Let your words ring true…

…and do not let them appear to create a divide between the systematic and holistic aspects inherent in Orthodox Christianity and all other Christianities.

We can be thankful for what we have accepted from our holy and pious ancestors in the faith and from the saints with whom we are living and working out our salvation today, and we can also praise them.

The opportunity lies in our invitation extended to those who haven’t yet ‘seen the true Light… received the heavenly Spirit… found the true faith.’ This is no scolding, but an invitation to greater love,

that greater love which causes us to lay down our lives for our brothers. And who are our brothers? People even closer to us than our neighbors, and yet even between them we draw no distinction.

We are all met by Christ Himself, regardless of whether we are Orthodox or not, even Christians or not. We are all met by Him and offered eternal life, by the Savior of the world who does not let His divinity overwhelm His humanity.

In the same way, let’s walk together in the seamless faith which confesses no tear, moving through the world as the One Body of Christ wearing His undivided garment, that which soldiers wagered to win.

‘He who does not gather with Me, scatters,’ says the Lord Jesus Christ, who does not notice anything about us other than our need. Just as holy apostle Paul says, we are unspiritual. The Spirit in us must take us to Himself.

The sheep who were wandering aimlessly without a shepherd have been gathered and are being gathered by the Shepherd of souls, who is presenting us to His Father, the heavenly King.

Come let us worship, and fall down before Yahweh our Maker, for we are the people He pastures, the flock that He guides. Keeping our eyes on Jesus, following Him closely, other sheep will follow, if only we give them room.

A tree is known by its fruit

Despite the darkness and terror spread by misguided proponents of all religions, God remains who He is, and nothing we do that is evil, even in His name, reflects on Him, but on us. Pity us, poor creatures who, worse than irrational beasts, devour each other like this.

                  Who a man follows is revealed by his walk.

                  Who a man listens to is revealed by his talk.

Walking on egg shells

I once read a letter from someone who said they couldn’t continue ‘walking on egg shells’ forever to maintain a relationship. That really struck a raw nerve. Who hasn’t had this experience? And who hasn’t been relieved when it was over? What the one who penned this line may not have given a thought to was, perhaps the other person in the relationship was ‘walking on egg shells’ too.

A curious turn of phrase, walking on egg shells. By that we mean we’re putting up with someone, we’re swallowing our pride or our good sense or whatever makes us feel we’re better or smarter or more correct than the other person, and just letting them ‘walk all over us.’ It’s an unfailing recipe for instant martyrdom complex. Why we paint ourselves into this kind of corner is beyond me. Do we do it for money, or out of fear of rejection?

Actually, fear is probably the motivating factor, the universal principle—just plain fear. Even when we rationalize it, and say we’re doing it for ‘love’ or for ‘peace’ or for some other worthy purpose. We do it because we don’t want to face something or someone, in the truth, at least the truth as we know it. That’s why I say, it’s painting oneself into a corner.

Walking on egg shells, though, is very similar to something else we do, following the instructions of the Lord: covering the offenses of others, for love’s sake. We remember the scripture that says, ‘Love covers all offenses’ (Proverbs 10:12), and we follow it. Why? Because we love the other person, and we know the Word is true. The love, though, makes all the difference.

Putting up with someone is a far cry from loving them, isn’t it? If I’m walking on egg shells I am pretending to love, and some part of me can’t go on in this way for ever. It tires out. It begins to count the cost. It begins to divide. It builds walls. It begins to grumble, then to accuse. If there ever was a kernel of love there, it pops it.
And nothing grows from popped corn.

But love is not like this. Love never tires. Love never stops giving. Love never takes back its words or its gifts. Love never fights back. Love never accepts defeat. Love never slams the door, but keeps its door open, even if just a crack. Love isn’t afraid. Nothing can rob love. Love never loses anything or anyone. Love covers all offenses without qualification. Love waits.

There really is almost nothing that love cannot do. Almost nothing, the same as we say of the Lord. He can do everything. He is almighty, yet He cannot force the will of a sinner, though He can help a saint who comes to Him defenseless, weaponless, and with open arms. When we say that God is love, repeating the scriptures, we confess of Him what is also true of us.

If He did not create us to love, He didn’t create us at all. But He did create us, and so what are the consequences? Was it a mistake for Him to make us out of the dust of the earth and then breathe heaven itself into us? Can we continue living in a world we have made, walking on egg shells, instead of freeing ourselves to live in His world, where we don’t walk, but run?

Draw me in your footsteps, let us run.
The King has brought me into His rooms…
Song of Songs, 1:4

Now Your Word is a Lamp

Psalms for the 26th Day
119: 105-176 — 97-176 (Hebrew)

נ (Nún)

Now Your Word is a lamp to my feet,
a light on my path.
I have sworn to observe, I shall maintain
Your righteous rulings.
Yahweh, though my suffering is acute,
revive me as Your Word has guaranteed.
Yahweh, accept the homage that I offer,
teach me Your rulings.
I would lay down my life at any moment,
I have never yet forgotten Your Law.
The wicked have tried to trap me,
but I have never yet veered from Your precepts.
Your decrees are my eternal heritage,
they are the joy of my heart.
I devote myself to obeying Your statutes—
compensation enough for ever!

The Hebrew discipline of daily psalm reading starts the reading for the 26th day at verse 97, at the letter Mém…

מ (Mém)

Meditating all day on Your Law
how I have come to love it!
By Your commandment, ever mine,
how much wiser You have made me than my enemies!
How much subtler than my teachers,
through my meditating on Your decrees!
How much more perceptive than the elders,
as a result of my respecting Your precepts!
I refrain my feet from every evil path,
the better to observe Your Word.
I do not turn aside from Your rulings,
since You Yourself teach me these.
Your promise, how sweet to my palate!
Sweeter than honey to my mouth!
Your precepts endow me with perception;
I hate all deceptive paths.

Meeting again the verses of the psalm for the 26th day is always, for me, like running into a faithful and comforting friend at the end of a long and arduous day of struggle. He holds me closely to him for a moment, then looks me in the eyes and says, ‘Don't worry! That day is over. The new one is here, when we can serve the God of heaven together and joyfully keep His commandments! You are Home!’

It is fitting that the psalm for the 26th day falls on Thursday this month, the day of Christ's holy eucharist, His giving thanks to the Father, and by the mercy of Christ our God, I too give thanks, for I am home, in His Word, where I want to live, and where He lights up my path.

The psalm of this day is so precious! Listen to this, just one more stanza, starting with verse 129, at the letter Pé…

פ (Pé)

Your decrees are so wonderful
my soul cannot but respect them.
As Your Word unfolds, it gives light,
and the simple understand.
I open my mouth, panting
eagerly for Your commandments.
Turn to me, please, pity me,
as You should those who love Your name.
Direct my steps as You have promised,
let evil win no power over me.
Rescue me from human oppression;
I will observe Your precepts.
Treat Your servant kindly,
teach me Your statutes.
My eyes stream with tears,
because others disregard Your Law.

