Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

THE LOST BOYS



THE LOST BOYS


16 Then Herod, when he saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, was in a furious rage, and he sent and killed all the male children in Bethlehem and in all that region who were two years old or under, according to the time which he had ascertained from the wise men. 17 Then was fulfilled what was spoken by the prophet Jeremiah:
          18 “A voice was heard in Ramah,
          wailing and loud lamentation,
          Rachel weeping for her children;
          she refused to be consoled,
          because they were no more.”     (Matthew 2)
 



                Somewhere in the middle of the heavenly host, assembled around the Throne of God and the Lamb, one angel leans forward and whispers to an archangel, “… who are those little boys in that new balcony?  … there are a couple of dozen of them, smiling, and waving their tiny hands at the King!  … but, who are they?!”  The archangel hushed him, and whispered, “…that’s the Bethlehem Balcony…”


                Down below, in time and space, a couple dozen heart-broken mothers meet in a support group they call the “M.O.B.” – mothers of Bethlehem.  One of the mothers, Hannah, clears her throat and begins the meeting, saying, “… it has been several years now, but I cannot close my eyes without seeing the soldiers kicking open doors – the screams, the crying babies, the helpless distress …”  



Another, Ruth, breaks in, “…it must have been how the mother of Moses, Jochabed, felt, waiting for the Nile crocodiles …”  


Sarah angrily interrupts, sobbing, “… yeah, but her boy was saved; mine was smashed against the wall by that brute soldier …”  


The room falls into a hushed silence filled with quiet sobs.  Elizabeth hesitantly broke the  silence, whispering, “I heard that one got away?!  They did not get them all?”


Anna added, “I remember them; they came for the census that Herod had…”  Several mothers, in unison, spit on the floor at the mention of the name of Herod.


Naomi cried, “I remember that demon, Herod; he even killed three of his own sons – what a mad man!”


Anna continued, “…but, I remember them; they came down from Galilee, and stayed for a while.  Their baby was born in the stables.  Bethlehem was full of outsiders that week and the only inn was full.  They stayed for a while, even after most folks went home – new baby delayed them, I guess?!  The shepherds still talk about that baby.”


Miriam interjected, “…yeah, those Magi showed up, left, then came the soldiers!”


Sarah angrily added, “…yes, their baby was the one Herod was looking for – something about ‘king of the Jews’ like Micah the prophet said?  All I know is that he is the one that got my baby boy killed!  And, I even bought some tables that were made by that carpenter; Joseph was his name?!”


The angel continued to stare at the new balcony in the Throne Room.  He could not fathom the joy and laughing coming from the alcove.  Then he watched as the Lamb stood and waved back to the boys.  Then, the Lamb arose and was in their balcony, holding them and singing to them!  They had a special, unexplainable bond.


On a trip to Jerusalem, decades later, Sarah met a quiet, serene lady and questioned, “…you are her!?  You are the mother of the boy Herod wanted to kill?  But, he killed my boy – and yours got away!  It is so unfair!  My baby died so that yours could live?!  It is so unfair!”


Mary, sadly, but excitedly said, “No, my son died so that you can live; let me tell you about my son, Jesus”


Sarah gasped, “…your son was the one they took to Golgotha?!”


Mary sat and explained the whole story, remembering and rehearsing what Isaiah had said so long ago!  Sarah cried; but, it was a new cry, a cry for joy over the risen King!


Sarah went back to Bethlehem and joined the group of believers there.  One Sunday, she donated a table which she had bought years ago, from the carpenter.  “Please take it and use it for the Eucharist table,” Sarah pleaded, adding “I bought it from Joseph, years ago.  I had two, but I sold the other one to some fellow in Jerusalem who wanted it for his upper room…”


And, somewhere in Heaven, the boys lost in Bethlehem smile in peace and purity and perfection.  And, their Brother smiles back at them. 


Tuesday, December 8, 2015

knowing everything?



"you will know ..."

Knowing everything, and yet really, of value, nothing,  

Connected by technology, like never before seen;

but each in our own cave, peeking out in fear, whispering,

“what is out there?  So familiar, but so different, so mean…”



Valuing little of what has come before, from some sage.

Now trying anything, but really onto nothing we hold.

“Diversity and tolerance are the values of our new age!”

Yet, anger and/or apathy, grow in our hearts, ever cold.



Those born of ‘submission” are spiraling out of control;

Those born of “love” seem different, but somehow the same.

“I hate you and will take both your gold and your soul.”

I hate myself and trust you to be other than you claim?!



Of forbidden fruit we once ate, believing the lie.

Now, where is the voice we once heard in the garden?

Ever only we walk in darkness, soon surely to die.

Where is that tree with the healing for the nations?



Healing and harmony, honesty and honor,

Words and ideas that seem laughingly untrue.

We’re sinking into darkness, soon going under…

God help us, soon!  We know not what to do!



With You, there is light and there is hope;

No other option has a chance to deliver,

They only blind us, in darkness we grope.

You alone are the path, our way to recover.



Lost and alone, in deep darkness we often herd.

