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Absurdity of Modernity, column I

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Football Coach Jesus by Russell Rathbun

One of the greatest joys of Revelations' brief time in the pastorate was the treasure of finding he was not alone. There was a certain joy in finding receptive hearers. However, it was all together rapturous to run into like-minded doers who too thought deeply about how better to live and to communicate what it means to be a follower of God in the way of Jesus.

One such friend was the Rev. Richard Lamblove of St. Paul, MN. He was the "preaching pastor" (as opposed to "senior pastor") of a mega-congregation, and his was the type of church Revelations' flock longed to become (explore Lamblove's story at Post-Rapture).

As has been said before, it wasn't often but every once and a while, Revelations' pulpit would be graced by another master storyteller. Lamblove was one of the few people to have the distinction of gracing that pulpit more than once. This is the substance of one such occasion...

The preacher walks up to the platform, walks past the pulpit placed on the stage left side, on to the band on stage right, and takes the mic from the singer's stand and moves back near the center, though still decidedly right. Placing the mic close to his mouth, head down, Phil Donahue-like, he breathes into it loudly and begins.

Now great multitudes accompanied him; and he turned around and faced them and said,

“Unless you hate your own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, even your own life, you cannot be my disciple.

Unless you pick up your own cross and follow me you cannot be my disciple.

Unless you renounce all that you have, you cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:25-34).

Now those are pretty harsh words. Those words are hard to hear. You’re thinking to yourself, “That doesn’t seem like Jesus! That’s not the Jesus I am used to. I thought Jesus was kind and loving and nice. I thought it was wrong to hate. It must really say something else.”

So, you rub your eyes and read it again, “Unless you…hate!”

Oh, yes, it does say hate.

It doesn’t seem like Jesus? It doesn’t seem very nice? Well get used to it, because extreme situations call for extreme measures. And friends, this is an extreme situation.

CONTINUE READING Football Coach Jesus>>>

Jesus is on his way to do a job that only one man can do. He is on his way to Jerusalem where he is going to be arrested, suffer, and die so others might live.

This is an extreme situation.

Now, that is not the end of the story. Jesus’ death is not the end. Because God raised Jesus from the dead. And even though Jesus was the only one that could do that job, he knew even while he was talking to that great multitude that after his resurrection it was going to be their turn. Your turn. There was going to be a job for us to do. And he wanted to make sure we were ready.

He wanted us to prepare for the Job.

And he wanted us to know; it was not going to be easy. No it was not always going to be nice. Because there are serious things at stake here.

The most serious thing is at stake here, and if you aren’t prepared to go all the way, don’t even start the trip.

Let’s read the book. Jesus goes on to tell a couple of stories to make the point, he says,

Which of you, if you’re going to build a tower, doesn’t first sit down and count the cost to see if you have enough money to complete the job? Otherwise, you’ve laid the foundation and you’re not able to finish what you started.

Get this: then he goes on to say,

All those who saw that unfinished tower began to mock that builder, saying, ‘this man began to build and was not able to finish. What king going into battle will not first sit down and figure out whether he is able with ten thousand to win that battle against twenty thousand? And if he figures he is not he sends out his ambassador and asks for terms of peace. So, therefore, whoever of you does not renounce all that you have you cannot be my disciple.

This is an extreme situation and it calls for extreme disciples.

Jesus wants to make sure we understand. Not because he is being mean. Come on, Jesus is doing this out of love--love for us, because he wants us to understand what it is going to take. Extreme situations call for extreme love—tough love.

And this is an extreme situation. Not just the situation in Jesus’ time, but today. We are in extreme situation.

There are things at stake; the whole game is at stake. It’s like Jesus is a football coach in the locker room at half time. It’s a close game and it’s now or never. Coach Jesus is getting his team up for the second half—he is talking, not just to that great multitude, but also to all of us on his team. He’s saying:

What’s it going to take to win this one? It’s going to take everything you have. Your family, your mother and father, your kids, everything. This is job one. Are you willing to give it all? Well, decide now.

Count the cost. El Quanto Costus in the original Latin. Which literally means "count the cost."

Are you going to be able to finish the game? Because if you can’t, don’t even start. Because if you can’t, what is going to happen? People will mock you, laugh at you, and make fun of you.

If you tell people you are a disciple of Jesus and you can’t go all the way, you know what you’ll be? An extreme loser.

So, decide now.

Jesus says out of love—oh yes, and it is tough love—decide now because if you can’t go all the way it gets worse than having people laugh at you.

Verse 34 says: Salt is good; but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? How shall it be restored?

Ask any scientist and he’ll tell you: once sodium has lost its saltiness, it is a fact of chemistry that it is impossible for it to be restored. Jesus goes on, “then that salt is fit neither for the land nor the dung heap.”

There is a phrase I like: Souled Out.

You know what that means? Souled Out. It means that you have given everything, sold everything to follow Jesus. It means that you have given all that you have, your entire soul—not just part of it, not three quarters of it, but your entire soul—to follow Jesus. It means you’re an extreme disciple. It means you’re going to finish the job.

Jesus says going all the way is the only way to be my disciple.

Let’s be extreme disciples—let’s get out there—we have a job to do!


The Preacher puts the mic back in the stand and walks back across the platform, slows at the communion table as if going to the communion table at the end of the sermon. He then moves on to the pulpit on the left side of the stage, arranges his notes on the pulpit, takes a minute—deflates—and begins, a different character now.

Man, I would like to kill that Jesus. I would like to kill that football coach Jesus. I would like to kill that football coach God. I would like to kill that football coach preacher.

But it is very hard. They live inside of me. Even now when I read the Bible, the first voice I hear is that football coach preacher and his football coach Jesus. After hearing that all my life, after hearing those sermons and interpretation of the texts by so many different teachers and preachers, after using them myself so many times, it is very hard to kill them off.

But they have to die.

They have to be gotten rid of--if I ever want to figure this stuff out--if I ever want to know how to follow Jesus.

That football coach Jesus is just too easy—too easy to believe and too easy to dismiss.

It’s too easy to believe because it echoes the culture I was raised in, that I live in: Finish what you started. If you’re going to do something, do it right. Try harder. You can do anything if you just try hard enough. And if you don’t accomplish the things you want to, you didn’t try hard enough. Jesus wants you to try harder; Jesus wants you to pull yourself up by your own bootstrap.

This Jesus never considers the fact that you might not even have any boots. Never takes into account that you might be trying really, really hard and still not be able to make it.

What if I count the cost and I really, really believe I have what it takes? I really am willing to give everything, to go all the way—but then along the way I find out I don’t. I don’t give everything, I take something back, I screw up? I lose my saltiness and there is no way to get it back. How shall it be restored? It’s dung heap time, I get slaughtered by the opposing army, I am laughed at for not being able to finish the job.

Football coach Jesus is this weird mix of a motivational speaker and a mean dad shaming me for being lazy. You have to go all the way, give up everything, finish what you started. Mean dad football coach Jesus makes me want to cry and give up.

It is too easy to believe because it echoes the culture I live in.

But it is also too easy to dismiss. Jesus wants me to hate my mom and dad? Well, there’s a good reason not to believe in Jesus.

All I have to do is use my brain to figure out that the football coach sermon is ridiculous. If I can imagine a God who is more loving and intelligent than the one I find in the Bible, then it is obviously time to get a new God.

Such a flat and unforgiving God is too easy and it is a lie. You mix a little truth with lies and you put them in the mouth of a competent public speaker and you say it over and over again and you guarantee that there will always be enough work for the therapists.

Now, you know what is hard? What is hard is to actually use my brain and passion (my soul?), and try to figure out what this really says. Because I can’t believe it the way he says it [gestures to the point where football coach preacher was standing] and I desperately do not want to dismiss it, because I believe there is good news and I believe it can be found in our sacred texts.

So I rub my eyes and I read it again. Not with the sense that hard work and perseverance will elicit the meaning that I want. Not simply to explain away my own horror. But I give myself to it completely with trust that it is the book of the God that knows me and loves me. It is the book that our people have found this great good news in for thousands of years.

And, I try to remind myself that this text is not about me. It is about Jesus.

I try to remember that every word of judgment is not about eternal life in hell, but is simply a word of judgment, and wrong actions are judged all the time.

I do have to continually fight off football coach Jesus, but it is the good fight.

Luke tells a story about Jesus on the way to Jerusalem with his disciples, a broad term used to describe anyone who chose to follow him—his Twelve Apostles, Pharisees, the curious, the outsiders and the unclean. The story is framed beautifully: everything from chapter 9 to chapter 19 takes place as they travel to Jerusalem. Luke repeats [the phrases] on the way and the way to emphasize that Jesus is teaching his followers what it means to follow in the way, to go with Jesus.

In the beginning of Chapter 14, it is the Sabbath, and as he does many times, Jesus attends the synagogue in the town he is is passing through on his way to Jerusalem. He is invited to the synagogue leader's house for a meal afterward and some of his disciples, Pharisees among them, come with him.

Among his disciples, only Pharisees can eat with other Pharisees because they are a sect dedicated to ritual purity. In their understanding, one maintains a right relationship with God by remaining pure, and one remains pure by keeping company only with others who are pure. In Mediterranean culture in general at the time, there are strict rules that divide people. One’s place in society is defined by those with whom one associates. The primary unit is the extended family, and it is seen as a whole. If a member achieves greatness, the family achieves greatness. If one of them is humiliated, all of them are humiliated.

Meals are the clearest reflection of your associations: you are who you eat with. Further, mealtime politics define one’s relative position within the group. The closer you sit to the host, the greater your position of honor.