As anyone who prays the psalms will have noticed, much of their content forms the basis of Orthodox liturgical chant. The familiar doxology at the conclusion of the orthros (dawn) service includes a whole series of psalm verses after the original text of the ancient hymn Δόξα σοι τω δείξαντι το φως (Glory to Thee who hast shown us the Light), and among them is the thrice-chanted verse from Psalm 119, "Blessed are You, O Lord, teach me Your statutes" (Psalm 119:12), in Greek, Ευλογητός ει Κύριε, δίδαξον με τα δικαιώματα σου (Evloghitós ei Kýrie, dhídhaxon me ta dhikaiómata su), and in Hebrew (omitting the Hebrew script), Barúkh attá Adonáy, lammedéyni hhukéykha. This hymn is so deeply engraved in my consciousness that I often wake up in the morning singing it.

Glory to You who have shown us the Light!

By the way, the full text of the doxology in transliterated Greek with an English translation is hymn #38 in my booklet Singing the Work of the People, which can be downloaded by clicking HERE.

It is I

‘Death is a sickness like any other,’ it has been written, but so is sickness a death, and so is death an invasion of privacy and illusion-shatterer like no other. We live our lives peacefully and prosperously in the short spells of quiet that are evacuated between cataclysms, we live as individuals, as societies, even as worlds. Clenched between the jaws of inflexible fate, without daring to delve the depths of the illusion that has captured us and freed us in the vise of time, we wait purposely ignoring the end of all. Like the sudden darkness and violence of a storm that makes our road impassable and causes us to halt, either for an hour or forever, without our foreknowledge or permission, an unwelcome diagnosis of terminal illness, or the death of a child, puts an end to what we were and pushes us into what we must be. Nothing remains the same, if anything remains of us at all.

By whose mercy or caprice, or whether by mindless, existence-taunting chaos, these brief moments of order and reason, that tempt us to hope, open to receive us and feed our illusions, we dare not ask. Swept along with the whole universe, if there be such a place, we cannot keep anything material but wisdom that adheres to the soul, that the soul itself, our souls, are nonetheless real, though everything around us, our implacable enemy, denies what we know to be, crushed by what is not. We do not choose, we realize, and in fact there is no choice. We march because that is what we are, seen between two unseens, without destiny or destination, proof only to ourselves that we exist at all, movements excruciated from primordial clay. Neither yesterday nor tomorrow hold meaning, so we grasp today to convince ourselves that if we can have nothing else, at least we can have that.

God appears, uninvited if not unexpected. The religious delightfully moan in welcome, the illiterate cover themselves with rocks, neither make sense of this or can really distinguish epiphany from mindless fate. Inexorable, impossible of deflection like the high walls of the narrowing chasm inside which we will disappear as we have seen others disappear, we hope we can charm him or her or them or it by clever constructions. Instead, though we fear to admit it, we fail to follow the only avenue that would focus our attention on the opening, as we crumple in self-defeat and congratulate ourselves on having avoided the end one more time. Meanwhile, the Light shines, we do not know from where, and so we shut our eyes, and fight on. This is why we are made, we think that we think, but know that these are just the turnings of immense wheels, and once again swoon to be mashed between their teeth.

In the night, awake, always awake in the night while others sleep, obsessed with the science of unknowing, in the darkness discerning light, out of wandering being delivered to the mark as an arrow takes flight, the archer aiming not at the bird perched on the high branch, seeing not even its head, only its neck, does he pass his test. Always, everywhere, overcome by the terror of the task, thinking it is kill or be killed, we are charioted forward to engage, what is against what is not, and we emerge, as we have been forewarned, almost alone. It seems no one has survived, the world is full of ghosts, but flesh and blood, decapitated, mangled forms fill the field of vision where great deeds were done. This was no mere clashing of worlds. We find no one with whom to share the victory. We return to forgetting all, because all is pain. Then He comes to take us by the hand, and we walk upon the ageless sea.

‘It is I. Do not be afraid.’

Not a tame Lion

We get used to the idea of God's love building up and reinforcing positive structures, but it also makes things fall apart in ways that are orderly, predictable, convenient and necessary. The entire rebirth of the universe relies on God's sovereignty, and He's not a tame lion.

— Jacob Aaron Gorny

Mistaking

Lord our God,
prevent us, we beg You, of falling victim to appearances,

of mistaking for You
those things which our hands have made,

our hearts have loved, or our minds have thought.

Give us the eye of faith by which to see You,

and blind us to all other things

that resemble You.

Grant us, merciful and loving Lord,

Your forgiveness for our idolatry,

our idealism, ideology, ideas

that we forge to hold You

Who are uncontainable

except by suffering.

Save us, O Lord,

from ourselves

without You.

Be with us,

we cry.

Christ among us, not ideology

…the Christian is in a different position from other people who are trying to be good. They hope, by being good, to please God if there is one; or—if they think there is not—at least they hope to deserve approval from good men. But the Christian thinks any good he does comes from the Christ-life inside him. He does not think that God will love us because we are good, but that God will make us good because He loves us; just as the roof of a greenhouse does not attract the sun because it is bright, but becomes bright because the sun shines on it.

And let me make it quite clear that when Christians say the Christ-life is in them, they do not mean simply something mental or moral. When they speak of being "in Christ" or of Christ being "in them," this is not simply a way of saying that they are thinking about Christ or copying Him. They mean that Christ is actually operating through them; that the whole mass of Christians are the physical organism through which Christ acts—that we are His fingers and muscles, the cells of His body. And perhaps that explains one or two things. It explains why this new life is spread not only by purely mental acts like belief, but by bodily acts like baptism and Holy Communion. It is not merely the spreading of an idea; it is more like evolution—a biological or super-biological fact. There is no good trying to be more spiritual than God. God never meant man to be a purely spiritual creature. That is why He uses material things like bread and wine to put the new life into us. We may think this rather crude and unspiritual. God does not: He invented eating. He likes matter. He invented it.

— C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, Book 2, What Christians Believe, Chapter 5, The Practical Conclusion

The power of nothing

Thoughts seem to circulate in the mind of Christ with a life of their own, actually, no doubt with the life that God gives them, but it never ceases to amaze me how we are often found musing on the same ideas, even when we are far apart, even when we aren’t in touch with one another.

A thought has been besieging my mind the last few days, a thought about how unreality, call it fantasy, call it day-dreaming, better yet, call it ‘nothing’, afflicts and affects us, sometimes to the point where we are, where I am, paralysed against the doing of any good thing, anything at all.

It is a passage from C. S. Lewis’ book The Screwtape Letters, the first book of his many of us had ever read, which keeps drifting in and out of my thinking.

