Easter

Easter is irrelevant

The Modern Theologian Uncategorized , , , , , , , ,

That was a piece of a conversation I overheard while in line at a local dollar store. At first I was irritated at the cashier making the comment to a customer, then I heard the rest of his remarks and found myself agreeing with him.

“Easter is irrelevant. No one buys much of anything anymore for Easter, other than candy and plastic eggs. Stores aren’t closed. People go to work just like any other day. More people are eating out than at home, not just at restaurants, but fast food too. Grocery stores are open, WalMart, Home Depot, even Starbucks. It’s just not a real holiday anymore.”

I found myself agreeing with his statement, and there is no one to blame but Christians. From corporate CEO’s and management, to employees themselves, American greed is rampant. Now, I’m not talking the lowly cashier who has no choice in working (work or be fired), but lower level management where work hours and personnel are scheduled.

When I was young (back when Moses was still floating around the Nile) everything closed (Blue Laws). Since the early 1990’s businesses have been chipping away against forced closure on Sunday’s and holidays. Corporate greed wins just about every time, and many of those challenging the closures are “Christians” themselves, who sit nice and comfortably in their homes enjoying the day off while they force their employees to work.

However, corporate American doesn’t share the burden of blame alone, employees share some of that honor as well. Yes, many people need to work every hour possible just to pay for the necessities of living (food, clothing, shelter, transportation), but there are plenty for whom the money is more important than God. They “need” that bigger TV screen, the new car, the latest iPhone, the “right” clothes. And, of course, if you are giving these things to yourself how can you deny little Johnny his ATV, or little Jane that iPhone 13 to keep in touch with her friends when she goes to the 3rd grade next year?

Yes, greed (the 3rd of the 7 Deadly Sins) has replace God in our lives. “Things” are more important than honoring the one who gave up his life for us. But we are still “Good Christians”, just ask anyone.

“But, there’s nothing we can do about it. “They” tell us we have to work!”

If anything COVID has shown us just how wrong that statement is. People have bonded together to demand better pay, better working conditions, some are even pushing for a 4-day work week (Sunday still included) as a way to get more leisure time for some, and to open more jobs up for others (by filling in those other 3-days with new employees). People will come together to fight for what is important – clearly that is not God. Easter is irrelevant.

Sweating drops of blood

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I freaked out the other night.  Didn’t dare go to sleep.  Too scared to go to sleep.  Yet sometime in the early hours I must have dropped-off.

I have seen a few blogs leading up to this-almost-Easter remark how the bible tells us that Jesus sweated drops of blood.  I have no idea how you sweat drops of blood.  Never have and hope I never will.  Never wanted to emulate that element of God Soft Hands Jesus .

But I get the imagery.  That he was freaked out.  Scared.  Terrified beyond scared.

In these times where death stalks silently … without regard for power or privilege – irrelevant to age or health – with and without apparent logic … I get the reality of facing death.  A painful death.  A death where saving my life might be judged less than saving another.  A death where I will be alone of family and friends.  Will be buried without fanfare or closure.  May even become a statistic.  Probably a painful blot more than “normal” on the lives of those I love.

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This Easter we each face death no matter how complacent of our own immortality.  A death unlike the story books.  No concerned family around the bed.  No quiet conversations of comfort.  No tender looks and gentle touch.  No dignity.  Nothing of how we imagine our final breath and words to be.  If you have read the accounts of death by Covid19 they are not a death I would wish on anyone.

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The cross I was taught was fact.

Now I care not whether fact or fiction – real or imagery.  This Easter I begin to understand a little better.  Better than from the comfort of a polished pew in a heated sanctuary surrounded by like-minded (and healthy) congregants.  Each of us with a shiny silver nail as a prompt to enter the rose-tinted sentiment-imagination of death by cross.  A death that was also a “respiratory illness”.  Of lungs that collapsed as breathing became something he used to do.

We are well into the annual debt-fest of Easter.

But this Easter I feel no noble sacrifice.  I sense no honour or dignity.  I have no gratitude or debt.  This Easter I look up and see me and see you.  All of us caught up in something we wish we were not.  All part of a journey beyond our control.  This Easter I see a man not God.  This Easter I see friend not distant deity.