Jesus teaches at the meal, which is the custom in these situations. First he tells a story about how one should take the position of least honor at a meal. Then he tells a story about how a great meal was given and none of the right people (the pure association) came. Instead, the host goes out and invites all the impure people (everyone from all the lower classes and all the foreigners), and he eats with them.

Jesus is teaching his disciples what it means to follow the way of the new kingdom, which reorders society from one of exclusion to one of inclusion. The way is about continually widening the circle.

After the meal he leaves and his disciples follow him. And he turns to them and says, “Unless you hate your own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, even your own life, you cannot be my disciple.”

Now after all that explanation, these words do not sound less harsh, less hard to hear. In fact, they are even more extreme. Because they are not simply talking about having a bad relationship with your family, they are about abandoning the foundation of the culture. Jesus says you will have to give up the associations that define who you are. And you will have to count the cost. He is saying, if you follow me according to the old calculus you will bring disgrace and dishonor to your family because you will be on the way with the impure, the lower classes, even foreigners. You will give up your family to be with one who will be executed as a criminal and a traitor. In the end you have to be willing to give up your own life, because there is a very real chance that if they kill me they will kill you too.

This is much more than hating your family. This is transforming the culture you were raised in, that you live in. He wants them to know what it really means to go with him on the way.

Now here is the beauty of Luke’s structure: It starts with Jesus being followed by Pharisees. In the middle, disciples are following him and he tells them what that will mean for them. Now at the end, they are following him and who joins the group? In chapter 15, verses 1 and 2: Their mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters don’t join them, other Pharisees don’t join them, but tax collectors and sinners join them. This is exactly the situation that Jesus explained to them. Here is what the reoriented world, the Kingdom of God, looks like. They have to count the cost and determine if they can go this far, if they can be on the way with the other, the impure.

And they say, “Look at this, he receives sinners and eats with them.”

Well, yes, of course he does. And he receives you and eats with you too, and in the New Kingdom, you will all eat together. That is the point of chapter 14.

But they are not ready to go this far yet. So what does Jesus do? He keeps teaching them, through the next couple of chapters. Same lesson different approach.

Now it gets harder. What does this all mean? How am I supposed to follow Jesus?

I know that it is not about the old calculus of the football coach Jesus who defines a right relationship with God as being pure, who defines purity and impurity by my ability to go all the way and never screw up. That is contrary to the text.

If the new calculus is about reorienting my world, what does that mean? What is the foundation of my culture that needs to be upended? And how is that accomplished by following this God whose journey ends in death at the hands of the ones God loves?

-an excerpt from the book Post Rapture Radio

Remnant by Eric Ayars

Every once and a while, Revelations' pulpit would be graced by another master storyteller. This was a tale told by one of them...

It was a small boat, as boats went. It was hardly more than a rowboat, really; but it was safe, dry, and watertight. Rather pretty too, James thought, as he and the other rowers took a short break. It was white, appropriately enough, with a neat line of oars down one side and sturdy wooden benches for the crew. Its name, which they were all so proud of, was stenciled in large red block letters on each side of the bow. Everyone could see that this was no ordinary rowboat: this was the Remnant.

It was a strange name for a boat, but that name filled the crew with hope. They had a mission: saving swimmers. They had a destination: port. They had promises, given to them by The Captain Himself. He had promised them that the Remnant would never sink. He had promised that all those on board would live. He had promised that they would reach port safely. And so, day after day, they rowed.

It seemed to James that surely they should have reached port by now. He knew they weren’t lost—they had a map, drawn by The Captain Himself. It was spread out on a small platform near the bow, next to the careful painting of a compass that showed them they were heading the right direction. Despite all that, though, they had not reached port. James still wondered occasionally if they should have oars on both sides of the boat; but when they had tried that they had run aground almost immediately. "We should return to the old ways," the leaders had told them in the aftermath of that disaster, "and row harder."

CONTINUE READING Remnant>>>

James tried to remember how long he’d been on the boat. It seemed like he’d been rowing all his life. Perhaps he’d been born on the boat! After all, his parents were on the boat too, just a few benches away. Come to think of it, so were his grandparents. Well, he grinned to himself as he began to row once more, The Captain hadn’t said how long the trip was—He’d just promised that they would get there safely.

Not everyone on the Remnant had been born there, of course. Next to James sat Steve, who’d been pulled from the surrounding water quite recently. Steve still dripped and smelled a little bit like chlorine, but James didn’t mind. It felt good to have been a part of saving a man’s life. He wished that he could do more for the rest of the swimmers surrounding the boat; but most showed no desire to come aboard. They seemed utterly unaware of their lost and drowning condition as they splashed happily about in their indecent outfits and garish rubber hats. Some swam back and forth endlessly, as if they could reach port on their own. Others clung to small inflatable toys, as if those could carry them safely through the great storms of the end. Most seemed to treat their condition as a game, unconcerned that they weren’t on the Remnant.

Sadder still to James were his memories of those who had once been on the Remnant but had left. His sister had rowed for a long time on the bench beside him, until one day she’d started talking excitedly about “looking farther” and “seeing the big picture”. They had all tried convincing her to calm down and keep rowing, but she wouldn’t. She and his best friend had jumped overboard, and were last seen wading hand in hand into the distance. Someday, he hoped, they would come back to the Remnant; but until they made that choice there was nothing he could do. He bent his back once again into his oar as the painted compass pointed them onwards.

Far above, on the bridge of the great ocean liner, Remnant, the watch was changing.

"Morning, Gabe. Coffee?"

"Thanks, Michael." The glowing creature folded himself into a chair with a sigh and held the steaming mug under his nose.

"Ah, that hits the spot. Quiet watch?"

"I wish! More of the usual, I'm afraid, with emphasis on wars and rumors of wars. I'll be glad when this trip is over!"

"We're almost there now, I'm sure. Soon we'll all be home…" It was such an old joke that they snorted the punchline almost in unison: "…Even the Adventists."

The two archangels sat for another companionable moment before Gabriel broke the silence. "I know this is a strange question to ask after so many years, but I was working with the situation down on China deck in the mid-nineteenth century and missed all the fun. How'd they get that lifeboat to the pool deck in the first place?"

Faithful Houses

Written for and cross-posted on Faith House Manhattan.

"He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches."
Revelation 2:7

God's hopes, dreams and desires for the world are like unto a South African Dutch missionary who went deep into the bush and served God faithfully for 20 years. He was fed up with the apartheid of his homeland, saw little hope of bringing it to an end, and refused to be in collusion with it any longer. So he went to share Good News with Africans outside of his country, determined to treat them as his brothers and sisters.

The missionary achieved notable success in his endeavors, so much so that he was asked to write a memoir as a teaching tool for other missionaries. Because of the remoteness of his location, mail only came and went every 6 months. Notwithstanding, he faithfully wrote everyday.

When the next mail arrived after he had sent his initial submission, he was eager to hear what his supervisor thought. Exchanging mail with the courier, he immediately spotted the package from his supervisor. It was large. Opening it with sweaty hands, he saw that she had read his draft with eagerness and she praised his courage living amongst the bush people. Two incidents in particular stood out to her. One was the missionary's "need" (she wrote, quoting him) to expel the local "witch-doctor" before the message of Christ could really take root in the hearts of the tribe's people." The second was the "showdown" the missionary had with a Muslim tradesman who had begun to make converts to Islam on his regular visits to the village.

The South African Dutchman's supervisor then made what she called "a strange request." She wanted him to read up on certain major world events that had taken place since the beginning of his missionary endeavors. She listed the ongoing Israeli-Palestinian conflict, the fall of the Berlin Wall, the end of Apartheid in South Africa, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, the war in Rwanda, the end of terrorism in Northern Ireland, the Serb-Croatian Genocide, 9-11 in the US, the great Pacific Ocean tsunami, the rise of Venezuela and China on the world stage, the Sudan conflict and Hurricane Katrina. To this end she enclosed a gift, "probably the most significant change that had taken place in the industrialized world since his departure: a laptop computer with a mobile broadband card and satellite signal booster." He didn't know what any of those words meant, but her instructions were clear enough that he eventually got the equipment to work, and he began his research on what his supervisor called "the Internet."

The missionary did not write much during the next six months because of his research. Much more had taken place during the previous 20 years than his supervisor's list suggested, but her list was a great start. Many nights he read and read. His little generator required increasing fuel to serve his growing appetite for world events. The world had evolved in dramatic ways since he had come to the bush where time can seem to stand still.

By the time his supervisor's next letter arrived six months later, he was a changed man, though he did not know how. Thus, her next request did not come as much of a shock as it would have, had it been written a year earlier. She gave the South African Dutch missionary an assignment. She wanted him to track down the medicine man he had ostracized 19 years earlier to seek his forgiveness for the way he had been treated and to ask permission to spend a month learning from him. Under no circumstances was he to attempt to convert or teach the medicine man religion or anything else. He could participate in conversation if questions were asked of him, but not as one self-assured. His task was primarily to observe and to listen. After that he was to seek the Muslim merchant he had interdicted from trading with his parishioners, and do the same. Then write about it.

CONTINUE READING Faithful Houses>>>

It was not as difficult as he had imagined. Many in his parish knew exactly how to find both men. In fact, some in his congregation had been quietly practicing the devotions of Islam while learning to walk in the way of Jesus, and some had sought out the medicine man when they were sick. Through these parishioners, the missionary visited each man.The missionary was surprised at the grace and generosity each man extended to him.