‘…Nothing is very strong: strong enough to steal away a man’s best years not in sweet sins but in a dreary flickering of the mind over it knows not what and knows not why, in the gratification of curiosities so feeble that the man is only half aware of them…’

This is the dreadful scenario, that it might be me he is talking about. These words are put in the mouth of a devil intent on snaring human souls, his advice to a ‘younger devil’ (if there really is such a thing, for Lewis’ is writing a quasi-allegory). He continues, explaining that one needn’t worry about big sins: a plethora of small ones will do the trick, will cause the soul of a man who unconsciously commits them to shrivel, to become what it has pursued: nothing.

‘You will say that these are very small sins; and doubtless, like all young tempters, you are anxious to be able to report spectacular wickedness. But do remember, the only thing that matters is the extent to which you separate the man from [God]. It does not matter how small the sins are, provided that their cumulative effect is to edge the man away from the Light and out into the Nothing. Murder is no better than cards if cards can do the trick. Indeed, the safest road to Hell is the gradual one—the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.’

I wrote just now that it amazes me how people are often thinking the same thoughts, alleging that we all participate in the mind of Christ, which is of course our hope. I have experienced this many times. It was reading what Fr Stephen wrote once in his blog that made me decide to put down these thoughts in mine. He writes,

‘… Our battles against, anger, lust, greed, envy, etc., are all struggles with things that are not. They have no more existence than we ourselves lend to them. And since we ourselves are not the Lord and Giver of Life, their existence is as nothing. And yet we find ourselves attracted to nothing—our minds constantly employed in dialog with nothing. The sweet work of repentance that is set before us as followers of Christ, is nothing other than the return to reality. God does not call us to spend our time thinking about what we imagine Paradise will be like. He invites us into the reality of Paradise now, which we can know through forgiving everyone for everything; by being generous in our almsgiving; by praying honest, simple prayers.’

It isn’t just his notice of what Lewis calls ‘the power of nothing’ that distinguishes Fr Stephen’s words, but his ready and refreshing and simple reminder of the way out of it—repentance, forgiving everyone for everything—‘right away’ is all that I would add—and then, the rest of the Lenten discipline which some of us try to follow for the whole year: generosity and real prayer. He continues,

‘It is quite possible for our lives to be dominated by things which have no existence. Our dreams and fantasies, our fears and anxieties, take on an existence that overwhelms everything else. Not only can such concerns not be defeated on their own ground (they are the masters of the unreal world) they must be slowly dragged onto the very ground of reality, Christ Himself, so that they can be revealed in their powerlessness and swept away with the dust of non-being.’

These words may seem hopelessly idealistic, even poetic, but they are nonetheless true. I marvel at myself, writing what I think but usually being prevented from acting on what the words mean. That was my pervasive meditation for hours this morning as I wandered in and out of prayer on my bed. In prayer, with God, out of prayer, nowhere, holding on to nothing, searching for that something I can almost just remember—but only a temptation—again, just nothing disguised to my mind as something great. But only God is great. Only He is real and true. And only in His presence, in prayer, am I delivered from the power of nothing over me.

O Heavenly King, Comforter, the Spirit of Truth, Who art everywhere present and fillest all things, Treasury of blessings and Giver of Life, come and abide in us, and cleanse us of all impurity, and save our souls, O Good One.

Dragging the Dead Dogs

I chanced across an interesting, slightly dated (and possibly retired), Orthodox blog while looking for graphics. It is called The Orthodox Fool. I have added a link to it in the sidebar of Cost of Discipleship blog under Look here… but I also republished it (with very slight editorial corrections—you know me!) as one of my own blogs.

Since the author is anonymous, I can only tell you that the writing is not mine, but I have expressed many of the same ideas in a different way, as you will realise if you take the time to visit my version of this blog, which I call, from the name of its first post, Dragging the Dead Dogs. I don't like to write about problems except when I can suggest a peaceful solution, but I know that some of you are having struggles right now, and to know that others are struggling too, can help.

Sometimes I myself think, ‘Alas, brethren! All we have to rely on now is the peace of Christ!’ Ah yes, but lucky for us, He truly is ‘a good God who loveth mankind.’

Unruly

‘When you go to the Temple, be on your guard. Go near so you can hear. The offering is more valuable than the sacrifice of fools, even if they are unaware of doing wrong,’ writes the wise Qohelet (Ecclesiastes 4:17 JB). Who knows what he meant when he originally wrote down his thoughts in that ancient scroll? But as with the rest of holy and divine scripture, the Lord knows what would be made of His words from the moment they were received by the Qahal, the Church, until the end of time. I find myself remembering this verse and applying it very often these days.

‘You can tell them by their fruits,’ says the Lord in the holy gospels. ‘Can you pick grapes from thorn bushes, or figs from thistles?’ His metaphor (Matthew 7:15-20) shows how ridiculously easy it is, or should be, for the disciple to distinguish false prophets from true. For what is a prophet after all, but one who dares to speak in God’s name, claiming authority which can only be given by God, who also accompanies that authority by signs? What signs? There are many. Read the bible. ‘Signs and wonders’ are more than story-telling. Infallibly, Christ’s sheep know His voice.

And so we were recently hearers of a seminarian’s homily, which seemed to revolve around the idea that what we need to do is attend more religious services, and at those we do attend, to arrive on time and not leave before they’re finished. The rewards of this good behavior were amply held out to us, and also the reverse. Heaven isn’t gained by those who stay away, but those who come to church punctually and faithfully, will have their reward. Honestly, I’ve never doubted that, but it is a general truth that cannot be used to corral and regiment the unruly flock of Christ.

For we are unruly. We follow a Lord who, though He fulfilled every commandment was yet called a law-breaker. Indeed, He observed the faith festivals of the Jews because He was a Jew, but wherever He went He revealed the Reality underlying all religious observance. What Reality? Well, that He and the Father are One, and that if we have seen Him, Jesus Christ, we have seen the Father. He keeps telling us in the gospels that He is only saying and doing what He hears the Father saying and what He sees Him doing. ‘The disciple is not superior to his Teacher’ (Matthew 10:24). We are unruly.

For the following of the Lord Jesus Christ is not the road of rules, but His life revealed to us in the scriptures is the rule of the road.

Our seminarian piously recounted for us the story of a man of his acquaintance who was very holy—so holy in fact that, like the Theotokos and many other saints, he was vouchsafed the date of his repose. What made this man holy was his faithfulness and piety. He never missed a service at the seminary chapel, Sundays or weekdays. Never came late, but always early or on time. He prayed daily the Chairetismoi, the poem written by Romanos the Melodist to glorify the Mother of God. He had a spiritual father to whom he frequently confessed and to whose word he was obedient.