This Easter I care not if it’s a master-plan of foretold prophecy … no interest in debate of a PLAN A or PLAN B … no annual pining to feel even a little of what “our Lord” suffered “for me”.  This year I wonder whether any of that really matters – whether so much of this “rose-tinted and sentimental” bible teaching really matters.  This Easter I crave not the immortality of eternity in some imagined “heaven”.  I pray not for the “second-coming” to save me from all of this.   Right now I see no “sin-filled world” wallowing in its own depravity – about to get the come-uppance “they” deserve (and which I as a good Christian will escape).

This Easter I pray for one more day – lots of “one more” days – right here with those I love in this world that is precious and resilient – a world so beautiful and forgiving of our thoughtlessness.  Right now I want to be with those I love rather than in separate homes.  I want to hug the lady I love rather than have to keep half a house distant.  I pine for the touch of skin on mine: a handshake – a hug – a cuddle – a rough-house … For the breath of a grandchild on my face – even the snot of a toddler to wipe clean – and oddly a nappy to change – I imagine not really caring if that mug of tea was mine or yours.

Sweating drops of blood.

Mine?  Freaking out and not daring to go to sleep for a few hours.  And yet …

Perhaps this Easter my connection is closer than ever.  Perhaps this Easter I need no shiny nail – no like-minded congregants to surround me.  Perhaps this Easter I “get” a little better what the bible invites me to get.

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This world is beautiful.  This world is home.  This world is precious.  This world has everything I desire. 

This world is a world I wouldn’t choose to exit.  This world – and this virus – cares not what I believe nor which religion I claim nor the future I teach nor those I label as good or bad.

This virus is teaching me – maybe all of us – just how much we are ALL connected whether we choose to or not.  How we are ALL the same no matter how much we protest we are not.  How Love really IS the greatest of these – and just how living in the moment of a touch or a breath or a glance CAN BE the eternity of “heaven” I never usually notice.  This Easter I feel closer to my immediate AND global family than ever.

And isn’t THAT the real message of Easter?

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Bloody Fingers?

Little Monk Little Monk, Uncategorized , , , , , , , , ,

Thomas 2So when it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and when the doors were shut where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood in their midst and *said to them, “Peace be with you.” And when He had said this, He showed them both His hands and His side. The disciples then rejoiced when they saw the Lord. So Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you; as the Father has sent Me, I also send you.” And when He had said this, He breathed on them and *said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, their sins have been forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they have been retained.”

But Thomas, one of the twelve, called Didymus, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples were saying to him, “We have seen the Lord!” But he said to them, “Unless I see in His hands the imprint of the nails, and put my finger into the place of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe.”

After eight days His disciples were again inside, and Thomas with them. Jesus *came, the doors having been shut, and stood in their midst and said, “Peace be with you.” Then He *said to Thomas, “Reach here with your finger, and see My hands; and reach here your hand and put it into My side; and do not be unbelieving, but believing.” Thomas answered and said to Him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus *said to him, “Because you have seen Me, have you believed? Blessed are they who did not see, and yet believed.” [John 20: 19-28]

I was recently in a conversation with a friend in advanced theological studies. It was pointed out that of the 14 student cohort moving through these studies in lockstep, 12 candidates do not believe in the physical resurrection of Jesus Christ. Bear in mind, this is a Christian Seminary, whose students are career tracked to senior pastorate, denominational administration, and seminary faculty.

I’ll admit, I was a bit stunned. My overwhelming feeling was confusion, interspersed with some anger, sadness, and a healthy dose of frustration. The idea of pastoring a Christian church, when deep in one’s heart of hearts lies the belief that Easter is a fraud, left me a bit at sea. I felt a need to respond in some way, and yet quite at a loss as to how.

What does one do, teach, say, or even blog when God’s sovereignty over death itself is not only questioned (which is a healthy academic exercise — questioning everything), but utterly rejected as morality fiction? So… my adrenaline ran free… I talked with some friends, I emailed some friends, and settled… nothing at all. Basically, I looked towards the heavens, spread my hands, and felt like an ecclesiastical Chicken Little running in circles crying “the sky is falling!”

The next day, when the adrenaline rush had waned, and the Lord got to get a word in edgeways over my frantic (unidirectional) prayer…. I thought He’d be upset alongside me, and suggest some massive prayer campaign for revival and faith among the collective church, etc., etc.

Imagine my surprise when, in a FAR more matter of fact manner than I’d have imagined possible, He just slid up alongside me at my chair and said, “Um, Little Monk? What’s the problem? I’ve been through this. You feel all akimbo to realize that some of My servants don’t believe in My physical resurrection. I’ve been there before, you know… Thomas traveled with Me all three years, hearing everything I said, seeing everything I did. He knew Lazarus. He was at the Last Supper and with us in the Garden. He knew ALL the other disciples, and he knew the women who reported My rising and what the angels told them.