He had not expected to be welcomed. He spent some 30 days with each and joined in celebrations and holy days as they came, listening and laughing, sharing meals and dreams. They spoke about the African continent and its challenges and exchanged many hopes. It was an intimacy he had thought impossible between those of such drastically different beliefs.

Upon his return to his African parishioners, the missionary began to share anew the story of the gospel in light of the things he had learned. When he spoke of the way of Jesus as “unavoidable forgiveness,” the people of his community saw this forgiveness being extended to the missionary by Nikondeha, the medicine man. When he spoke of being a peacemaker, the face of Abijar the trader, and the quarrel he had with the missionary which he had abandoned became their frame of reference. And the oft-forgotten sacraments of confession and humility became far more tangible in the life of the missionary himself, as he realized that there was no virtue in feigning certainty in his choices or long-held beliefs.

Notwithstanding, this was no longer enough for the South African Dutch missionary. He wanted more than just to better understand the things of God, like repentance, peacemaking, confession and humility. He wanted to live these truths the way Jesus had. He wanted, as he would later speak of it, to walk "in the way of Jesus"—a way of "others-interestedness"—to "seek first the kingdom of God and God's justice" in the earth, beginning with his beloved Africa. Yet he had no idea of how to make this happen.

He decided to share his questions with his two new friends. Trader Abijar immediately voiced his growing concern for orphans in territories in which he and his fellow merchants traveled. Many of them were compelled to run for their lives to avoid conscription and sexual assault. This prompted medicine man Nikondeha—whom the missionary learned to refer to by his appropriate title, "laibon," meaning "spiritual leader"—to propose that his people were known for their generous hearts. Why couldn't they be inspired to give these wandering orphans refuge? The missionary noted that if Abijar and his colleagues could smuggle the children into Maasai territory, with Nikondeha's people's nomadic tendencies, the children would be difficult to track. With Nikondeha and Abijar's help the missionary thought that they might even be able to convince the elders to modify the community's seasonal travel path in order to intersect more frequently with smuggling merchants. The wandering orphans that they would take in would be Enkai's (God's) new "cattle" that she had charged them to shepherd and keep.

And they did this and many other things together. Not the least of which involved the Maasai parish sending a delegation of Il-murran (warriors) to a neighboring territory to create protected space for peace talks between warring factions that Abijar, as a trusted third-party, was able to bring together. Creating such space for Africans to dream their way forward was something the missionary had been touting as the Western world's continuing responsibility to a formerly colonized Africa. It was Nikondeha's suggestion that, as followers of Enkai in the way of Jesus, his people had no excuse to wait for the West while more died. Thus, in this spirit, more and more people in and around Maasai ancestral territory journeyed with God: more orphans were given homes, more hungry were fed, more wells dug, more sick healed, more injustice removed, more peace waged and all the Christians in the South African Dutch missionary's small nomadic parish grew more committed and more in love with the way of Jesus.

In the mist of his many new endeavors, the missionary wrote to his supervisor:

I am beginning to believe that those who promote life and live goodness are all striving to get to the same place, we've just been given different paths to take (with varying nomenclature, understandings and sensibilities), but we're all headed the same "way." Once we get there, I imagine that whatever misunderstandings, errors, oughts and hurts that remain will be satisfied, and the Truth will be unmistakable and irresistible. Thus, I was able to appreciate the faith walks of these two men as not in the least bit threatening to my own or threatening to the God who initiates all walks of faith. Plus, I now suspect that should we learn to walk in love for one another, there shall be far fewer confusions and misunderstandings for God to satisfy than there are now.

Nonetheless, I am pleased to announce that this past Sabbath I baptized the first ten people who are dedicating their lives to “the way of Jesus” as practiced by our new kind of Christian community. Nikondeha and Abijar came as well, to celebrate and bless us all.

And in revising his memoir he included this passage that would have seemed so foreign and heretical to him just a few short years before:

People of faith change the world, and it is, I believe, for the good of the world that we discover the commonality inherent in our hopes, instead of living out of the disparity between them. If our religions remain sets of exclusive, immutable propositions, then of course they will exist in contradiction and conflict with one another. In such a climate, war seems inevitable. However, if religion is seen as our best attempts to embody God's dreams for humanity as partially as we may understand them, then it becomes easy to seek peace and justice for one another—together.

The church is like unto a South African Dutch missionary who went deep into the bush not only to reveal, but to find God.

"It Shall Be Seen"

(originally told 10/9-1994)



"…and with your blood you purchased humanity for God."
Revelation 5:9b


Revelations sat in Howell Park, as he did just about every afternoon nowadays, reading The West End Newletter. As his gaze drifted north he caught site of the belfry of the Ralph David Abernathy All Kindreds Cathedral. "How long has it been?" he thought to himself.

His mind drifted back across the decades to once upon a time when he was leader of that very same church. His paper drooped as he began to stare. From where he sat he imagined that, if it were not for the cut stone pillars and iron rod fencing around the yard of the funeral parlor next to the park, he might be able to see the orange and white billboard in the left-most portion of the front yard of the church. It detailed all the recreational pursuits that were available at the church: basketball, baseball, volleyball, karate, dance, cooking, etc. Thirty-some-odd he believed he'd counted. He chuckled to himself; then, repented.

He shouldn’t be so cynical he told himself. It was a good thing that they were offering these pastime opportunities to the community. There was a time when no one but church members could be involved in church sponsored activities. Perhaps things had changed. Perhaps this wasn’t just an ad for why RDA All Kindreds was better than the next guys. Perhaps they had changed over the years while he’d been gone. He certainly had. Still, it seemed to Revelations that institutions evolved more slowly, less intentionally, than people.

It was there at RDA All Kindreds that he had started telling stories. He had always loved them, especially the ones his grandfather, Baba, use to tell. At the church they had become particularly useful as a way to broach difficult subjects, allowing people to see themselves as opposed to having to hear about themselves all the time.

The first such time had come up when a young woman in the congregation, Aliya (pronounced |'ä·le·ä|), announced to her parents that she was leaving Christianity for Islam. As Revelations put it, “Her parents were like to hit the roof!”

Her mother, a true Southern lady with hopes of cotillions and big fancy weddings for her daughters, just couldn’t understand why Aliya would choose to cover her beautiful hair and wear funny clothes. What hurt even more was her daughter’s refusal to eat just anything she cooked. The mother was a wonder in the kitchen, no doubt, and cooking was one of the ways she loved. The father, an elder in the church, was overcome by the sheer embarrassment of it all. They, the mother and father, had brought Aliya to Revelations, Rev. Sent St. Common, as a last ditch effort to talk some sense into her. They knew she respected him.

Revelations remembered the conversation as if it were happening in that very moment. "So tell me why, Aliya. What draws you to Islam—the way of submission to Allah—outside of your Arabic (and, strangely, Hebrew as well) name, of course?" he inquired and jested.

"Because I love the strength I saw in my friend Hagar and her family during the West Bank incursion. Kids at school would give her a hard time, particularly when they began to notice the uniqueness of her head scarf and diet and the fact she’d stop to pray twice everyday while we were at school. They would call her "raghead" and "terrorist" and other kinds of evil things. And it wasn’t the Jewish kids. It was the so-called Christians. Still Hagar kept right on doing her thing.

"Hagar's mom really impresses me too. Not only has she raised 5 children of her own (Hagar being the youngest), but she has made a home for countless numbers of children from the community at a moment's notice, just because they needed help. You can't beat that.

"Mr. Abdul, Hagar's father, is a community organizer, but after the last intifada began, he lost his job because some foundation pulled his organization's funding for his specific position. He could have been bitter and angry, but he wasn't. When Malik Johnson was falsely accused of raping that white college student down at State, while his former employer was organizing rallies and marches, which Mr. Abdul participated in, he also made sure Malik's family had food and rent until Malik was released and able to find a new job.

"I remember asking my dad, who's a judge, about the Malik Johnson case and he gave me some crap about 'we all have our cross and we must learn to bear it with patience' and something about 'dying to self' and 'suffering as a Christian,' which is easy to say when one's suffering never jeopardizes his own or his family's 'basic human dignities' (to use one of your phrases, Pastor Revelations). When I pressed him, he gave me some colonial BS about letting the system do its job. I can't stand it!

"I just don't get Christianity. It's not that I don't know or believe the stories; I do. It's just that the majority of Christianity seems to be about thinking the right things and not about doing what's right. And don't get me started on the role of Christianity in every major atrocity throughout modern history.

"Islam just resonates with me. I have no problem with Jesus. 'I find no fault in him,' you might say," she giggled, "but I don't see how Christianity does his message much of a service. It seems to me that, if Christians were at all interested in the way of Jesus, they would live as if he were reason enough to channel as much good as they can into the world before their time is up."

How could Revelations disagree…

CONTINUE READING "It Shall Be Seen">>>

"You read the scripture, chapter 22 of Genesis verse 1, 'And it came to pass that God did tempt Abraham.' Strong words! Real strong words: 'God did tempt.' But we know right off the bat that God's temptations must be as different from the Enemy's temptations as their characters are opposite of each other. They just must be because, you see, I do not believe God is concerned with tempting us to see if we'll fail, but rather, I know, God is quick to test us so that He might clarify our conception of who He is and who He wants to be for us. I've seen Him do it time and time again from eternity past.