The reward of his piety was a vision of the Theotokos three days before his death, which he revealed to his spiritual father. His sacrifices had been accepted, he was told. He would enter paradise in three days. And true to her word, he reposed on the third day. Such are the blessed rewards granted to the saints of God.

I have no doubt the man was a saint. I also don’t believe that the preacher even told us a tenth part of the good that this man of faith carried out for God. I wonder what it was like to know him when he was still alive in the flesh. Did he share with the young men at seminary anything of his real life, that which lay as the foundation of the pious building that they could see? Probably not, for the saints are invisible in their comings and goings, their mercies and their acts of love, invisible to themselves as well as to others. He worshiped and loved ‘Panagia.’ I wondered, ‘Does the preacher know why?’

To hear his homily, one would gather that the highest form of devotion to God is religious activity, piling up divine liturgies, orthros and vesper and paráklisis services, placing oneself in the hands of a spiritual father—in short, becoming essentially a ‘white monastic,’ that is, to be living like a monk, but in the world, not within the monastery. I’m sorry but I don’t even remember what the gospel lesson was at that service. If he touched upon it in his homily, perhaps it was an exegetical opening for whatever else was on his mind to tell us. We all listened respectfully, as he concluded his story.

And I repeated to the man next to me in the pew who was looking a bit uncomfortable and squirming in his seat, ‘Christ’s sheep know His voice.’

The vanity of appearances

A saint is not remarkable on the surface;
all his riches are internal, in his soul.

A peasant came a long way to the monastery to see Sergius of Radonezh. When he asked for the abbot, he was told that he was working in the garden. The peasant went off to the garden and saw a man there in poor and dirty clothing, hoeing along with the other workers. The peasant returned to the monastery dissatisfied, thinking within himself that the monks were making fun of him, and repeated, that there might be no mistake, that he wanted to see the famous holy father, Sergius.

Sergius arrived back at the monastery just then, and welcomed the peasant, serving him at table. The saint looked into the heart of his guest, and saw there the thoughts about himself. To quiet him, he told him that he would see Sergius if he waited a little.

Just then, a prince arrived at the monastery with his nobles. Both the prince and the nobles bowed low to Sergius and asked his blessing. The monks then removed the peasant from the room to make room for the new guests, and this peasant looked with wonder from afar, and peered to see that which he had spurned the sight of from nearby. He chided himself for his ignorance and was deeply ashamed.

When the prince had departed, the peasant quickly went up to the saint, fell at his feet, and asked his forgiveness. And the great saint was gentle with him, and said: “Don’t grieve, my son; you thought a true thing of me, reckoning me as nothing, while others are deluded in thinking me something great.”

— from The Prologue from Ochrid, by Bishop Nikolaj Velimirović

You are blessed

You are blessed, Lord,
You are blessed,
because no matter what I am going through right now,
You are here with me,
You are covering me.
In You life goes on, Lord,

in You the dead have life,
in You the cries of the unheard are heard,
in You the unloved are loved,
in You the brokenhearted are restored to joy,
in You the feeble are made strong,
in You the poor are become rich,
in You the blind receive their sight,
in You the captive are made free.

You are blessed, Lord,
You are blessed,
for raising me from my bed of sins,
for standing me on my feet and directing my steps,
for opening to me the gates of repentance,
for leading me in the path of righteousness,
for taking me by the hand,
for taking my first steps for me,
for loving me as if I were Your only son.

You are blessed, Lord,
You are blessed,
because You have not forgotten me,
because You have not abandoned my soul to She’ol
or left me lying in the land of death,
because You have surrounded me with songs of deliverance,
because You have fed me on the wild rock honey,
because of Your love, Lord,
because of Your love,
just because.

Xυμα καρδιας - Largeness of Heart

και εδωκεν κυριος φρονησιν τω σαλωμων και σοφιαν πολλην σφοδρα και χυμα καρδιας ως η αμμος η παρα την θαλασσαν
1 Kings 4:29 Greek Septuagint

There is only One Church, One Body of Christ, and that cannot be, that has never been and shall never be, divided, for Truth is One, yet we do not let ourselves see things this way. Like the soldiers at the foot of the Cross, we would rather gamble in the attempt to have all of Christ's garment or none of it, not realising that it isn't possession of the robe of Truth, but to be nailed next to Him, stripped naked and rejected with Him, that matters.

Here is a testimony with many applications, written by the servant of God, Christian pastor Zac Poonen, of Christian Fellowship Church, Bangalore, India. What he writes is quite Orthodox in both theory and application, because it comes from a spiritual understanding of the Word of God. Anyone can learn from what he says, because here is the secret to living the life of heaven on earth, what elsewhere I have called ‘the life of the Holy Triad.’

Seek to have Largeness of Heart

by Pastor Zac Poonen

In 1 Kings 3:16-28 we have an example of Solomon’s wisdom. Two prostitutes stood before him for judgment one day. They were living in the same house and had delivered babies within a few days of each other. One night, one of them accidentally rolled over her child while sleeping, and killed it. When she realised what had happened, she immediately exchanged her baby with the living one. In the morning, when the other woman realised what had been done, she claimed her living child back. An argument arose between them then, as to whom the living child belonged to. How was Solomon going to decide in a situation like this? God gave Solomon wisdom. Solomon suggested that the living child be divided into two, and one half given to each woman. The first woman, whose child it really was, said, “No, please don’t kill it. Give it to the other woman.” But the second woman said, “No, kill it. You can have half and I can have half.” Immediately everyone knew who the true mother was. Then Solomon said, “Give the child to the first woman.” All Israel heard of that judgment and feared the king because they saw how God had given him wisdom.

Here is how we can apply Solomon’s wisdom today: Suppose two brothers are working together in a church and they fall out with each other. One of them then splits it into two and pulls out with his group. Is he the true mother? Certainly not! The true mother would say, “No. Don’t divide the church. You can have the whole church to yourself.”

Don’t ever split a church of believers. It is far better to leave the church intact, pull out yourself, go elsewhere and start an entirely new work, without causing a split in the first church. God will bless you. If God wants to give you that church to lead, because you are the true mother, He can even kill the other woman one day and give you the child. He killed Saul and gave the kingdom to David. He can do such things today too. But don’t ever cut a living baby into two. Don’t divide a church. Go and work somewhere else. Let God give you everything from His own hand. Don’t ever grab or divide.

That’s the principle I have followed whenever I have disagreed with a church’s leadership. I didn’t try to split the church, to get some of them to follow me. I went elsewhere and said, “Lord, let me start from the beginning all over again. Give me another child. I won’t fight for that one.” And I can testify today that God has blessed me abundantly in my work, because of that attitude. So I would recommend that to you.

