5:47 AM

What is this?

Posted by John |

He tramped along the shore of Galilee and spied Simon and his brother Andrew casting their fishing net into the sea. Jesus yelled: C’mon! There’s more than this.


Just like that, Simon and Andrew dropped what they were doing and ran after Jesus.


Jesus tramped a little farther downshore and spied Zebedee’s sons – James and John – in their father’s fishing boat. They were all caught up in the usual - mending broken nets. Jesus called out to them with the same words he spoke to Simon and Andrew. Just like that, Zebedee lost his sons on that day. Jesus and his words unraveled James and John from the life they had known.


Now there were five. They tramped into Capernaum, straight to the synagogue. Jesus’ words began overshadowing the usual blather. He didn’t ask anyone if he could start teaching, he just did it, like he belonged. People couldn’t believe their ears. It was beautiful.


Just like that, a haunted man started screaming: What are you, Jesus of Nazareth? You’re going to wreck everything, aren’t you? I know – you’re the One!


Jesus roared No more! Leave him, now!


The evil didn’t leave quietly, but it left.


People couldn’t believe their eyes, couldn’t help but ask What is this? This is different. He was stronger than the darkness. Just like that everyone around Galilee was talking about Jesus.


Mark 1.16-28
Two things - 
1. Again, any words or phrases that spoke to you/surprised you?
2. I'm going to try, try mind you, to paraphrase the entire gospel of Mark.  My intent is to post on Mondays and Thursdays...the gospel according to Mark according to John.

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5:38 AM

And So It Begins...

Posted by John |

And so the extravagance begins, wild, outrageous, vulgar grace.  Isaiah the prophet saw it coming -
Can you see him? - he is coming, right before your eyes,
to prepare the way.
Can you hear him? - he is howling from the margins
'The Lord is coming,
Get ready!'
First came John's dare to be baptized, plunged beneath the water's surface, to mark time and change and forgiveness.  They came to him from country and city, Judea and Jerusalem, all of them confessing, naming wrongs for all to hear.  John pushed their soiled lives into the muddy Jordan. John was of the earth, camel-hair robe, leather belt.  He lived on grasshoppers and wild honey. His message was always the same:
He's coming, soon, much more than I'll ever be.  I can stir muddy water but He will plunge you into the Spirit of God.
Then he was there, Jesus from Nazareth, and John pushed him face-first in the sin-filled river. As Jesus stood tall the sky tore and the Spirit fell to him like a dove.

A voice out of the sky:  You are my son, the loved one.

Then the Spirit wrangled him, still dripping wet, into the desert where wild animals lived. Jesus was badgered by Satan forty days and nights.

The angels were close at hand.

Then John was handed over and Jordan's surface was stilled. Jesus tramped into Galilee announcing something good:  And so it begins. Grace, now. Turn around and believe.



Mark 1.1-15
Two things - 
1. Any word or phrase that seemed to stand out, demand your attention?  Do you know why?
2. Let me be very clear - this is not a translation, probably not even a paraphrase.  It's the gospel according to Mark according to John.

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3:45 PM

Happy New Trails 2010

Posted by John |




I'm not sure what's ahead, but the team is trustworthy and the thermos is full of hot cocoa...