“And nonetheless, knowing ALL of that and ALL of them, still… his mind could not accept, could not comprehend, the possibility that I had risen from the dead. How in the world can you judge these students, or anyone, for struggling to wrap their heads around such a possibility?

“How did I handle that situation? I met his need. He made a straight up, bald faced, statement of what it would take for him to believe I rose from the dead. He meant that, and I took him at his word. The next time I came, I saw him, bid peace to him, and invited him to put his fingers in My wounds and his fist in My side. As it turned out, he found that after all, he didn’t need to do that.

“But Thomas had to see for himself. He needed to have a personal affirming experience of Me, to believe in My resurrection. Many people are that way, many people are skeptical of claims. Thomas was My disciple and friend before his faith was strained this way, and he was among the full Apostles, spreading the gospel thousands of miles after that day. He set Me a test, I met that, and he served Me faithfully and mightily.

“Nothing has changed today. I have many servants who love Me, worship Me, follow Me, and yet (perhaps deep in their heart of hearts) cannot comprehend or accept My resurrection. If they will do the same thing Thomas did… if they will encounter Me and set me a condition by which We, they and I, can experience one another by which they will believe, I will meet that joyfully. Just as once I did for you, by the way.

“Invite such people to come apart for a time, come find Me, encounter Me, and let Me show them My risen self in some way they can accept. It is vastly more comfortable to have faith in what one sincerely believes. Now, it is much happier and easier for faith to come by hearing, and hearing by My word. But those who doubt and resolve those doubts, can certainly be among My most mighty servants.

“Don’t judge. Invite and encourage. I’m always ready to encounter. Be at peace.”

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So there we are, Gentle Reader. A bit of a confession, I guess. The Lord is just so much more patient, calmer, so much less judgmental than I am. I keep thinking I’m growing up, but so often He reminds me of such simple things.

Grace to you, and to all of us, Gentle Reader! — The Little Monk

 

The Need for Tuesday Christians

Susan Irene Fox Susan Irene Fox , , , , , , , , ,

Tuesday’s Child is Full of Grace

Devonte Hart ©cbsnews
Devonte Hart ©cbsnews

“But now you must put them all away: anger, wrath, malicious behavior, slander, and obscene talk from your mouth. Be wise in the way you act toward those who are outside the Christian faith. Make the most of every opportunity. Everything you say should be gracious and kind, (seasoned with salt) so you respond to each person rightly.” (Colossians 3:8, 4:5-6)

Here I am, checking in. How have we fared since Good Friday, since Easter Sunday, only seven and five days passed?

Has our talk of grace waned like the phase of the moon? Have our gracious actions waned as well? Have we gone about our daily business without a thought about why we shared the bread and cup Moon phases.waninglast Friday? Have we passed up opportunities to offer grace to those we live or work with, forgetting the Grace offered us and the reason we celebrated on Sunday?

We walked into church in our Sunday best, smiled at those around us, and nodded at the pastor’s sermon. And some of us didn’t even make it to the parking lot before we got angry at something or someone. Many of us didn’t make it home to our front doors. Some of us didn’t make it through Monday at work.

Like that old nursery rhyme, I’m asking all of us to be Tuesday Christians, full of grace. Let’s try to carry the cross of love and mercy and grace with us throughout our week. Let’s meet folks where they are, just as Jesus did. Instead of thinking and talking and behaving the same old way, let’s allow the Spirit of the Lord to transform us. I mean, if we don’t allow the Spirit to make an impact upon us at Easter, when will we let him in?

So it’s only one week away from Good Friday; only five days away from Easter. Have we entirely forgotten the words Jesus spoke to us? Have we already chosen to turn our backs on him by justifying our own words and behavior?

As I listen to politicians, their mouths spewing words like, “moron,” “imbecile,” “loser,” and phrases like, “I’d love to punch him in the face,” I worry at their popularity among those calling ourselves Christians.  Are we really buying the lie that anger will lead us to right thinking? That anger will lead us toward a closer relationship with our God?