In Chapter 4:29, “God gave Solomon wisdom and very great discernment and breadth of mind, largeness of heart, like the sand that is on the seashore.” Remember Solomon was a very young man. So young people can ask God to give them all these four gifts mentioned here. Not only wisdom, discernment and breadth of mind but also “largeness of heart, like the sand that is on the seashore”. This means (for us) a large heart that can take in all of God’s people who are like the sand on the seashore (Genesis 22:17).

Consider a brother who belongs to another denomination, who disagrees with us about water-baptism or speaking in tongues; but God has accepted him. Our prayer should be, “Lord, give me largeness of heart to warmly receive him - even if he doesn’t work with me or agree with me.” I want as many brothers and sisters as God has children!

Consider a child of God who has a conviction on some matter that is different from ours. Can we accept that person? I remember once when a sister came to me for baptism and she was wearing some gold jewelry. Now, I have a conviction that gold should not be worn by believers. That is my understanding of 1Timothy 2:9 and 1 Peter 3:3. And this sister was wearing gold. Would I baptise her or not? The Lord asked me one question at that time: “Would you say that I have accepted her?” And I said, “Lord, as far as I can see, she is truly born again and so you have accepted her.” Then the Lord said, “How can you reject one whom I have accepted?” So I baptised her—with her gold! She may get light on that matter later; but it is not my business to judge her. I want to accept all those whom God has accepted—even if their convictions are different from mine.

I remember once concerning some issue, the Lord asked me, “How long did you take to understand this matter?” I admitted that it had taken me some years. Then why couldn’t I be patient with that person who was taking time to understand the issue?

We all need largeness of heart. When we are young, we tend to be zealous and narrow-minded, narrow-hearted, and we accept only those who agree with us on every issue. I am ashamed to say that I was like that when I was young. It was one of the many foolish 
attitudes I had. But as I grew older, and knew the Lord better, I discovered that I needed to have largeness of heart.

More than the entire world

What is beautiful and well-made belongs to the world
and cannot comfort those who want to live a spiritual life.
There is no wall that will not eventually be torn down.
One soul is worth more than the entire world.
What must we do for the soul?
We must begin spiritual work.
We must have only the right kind of concern.
Christ will ask us what spiritual work we have accomplished,
how we helped the world in spiritual matters.
He will not ask what buildings we made.
He will not even mention them.
We will be held accountable for our spiritual progress.
I want you to grasp what I am trying to say.
I am not saying that one must not construct buildings,
and not construct them well,
but one must take care of the spiritual life first
and then mind the rest,
and do all that with spiritual discernment.

Elder Paisios of the Holy Mountain

“Remember who your teachers were…”
2 Timothy 3:14

Into whatever adventure

Psalms for the 18th Day
90 91 92 93 94

Psalm 91

God's protection

If you live in the shelter of Elyon

and make your home in the shadow of Shaddai,

you can say to Yahweh, ‘My refuge, my fortress,

my God in whom I trust!’

He rescues you from the snares

of fowlers hoping to destroy you;

he covers you with his feathers,

and you find shelter underneath his wings.

You need not fear the terrors of night,

the arrow that flies in the daytime,

the plague that stalks in the dark,

the scourge that wreaks havoc in broad daylight.

Though a thousand fall at your side,

ten thousand at your right hand,

you yourself will remain unscathed,

with his faithfulness for shield and buckler.

You have only to look around

to see how the wicked are repaid,

you who can say, ‘Yahweh my refuge’,

and make Elyon your fortress.

No disaster can overtake you,

no plague come near your tent:

he will put you in his angels’ charge

to guard you wherever you go.

They will support you on their hands

in case you hurt your foot against a stone;

you will tread on lion and adder,

trample on savage lions and dragons.

‘I rescue all who cling to me,

I protect whoever knows my name,

I answer everyone who invokes me,

I am with them when they are in trouble;

I bring them safety and honor,

I give them life, long and full,

and show them how I can save.’

This is the God, the Father whom Jesus our Lord trusted with such certainty that He was willing to take every promise with Him to the Cross, so that we too, believing in His name, can go boldly forward into whatever adventure Yahweh sends us.

Indonesia tercinta saya

We have been experiencing a heat wave in Portlandia, summer finally arrived after a long, cool spring, and this sunny, hot weather always puts me in mind of living in my other homeland, Indonesia. I first discovered it last December and January, when I spent three whole weeks living there with my adopted son Yudhie and his friends and relatives, never staying in a hotel or going out of our way to see ‘the sights’ but just living there together, enjoying each other’s company, and going where occasion and the road sent us.

It is a warm country, and not just because it straddles the equator. The people of Indonesia, everyone I came to know, were very warm hearted, very generous and hospitable. When you don’t know them personally, they are respectful and correct, but once they know you are ‘one of them’ their gracious hearts and homes are open to you. I suppose people are like that everywhere, but when you experience that in a place you did not expect to find it, it’s just wonderful.

Today, the day felt like a day in Singaraja or in Tangerang or Lampung, sunny, hot, but still a bit breezy. I just miss being surrounded by Indonesian people. Perhaps I will see some of them tomorrow, if I go to eat at one of the warungs downtown. Yes, we have two authentic Indonesian warungs (food carts) in Portlandia, both of them are benar bagus sekali (really great)! Indonesian food is definitely Asian and based on rice, but the spices and the preparation of meat, fish, seafood, vegetables and fruit make it unique.

Today I want to congratulate my friends and relatives of Indonesia on their Independence Day, which is the 17th of August, already over by the time anyone reads this. I hope it was a beautiful day for them. They’re also getting ready for the Idul Fitri holiday, which marks the end of the fasting month of Ramadan, on Sunday the 19th. Though this is a religious holiday for Muslims, everyone in Indonesia has the day off to celebrate with their friends. Well, it falls on a Sunday. I wonder, do they have Monday off work to compensate?

The video above is a sample of what happens on the bus going just about anywhere in Indonesia—Street musicians, pengamen, get aboard the bus and perform, then pass an envelope for donations. They don’t have to pay the conductor for the ride, and they get off and climb aboard another bus to perform, and earn their living. It’s easy to be generous with these talented young people. By the way, I have a blog, Yndonesia, which you can find HERE.

Beyond tomorrow

Even while she was still with us, I found myself talking to her, asking her, when alone and needing some comfort, especially when I awoke in the middle of the night, for prayer. It was hard to understand, and to accept, the story she told us, about the angel, but then, we had no trouble hearing and believing the other story, but that was all about her Son. This time it was about her but, unlike the first visit of Gabriel, which brought the word of good news, this visit seemed nothing but the harbinger of sadness.

How could we put up with it? How could I live suddenly alone? She was my mother, more than only mine, for twenty-four long years. She was a mother to all of us, and it was wonderful to be back in the Holy City again with the brothers, all of us returned to where it all began. Like the scripture says, ‘From north and south, east and west, I gather you.’ She was so calm, and her eyes looked so dreamy, almost as if she were going to weep, when she told me, ‘Just think! Only a fortnight, and I will see him again!’