"My name is Jhishayon. I am what you might call an angel. Now don't let my dress fool you, styles have changed since biblical times. Nonetheless, I am an angel. And, in fact, I was the guardian that was assigned to Isaac—second son of Abraham, first son of Sarah, brother of Ishmael and threat to Hagar—when he was born.
I was excited about it. I knew that there was something special about the child. I had heard all the promises God had made regarding Isaac to Abraham. 'Through your family, all the families of the earth will be blessed.' This was one of the children of those promises, and I knew that this child was to be important in the redemption of man. So I was excited about the assignment. And being the person that I am (I grow attached very quickly) from the moment I saw him I loved him. I loved Isaac as if he were my own son. That is why I was quite bewildered, even upset, when God told me they planned to ask Abraham to kill Isaac.

"Now let me not get ahead of myself. Let me explain to you how things unfolded. I'll even share with you some of what I learned in the process.

"As I said, before God went to Abraham, God came to me (you do know that everyone's story is connected to many others; we're all interdependent like that). Well, God came to me and said, 'Now, Jhishayon, I'm about to request something of Abraham. However, I wanted to come to you first because when you hear it you will more than likely be angry. I'm not going to hold that against you. All I ask of you as you work through your anger is that you trust me. Whatever happens know that my good intentions towards you, Abraham, Sarah, Isaac and all the rest of creation have not changed, even though your feelings will have.'

"Being the faithful servant I thought I was, I responded, 'Of course I trust you. And be angry towards you—never! What is it? What are you going to ask him?'

"'I'm going to ask Abraham to sacrifice Isaac on an altar to me.'

"I was dumb-struck. 'How in Heaven's name could they—' But there was a determination in the eyes that I knew could not be argued with. Still I had to ask the question, 'Why... why?'

"'I know it hurts right now,' God replied, 'and I know you don't really understand. Please trust in me.'

"I threw up.

"I was literally sick as I took my usual post beside Isaac's bed that night and overheard God outside the tent asking Abraham to cut the throat of his and Sarah's only son—the one it had taken so long to have, even after the promise—over 30 years trying. It didn't sit with me any better to hear it a second time…

"That evening Abraham began preparing for his trip to the place where the murder (as
far as I was concerned) was to take place, telling his family that he and the boy were going into the wilderness to perform sacrifice unto to Lord. However, because of the sadness of his countenance everyone in the camp suspected more, yet no one asked. Everyone knew the special connection Abraham had with Yahweh.

"The next day Abraham got up and left early, long before the sun woke. The journey seemed like it would never end. I walked with them every step of the way. Although the Lord endured every question Abraham posed those three days as we journeyed through the land of Moriah, all God would offer in explanation was, 'Trust in me.'

"Finally we came to the base of a particular mountain in the region. It was there that Abraham asked his servants to stay while he and the boy went on alone.

"I must say that it wasn't until the whole episode was over that Abraham's words to his servants began to mean anything to me. He said, 'I and the boy will go on and worship, and then come back.' 'I and the boy.' It didn't mean anything to me at the time. In fact, I thought poorly of Abraham that he would even hint at deception.

"Then he and his son walked on, and for the first time, as they trudged up the side of the mountain, Isaac questioned his father. Isaac said, 'Abba, I'm carrying the hot coals and the wood, but we forgot the lamb for the offering.'

"I will never, ever forget Abraham's response, 'God will provide Godself a lamb, son.'

"'Son?' I said to myself, 'What! How dare you lie to that boy? You know what you have to do at the top of that hill!'

"I couldn't take anymore. I had to leave. I had to get as far away from them as possible. How could Abraham stand there gazing into those innocent, unsuspecting eyes and say, 'God will provide Godself a lamb,' knowing what God had asked him to do.

"When I came to my senses, I found myself in a place in the Nephesh realm that I often go when I want to be alone. To get there you follow the great river out of the city of God as it burrows through the Delectable Mountains. The river ultimately spills over a ridge on the backside of the range where it forms several lesser waterfalls whose waters converge to form The Great Waterfall. There are many caves in those mountains. But there is one cave in particular right behind the spill of the first of the Lessers where I like to sit away lonely. It was there that he found me.

"'Hello, Jhishayon. You probably didn't know I knew of this place.'

"I looked at him and rolled my eyes.

"He chuckled. 'Perhaps I deserve that. What's on your mind?'

"'You know already.'

"'Isaac, right?'

"'Of course'

"'But you didn't stay to see what happened.'

"'How could I stay and watch him die?'

"'Don't you remember. I asked you to trust me, to have faith in me, and promised that if you would stick with me it would begin to make better sense to you.'

"'I couldn't! I couldn't stay and watch him die!' I shouted.

"'Okay, okay,' he sighed with compassion. 'Look, I know you don't understand much, but indulge me for a moment. Share with me what you have seen and what you do understand. Maybe I can help you make sense of it.'

"I must confess I unloaded with both guns. 'I'll never understand why you would ask Abraham to murder Isaac, knowing he would obey you! That's right, it's murder, and it's sick! You know how much he loves you, yet you ask him to do this evil. What kind of love is that?

"'At the same time, I find it hard to believe that you are the type to just toy with Abraham's devotion, one who would push him just to see how far he would go. I've never known you to do something like that. And if that is who you really are, then maybe I'm on the wrong team.'

"At that moment there was a strange, reflective pause, and he kind of looked at me as if he had heard that accusation before. Then he replied shaking his head, 'I would hope that no one would ever get that impression. That's just not me.'

"'Then why, Lord? Why would you do it? Help me understand. You've always told how one day you would give your life to live in radical solidarity with humanity so humanity might find life once again, might be reconciled to you, despite their having chosen to disconnect and, thus, wane. You told me you would go after them and create new possibilities even in the mist of the impossibility, the death, they had chosen. So why is it that you would take from Isaac the very life you plan to make possible for him? Couldn't it be enough for them to learn from you how to reconnect, how to live fully human, how to love well and then, in faith that you would resource their efforts, do just that? Or will man eternally have to prove himself in penance to you—for disconnecting in the first place—looking for more and more to give up, even unto to death, to prove how much he loves and needs you? That's narcissistic and doesn't make any sense. That can't be the great Plan of Redemption. It would seem to me that you, being the author of life, would be more concerned with humanity finding ways to live in you, rather than looking for ways to die for you.'

"He looked at me in that strangely unassuming way that he has, and he smiled. Then he shrugged as he commented, 'Now you see that, but how do you know that Abraham does?'

"I puzzled over that for a brief moment before I had to smile back at him.

"Then he continued, 'I gave Abraham's ancestors the practice of sacrificing lambs, first, to show them that being divorced (separated, exiled, isolated, apart, distant, aloof, disconnected) from life by choice was a serious thing with real consequences and, secondly, to signify that I would one day come and fall victim to their shame in order to reconcile them to me. I wanted it to always be clear that death is necessary, but only as a means, not an end. They should never get caught up in the sacrifice or dying because that's my part. What I do want them to focus on is making the most of the life that my act of sacrifice, solidarity and eternal embrace makes possible for them. Unfortunately, you have some of them so caught up in judgment and blood-letting, thinking that's what I would have of them, not seeing it as just further degradation, that they even sacrifice their own children in what they think is my honor. Even among Abraham's clan some only understand the killing of the lamb, but I want to make sure Abraham knows the life beyond the death. I'm not Death; I find no pleasure in it. I'm Resurrection and Life.'

"I was blown away. 'So that means that Abraham never really had to sacrifice Isaac.'

"'Of course he would, if I were a Lord who desired it, but I've already paid that price. Whether or not he has to do it is, perhaps, the wrong question. Maybe a better question is, "What am I after?" because I'll always be after that which promotes life.'

"'Okay, Lord. But I have one more question. If that is the case, why would you put Abraham through such mental anguish over the thought that he would have to give up his son.'

"'So his faith in me might grow. Is it cruel to ask of one's child what one knows he does not have, in order to cultivate in him what one knows he needs? You know as well as I do that the only way one can live is through faith. The just have always lived by faith. And if my goal is for Abraham to embrace life, I have to strengthen his faith in me.'

"I couldn't believe it. It was all for faith—for Abraham's and for mine. I briefly got caught up in the moment of revelation, but then I remembered—Abraham was about to take Isaac's life!

"Then the Teacher looked at me, and I looked at him, and he said, 'Don't you have something to do?'

"I shot up out of there, following the river back to the city, flew past the constellations, slid down the Milky Way almost knocking the outer planets out of orbit as I came careening to earth. 'Abraham, no!'"

"But he didn't hear me. Before I even got there, there was the Provider, and I heard him saying, 'Abraham, don't take your son's life.' At which point I smiled and wiped my forehead. He continued, 'I can see your faith. By not keeping your son from me, you have demonstrated your trust in me above all else.'

"It was now time for Abraham to express his confusion, 'Now, wait a minute. Even I know it's not enough to want to obey. One must follow through. You asked me for my son's life. I must follow through.'
Having had this conversation already, I stood by grinning the most cheesy grin you ever did see.

"'I knew from the beginning that you would. I know who you want to be for me, but I wanted you to see… I needed you to see who I am for you.'

"It was then that Abraham noticed the ram stuck in a thicket not too far from where he stood, and he sacrificed it to God that day, instead of Isaac.

"Abraham named that place Jehovah-jireh (interpreted 'The Lord Will Provide') to remind himself and his children of what he saw of the Lord in that place. And it is said of that place even today that 'in the Mount of God it shall be seen.'"

"…So I have to give my life in faith to something that I believe counts, not just for me, but for others as well," Aliya concluded. "The Imam at the Abduls' mosque told me that, if I could not get my father's permission, I must, at least, seek my pastor's blessing. Otherwise, he would not welcome me. That's the reason I let my parents drag me here. I wanted to know what you had to say, but I also needed your support."