As you know, long ago God instructed Moses to tell His people, “Do not murder; those who murder will be judged and punished.” But here is the even harder truth: I tell you, anyone who is angry with his brother will be judged for his anger. Anyone who taunts his friend, speaks contemptuously toward him, or calls him “Loser” or “Fool” or “Idiot,” will have to answer to the high court. (Matthew 5:21-22)

I don’t know about you, but for me, it seems sometimes as though our words and actions have journeyed far from grace. They have traveled far from the Living Water they were meant to be. We cannot extend grace if our hearts and minds are intransigent, if our ideas have become frozen like cement, if our notions of what we are supposed to do have caused us to make them into new laws to follow. We cannot mature in our faith in frozen water, only in Living Water.

“I think far too often, we confuse faith with religion. And faith with theology. And faith with denominations. And faith with doctrine. The moment we are no longer inviting to those who aren’t just like us, we begin to harden. Cement swells or shrinks with the temperature, while water flows into every parched crack of our souls. Maybe cement cannot be moved, but it is water that nourishes us and brings life to us all.” Steve Austin, Wrestling with Messy Grace

Angel’s Journal, Entry Six: “Who Could Believe This?!!”

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Journal Entry:

I still can scarcely believe these days myself, but I have to get something down about all this. It all began so bleakly…

The vulgarity… the violence… the contempt… I cannot even write down my thoughts or feelings about what happened between The Master’s betrayal by Judas, and His final breath on the Cross. Perhaps later, but not now, not yet.

And then… He died.

He really, totally, died. Just like most every other man born of woman. He died. The groan throughout heaven was nearly palpable. The higher ups looked grave, but unsurprised. Even *I* realized that He had spoken clearly that He was going to die, but still… I mean… how could this be? So often, He spoke “figuratively”. I guess I had hoped this was one of those kinds of thing. But it wasn’t. He died.

His Body was taken down, laid in a borrowed tomb, and he was hurriedly washed and anointed, as even His friends had to get home before the sun fully set.

But then… then… the strangest thing(s) happened! (For one thing, “time” got really muddled between the celestial and the material.) Because He remained fully Him, and yet His natures… Well, I don’t really understand HOW this all happened, but I’ll just note down what DID happen!

Anyway, He was washed, anointed, wrapped, and left in that tomb. The Temple officials (not caring about their OWN people getting home for the Passover night), posted guards and rolled this megalith in front of the entrance so that no one could get to Him. (Ha! Little did THEY know. But I get ahead of myself…)

Anyway, no sooner had the tomb been sealed, than a little messenger sprite pops in front of me with a sealed scroll with gilt edges. I open it, and find I am summoned to the commissioning desk… I have an assignment. I shook my head… “REALLY?” I thought… “in the midst of all THIS, now it’s ‘business as usual’, and I have an assignment?” But it was better than doing nothing, I figured, so I zipped to the desk to serve as I was called.

Never did I imagine!

Twelve of us had been summoned, and the task director was just beaming all over as he congratulated us, and said if he were capable of envy he would envy us. He seemed to take delight in our puzzled expressions, and said very little as reverently he handed each of us various garments of exquisite crafting. Sandals, undergarments, finest linen tunic, sash… it wasn’t until he got to the final garments, a magnificent Robe and covering cloak that we realized Whose these were. This clothing was woven of spirit and truth, had indefinable texture as fine as spidersilk, and shone with colors no human eye has ever seen.

These… were The Master’s robes… His Kingly Robes… His Priestly Robes. These were the garments He would wear upon His return to Earth at the end of man time… and they were here… HERE… in OUR HANDS!

Our assignment was simple. We were to proceed, the dozen of us, to and into the tomb, and await The Master’s need for His clothing.

We were stunned… but delighted.

With the speed of thought, we entered the Tomb. It was large enough, with a stone niche in which The Master’s body, wound with His gravesclothes, lay. We arrived, each bearing our items, and waited.

It was not but moments before we… er… “felt”, more than “heard”, the melodious voice of The Father, His Majesty, intone with the greatest love…

“Awaken now, My Son. Well, well done, My good and faithful Beloved. Come, rise now, as We complete Our tasks!”

The Master arose, in the fullness of His Glorious Body, as His flesh remained within the winding sheet. Confused though we were, we knelt and sang in joy and wonder at His return. Our presence had already brought light into the space, but His arising prompted a golden glowing brilliance never seen since the Shekinah.

Always knowing the thoughts of those about Him, He smiled as He donned each garment in order, answering the confusions in myself.

I have already said, the whole “time” thing got a bit muddled in this space between sundown Friday and sunrise of Sunday (as men name these days).