See him again? ‘What do you mean, Mother? Is this why we have all come back to Jerusalem? Is this why you were so insistent that we all find ourselves here, together, as we once stood on the Olive Mount, watching him go? So that as the angels declared, we could watch him come back in exactly the same way we saw him go?’ Words such as these with half-hope and excitement I blurted out, forgetting all else, and spoiling the serene moment that surrounded the lucid jewel of her expectation.

‘No, no, beloved Son, not that! Not even he could tell us that, nor could an angel of the Most-High! Only the Father knows that time, that hour.’ Still perplexed, I waited for her to continue. What she related was difficult to grasp, and to accept. To blunt its sharpness, she reminded me that the same message would one day be vouchsafed to me as well, but not yet. I too would see the day I would go forth to meet him, but that day was yet far off. No, this was her time. Angels always bring good news.

The word had gone out, I don’t know quite how, but all of us, all except Thomas, were now somewhere in the City, or close by. Over the course of a few days, I had chance to meet with them, with Cephas, with my brother Jacob, with all of the brothers, by ones and twos, and I handed over to them the news that our Mother, our beloved Mother, the Mother of our beloved Master, had given me. It was never easy, and there were tense moments, words of astonishment and incomprehension, even of disbelief.

‘Of this we are sure,’ I told them, ‘that on the fourteenth day after the angel’s visit, the Master will welcome his Mother into the Life eternal, carrying her as a babe in his own arms, escorted by the angelic host.’ No, we would not see what she would see, but we were privileged to encircle her bed at that precise moment, and through her eyes, the Light of Light, even the true God of true God—blessed, blessed, blessed be He!—was to shine on us, casting away forever all shadows from her life and ours.

Twenty-four years of living together, her silence as well as her testimonies teaching and strengthening me, crossing lands and seas, preserved by her witness, by her very being, the Mother of my Lord and Master, Jesus, of my Savior… over, forever over! I was disconsolate. But when had I not known it, understood that this time of blessing would also come to an end, that all that is human must, like a book, be finished and closed? Yet the One who writes us and fills the world with our testimony, He lives.

‘Evening came, and morning came, day one,’ I began counting, clinging desperately to the words of scripture, fervently hugging to myself every moment I was able to spend with her, while she continued living as she always had, caring for me, creating the inner world for me to retreat to after laboring so hard to build the outer—but I, while she waited so patiently and with unperturbed certainty for her Son to arrive, I could not keep myself on task, I could not work. It was a very strange kind of fasting.

Little did I think to feed my body, even though with foods from her hand I would never taste again. No, but I fed my eyes with her beauty, yes, her beauty, for though she was my Mother, to see us together, one would think at most she were my sister. But now, my hair grown white, my beard and side locks the same, though still young inside I was, outside those who did not know me took me for an elder of Israel, and she for my young bride. And indeed, a bride she was, whom we knew as ‘the Unwedded.’

Sojourning among the Gentiles in the northlands, in Ephesos of Diana of the hundred breasts, we walked together, meeting the people where they were, her womanly witness the hidden foundation of mine seen and heard, and when we coaxed her to speak, she speaking of her Son, Jesus, enlivened all hearts and minds, unleashing many from the bondage post, and watering their lives as a life-giving fountain. How many miracles followed us wherever we were sent. Yes, she was a water-bearing rock, for me.

And that day we were cast ashore, alive, from the raging sea. Who would imagine that a humble daughter of Israel would be found following her young son, taking ship and sailing to the copper island, to Cyprus, to visit the only man living who was dead and brought back to life after lying four days in the tomb? But the God and Father of us all, who sent His beloved Son to us as her Son, guarded our path wherever we went, toppling idols as He did when we were cast, boatless, on that rocky shore.

‘Zeus and Hera!’ they shouted, the villagers, as they ran to greet us and ask us to preserve them from the wrath of the earth quake. But we were only humans, the mother of Jesus, and his beloved friend. We sat down together on the shore, made fires to warm ourselves, and waited for the rescue that the Lord would decree, meanwhile calming their frightened faces with the story of the only Lover of mankind. How they took to it! how they believed! not from my lips only, but from the Mother of us all.

My mournful thoughts return to that final day. Long since I had stopped counting as the day drew near. The days count themselves when we are afraid of what lies ahead. It happened so peacefully, everything so in order, as if everyone were directed intimately in thought, word and deed. We gathered around where she lay, and waiting, our fast more natural and unconscious than our own heartbeats. Expecting a miracle, she just fell asleep, and we, afraid to awaken her, just looked on. Fragrance filled the room.

What happened next, I cannot remember clearly. It seems I was brushed aside as others more vigorous in intention and plan—it was obvious they knew what to do—took charge. I saw the holy body of my little Mother carried away somewhere and I, still grieving, sat with my back against a wall, wondering what I would do next, what life I would have beyond tomorrow. My brother Jacob came and raised me up and so much as said, ‘Come along,’ and my body sheepishly followed, my mind lodged in my heart.

The next thing I remember was the sealing of the tomb. My eyes saw, but my heart did not believe, and inwardly I wretched to the core of my being. ‘You will not abandon my soul to She’ol,’ I murmured to myself, remembering my Master, who trampled death by death and bestowed Life to everyone in the tombs. Like Thomas who said it aloud when, arriving a few days later and coming to see us, Mother and me, like Thomas I cried inside, ‘I don’t believe it! It’s impossible! She can’t be dead!’ as I looked on.

And Thomas did finally arrive. Why was he allowed to be late? Why was he the only one not there? Just like the last time, he missed the Lord when he came among us, resurrected. Only this time, none of us saw the Lord with our physical eyes, as we did behind that locked door, in that room. But we believed the word that the angel spoke to Mary, as she told us, ‘The God who loves me is coming.’ Sometimes we have nothing to rely on but our faith but, as Jesus said, ‘Your faith has healed you.’ So, faith is enough.

Again, he must see with his own eyes, or he will not believe! ‘Thomas, can’t you let anything alone? Why must we disturb the rest of her body in the tomb, just for you? We told you, she has been taken by her Son, our Lord. Isn’t that enough for you? Isn’t faith enough?’ He regained his calmness and after a moment, ‘No, faith is not enough, not for me. I want to see her one more time. It’s not that I don’t believe what you’ve told me. I just want to see what all of you saw. Can you grant me that?’

Suddenly, we were ashamed of ourselves. How thoughtless, how unfeeling of us. She was his Mother as well as ours. In fact, Mary had a very tender place in her heart for Thomas and always seemed to dote on him more than on the rest of us when he appeared at her door. They seemed to understand each other, the mother of faith and the brother of doubt. So we relented. With a slow, silent pace we walked to the garden where her tomb was. We broke the seal and with difficulty shifted the stone covering.

