12 But I... There's--there's a blindness that's worse than physical blindness, and that's spiritual blindness. I feel more sorry for them than I do for the physical blind. So why wouldn't our hearts reach out for them, instead of condemning them? Let's love them. Then they'll see Light, if you'll just love them. The world's a dying, not for a better economics. The church is dying, not for better buildings, a bigger denomination. But it's dying for somebody to reach out a hand of love, to show that we care one for the other. And that's the very sign that Jesus told us that, "By this all men would know that you were My disciples," when we got love one for the other.

L-13 I was thinking, a blind... (It's a little off my subject, but not off either.) There was blind Fanny Crosby. She could see better than a lot of people's got two good eyes. They tried to get her, one time, to write music, or poetry for a dance world, and for the entertainment world, and she refused to do it. So they were making fun of her.
I thought, "What a difference it is between her, and a certain young Pentecostal boy, who's set the world afire with rock-and-roll." I've often thought that he's worse than Judas. Judas... Esau sold his birthright. And what a horrible thing that young man will have to answer for at the day of the judgment: sent more souls to hell than all the bootleg joints there is in the country. Right.


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