Revelations thought long and hard about what was being asked of him. He had spoken with her parents prior to this meeting. Her father had made it abundantly clear that he would not have any "rag-wearing, Mecca-claiming, Arabic-speaking, Allah-praying, swine-condemning, potential terrorist Muslims" in his family. He would probably disown her. At the same time, in the way of "submission to Allah" Aliyah had found a vision of life that was worthy of the kingdom of God.

"Welcome to the family of faith, little sister," Revelations said, as he stood up to embrace her. "Who am I to deny you the path Allah has for you? But don't fool yourself. Nothing about this is going to be easy. And you'll only have my blessing if you are steadfast in your embrace of all those among your family and friends who will think it their Christian duty to exclude you from their company—do you hear me? If you can 'turn the other cheek,' and keep coming back at them with love, then my blessing is eternally yours. And know that I am always here for you and willing to walk this path in friendship with you wherever your journey may lead you."

"Oh, and for what it's worth, if you truly find no fault with him, I am certain that one can be a follower in the way of Jesus and a practitioner of Islam, all at the same time," he smiled.



Freedom Haven

"…And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations."
Rev. 22:2b


It was a sweltering hot, Georgia day. The elders and deacons were early in formation: two at every entrance, two in the parking lot, two on the sidewalk down on the street. The First Elder was determined to maintain control this day. He had always blamed Revelations for the "loss" of his daughter, who had converted to Islam a few years back. His regret was that he had not "ruled the day" instead of letting her confide in this so called "man of God."

The church was packed. They were all there to mark the passing of an era. Today was to be Revelations' last sermon in the church that he had grown up in and later pastored. Whether they were for him or against him, most somehow knew this was a day to be remembered.

The First Elder made it his business to personally escort Revelations everywhere he went that morning, accept to the bathroom where Revelations stopped him at the door and said with a smile, "I haven't needed help in here since I was 4."

The 11 o'clock service had a definitively different feel to it. For one thing, First Elder felt the need to MC the entire program. For another, the music selection seemed such an after-thought and was saturated with "Jesus & Me" songs (love me, care for me, protect me, bless me, etc.—"God bless America… and nobody else"-type stuff), both of which were pet peeves for Revelations. Also, everything seemed so somber. Of course, the First Elder and his small yet vocal group of supporters felt it was a much needed return to more dignified proceedings.

First Elder was very formal in his introduction of "Pastor Sentinel St. Common;" he made a point of avoiding the title 'Reverend'. He was also quite cagey, some might say diplomatic, in his official explanation of why Revelations was leaving. It tickled Revelations to think of all First Elder was trying not to say, and in the spirit of the whole 'dignified' affair, Revelations stepped to the lectern, which he had not used in years, with the gravity becoming a 19th century abolitionist of great renowned…

CONTINUE READING Freedom Haven>>>

"Thank you for having me today. My name is Malcolm Turner. I am just an old country preacher, a Reverend in the AME tradition. I do, however, bear a more dubious distinction. I am the only grandson of Nat Turner.

"For those of you who have forgotten (or may have never learned) this part of your history, Nat Turner was the leader of the largest, most effective slave insurrection in US history. He was born and lived in Southhampton, VA. From a young age, he took great interest in spiritual things. He was known to have seen visions and dreamed dreams. So powerful were the messages he spoke regarding the reign of God that many called him "The Prophet. " As such, he could never reconcile himself to the injustice of the physical state in which he found himself: the peculiar institution of chattel slavery.

"Early in 1831 there was an eclipse that my grandfather took as a sign that the time had come to end, by any means necessary, the horror of slavery. A second eclipse later that year only served to confirm his conviction. Initially, his plan for rebellion was set for July 4th, Independence Day. Notwithstanding the symbolic significance it may have had if executed that day, it was postponed for a short time. Then on 21 Aug 1831 in the fullness of time Nat Turner and his fellow freedom fighters—which eventually numbered more than 50 slaves and free blacks—rose up and threw off the chains of their oppression. In sadly ironic fulfillment of words inked earlier that year by yet another abolitionist prophet, William Lloyd Garrison, within 48 hours 55 white men, women and children were dead. My grandfather and his collaborators may have proven successful in taking the town of Southhampton if it were not for the fearful in their mist. A confidant betrayed them to his master who was able to rally a militia to douse the spirit of freedom just before it set the countryside ablaze.

"I must admit that I find myself ambivalent about grandfather's actions though I refuse to speak of his freedom-fight as if it were a crime. What was criminal was the enslavement and dehumanization of people, and perhaps only the force of arms would bring it to certain death. He only initiated the armed resistance that was continued with the war between the states. What other political recourse is available to those denied any political rights? Had I been born and old enough, I would probably have fought right alongside him. Nonetheless, I harbor mixed feelings, for I was privileged to grow up in a different world, at a different time.

"I was born into the world of Freedom Haven. Freedom Haven is a small town nestled in a forgotten valley on the boarder of W. Virginia and Pennsylvania. It was founded 1845 in collaborative effort by Frederick Douglass, Harriett Tubman, Sojourner Truth and others. Almost immediately it became refuge for runaway and otherwise freed Negroes, dislocated natives and formerly indentured persons of color from other parts of the world, but it was predominately Black, with an elders council that was Black with one native. During the 20 years that the peculiar institution remained intact, Freedom Haven was a depot, and for Tubman a turnabout, of the Underground Railroad. It was an unfathomable secret for most, a secret kept sacred by the Society of Friends whose own village hid the only trail leading in and out of the valley of Freedom Haven.

"Freedom Haven was a special yet complex place to grow up. As you might imagine, not everyone there had the same story. Some were former slaves and remembered all too well the brutal inhumanity of not just the lash, but it all. For them freedom walked hand in hand with fear that the emergent village we were cultivating could be snatched away without warning. Often these had tried so many times to escape slavery and had suffered in ways too painful to recount for every attempt. They had lost loved ones as punishment upon recapture or as the bitter reward of success. I suppose it was difficult for them not to cling to resentment and distrust as the only safeguard against reoccurring exploitation.

"Then there were those like I, next generation free ones, who had never known anything else. For us freedom, equality, possibility were values never in question. I knew no other way to relate to another, even a white person, except as an equal. Deference was never conceptually a necessary act of fear, but a chosen expression of respect. My gaze never fell unless I thought there was something of interest on the ground, and I did not think it disrespectful for one my junior to look me in the eyes to express their opinions. Our generation's sense of unassailable self-efficacy, though sometimes seen as arrogant and reckless, and at times rightfully so, made new things possible.

"These and other dissimilarities that lived in vibrant tension with one another made the turn of the century an exciting time to live in Freedom Haven. It wasn't until 1865, 2 years after the Emancipation Proclamation and the end of the war between the states, when the Freedman Bureau was finally being established, that the elders of our community thought it safe to incorporate as a recognized township. It was only then that our existence became general knowledge. Still, we were so far off the beaten path that few came our way except family and Southern Blacks who were tired of traveling north. That didn't stop the folks from Freedom Haven venturing out, and it didn't take long before there were all kinds of interaction between us and neighboring towns, particularly with the nearby Quakers. After the abolition of slavery was secured, they immediately set about helping us establish commerce with the outside world. Several in our group, the more ambitious of us, did pretty well for themselves. Most of us chose to get along like we always had, growing enough for our families to eat and for us to sell or trade for necessities we couldn't manufacture ourselves and giving the rest away. I was just a schoolboy at that time, but by 1900 I had grown into my vocation and was now pastor of the Freedom Haven First AME Church.

"As the town had matured, prominent community members began to itch for the trappings of other more broadly known communities. Eventually the Great Oak in the center of town under which we used to meet was cut, and its wood was used to build a town hall in its place. Around it other little proprietorships began to pop up. Pete Fisher's butcher shop. Jimmy Ambishon's blacksmith shop. Doctor Tom Seer's office. A small trading post and diner run by Maggie Alabaster. I remember my father lamenting the centralization of everything. In his declining years he used to say it was only "the beginning of sorrows:" something about power coalescing and building on itself for itself. If he had only known.

"Around 1902 the most pressing desire became to establish a school. The truth was we didn't so much need one as a few wanted one. Up 'til this point children had been educated at home. Parents with children around the same age would often team up together and do things. There was no set curriculum. Education in Freedom Haven was a real organic process that had as much to do with life skills and virtue as it did with academics and trades. The formality of it all changed with the rhythm of the seasons, with children spending more time in books during the winter. Intellectual pursuits were rightly appreciated, but an honest day's work was the most valued learning experience, so spring, summer and early fall provided more hands-on opportunities. However this was not enough for some.

"They were a small yet vocal group. One would often hear comments such as, 'In Pittsburgh every child goes to common school every day. They're thinking about making attendance compulsory.' Or 'even Allentown has it's own schoolhouse.' This is how the seed of discontent was sown, in the most unassuming way. But it didn't take long before the "need" for our own schoolhouse became a topic of paramount concern.

"The community had most the resources to do it. Pete Fisher had proposed the use of his land and barn since he ran his business in town now. His brother Andy, who had continued in the family business, offered to provide all the fish, beef and poultry the students would need for meals as long as the students would tend what they could on Pete's land and learned how to raise livestock. Matt & Marti who ran one of the most productive farms in town guaranteed all the needed vegetables, again, provided the students would make the effort also to grow their own. Maggie offered to cook, even though lunch was often her busiest time of the day. Johnny Ambishon, Jimmy's brother, a master carpenter, said he would lead out in the necessary renovations of Pete's barn. Jimmy made plans to build what he called a 'jungle gym' adjacent to the barn, some new-fangled contraption he and his wife had seen on a trip to Philadelphia. He said it was the latest thing in the promotion of physical fitness among young people. Of course the project was supported by sundry others in the community, those with and without youngins. They asked Doc Tom Seer to chair the process, and called a meeting to discuss plans for making their hopes reality.