There was that fragrance again! The same fragrance we smelled in the room when she fell asleep! Like roses, only richer, deeper, like an essential oil. There were roses scattered about the floor just inside the tomb, at least that is what I saw. Cephas went right in, as he did the last time, but I stayed outside, somehow afraid of what I might see. Thomas followed him closely, and Cephas bumped into him as he abruptly turned about and pushed past him to shout, ‘She is not there! Her body has disappeared!’

Now, as I lie here and ponder the darkness of unknowing, how great is the wisdom of God! how profound His mystery! He does not ask our permission before He moves. He just decrees His will and performs it! ‘Your Kingdom come, Your will be done on earth, as it is in the heavens!’ we pray over and over, yet when He does what we have asked, we are dumbfounded. The Mother of our Master, of our Lord, yes, the Mother of our God—how can we say such things?—but yes, the Truth is dawning on us.

Now I know for sure

Touching Him, no one ever remains unchanged. I didn’t touch Him. He touched me, but not with His hands. He touched me with His words, and starting with that fateful day, nothing in my life remains the same.

I was a common servant then, a boy really, hired out by my poor parents whenever anyone needed help. I always did as I was told. I was glad to help my father and mother, who gave me life and did so much for me, even though sometimes I wished I could be free like the other boys, to amuse myself. When I became a man, I still honored my parents and, seeking to help them in their age, I hired myself out, working for a man that supplied marriage suppers with food and drink. I traveled all over Galilee with my master, catering the weddings of small and great. I continued to sleep in my old corner at home when our business brought me back to my village. That’s when I brought my earnings to my family’s relief. When I was away for longer, I sent word to my younger brother to meet me where I was. He took the money for me, and between him and me, we four were able to have food and shelter, and even a little for giving alms. From my father I learned, contempt of the poor is a luxury no one can afford. Though a man be poor, there are others poorer still. ‘Cast your bread on the water,’ my father used to say, ‘at long last you will find it again.’

You will no doubt believe me when I tell you that I was a poor man, for as you can see, that is what I am. When I tell you that I whom you see before you now clad in moth-eaten robe and faded turban was once Chuza, the steward of the great prince, Antipas of Galilee, you will laugh. I don’t blame you. I also laugh, though not out of doubt, but out of faith. For He that is Mighty has put down the mighty from their seat, and has exalted the humble and meek. Like our forefather Yosef in Egypt, I was raised up out of my humble state to serve the Lord’s purposes, and when I had done as I was told, He released me to dwell the rest of my days in peace. For no one who serves a great prince is ever safe, or free of cares. The Most-High is merciful, blessed be He! Now, I will tell my story.

I was of marriageable age, but my family’s poverty constrained me from taking a wife. As I have already related, I worked with a master who catered marriage feasts, from Nazareth, to Cana, to Capernaum, everywhere in Galilee. So it was, that we were hired to prepare the feast for the marriage of a man of Cana and his bride. This is what happened. Half-way through the feast, the supply of wine we had ordered ran out. My master was beside himself. As he explained it to the steward of the feast, one of the guests, a young woman—or, at least, she looked young—overheard what was said. At her left sat a handsome young man whom I took to be her lord, though afterwards I discovered to my amazement, he was her son. I was standing near with another helper, awaiting my master’s orders. I heard the woman tell the man, ‘They’ve run out of wine.’

The young lord—for now I was sure he was a lord because of his gentle courtesy—replied, ‘My lady, what does this have to do with you and me? It is not yet time.’ In the pause that followed, I puzzled within myself, ‘What could he mean, saying, it is not yet time?’ but I had no time to wonder, for the woman turned to me, tugged on my sleeve and said, almost in a whisper, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’

I felt embarrassed and confused, but something in her voice gave me confidence as I approached the young lord from his left, bent down, and waited for his instructions. He nodded across the courtyard where the feast was being given, and my eyes followed his gaze. There were six stone water jars lined up against a wall under the eaves. He commanded, ‘Those jars are empty. Fill them with water.’ My companion and I were more than bewildered, but I said to him, ‘Come on! Let’s do what the master says!’ The debate between the man we worked for and the steward of the feast kept their attention off us while we filled the jars.

Fortunately for us, there was a stone cistern just over the garden wall. It didn’t take us long to finish our task.
We were out of breath when we returned to the young lord. ‘Now, go back to the jugs. Ram, you fill a pitcher and pour it into a goblet. Chuza, you give the goblet to the master of the feast.’ I was as stunned as my companion, if his expression meant anything. ‘How does he know our names?’ I asked myself, as we hurried to do what the young lord commanded.

We came up, I reached out and handed the steward the goblet. ‘What is this?’ he gasped as he looked at the rich red wine in the cup, then took a drink. ‘Baruch, what is this?’ he demanded of our master. ‘You tell me the wine is run out, and now your boy hands me this?’ It was impossible for us at that moment to know for sure if he was mad or glad. He asked for another goblet, and we filled it. This the steward took to the head table and handed to the bridegroom. ‘Taste and see!’ he proudly said, and then spouted, ‘Others offer the fine wine first, and then the common, after everyone’s too drunk to know their left hand from their right. But you, Aharon, you saved the best till now!’ He looked around to make sure everyone had noticed.

This is where nothing remains unchanged. This is where no one remains unchanged. The paths of everyday life, zigzagging as they always have, are penetrated from an unseen center, where sometimes a hand is seen, sometimes a voice is heard, but from beyond the world the lightning flash that earths itself in every man is deflected by divine knowledge. A new point of entry is emblazoned on the heart, and the Lord of myriads of divine chariots takes more than Sinai for His sanctuary and Judah for His domain. My life suddenly was broken free from the bonds of fate, and like a golden leaf I was carried downstream in a glistening torrent, and deposited at the Lord’s feet.

Yes, He picked me up, though at the time I didn’t know who He was, only that he must be a young lord. Now I know for sure, He is the Ancient of Days.

The gossip began immediately as the marriage supper was ending. Everyone had his own version to tell of what happened, where the wine came from. Ram and I knew, but we didn’t tell. Strangely, no one even bothered to ask us. Gossips are never interested in the truth. Our master was wroth with us nonetheless, and dismissed us both from his service, punishing us for his mistake, and envious of our startling invention. I returned home dejected and cheated of my wages. Days later Baruch turned up at the door of my parents’ house asking for me. They told him they did not know where I was. He said he would pay them my wages if they would tell him how I had produced the wine. ‘What are you talking about?’ they protested. ‘What wine?’ But of course, I had told them all.

The first change was losing my livelihood. The second was finding it again. I did not have to look for it. It found me. As I now know, He found me.