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7:57 AM

The Restless Heart

Posted by John |


God: Good morning.
Me: Hi.
God: I saw your Facebook status – restless.
Me: You follow Facebook?  C’mon.
God: It interests me to read what people write.  I wish they’d update me that often…that’s praying, sorta.
Me: But you already know everything we’re going to say, right?
God: Sorta.  Sometimes your theologians have me playing offense and defense, plus being in the pressbox; it’s really not a good analogy.  You’ll just have to trust me.
Me: I’m trying.
God: But restless?
Me: Yes.  Meredith asked me last night for a word to describe 2009 – maybe that’s it.  Restless. 
God: Well (pause)…I saw the kids put Nacho Libre in your stocking (pause)…funny movie…(begins to softly sing) “I am, I am/a real religious man.”  (pause) Hmm, o.k…I’m beginning to see.
Me: (smiles)… yeah, “a little taste of the glory.”
God: You’ve always been restless.  People think all is calm, but all is not.
Me: You sound like you know me.
God: John, when I did that knitting together in your mother’s womb? – I knit in restless.  And that was that.
Me: Thanks a lot.
God: You’re pretty good with letters, words, phrases.  When you see your word – restless – what do you see?
Me: Well, you know I’ve never been fond of double ss’s, so I tend to edit them out immediately…and although I hear the “r” at the beginning, I see the silent/shy “w” wanting to join the party.
God: Good.  And?  C’mon, “summon your eagle powers.” 
Me: …I see wrestle.
God: “Beneath the clothes we find a man…and beneath the man, we find his…nucleus.”
Me: Me?  A luchador?  My lord.
God:  Yes, I am.  And yes, you are.  Enjoy the gift of this day. 
Me: You won’t ever leave me, right?
God: “No, Chanco, I would never leave you.  I just need to borrow some sweats.”
Me: (begins to softly sing) “I am, I am/a real religious man.”






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9:44 AM

Christmas Grace

Posted by John |

I write at a kitchen table…



Moments from now a mother and her three children, children who for at least one more Christmas are still filled to the brim with I can’t wait, they will gather in this same kitchen built for one person, at the most two.  But that reality will force them into one another’s personal space, crossing boundaries and borders, bumping into each other, spilling flour on the floor the beagle will promptly lick clean.  This mother and her children will make sugar cookies for the old Saint. 


The radio in the corner is tuned to their father’s favorite AM station, a station playing the crackly spectrum of Christmas carols, songs that sound old, songs pregnant with words and phrases like noel and Christ the Lord, songs sung by old people named Conniff and Mathis and Como.  And that precious Karen Carpenter.


A candle burns on the stove.  The label says balsam.  The aroma whispers love. 


A tree is lit in the room next to the kitchen, the room this family calls the den.  It is a room built for two, maybe three, but not five and a beagle.  But that reality compresses people into a couch, like last night, huddled and scrunched, shoulder to shoulder, you put your feet that way I’ll put mine this as they watched a classic like Holiday Inn and agreed with all they are that Fred Astaire’s feet, as they danced upon this earth, were a gift on the order of gold, frankincense or myrrh.


There are presents beneath the lit tree in the den, presents that will be stacked later today according to name, an equal number for each of these wide-eyed children, or so was planned.  These children are still in their pajamas, pajamas that will be abandoned, grudgingly, later this evening for dresses and khakis as this family of five trudges across the highway to the Lutheran church with the green roof.  There this father and mother and their valuable children will still themselves amidst lights and holly and hymns and candles to repeat words and phrases like hark and God and sinners reconciled.


As I write from this kitchen table, both witness and character in this story, my mind, heart, soul and strength cannot help but think of those families separated this Christmas by war and rumors of war.  I don’t always speak literally, but in this moment I am.  I think of those families who are minus one this Christmas for he or she, the one, sits in a land that does not know of words and phrases like snow or peace on earth.  And I voice a prayer from my kitchen table for those dads and moms and brothers and sisters and uncles and aunts and friends so dear wrapped in camo and sand and I plead please Christ the Lord, bring them home safely and soon to kitchens and candles and beagles.  I know they are fighting for goodwill toward men but the fight oft seems strong and long and far too many of them will never again watch Astaire’s gifted feet or hear Karen’s glorious voice.  These things should not be so.  Please keep Terry and Nathan safe from the way of harm.  And give their wives and children grace, extra grace, Christmas grace.  Amen.  




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9:57 AM

The Wren's Song

Posted by John |


The mind often wanders, like sheep.  Early years I tried to raze and focus, but to no avail.  Now I let it run.  That night I thought about new wine, so much so it edged my teeth.  And then soft places, like the line of a woman’s neck.  The flock?  For the most part they were quiet.  I heard my own breathing.  Even the breeze. 

Then suddenly the excited churr of a winter wren.  The song became a single blur running the hill between lamb and rock, back and forth, wild.  My only thought was predator.  My fingers gripped the staff as I stepped into its path.  Before I could call out it swallowed me.  I was prey, inside the blur, close, so close I fought for breath.