“You wonder why My flesh remains here for the moment… Well, I have said My body must remain in the earth for these three days, as Jonah was in the whale. I will not appear to any on earth, until that flesh arises and the stone is rolled away. But, in this meantime, I have things to accomplish… and a dinner date at home this night with a thief.” And He smiled at us, touched us all, and allowed us to serve Him as we fitted His garments to Him.

“You may remain with Me for this time, if you wish…” He said.

We wished.

Together, He and we twelve singing praises to Him, His Majesty, and The Radiance… sped towards heaven. We thought He would return to His Throne first and foremost, to see The Father. But we were wrong…

Instead, He headed first to the Temple Not Made With Hands… the one foreshadowed and copied by the Tabernacle and Temple of Jerusalem. We stood, six to a side, as He made the Once For All Offering of His own Life, His Own Blood, in total and utter satisfaction of all debt owed by the sin of Creation. It was amazing.

Having thus completed Reconciliation, He THEN went to The Father’s Throne, to bring “closure” to His offering. They only spoke a few moments, as His Majesty raised His hands and blessed both The Master and all of Creation, in the completion of this Sacrifice of and by The Lamb of God. They embraced, The Master bowed (as did we all), and strode from the Great Hall.

Each of us were very silent, wondering how long we could tag along before being dismissed, as we fanned out from Him something like an Honor Guard. All around us cheered and bowed, as The Master passed… and He seemed vibrant with joy and celebration as He touched as many as reached out to Him.

We got to the boundary of paradise, the threshold between our dimension and others, as He said, “I have one more task to complete for the moment. Would you care to come along?” We all eagerly assented. “Very well,” He continued. “You’re about to go somewhere you have never been, and may well never go again. We depart.”

Following Him, we were shocked to find ourselves at… the Gates of Hell. More precisely, we were at the veil of the underworld, the land of shades of those passed on. Great symbolic chains, locks, bars, and barriers kept the living, the ever living, and the dead apart and separated. With no more than a mighty sweep of His arm, and a cry of, “People of faith! Walk free into the Light! Welcome to My Kingdom, ye Saints!”… all the obstructions vanished, and those whose hopes had ever been in the Lord, were now able to come to Him, touch Him, kiss Him, hug Him.

Being Who, and what, and how, He is… He could (and did) greet and embrace them each by name. Together, we all made our way home to Paradise.

When we had returned, all tasks done, The Master passed through His quarters and emerged dressed once again in His typical simple style.

He called ten of us to be privileged to care for His things for a time, and serve at a banquet being held for Him, the Father, the Radiance, the returning saints, and one recently deceased thief. Two of us (myself, disappointedly) were not among the chosen. I tried not to show my disappointment… but you can’t “hide thoughts” around Him.

“Don’t be dejected,” He said as He smiled. “I have a different task for you and Heracles, if you don’t mind.” (We smiled broadly, nodding our assent.) “I would like you to return to My Tomb, and stand vigil over My Body. In ‘our time’ here, it will only be a few moments from now. But in ‘man time’ it will be about 36 hours, and I will return. You will then break open the Tomb as I exit, and remain behind to explain what has happened. Will you deliver these messages for Me?”

We could scarcely contain our glee!

And so it came to pass. On the Third Day, Heracles and I participated in a great earthquake and rolled away the stone, watched The Master rise in His Resurrected Body of Flesh, saw Him disappear, folded His graveclothes, and awaited the women who came to anoint His corpse properly.

Should I live forever (which of course, I shall… but still…)… Should I live forever, I shall NEVER forget the privilege…

I got to sit atop a great heavy sealing stone and say to some of The Master’s very Best Friends…

“Why do you seek the Living among the Dead? He is Risen, just as He said He would…”

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Who could ever believe such a thing?

No… wait… apparently THAT is now a very important question. One of those “choice” things I spoke of before…

Oh well. Enough for now. A bit more, later. Allelujah! He is Risen!

Journal Entry by — Makarion Nous, Angel 3rd Class, General Duties

P.S. I know this entry is a little longer than normal… But… well… the day was a bit unusual, too! MN

Easter Sermon

The Modern Theologian Collaborations & Contributors, Uncategorized , , ,

Traditionally in the Resurrection Liturgy, rather than the priest delivering a sermon the sermon given by St. John Chrysostom is read. I present it here as the last of my postings for the Lenten season. I hope you have enjoyed this look into the Eastern church’s view of Great Lent.