"The meeting came together easily enough. We all gathered at the Old Oak Tree (the new town hall). After a large potluck, we settled down to hear about it. After a review of all those who had committed their means in addition to their money to the project, Doc Seer rattled off what remained to be secured in terms of facility and how much it would cost out of pocket if the community were to pay for it. It wasn't as much as one might think. Then he turned his attention to the two most significant of our deficiencies. What we were still missing were a teacher and adequate textbooks.

"Now we had multiple options as it related to the textbooks. It would be a matter of patience and ingenuity, but we felt we would be able to gather enough older McGuffey Readers and the like for classroom use as well begin a little library. As for a teacher, we were at a loss. Though most everyone except for the very oldest in Freedom Haven could read and figure, the specter of being responsible for the learning of all the kids in the community intimidated just about everyone. Very few of us had been privileged to a formal education, and all of those who had were active in a career.

"The first suggestion made was that I or one of the other formally trained pastors might split our time between the classroom and the pulpit. That idea didn't last long. Once the pastors began to articulate what would have to be sacrificed in terms of clergy duties, the people took the suggestion off the table. I didn't mind exploring the idea, but it was a certainty that I could not teach full-time. Yet I wouldn't mind partnering with someone. Doc Seer suggested the community hold onto my offer as one possibility.

Next, someone suggested Marti's sister, Marie, who would have been perfect for the job except she was in the south teaching at a former plantation now owned by the Freedman Bureau. At that point someone suggested that we run an add in the Pittsburgh and Philadelphia newspapers, but with so much going toward getting the school off the ground, Doc Seer doubted we would be able to entice a stranger to relocate for what we might be able to afford to offer by way of salary. For a moment we were left with nothing.

"Then something occurred to me. 'We've been over-thinking our situation and ignoring what's right in front of us,' I said to the group of about a hundred assembled there that evening. 'Why don't we invite a teacher from the Society of Friends to partner with me as co-teacher?' It seemed most reasonable to me, and I thought I saw most heads nodding in consideration as I surveyed the crowd.

"However, from over my shoulder Ol'man Zebedee curtly responded, 'Absolutely not.'

"I have always loved the name 'Zebedee.' I like the way it rolls off the tongue. Mr. Ambishon's name was actually Zedekiah, but when he was a boy, his baby sister use to pronounce it 'Zebedee,' and it stuck. In my entire life I had never heard him referred to any differently.

"I didn't really understand his flat-out refusal so I inquired, 'Why?'

"'Because you can't trust white folks.'

"I didn't understand what he was saying. Yes they were white, but this was the Society of Friends, the abolitionists, we were talking about. 'What are you talking about?' I respectfully demanded. 'The Quakers have always been kind to us. They protected the secret of our existence for over a generation,' I said overlooking the impact of his words on the rest of those gathered.

"In response to the suspicion I knew his words were conjuring in all of us I continued, 'It's okay if we choose to live as the free people we are. Otherwise, why be free? Just to remain cloistered off to ourselves? Is that all our freedom is worth to us? Is it just for our own well-being? We're so busy thinking about what might benefit us. What about what might make us better neighbors? What about what might create different possibilities for our children and for the other children that surround this valley? There are poor whites, more than what the current Friend's school can accommodate, who live within a few miles of here who could benefit from a school as much, if not more, than we would. And if we partner with the Quakers we could draw them in.'

"Let them see to themselves," Zebedee countered.

"I should have known I was skating on very thin ice. Only a very few of my fellow parishioners appeared to be tracking with me now. The rest seemed visibly distressed by the alternative view given, yet I resisted the impulse to relent.

"'In fact,' I pressed thinking I could excite the town's collective imagination, "If we're going to do it, why not do something that's never been done before? Why not create a multi-racial, egalitarian board of trustees with equal representation from each of the races represented among the students? You know, something like 3 Blacks, 3 natives, 3 Orientals, 3 whites, wealthy and not, formally educated and not—equal numbers, equal power. No one group would hold sway. The setup would force all involved to learn to relate to each other as equals. It could establish a whole new model for cooperation between the races.

"An audible murmur rolled through the room. My fellow community members looked astonished. Doc Seer tried to brush it off as a 'fanciful notion,' and to turn the group's attention toward more 'sensible' suggestions, but it was out there now, and I wouldn't let them off the hook.

"'No, no, I'm serious. I've been thinking about something like this for a while now. Let me explain—' I began to say when Ol'man-Zebedee interrupted, 'That's quite enough. We know exactly what you are saying. Your grandfather would roll over in his grave to hear you talk like that.'

It was then that Pete Fisher took the floor. He and I were life-long aquaintances, but there had always been this intense competition between us. He had a commanding voice and loved to move a crowd. 'Hold on now preacher. You would have us to give our children over to white folks to be subjected to be subjected to whatever notions they have, latent or overt, of their 'natural' superiority? Abolitionist Quakers or no, this is a white man's country. Privilege is his right. And even if he has no desire to see Africans in chains, that does not mean he wants to see us enjoy and revel in what's his.'

"'What are you talking about?' I protested, 'These are not just any white folks, not just any abolitionists. These are the Quakers, our allies, remember? If we cannot risk with them, who might we ever risk with? Besides, there would be no "giving our children over" to anything. I would be right there every step of the way partnering with the other teacher.'

"'Yes, but with the way you're talking, how can we trust you would be there protecting our interests?' he quipped.

"'I wouldn't!' I fired back. 'I would be—' but before I could assure them of my goodwill to all—no matter black, red, yellow or white—I felt the sentiment in the room turn decidedly hostile. I had lost them.

"In the moment, I couldn't make sense of it. I now realize that what I was saying was so radical that it scared them to their very core. I'm sure they were thinking, 'Why ever give power to white folks?' The challenge was that they couldn't see the difference between giving power away and giving themselves over to the power of another. You see, power always accrues to the dominant culture or group in any situation and creates a predictable inequity, which in human affairs inevitably leads to injustice. Thus, it is incumbent upon the powerful to divest themselves of that power, if they are to correct the inequity and avoid the injustice. This, we know, was the example of Jesus.

"In Freedom Haven, unlike your average American town, the dominant group were Black folks—more specifically educated or wealthy Blacks. Because of the way the rest of America functioned, we were tempted to believe that power was a thing to be grasped tightly, for fear of becoming exploited. Giving power away was wholly absurd to most of us.

"Notwithstanding, giving power away is not a bad thing, if it is done in a environment of trust. First of all, to give power away assumes that it is yours to give and, consequently, yours to take back, if necessary. Secondly, inequity suffocates cooperation, limits possibilities and thwarts our ability to live at peace with one another long-term. Inequity is an unsustainable proposition that must be structurally overturned. If one continues to live in the same patterns or systems that have at any point proven hostile to herself or others, then one will perpetuate the same injustices. Thus is why I proposed we alter the pattern from clutching to giving and put in place a more equitable system—a prescribed board composition—to create a new power dynamic. This is something totally different than giving one's self or one's children over to the power of another.

"Well, things all slid downhill from there. I remember hearing someone in the crowd shout, 'What are you a white-folk-sympathizer or something?" 'Naw, he's a cracker-lover, that's what he is,' another answered. 'Don't they have enough that you would want to give them what little we do have?' came an almost plaintive cry. And then came an older voice that said as cold as stone, 'Other traitors have been hung for less.' And like a match to a pile of tinder, the flame was struck.

"'Hang him,' sparked the whisper. 'Hang him' came the hiss of a response. 'Hang him,' crackled the worst fears of everyone's heart. 'Hang him!' it sang as it burst into open flame.

"'What?' I muttered, as six or so strong arms grabbed me and hoisted me off of my feet. The blaze of frustration and fear spread. No one jumped to my defense. I'm almost certain that not everyone was committed to this act of ironic rage, but who in his or her right mind would try to resist the mob in their moment of madness?

"Did I forget to mention I was a Black man, and these were Black people? The native people and other colored folks among us had long grown accustom to having little voice, so they seldom came to community meetings. These were my people acting out a script that was not theirs in the writing, but had found it's way into their psyches through years of unprecedented abuse. Never mind the absence of such oppression in their immediate environment. It had still become a part of their rationalization of the world in general.

"The fire of emotion swept me out the door and into the street, onto a wagon, down the road a piece and up a small hill into a clearing near the river where we use to gather as a community for recreation and parties. There was a large tree there upon which was hung a rope that the children often used for swinging. Pete stopped his wagon, climbed over the seat and kicked me out the open back into the dirt. Dust and blood filled my mouth. Some the others who had followed quickly wrestled me from the ground as I coughed and spit and tried to make sense of my surroundings. It was country dark.

At this, Revelations quickly ducked down behind the lectern only to reappear with a noose around his neck and his hands apparently tied. A half earnest gasp went up from some in the crowd and a look of utter disgust fixed itself on the First Elder's face.

"Only after those carrying more torches caught up and a bonfire lit could I look into the faces of my fearful accusers. By then I had been stood up back up on Pete's wagon and a noose formed around my neck out of the children's swing. There they were: my friends, my loved ones, my fellow parishioners, the only home I had ever known. There they were: Matt and Marti, Jean and Bertha, Alfred, Eagle Joe, Johnny and Jimmy, their father, Andy, Doc, Delores, Gregory an a host of others—about 30 or 40 total, maybe more. All had fear in their eyes. Fear of change. Fear of past harms. Conjured fear. Fear of what might happen next.