Not long afterwards, an official came to our door with two soldiers asking for me. ‘Is this where we can find Chuza the wine maker?’ My parents were afraid, thinking, ‘What has he done now?’ I sensed their fear and emerged from behind the opened door. ‘Are you looking for me, sir? I am Chuza, but I am no wine maker.’ ‘That’s for the king to decide,’ he replied. ‘We are here to present you to the king. He has heard about the marriage feast in Cana.’

Afraid, and yet not afraid, I turned myself over to the soldiers and they carried me into the presence of the prince. (We do not call Herod Antipas ‘king’ for we have no king but the Holy One of Israel, blessed be He!) I was surprised at his gentleness as he asked me in detail what happened at that feast. Something inside me said, ‘Tell him the truth,’ and I did as I was told. About the young lord and the lady, I told him. What she said, what he said, I revealed all. ‘Well, this is a wonder!’ exclaimed the prince. ‘Come, Chuza! We sense that there is something about you, something mysterious and auspicious. Come and stay with Us, and be Our steward. Since you have told Us the truth, We want you to rule Our household.’

I looked down and stammered, ‘But majesty’—I didn’t know how to address him; I had never met a prince before—‘I am only Chuza, the support of my aged parents. You must be mistaken. I did nothing. I performed no miracle. It was that man I told you about. I only did what I was told, what he commanded.’

The prince stood up—he was seated and I knelt before him—and raised me to my feet. ‘Come, Chuza, We make you Our steward. We will provide for your parents. We will give you a wife as well. Stay with Us.’ And so it was. My parents were cared for, and my brother too. The prince gave me a wife of the house of Israel, even of the house of David, the virgin Joanna. Her family was rich, known at court. They were Hellenists. At the time, I knew nothing of these things. Now, I know more.

Joanna was chosen for me because—again, this was a change incredible and unexpected, for both of us—she was a relation of the mother of the young lord that worked the sign. Yes, it was Joanna who explained it to me. Miryam was the mother of the young lord whose name was Yeshua. Though her family and Miryam’s were of different wealth and station, Joanna visited Miryam and Yeshua often, helping them. Unknown to me, she was even at the marriage feast, and drank of that new wine that knew no vine. Joanna and I lived happily together in the palace for three years, as we followed the young lord, she with her feet, I only with my heart.

‘For three years?’ you ask. ‘What happened to that life, emulator of Yosef son of Yaakov?’ I know, I know. Yes, it is very hard to believe, but I am telling you the truth. I was the steward of Herod Antipas. Joanna was my wife. The young lord Yeshua grew in stature and in favor with God and men. Well, with some men, and only for a time. The same who followed Him when He healed and fed them, many of those called for His execution, not knowing who He was. But I knew. Joanna knew. When they lay His lifeless body in the tomb, my Joanna went with some other women disciples—yes, my wife was among the first to know He had scattered hell’s minions and taken it captive when He rose from the dead—to anoint His body. She came back screaming that the tomb was empty.

The commotion came to the ears of the prince. He was already very troubled, for the sake of that Man, as were all the rulers of the parceled land of Israel. He called us into his presence, seeking to know the reason for this outburst of my wife’s.

‘What is this all about?’ he demanded. In my heart, I knew that a tie was about to severed. Touching Him, no one ever remains unchanged. The prince had commanded me, one day not long before, to tell him the truth, for he wanted to know, and I told him. This time it was different. Seeking not the truth, indeed terrified of it, nevertheless he asked. As she began to speak, he suddenly shut tight his eyes, shot out his left hand, and barked, ‘Enough! Enough of these lies! I’ve heard all I want to hear! Get out of my sight!’ Even with his eyes closed, Joanna’s testimony pierced through those jeweled eyelids.

As quickly as I once was snagged in the maw of his service I was—we were—disgorged, and turned out into the street as though we had never known the palace. This was, for me, a blessed relief, for I wanted to follow that Man with more than my heart. Returning from Yerushalayim where she had followed Him that holy week before the Passover was sacrificed, she now shared with me the good news that He was to meet His disciples right here in Galilee, and that is what, in fact, happened, not many days after. Yes, He appeared to us again and again in those days before Shavuot. Even I was among those who met Him again, this time knowing who He is.

Touching Him, no one ever remains unchanged. I didn’t touch Him. He touched me, but not with His hands. He touched me with His words, and starting with that fateful day, nothing in my life remains the same.

Citizen of Paradise

‘On Your Creation, O Master, take pity. Cleanse me by Your compassion,’ over and over again this morning, these words from the memorial prayers for the reposed, those who have died, and other words too, but mostly these, kept streaming through my head.

The thoughtless who examine and criticise the Church for praying for the dead, saying that it is useless since the dead have already gone into eternal life or into eternal damnation and therefore profit nothing by these prayers, miss the point entirely.

Yes, we pray for the dead, but that is, for us, who think we are alive but who are spiritually dead, they are for us, those who are struggling every day, every hour and moment, gasping for a breath of Life while being buried alive by the weight of our sins and the sin of the world.

The modern or post-modern (I can no longer distinguish them) who hear the Christian cry out, ‘Take pity, Lord! Cleanse me by Your compassion!’ observe the scene condescendingly, thinking, ‘He pretends to be a sinner, so he can pretend to be saved.’

But this is no pretense, our knowing and confessing that we are sinners. I know for sure that I am a sinner, and only one thing I know with more certainty—that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, and, whether I believe it or not, I am the first.

People may praise me, and for a second or two I may forget myself and feel glad. Then I remember, and I know that they are giving me bricks to lay on what they think is my foundation, but in me there is no foundation, not even a poor one. I know that; they don’t.

I may sometimes even do worse things. I may praise myself, trying to amass bricks of gold, not to lay on a foundation that isn’t there, but to store in a strong box that has already been plundered and no longer even has a lock. The greatest earthly riches cannot console me.

Faced with the fact of sin, with the temptation to descend into its filth, put a bible in front of me, and some worldly seduction, side by side, the bible gleaming, the seduction luring to shadow, and left to myself, shunning the God who would tear the net, I let myself be caught in it.

The bible is there, right in front of me. I know much of it by heart. Yet my heart treads water, as I stand in a pool of my own blood, grumbling like Israel in the wilderness, refusing to enter a land of delight, even while praying, ‘make me again a citizen of Paradise.’

O God! Your Word, I confess, is Truth, yet I cannot arise by my own efforts. Nothing I can do is any help. Running to You for strength, my weak soul pines for the liberty of hell, as my eyes are captured by its false promises. Run to meet me, as You always do, and carry me.

I have lost everything, only to know that all that I had was and is and always would be worth nothing. In You alone are the riches of freedom, of love and of peace, freely given to all who come to You, through the Opening torn in the veil of this world, Your Son’s Body.

Yes, Lord, I am the one who was made in Your image, though I am scarred by my transgressions. On Your creation, O Master, take pity, cleanse me by Your compassion, and once again make me a citizen of Paradise.