Christ is Risen!

st__john_chrysostomDevout and God-loving people, enjoy this kind and bright festival. Wise people, come and share joy with your Lord. You who have laboured in fasting, receive your deserved reward. You who have laboured from the first hour, come to the festival now! You who came at the third hour, rejoice! You who lingered until the sixth hour, celebrate! You who came at the ninth hour, do not be sad! You who managed to come only at the eleventh hour, do not be dismayed by your lateness. No-one will be deprived of heavenly joy. For our Lord is generous. He welcomes those who come last in the same way as those who come first. He is grateful to the first and rejoices in the last. He consoles those who came at the last hour, as if they had laboured from the first hour. He gives to everyone: those who laboured and those who wanted to labour. He receives the service and kisses the intention. He values the deed and praises the desire. All of you enter into the joy of the Lord: First and last, receive the reward! Wealthy and poor, rejoice with one another! Diligent and lazy, celebrate the festival! Those who have fasted and those who have not, be glad together. The feast is abundant, eat your fill! All of you enjoy the wealthy banquet of the faith and mercy of God. Let no-one go away hungry or offended. Let no-one be sad about their poverty, for the kingdom is now here for everyone. Let no-one weep over their sins, for forgiveness for all has burst with light from the grave. Let no-one be afraid of death, for the death of Jesus has freed us all. Embraced by death, He subdued death. Having descended into hell, He took hell captive. He embittered it when it tasted of his flesh. Isaiah prophesied: “Hell was troubled, having met You in the underworld!” Hell was in mourning, for it was abolished! Hell was distressed, for it was condemned! Hell was impoverished, for it was deposed! Hell was destroyed, for it was bound! It took on a body, and touched God. It took on the earth, and met heaven. It took what it saw, and fell to where it did not expect! Death! Where is your sting? Hell! Where is your victory? Christ is risen, and you are brought down. Christ is risen, and the demons have fallen. Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice. Christ is risen, and life triumphs. Christ is risen, and there are no dead in the grave. Christ has risen from the dead, become the firstborn of those who sleep and set into motion the resurrection of all. To Him be glory now and forever. Amen!

Angel’s Journal, Entry Four: “Utter Shock!”

Little Monk Little Monk, Uncategorized , , , , , , , , , ,

Journal Entry:

Finally, bleakly, a bit tremulously, I take up quill to install another episode in this journal. I hope one day, someone puts these events together into some sort of document for the humans. It’s all just so extraordinary, it would be a shame to lose it all with one generation.

Anyway…

“Yesterday”, so to speak, I could not even attempt to get my thoughts down. Even now, they will just come in patches as I sort this all out.

But after settling down in The Temple to teach after His entry, The Master and His disciples did some preparation for the Passover Supper they would celebrate together. Again, a couple of the messenger angels here got to forewarn some of what The Master would need… a room, utensils, food and such. (There was much excitement and just the teeniest bit of jostling, as angelloi crowded the assignment desk pointing out excellent reasons that THEY were the perfect one to deliver a given instruction. Nothing discordant, mind… just a bit… er… enthusiastic. Yeah, that’s the right word… “enthusiastic”.)

So, most of us settled back a bit relaxed, thinking all was well. After all, we’ve watched for years as The Master gathers friends for dinner and parties. He heals, He teaches, He relaxes, He enjoys. It was so strange. Some of the higher ups just became ever more tense as the time approached, where most of us (myself, certainly) thought things were going well.

The meal certainly went well… as John (the youngest) entoned the traditional words, “What makes this night different from all other nights?” and His Majesty was praised for His unflagging faithfulness and love for His children. But then The Master got up, stripped down as if to fish, and washed His disciples’ feet. He spoke so incredibly of being servant to one another, and servanthood. Brought tears to the eyes of many of us angels, as we are PURELY servants, and we love our role. But never have we heard it so exalted, nor realized how fully The Master is the Ultimate Servant. We did not know we could love Him more than we always have, but indeed we do. He taught all of the disciples to become servants, and so to teach others. And then… He renamed them “friends”, no longer “disciples”. It was quite beautiful.

Then, when supper was ended, all became still and quiet when The Master took the bread and named it His flesh, and the cup of wine and named it His blood, saying they were to consume these as He was giving these over for them. That they ever were to do this in remembrance of Him.

The Host began to hum as He spoke, and ended with a choral “Amen” as He exited for the Garden.

We all saw His tragic exchange with Judas Iscariot, and poor Jemireh (Iscariot’s guardian angel) broke down in tears as The Master gave his charge the sop, and Judas dashed out to the echoes of “what you must do, do quickly.” We all tried to comfort him, knowing Judas’ choices were his own and this had ever been foreseen. But poor Jemireh yet grieved the choices his charge had made, and questioned if he could have done more to bring Judas into the light rather than the darkness. None of this was helped by the taunts of the Dark One who had captured Judas’ heart with his ambitions and fears.