"I don't remember much of what Pete Fisher was saying standing on the podium of his wagon leaning on his rifle beside me speaking down at those gathered. I was too drunk with the surrealness of it all. (Pete, his brother Andy, Jimmy, Johnny and I had all grown up together.) More than likely Peter was laying out the case for why my type of 'disloyalty' could not be tolerated. (Wasn't it Pete who had dived into the river during flood season, when we were in our early teens to save Jimmy from being swept under?) For the sake of our children… for the sake of preserving all that was sacred and safe about Freedom Haven, the community had to be purged of such a 'divisive' element. And with that, he moved toward the front of the wagon to drive it out from under me. But as he moved someone shouted from the shadows (I did not catch the voice, but I will always be grateful to whomever it was), 'Doesn't he get to say last words?'

"Pete paused in thought for a moment. Then said, 'Why certainly,' relishing the de facto authority that had accrued to him in this of all moments, 'Let's hear what parting words he has to say.'

"Hush enveloped the crowd. In the brief seconds of that eternal pause, I felt the chill of the night air for the first time; I heard the rhythmic screech of country crickets; I tasted the smoke of the blazing bonfire embers; I smelled the intermittent wafting of early honeysuckle in the breeze; I sensed the rising flood of the river. And as I stood before these my people, it came to me how very much like the crucifixion this moment must have been. Then it dawned on me that the crucifixion was very much an ol' fashion lynching. I have never felt closer to God than at that moment.

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble…
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

"It was a glorious and frightful thing. I stood there wondering what to say in my final moments. I wanted to speak to their hearts, not their heads. 'What might reverberate in them long after I was gone?' I asked myself.

"Then something came to me. 'I hope you don't mind if I share one final Word with you since I won't be here on Sunday morning. I am reminded in this moment of the story of a fig tree. Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem according to Mark's gospel in possible anticipation of the Passion. On the way from Bethany to the holy city, he and his disciples got hungry, and seeing a fig tree whose leaves were showing early, ran over to it to partake of its fruit. To their dismay, the gorgeous green tree was empty. Not one fig to be found. And in response to its uselessness—as if the tree owed him something—Jesus pronounced the shortest blessing over a meal, or lack there of, in his life. "God, damn it!" he says in disgust.

Some in the crowd winced at the audacity of those words.

"'Get to the point, Reverend,' Pete not so gently urged with the butt of his riffle. 'Let him speak!' someone responded, and the crowd seemed to be in agreement. So Peter backed off.

"'He continues on into the city and into the temple where, in ironic repetition to his uncommon display of vehemence along the way, he starts turning over tables and causing a stampede, a riot in reaction to the injustice he finds there. He just could not bear the sight of moneychangers cheating peasants in converting their Roman coins, which were not permitted in the temple, into Jewish coin, which did not bear the image of Caesar. He could not stand to witness merchants baiting two days' wages from subsistence farmers for a pair of spotless turtledoves that were then switched for birds that were blemished while the buyer was settling his account. Jesus could no longer abide seeing priests denying those same farmers God's forgiveness because they were found guilty of bringing blemished sacrifices, which meant they would have to pay a penalty of 40 days wages in order to come again before the Lord. Jesus knew that the priest were not only the adjudicators of debt to God but also of debts owed to the wealthy landowners on whose land these sharecroppers farmed. Thus, many acts of denied forgiveness were simply attempts for priest to enrich themselves through the crooked financial arrangements they had with their moneychanger, merchant and wealthy landowner accomplices.'

"'As he had done with the fig tree, Jesus rejected the self-serving nature of the temple system. He cleaned house with a proclamation from the prophet Isaiah, "'My house shall be called a house of worship for all nations,' not a den of thieves!" And for at least that day, the temple in Jerusalem was a place where all could benefit from the grace and goodness of God.'

"'On the way back home that afternoon, Jesus and his disciples came across that fig tree from the previous encounter, or should I say what was left of it. There was only left a shriveled trunk, scarred almost beyond recognition. It astonished the men traveling with Jesus, for they had not expected it. And when they asked what had happened, Jesus, as he was apt to do, seemed to answer a different question.'

"'He said, "Have faith in God. For with faith, you can tell this mountain to get up and find its way to the bottom of the sea, and it will. And also be sure to forgive, for your Father in heaven has forgiven you much. That is the only way to be sure that he will hear you."'

"'Now I don't know about you, but to hear a pronouncement about faith and forgiveness in response to the question, "What happened?" would be very confusing to me, very confusing indeed, and it has been. Was Jesus asking his disciples to begin reorganizing the topography of Palestine by casting mountain and mole-hill, tree and bush this way and that? Me thinks not. But what metaphoric mountains was he looking to move?

"'It is only in this moment that this scripture begins to make an inkling of sense to me. You see, what was happening in Jerusalem at the temple was for most intents and purposes a crisis of faith. Yes, the temple system had become corrupt, but I do not believe it had done so out of complete contrariness to God. Much of it was more than likely certain priest feeling that if they were just a little more exacting, a little more pure, a little more discerning about who was allowed in and who was kept out, then maybe God would finally be pleased and deliver Jerusalem from Roman occupation. Other priests groaning under the weight of oppression themselves, seeing the temple deteriorating and the things of God despised, were possibly trying to generate just a little more revenue to keep the house and ways of God as they understood them from falling into absolute disrepair. Of course there were those who were just seeking their own benefit at the expense and exclusion of others, but not everybody was this way. For most I believe it was a crisis of faith. The just couldn't see what God was doing or seeking to inspire.'

"'Faith is the eyes to see and hands to create new possibilities beyond what already is, and that's what the priests in Jerusalem were missing. It is what Jesus traveled through the countryside giving people when he would say, "The kingdom of God is at hand. It is in your mist." And in Jerusalem he also wanted to awaken the same new possibilities. "My house shall be a house of worship for all people," but moving the impediments to this divine hope becoming reality would be like moving a mountain. And where might one find faith that could move mountains?'

For verily I say unto you, scripture records, That whosoever shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; and shall not doubt in his heart, but shall believe that those things which he saith shall come to pass; he shall have whatsoever he saith. Therefore I say unto you, What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.

"'And where on earth does one find faith that can move mountains? Well, it's all about where you look. The biggest faith can often be found in the smallest acts, 'cause faith is nothing until enacted. So Jesus pairs this big, complicated idea of faith with the simplest of acts: forgiveness.'

And when ye stand praying, forgive, if ye have ought against any, Jesus said, that your Father also which is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses.

"'Forgiveness is an act of grace. Grace is the act of giving—as in forgiving—more than one can ever expect in return. God forgives us and invites us to forgive each other, and somehow in the process of joining God in this seemingly small act of giving more than we're looking to receive—miracle or miracles—in faith our eyes are opened and our hands strengthened to see and create new possibilities for the good of not self, but others. On the other hand, choosing not to give to others in appreciation of all God has given you preempts new possibilities and, according to Jesus, eventually ends up cutting you off from God's life-giving grace to you. And this is much of what Jesus saw happening in the temple system; hence the physical parable of the fig tree.'

"'So Jesus' answer to Peter's question about what happened to that ol' fig tree was that it was real good at soaking up all the nutrients in its soil for its lush, green, pretty leaves, but that was completely for its own benefit. You all know that fig trees don't usually show their leaves until their fruit is ripe for the picking. Ripe fruit would have been for the benefit of others. Instead this ol' tree—so fittingly located beside the main road leading from Bethany to Jerusalem—had hoarded to itself the nutrients God had provided, and when strangers, neighbors, travelers, anyone in need of sustenance happened by in hopes of food to fill their empty, churning, achy stomachs, there was none.'

So I leave you with this:

Woe unto thee,
If you like that fig tree,
Show only leaves and no fruit to eat.
For always indeed
Others will need
And yours is the grace to feed them.

"Now that's absolutely enough, Pastor St. Common! Enough! Do you think us too thick to know what you're saying? I will not have you attempting to chastise this congregation any further. You're the one in the wrong! You’re the one who tried to bring sin into our mist," blustered the First Elder who had been sitting on the pulpit patting his foot impatiently throughout Revelations farewell sermon. "If I had had my way we would have thrown you out on your ear the moment—"

"Now wait a minute, young man," interrupted Deacon Ezekiel Jenkins (also on the rostrum), one of the oldest members of the church who had held office for almost 60 years. "When I was a boy, my daddy, whose name happened to be Zedekiah," he said with a smile and a nod at Rev. St Common, "couldn't read, but he had nonetheless memorized long passages of scripture. His favorite passage—"

"Sit down Deacon Jenkins. We have no more time for stories," announced First Elder wrenching control back. "It's time for you to go, Pastor St. Common. No more fanfare. It was your own doing. Good-bye." Then directing his attention toward two deacons hovering close by like Secret Service, he motioned, "Gentleman…"

The men escorted Revelations off the pulpit. He offered no resistance. He marched down the stairs and on out the door.

There were those, including Deacon Jenkins, who made their way out the church behind him to say good-bye. There were those confused and saddened and hurt by the whole sorted affair. There were even some who stood and clapped in solidarity with him. But what was done, was done. Rev. Sentinel "Sent" St. Common was no longer pastor of the Ralph David Abernathy All Kindreds Cathedral.

While chatting outside, amid good-byes and well wishes, Revelations asked what it was that Deacon Jenkins had been trying to tell about his father.