The blur took shape, grew wings.  Huge, incessant beating that became words: Don’t be afraid.  I heard with my entire body, the voice piercingly familiar, echoing even in my knees.  Then another voice, I guess a shepherd’s wits: Breathe.  And I did.  The voice kept winging don’t be afraid and with each flap I inhaled, the message air, breath, life.  I began to think I would not die.

I was suddenly spit out, released to not believe my eyes.  The face before me was the face of  hope, the handful of men I’ve trusted in my years.  A gathering of my father’s eyes, my uncle’s nose, my grandfather’s brow, my son’s smile, my brother’s ears.  I was no longer afraid.  Then their voices as one:
This is the good day!  The Savior, Christ the Lord, has just been born in Bethlehem.  Go now and look for a baby in a manger.  You’ll know.  Trust me.  Tell everyone.

Then suddenly the wings began to beat once more, rhythmic pulses chasing dirt and air through crag and valley.  But now there must have been thousands of them, an army of wings that once more ran the hill between rock and lamb, swift and direct, but wild.  Their faces?  I can only tell you what I saw.  A shepherd often dreams a woman’s face on cold watches.  Their faces were the fears of those dreams, sheer beauty, a haunting that became voice, words, then song, like the ascending trill of the winter wren:
Glory to God!
Peace on Earth!

We were fools to leave, but we did.  Like fisherman in future days would leave nets and follow, so did we.  The hopes and fears of all our years met that night and herded us toward Bethlehem, toward wonder.     

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7:04 AM

Advent's Fourth Sunday Ruckus...

Posted by John |

and he shall be the one of peace...
- Micah 5.5

There is usually hope in our kitchen window but this month there's peace.  Let me explain.

We have a Christmas ornament that stays up year round - a silver star with the word hope etched across it. The small beacon hangs in our kitchen window, directly in my line of vision from the table where I write.  Some people have a crucifix above their bed.  Some people have the serenity prayer hanging in the hall.  We keep the star of hope suctioned above the kitchen sink.  But its not there right now.  It has been temporarily replaced with an ornament my mom sent us, a fist-sized red jingle bell with some holly atop and the word peace emblazoned across it.  I guess my wife made the switch when I wasn't looking/writing.

One of my masculine rituals before retiring each evening is to draw the blinds.  Draw the blinds - isn't that a glorious phrase?  I realize that sounds like we're British or something but we're not; we're southern.  Anyway, last night, peace got in the way.  The bottom of the blinds caught on the holly atop the bell, threatening to knock it off the window.  If this were to happen the bell could possibly fall in the sink causing a late-night ruckus loud enough to wake the Beagle.  In the south, we let sleeping dogs sleep.  This was not the first time this December that this scenario threatened to play, but it was the first time I stopped to pay attention.

Now this doesn't happen with hope; the blinds are drawn down effortlessly over the streamlined star, I can do it with one hand. But not so with peace.  I had to reach with my non-drawing hand and pull the blinds away from the window a little, making room for the bell and its accoutrement.  Alright, alright, I know - get to the point John and stop using french sounding words.

Peace seems to be a two-handed affair.  I only have two hands, I'm betting you do too, so we could say peace takes all we've got.  And why?  Peace is awkward, kinda large, not so, well, peaceful.  If hope is easy like Sunday morning, then peace is difficult like Mondays. God's whirl of peace on earth/goodwill to men reached dervish on that two-handed affair known as the cross.

And peace always brings with it the risk of ruckus.  If I were God I might be tempted to let sleeping dogs lie; you know - silent night and all is bright.  But I'm not God.  You might say but I'm not sure how much commotion was caused on that blessed night; I mean, he was a baby after all.  I'm gonna roll the dice here and say there was quite a hootenanny in the birth canal of round yon virgin as she rocked on tweener knees, laboring under mother Eve's curse, until the one of peace spilled out on blood-stained hay.  I imagine an exhausted Mary handing her newborn over to Joseph: Here, take him.  And God's man-mid-wife had to use both hands to manage the swaddled boy.  The silver star of hope shone easy over Bethlehem's cave that night, as the blinds were drawn.  But inside, God's new lungs took in their first draughts of Word-brewed-air...and out came the cries of peace.            

  

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