Touching, but distant, straining to desperately hear,

fellowship forgotten, conversations once heard,

that gave comfort from pain, and peace in our fear.



Come, Thou who art light and truth and life!




Saturday, March 1, 2014

EDEN

(dedicated to my new granddaughter, Eden Catherine)

Eden

   The "mother of all living", and her man, "from the earth", walked with the Creator in Eden, the place He made for them.  The very meaning of the name of the Garden, “Eden,” has become hidden in the shadows of history and culture.  We hear “paradise” or “primeval” or, maybe “sanctuary” or “retreat”.  Man has echoed the Garden in Shangri-La and Xanadu.  We long for that lost place of youth, vigor, innocence, purity.  That quiet, green, peaceful world has been corrupted into a brown, noisy, dirty turmoil.  Eden, “the fruitful plain”, has become a dying desert.  Gone are faith, hope, love, peace, beauty, grace …

   Oh, how we long to get back to that place of our childhood!  “Eden…” we longingly whisper in our moments of silent reflection and connection.  He asked, “Where are you…;” but, truthfully, although we have run and hidden from Him, the problem is not His lack of knowledge, but rather ours!  We have eaten from that Tree and lost the very thing it promised.  Down a serpentine path of death we have since stumbled, forgetting the way back to Eden!

   Somewhere east of Eden we have wandered.  “Go west…” has a far deeper meaning than our frontier urge.  Deeper than our longing for new lands, is our hunger for home, Eden.  The very name, “Eden,” conjures images of peace and plenty.   In the nether and nowhere of “Nod” we feel regret and remorse!  At best, the Bellingraths here only stir our souls for the real Garden.

   Paradise will be restored, and all renewed.  Sin and death will be no more.  We will delightfully relish the fruit of the second Tree, hidden away and guarded by angelic swords until just the right time.  Eden awaits the return of the sons and daughters of the first couple, long ago sent away.  “Eden…” is in our hearts!  Perhaps “Eden” will lead us all home?!



Saturday, February 8, 2014

For a brief moment…



For a brief moment…

                A house trailer, home for some unknown neighbor, started spinning the wheels in my head.  For nearly twenty years she and I have shared a nice, ranch-style home on twenty acres.  From there our children left to find their own way on this spinning rock.  Under the stars over this campsite, somewhere east of Eden, we have taken refuge.  We have sought fellow-believers with whom we could fellowship, and find comfort and compass.


                Next, far too unbelievably soon, we will move on, maybe to sojourn, briefly, with grown children.  Then, we will step into “the next.”  Monuments.  Stones.  Markers.  All of these are forgotten too soon.  They are lost to the third generation, maybe even the second!  We are NOT just “dust in the wind”; but, we are but a mist, a vapor, soon gone.


                What remains?  In the hearts of family and friends we pass on what matters.  So, what will I leave behind?!  Will this place be a little darker and colder; or, please, a little brighter and warmer?  Will I pass on the heavenly glimmer of love?  or, the hateful meanness of the pit?  I choose love, joy, peace …


                Thank you for the light you have shown, the love I have known, the peace you give.  May they inherit this.  Lord, have mercy.  Sweet Jesus.

Thursday, December 26, 2013

K.O.’d?!



K.O.’d?!

                If you “knock-out game” me but I get up with a .38 and shoot you and your pack of thugs, then who really wins?!  It is a sad day when targeting the elderly becomes a thrill game.  Some punk sucker-punches some innocent senior oblivious to the threat, and feels as if he is something.  What is wrong with us?!  I was researching this cultural phenomenon and ran into a story about a 60-something widow being knocked down, but not out, by such a group, who then rolled over pulling a pistol out of her bag.  She had been mugged one time too many!  She got up and they went down.

                “The last-man-standing” is a WWE contest.  Several wrestlers are put into a caged arena.  They go at it with no rules and no holds barred.  In the end, one man, who refuses to stay down, is declared the winner.  You lose only if stay down.  Bloodied, dizzy warriors keep getting up to their feet and trudging back into the fray.

                There is a scene in the movie, “Gandhi,”  where the local protesters, at a British salt plant, in rows of 4-5, column after column, in determined, passive resistance, get the crap beat out of them; but, the next row steps up to take their beating.  Eventually the guards, in shame and embarrassment, quit caning them.  And, later, the British peacefully left India!

                “Saul, get and go to town… I will tell you what I have for you to do!”  “Peter, do you love me?  Go feed my sheep!”  You fail only if you stay down.

                There has been a cosmic cat fight!  The “roaring lion” and “the Lion of Judah” tied up with fur flying and blood running.  Down went the Lion of Judah.  For three days Hell roared in victory.  But, the L.J. eye opened; his ear perked up; a guttural growl moaned from his cold throat.  Then, he rolled up on his paws, looked around with a contemptuous glare, and let out a roar that sent scrambling for cover all the minions of darkness.

                And, I will get back up!  When I fail, I will get back up.  When my body, at last fails, I will get back up.  Death will not get the last word!  Get back up!