The Bone-Day of the passover after 2300 years unearthed ...

[Gerhard Ebersoehn]

The Bone-Day of the passover after 2300 years unearthed ...
The Bone-Day of the passover has after 2300 years been dug up from oblivion where it lay buried in the first translation of the Hebrew Scriptures, the Septuagint or 'LXX' ... its grave simply marked, 'THAT DAY' ...

... much to the embarrassment of both Jewish and Christian scholarship,

"THAT DAY" has been discovered and recovered in its God-given and therefore eschatological imperative WHOLE AND WHOLENESS in the Hebrew Scriptures of the Torah and Prophets of having been the "BONE-DAY" : "WHOLE DAY" of the passover "on the fourteenth day of the First Month" ('Abib') …

... the "BONE-DAY" : "WHOLE DAY" of the passover "on the fourteenth day of the First Month" ('Abib') ... institutionalised, the "BONE-DAY" : "WHOLE DAY" of the passover "on the FIFTEENTH day of the First Month" ('Abib').

 

[Revmitchell]

Someone is obssessed with Bone Day.

 

[Gerhard Ebersoehn]

Someone is obssessed with Bone Day.

Yes, someone with the stress on one. The rest of the world is obsessed with Sunday.

In the Old Testament everybody---including the Church---worshiped Baal the sun-god.

In New Testament times everybody changed to worshiping the 'Day of the lord Sun', ‘Day’ of the sun-god.

Idolatry has been the winner in each case and the Scriptures the looser.

The ‘Day’ of the sun-god is his ‘heavenly MESSENGER’ and the ‘PORTAL’ into his ‘holy presence'. In Christianity Jesus Christ has made way for the pagan ‘Messenger from heaven’.

 

[Gerhard Ebersoehn]

Why does this poem come to mind ....?

Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.