The Infection
“For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Romans 6:23 KJV
It was the middle of summer, June 30th to be exact. The signal had been given and the end came quickly. The prayer that he had scribbled on a piece of scrap paper slipped from his grasp. That was the signal.
Grief is one of those emotions each of us handles differently. Sometimes the loss overcomes us and understanding its pain seems more than we can bear. We want answers. We want justice. We want our pain to leave us like the evil spirit that landed on the pigs that jumped from the cliff once it possessed them.
He was just in office four months, yet the nation fell in love with him. He was going to meet up with his wife and daughter and then head to Massachusetts to attend his twenty-fifth class reunion at Williams College. He was also planning to help his two sons settle into their new college academic year. His family headed up north while he finished up a little work at the White House. When he finished a cabinet meeting he hopped in a State Department carriage that was to take the Secretary of State and him to the train station. Little known to everyone, their world was about to change.
Charles was a strange sort. He “heard” the voice of God and he was just carrying out the “mission.” In the past he had sat outside the President’s office almost daily. He was seeking the job of the Consulship at Paris. He thought his “support” of this President entitled him to this position. Almost everyone thought he was a little bit crazy. But despite his claim of being a part of that exclusive group he would become the ultimate traitor to that group.
It was quite a gathering, a celebration you might call it. Excitement was in the air. Everyone was excited about him and the love for him knew no bounds. The dinner was great and they were heading out to the garden for some quiet time. Little known to them, their world was about to change.
He was a strange sort. He heard the “voice of God” and was just carrying out the “mission.” He sat with his master almost daily. I’m sure there were even those in their circle of friends that thought he was a little bit different. But despite his claim of being a part of that exclusive group he would become the ultimate traitor to that group.
With ten minutes to go before the train arrived, President James Garfield took just a few steps inside the gentlemen’s waiting area at the Baltimore and Potomac train station. Three feet behind him stood Charles Guiteau. Guiteau raised his .44 caliber British Bulldog pistol and fired twice. One shot passed through the President’s arm. The other shot hit the President in the back. The would be assassin fled. He was captured shortly afterwards.
A lady rushed to the President’s aid and placed his head on her lap. He requested some water and she gave it to him. Always concerned more for others than himself, Garfield, despite the pain, turned his head so that he would vomit on his own suit rather than on her dress. Ten doctors arrived at the station to treat the President within an hour. As the wounded leader laid on the germ infested train station floor one of the doctors inserted his unsterilized fingers in the wound in the President’s back. Garfield was more concerned about his wife expecting his arrival than his wound. Everyone was in a panic except Garfield.
Leaving the dinner early our other assassin turned to the enemy to betray his Master for 30 pieces of silver. They brought their troops to the garden where his Master and his other friends had gathered for some prayer and meditation. The traitor even kissed his Master as a sign to the soldiers of his identity. Everyone was in a panic except Jesus.
The judgment of Jesus was fast and brutal. A lesser man would fall to their torture. The verdict was quick and a death sentence was the result. His death was cruel, with long nails driven into His hands and His feet. Although the hammer drove the nail all the way through His body, He never complained.
Many a soldier during the Civil War had survived similar wounds to the President’s. The bullets were just left inside them and they went about their daily lives once they recovered. But Garfield’s chief doctor was determined to get the bullet out of him. Over and over again he would probe inside the President’s body convinced that he knew where the bullet was. Garfield would die 2-1/2 months later. An autopsy performed on the body determined it was not the bullet that killed James Garfield, it was the infection that resulted from the unsanitary hands of the physican’s constant probing to find the bullet.
Charles Guiteau’s last request before he was hung for killing Garfield was that he be allowed to read a prayer he had written. The signal that he was ready to die was that he would drop the piece of paper on which the prayer was written from his hands. A short time after he dropped the note he was dead.
One of Judas’ last acts was that he dropped the coins he was given for being a traitor at the feet of those whom he had turned Jesus into. A short time later he was dead. He hung himself.
The bullets from a pistol didn’t kill James Garfield. The nails on the cross didn’t kill Jesus. Charles Guiteau didn’t kill James Garfield, infection did. Judas didn’t kill Jesus, infection did. The infection that killed Jesus was called sin, our sins. We stuck our unclean lives deep inside him and the infection resulted in his death. And he never complained because he loved us so much.
Prayer: Father, forgive me my sins. Please let the effects of those sins be overcome with the forgiveness only offered by the risen Jesus. Amen.