But when the party moved to the Garden of Gethsemane, everything felt faster and tighter.

Oh, one odd thing at the supper… just before they went out to walk, The Master asked if they had a sword. Michael’s head shot up as if dashed with water. All his cohort began to ready their armor and weapons, thinking they’d be mobilized within moments. When they found a sword there, The Master said to take it. Never before had He commanded them to be armed. It was very odd, but He explained nothing, so we just waited.

It wasn’t very long before we saw His need… but I cannot write more of this now. It’s all yet too fresh, and all this has seemingly drained me.

More in a little bit…

Journal Entry by — Makarion Nous, Angel 3rd Class, General Duties

Angel’s Journal, First Entry: “Drama, Not Tragedy…”

Little Monk Little Monk , , , , , , , , , , ,

Journal Entry:

Something very strange has been happening, and you can cut the tension with a knife. I wish I knew… I wish I understood… I wish I could see beyond the mist of time Our King has placed in our way. It is all very strange. Of course it has been so for “years”, as men call them.

The Dark Ones have been cackling with a very self-satisfied (and disturbing) air of conspiratorial glee for months now. We see their obvious plotting. Of course, most of us have watched events breathlessly, and cheer every time The Master wins out over the clever traps of those who seek His defeat.

But beyond the general buzz here, (and of course, heaven doesn’t usually “buzz” at all), but these thirty three years have been altogether strange in our experience… but beyond that general buzz, there was that incredible flurry of excitement months ago when the plotting began in earnest. We hang on every word and thought around The Master, jostling to be the “messenger” when He gets apart to spend time with His Majesty on the mountainside… Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, one or two of us get to go there, alongside Him, as servant to comfort… or like when the escorts went with Moses and Elijah and The Master spoke with them face to face.

We have waited. Tensely, anxiously, hopefully… we have waited for the order. We just KNOW that His Majesty is working a plan, His will, with The Master that will bring all this to a great and triumphal climax! We just KNOW that! But… but… we have no idea HOW! Everything seems like it’s going from bad to worse. The Dark Ones are gaining ever more leverage among the authorities. People among whom The Master walks, even those He is with day in and day out, seem to miss the point of EVERYTHING He is saying. (All the time!)

Yes… the tension here is so great you can almost see it hang like a mist in the air! Last week it got so much worse. (Who would have thought it could?) But last week, beyond all belief, the herald angels blew their trumpets… the Great King, His Majesty, called ALL before Him to speak with us. His voice cut across the Cosmos, piercing every heart and mind assembled, as He spoke.

“My Children. Angels, Saints, Sleepers, Creation, I must tell you something hard for you to hear. Hard for you to bear. It will be hard for you to witness, but bear this you must…

“Your Master, My Son, My Beloved… whom you have watched over so diligently for what has seemed an eternity of man-time as He developed through His earthly life… will be coming home very soon now.”

At this there was a moment of great joy and adulation! Cheering nearly broke out, dampened only by the somber tones in which this announcement had been proclaimed. It sounded more like the pronouncement of a sentence, than the triumphal heralding of return. We were, again, confused.

“I must tell you, right here, right now… that all that is unfolding is My Will. You may not, you MUST not, interfere in anything you will see or hear. You will want to. You will know you could. My Son will even say something, soon, that you will want to interpret as permission to rescue Him. But it is NOT. Listen carefully to the words He says, and remember this assembly before Me. You may not move, you may not act, no matter what you see, hear, think or feel… until I give you specific permission to do so.

“Does EVERYONE here, clearly understand that?”

And His Majesty looked sadly and solemnly into the eyes of every being there, individually. (He can do that… it’s one of those odd… well… just trust me, He can do that.)

Each of us yielded and submitted to His command, as we spoke, “Yes, Father,” to Him. And we were dismissed.

Many of us looked around at one another, wondering what this could all mean. We looked at the Archangels, wondering if they knew more than we did. Their expressions gave nothing away, but for their hearts being filled with concern, sadness, and perhaps just a touch of anger. Gabriel, Raphael, Michael, angels of care, of death, of judgment, angels of ponds and pools, guardian angels, seraphim, cherubim, all the heavenly host… all drifted back to their assigned duties, filled with concern and readiness.