"Simply that what you had said reminded me of his favorite scripture, Revelation chapter 22 verse 2. Something about a tree growing up from both sides of the River of Life in the earth made new, it bearing fruit and it's leaves being 'for the healing of the nations.' I believe that's who I, even at my old age, am supposed to be in the world, and I owe that realization to you."

"Thank you, elder. That means more to me than I could ever say."

"Where will you go?" someone else asked.

"I don't know," Revelations smiled, "but know that this is only the beginning of the adventure, not the end."

"Bigger Than Us"--lyric

Stretch the branches
Let 'em taste the fruit
It heals the nations
Nurtures what's true
Neighbors make
your nest in here
No more enemies,
no more fears—mmmm!

Embrace as friends
Those we once shunned
Get behind
Good being done
Dare to dream
Of ways to live just
That are worthy
of our God

It's bigger than us… (open your eyes to see)
It's more than us right here
It's bigger than us…(the kingdom is at hand)
Are you a believer?

Taste and see
The future's near
No more reason for guns
No more fears
Former things
Are dead and gone
Won't ignore,
But right the wrongs

Wage a peace
That won't abide war
Cultivate
The strength to endure
Grant the space
For those once oppressed
To for themselves
Judge what's best

It's bigger than us… (open your eyes to see)
It's more than us right here
It's bigger than us…(the kingdom is at hand)
Calling all believers

Audio of "Beautiful Anyway"

I've divided it into 3 parts:
Segment 1 (13 min; 15 MB), featuring "Anyway" by Nichole Nordeman from her Wide-eyed cd as invocation at the worship gathering where this story is told.
Segment 2 (12 min; 14 MB)
Segment 3 (18 min; 21 MB), featuring "Oh Lord Your Love" by Caedmon's Call from their In The Company Of Angels: A Call To Worship cd as benediction.

Footprints... A Brand New Dance

One night I had a dream. It was a strange dream because although I was in it, I could at the same time see myself and Jesus walking down an uncertain road leading just over the horizon. As I stood astonished, looking at myself, I noticed that I looked winded as I walked along, barely catching my breath. Curious as to why, I took my eyes off the walkers and peered back down the way from whence they had come.

The sight that met my eyes is quite difficult to describe. From where I stood the ground dropped back steep, down a jagged path. The drop was so great and sheer that it made my stomach queasy just looking. I staggered, stumbled and would have fallen if my guide had not reached out to steady me.

I gained my composure and looked closer at the path Jesus and I had taken. The ground was loose like gravel, and I wondered how one could have kept his footing. Not to mention there were mud puddles and brier patches along the way and low hanging limbs that feign reached out to offer a hand but looked as if they would snap under the slightest weight. The ground was so moist I could see the footprints we had left along our journey. For most of the way Jesus’ footprints went along steady, sure, consistent (I could tell they were His by their size). Mine, on the other hand, zigzagged, stopped, back-peddled and even turned around on occasion.

As we went along my ability to follow His lead appeared to improve, which was a good thing because it was just about then that the path narrowed and the road steepened. To add to the perils of our path the rocks perched high above seemed to rain down sporadically. For a while I could barely discern my footsteps because they overlay His. Where He stepped, I stepped in sync on up the mountain, until it seemed the road grew most treacherous at which point it appeared that my steps were all over the place. There were starts and stops and circles and deep gashes every which way in the soft earth. I wondered, "What could I have been doing?"

It was then that I turned to my guide to satisfy my wonder. “What on earth happened?” I asked. “We were getting along pretty well—I was growing in Him, as well I should—then it looks like I lost my mind. And it looks as if I would have killed us both if He hadn’t regained control.”

My Guide looked at me and said, “Don’t be deceived by what your eyes think they see or what your head thinks it knows about the way our journey should unfold. As long as I am with you, I am always in control. Speak to your heart; it knows the truth. Did ever you desire anything other than to walk with me? Then don’t think it strange that sometimes the Way leads off the usual path. What happened, you ask, when our steps seem uncertain? It was there... we DANCED!”



It Came Upon A Mid-Day Clear

Once for Christmas, while most churches chose to focus on the manger-birth, the since defrocked Rev. Sentinel St. Common, now better known as Revelations, chose instead to focus on the untimely death of Jesus. Beginning with a video reenactment of the crucifixion, the camera catches a glimpse of the different groups standing at the foot of the cross just before lingering on muted scenes of Jesus hanging there in ever increasing pain. From somewhere out of view, Revelations' voice narrates the moment.

"His was a fate not uncommon for the would-be revolutionaries of his day. His was a cross upon which undoubtedly countless other so-called Messiahs had hung. Nonetheless, his followers had believed that this time would be different—that he was truly the Messiah, the Anointed One, sent from God to deliver Jewish people and to usher in an irrevocable transfer of power. On the other hand, his detractors had prayed for the day his blasphemous attempts to undermine the authority of God (as they understood it) would be brought to an end. For them, the day had come, and they were finally relieved. God would be pleased now, they thought. For the moment, the Romans did not care who he was, only that no one would be permitted to challenge Roman dominance, even if his only so-called crime were upsetting the peace.

"But these are not the only ones who watch with interest the scene that unfolds this day just outside Jerusalem at Golgotha. There are those who move about unseen by human eyes. They are not flesh and blood, but principalities, powers, rulers in high places, emissaries of disparate kingdoms. They share not the narcissistic concerns of either Jew or Gentile. Theirs is an epic struggle, graver and grander than most can imagine. They are opponents in the great clash between good and evil, light and void, life and anti-life. Yet in this seminal moment the two camps seem to wrestle toward parallel opposites, rather than colliding purposes.

"In an act of appalling self-destruction humanity had allied itself with a bent and sinister dominion, severing ties with God, the source of light and life. Yet by infiltrating humanity in the person of Jesus, God had re-established a means through which all who chose could partake in life once again. And by embracing through Jesus the worse that sinfulness could lead men to do, God seemed intent on extending his grace even to the nether regions of humanity’s depravity, thereby making new life available to all, no matter their condition.

"On the other hand the forces of darkness seem content only to mock, pervert, or frustrate God’s efforts. Sure, there they are, prompting the worst from their human allies, but it’s in a way that almost seems to abed inadvertently God’s purposes. Even now they stand by smirking in amusement at the demise of Jesus as if unaware of God’s ultimate plan. But as it was spoken by the prophet Isaiah long before, 'For what they were not told, they will see, and what they have not heard, they will [finally begin to] understand.'"

At this point sound for the video comes up again, and listeners hear Jesus cry out in complete anguish, "Abba, Abba, why have you abandoned me?"

"My son, I know you cannot hear me in this moment. You cannot see the hope just on the horizon. Still you call my name, hoping against hope that I hear you, that I care, that my intentions can be trusted. How I wish I could comfort you. But how could you receive it? How I wish I could remind you of my unfailing love. But, in this moment, how could you believe it?

From this point on in the narration, the images on the screen shift to mirror the memories to which the Father alludes.

"I know, in your anguish, it seems so long ago when your devotion caused realities of a future with no sorrow, sickness or separation to explode into the present. With every miracle, my dreams for humanity—dreams I've had since the very beginning—became more apparent. How I wish that in this moment you would be reminded of those glimpses of my kingdom. It is nearer than it's ever been.

"It was not that long ago when I satisfied your need for companionship by leading you to those you've since come to hold so dear—Peter, James, John, Mary, Martha, Lazarus and the rest. They longed for the kingdom of which you dreamed and taught, even though they have yet to truly understand it. Still they've caught the vision and are willing to follow in your way as it unfolds for them. It is for the love of them that your journey has led to this. And it is the love of them that will bring all to its rightful end.

"Son, if only you would remember. It was not that long ago that you began to respond to my call upon your life and had to grapple with how that would change your familial accountabilities. You were not always skilled. Your timing and inability to explain yourself were a source of pain to many. You had to learn from me even as you learned to work with wood under Joseph's strict tutelage and learned obedience to virtue under Mary's watchful eye. You learned from them both as well as from many others. And I was there just out in front of you each step of the way, calling, coaxing you into the future I had prepared for you.

"No part of your experience has been for naught. It has all served to equip you for the plans I have for you in the days yet to come. Every act of cruelty you've witnessed. Every sorrow you've ever known. Every moment of loneliness you've ever endured. Every encouraging word you've received. Every tear you've shed. Even in your youth. Every game of tag. Every scraped knee. Every fight. The inescapable shame of growing up in Nazareth. The childhood heartache of having to leave Egypt and all your earliest friends to return to Galilee. The destabilization of having to flee to Egypt in the first place. It has all worked together for the good. If only you would remember, then you would be assured of my good intentions, even in the mist of your torment.

"Remember now, my son, your mother's stories. The story of the Arabs who followed a star from their home in the East bearing gifts to celebrate your birth. Remember the story of Simeon and Anna who understood your destiny even before Mary did and prophesied of it to her at your consecration when you were but a month and a half old. Remember also the story of the Bethlehem shepherds who visited you on the night of your birth with their tale of angelic hosts and heavenly songs and the night sky lighting up as if it were day. Remember even the story of your mother and father seeking shelter in a barn that night just to have a soft, safe place to deliver you. Mary's stories would remind you of just how significant this moment you find yourself in will prove. And if you would dare to listen, you would hear her praying over you now, even as she did that first night in Bethlehem, praying of promises she has yet to fully understand, praying of promises that are only beginning to be fulfilled. The story neither begins nor ends here."

At which point, the Jesus on the screen shutters and dies.

"So sleep now, my son. For in the morning when you awake, we will be that much closer to full reconciliation."

Walking out of service that day one of the congregation was overheard saying, "What was that? A Christmas service or Easter?"