It is hard to say whether Michael or Gabriel were having the hardest time. Gabriel had always held The Master and His Mother in tender concern and care, ever since The Master left His throne here and incarnated. Michael, on the other hand, leader of The Master’s Host, just keeps polishing His sword, constantly tormented by all the threats of violence against the Master’s person that he overhears humans plotting… frustrated at being forbidden to deal with the miscreants himself.

So… we wait.

Something tremendous is happening. There is a sense of dread in the air. We have been warned and commanded, and clearly such an unusual assembly portends great and terrible events.

A drama unfolds… it is unfolding as we speak… but we KNOW somehow, that it is not a tragedy. But how can this be so?

We shall just wait and see… We have no obedient choice…

Journal Entry by – Makarion Nous, Angel 3rd Class, General Duties


To What Shall I Liken the Kingdom? — The Faberge Egg

Little Monk Little Monk , , , , , , , , , ,

egginside I awoke this morning with this phrase ringing through my mind, “To what shall I liken the Kingdom?”…

And I remembered, when I was a little kid, the fabulous Easter Egg Dioramas. Remember them? They were made of sugar, spun sugar (the expensive real ones), and then when my daughter was a child they were often styrofoam. But there was a little window on the end, and you would look in and see this fabulous scene!

Maybe it was a circus, maybe Disneyland, maybe an airport. The “eggshell” was thin white, or decorated some, but light would show through at this wonderful magical scene inside…

I may be showing my age here, because I cannot find any images of exactly what I mean, so perhaps you’ve never gotten to see or hold one. If that’s the case, just imagine with me a moment then…

As I woke, it came to me… One could liken the Kingdom to holding this fabulous Faberge Egg in their hands, looking through the window at all the tremendous joy, blessing, and promise contained therein.

But wait, there’s more… It’s as if, when we looked inside, we were drawn within. That all that joy, blessing, and adventure were there… accessible to us… merely by prayer. That when we “look inside the egg”, when we “pray”, when we focus on the things of Kingdom rather than the mundane things of our lives… we got drawn INSIDE, and could spend the entire day in celebration, in joy, in loving abandonment of all worries, concerns, anxieties, simply safe and celebrating inside the safety of that Egg, securely held in the hands of our Love Father and Jesus.

But wait, there’s more… It’s as if, when we get the the end of this day of celebration within the Egg… when sadly we reflect that it is time to go… it’s time to return to the mundane world of our everyday lives… Our Father and Jesus and Their Breath tell us the Most Wondrous Part! We get to take ALL this BACK WITH US!

How incredible!

To find the Egg. To find the Treasure. To find the Pearl of Great Price… REALLY to FIND IT… is to realize that, however wondrous is our time INSIDE the Egg when we have the freedom to go and do that… We have the unutterable privilege, the unspeakable joy, to BRING ALL THAT OUT WITH US!

I woke this morning, laughing. Not derision, just pure joy.

We never have to “sadly return” from the Joy. We never HAVE to be “exiled to this valley of tears”. We have been given permission to BRING Kingdom here, into our days, into our homes, into our workplaces, among those we love, among family and friends, into the community among acquaintances and strangers… into our streets, among even the odd or the evil.

It’s an amazing truth of what Jesus did… But so many Christians… wondrous, loving, spirit-filled Christians, SEE the inside of that Egg and eagerly await being set free of this earthly tent and mortal frame of our bodies, that in heaven we may celebrate the fullness of Kingdom, once we die and go to heaven.

And yet… and yet… my heart so yearns. Jesus has brought it HERE. That we HAVE Life, and that more abundantly! That God so loved the ENTIRE WORLD that He gave Jesus to bring “the life of heaven itself”… HERE!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Where do you keep your Egg, Gentle Reader? Take a moment, get apart, go find it. Find the box, find the sock, find the old briefcase, find that hiding place in your heart where you hid the treasures “too good, too fragile, to share with anyone else… lest they get broken”. Go, just for a bit, and pull out your Egg. (I know you have one. Our Father has given each of us one.)

Go find your Egg for a bit. Stare in that little hole/window. Let Him pull you inside to play for as long as you need to. Laugh, play, be His child… no work, no worries, no hassles… (just for a little while).

And then, when He says, “It’s time to go  home now,” and stretches out His hand to leave for the day… When you feel that moment of childlike “heart sink”, thinking you have to leave all this and return to the drudgery of “the world”…

Watch Him turn and ask, “Would you like us to take all this back out with us?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

What do you say?

Grace — LM