The Sacrifice

He entered the sanctuary slowly, cautiously- as if afraid his very presence might cause some violent reaction.  The great space was empty except the many seats, a stage with many instruments and a speakers podium, and before the stage a large darkly stained wooden table carved with the words 'Do this in remembrance of me.'

Slowly, reverently, he walked with his head lowered toward the front carrying a box.  He was speaking aloud lowly as he moved, more crying than words.  Clutching the box, he reached the table and opened it to remove two small white doves.  He placed the birds, whose wings and feet were tied, on the table, and pulled from his coat a knife.

At this point I intervened, 

*Exactly, what are you doing!

I said from the sound booth in the back over the speaker system.

He ducked and looked around quickly dropping the knife to the floor.

"The... The... the required sacrifice..." He managed to gasp out.

*Haven't you heard I require mercy not sacrifice.  

"Yes... yes, I need mercy. So I bring sacrifice.  I must."

*Don't you know this sacrifice for your sins can never fully atone... No sacrifice you make can.

"I have been to many churches making sacrifices in search of forgiveness."

*I know and now here you are.

(Blood appearing on the communion tables of about a dozen local churches was all over the news.)

*You can never sacrifice enough to make yourself forgiven.

He stood for a long time, knife in hand. staring through the windows before him into the sky and slowly began raising the knife high above him pointed downward as if to plunge into himself.

*What do you think you're doing now?

"If there is no hope, I might as well end all of this."

*Don't you know the good news.  

"What... good news?"

*Jesus, the Son, died for you.  On a cross his blood was shed. He came from eternal glory to live the life you can never live and die the death you deserve.  He is your sacrifice already made.  

The knife lowered only slightly as he looked at a rough wooden cross set on the stage before him.

"If he died what hope is there."

*He was raised to eternal life as all who believe in him will be.  His death conquered sin once and for all, his rising to new life conquered death as well.

"I want to believe."

*Then ask.

"God help me to believe in Jesus your Son, help me to understand what this sacrifice means for me, forgive me by his blood." 

The knife dropped out of his hand and he fell to his knees crying.

I walked up front and introduced myself and then we prayed together prayers of joy and tears.

He said, "I just spoke to God,"

stopping to laugh he finished,"not the one that sounds like you."  

Then he said, "Jesus is speaking to me now."

He insisted we release the doves, walking outside we used the knife to cut the bands holding their feet and wings.  They flew into the bright blue sky as we smiled.  My new friend, my new brother in Christ, turned and said, "We are free!"

more than they can dream

Waking up this morning, one phrase reverberates here in my heart and soul, "more than they can dream."

So now I'm left to wonder where did this phrase drop into me from, because it is not my own.  In fact, after now looking it up, it appears to be a Winston Churchill quote that has lain for several months from a recent book on a quick read.  (Gandhian Approach to Development and Social Work, By K. D. Gangrade; p. 40)

The quote goes, "...if the human race wishes to have a prolonged and indefinite period of material prosperity, they have only to behave in a peaceful and helpful way toward one another and science will do all they wish and more than they can dream."  

I believe in more than science, but above all I believe in making peace, for by this are we known as children of God. (Matthew 5:9)  In peace we do find prosperity and more, as we properly use whatever resources of time, energy and money that we have been provided in a harmonious fashion rather than wasting them in struggle. Elsewise, the power of the individual is diminished and never fully realized outside the combined expansion into vital relationship.  (synergism, 1+1=3, Together We Achieve More, sum of the parts is greater than the whole, etc.)

Regardless of any perceived:

* struggles of health- physical or mental,

* lack of resources- finances or time,

* personal or personality differences, 

* individual or group failures (past wrongs)

* or belief about intent or level of trust.

Each and every person we serve and serve with - every single one of them and ourselves could have 'more than they can dream.'  Yet somehow over thousands of years of human history we continue to fail.  Throughout our lives we continue to fail.  Everyday I fail.  We are not our answer.

Graciously, through Christ- God has provided peace.  I would never dream that as a failed human being any truly righteous holy God would have concern for me - or if God did, that it would be love and compassion rather than judgement as I have deserved.  Yet, the good news is just that - Jesus Christ, God in the flesh, lived the life I can never live and died the death I deserve to be raised to everlasting life, as I will be because the Holy Spirit has made belief in my heart possible.

In this, hearts and minds are changed.  Peace is found.  First with God, perhaps with ourselves, and maybe then with each other.

Here is glory to God.  Why would anyone here waste a single breath otherwise, except in that pursuit and declaration?  We are here for that purpose alone.

Thus I believe and pray about myself and the heart of each person I serve and serve with.  I believe in the power of the Holy Spirit and Gospel of Jesus Christ to change hearts and lives for the Glory of God.

HaTechiya L'Shkhol

Missingaries among the leaves, watching winds carry away more than the piles can hold.  Swept away, riding aloft into the sky.  Believed trailing after the unfortunate few forsaken.  Lifted by the heat and stretching toward heaven's hold screaming out 'piles are for burning.' Finding forever for having been lost.

***

Out into the cold dark world, away from the comforts of home she traveled one day.  Would he ever understand? He reminded himself, fathers too often choose not to.  So that he might, he went looking for her soul among the ashes spread on the street by her friends, by her love.  He found himself, living in the shadow of her light- mourning the loss of all reason.

"Mr. Meir" the voice called softly, "Eran.  Wake up."  He rolled over and peered directly into the beam pouring down on him from the open doorway, leaning his head into the darkness cast by the figure before him.  "What time is it Aeolus?" he managed to scratch out from his dry throat.  "Nearly 11," the woman sang back in her richly sweet voice, "nearly, nearly... We almost..." her song fell short not for forgetting, but remembering.  

"It's ok Mrs. Porter, I love the song as much as I loved her," he said with compassion enough for everyone, "As much as I love them all."  

He wondered if there were ever enough tears.

***

Mahal

A child of privilege, Mahal Gadal grew up wanting for nothing. Even though he died the same way, wanting for nothing- he was a child of the wind in his last days.  Is fifteen years enough life- is forty, what ever is?

"It's ok Mama Porter." Mahal insisted.  She looked up at the skeleton before her trying not to show her any of his sadness, "Don't call me Mama," she grunted.

He laughed a loud hard ha and began coughing uncontrollably.  Bent over from the pain and force of the wind, he heaved and sputtered.  "Stay one more night."  She pleaded as he held a hand aloft for her to stay back.

Eran walked into the room wiping the sleep from his eyes.  "Gadal. Gadal. Mahal Gadal!" he proclaimed as if in celebration, clapping his hands once and holding them aloft as if for a hug but more for prayer. Instead, he stood staring at the ceiling while the teenager continued to cough and wheeze.  Finally,  he said, "Son, it's not time yet!  You owe us ten minutes."

"Don't call me..." Gadal whispered forth looking up, "...son."  Then the boy smiled, coughed a clearing cough and straightening  himself up to look Eran in the eyes.  "Papa Meir." he stopped, "Let me call you papa just for those ten minutes."  

Eran choked back the tears welling within the depths of his being to say, "You needn't go." But he knew the boy's answer before he said it, "I am a child of the wind."  They embraced and the sorrow within the man poured forth as he realized this one would soon be scattered as well.

"I made tea, hot hot Earl Gray with honey," Aeolus whispered, "Let's sit down."

As the ginger spice and sickening sweet clashed in his mouth, Eran thought, 'if only.'  If only Mahal hadn't cancer, he might live longer.  If only his parents hadn't been on that particular bus on that particular day when a bomber got on too, then they might be alive and he might have been treated.   If only someone, anyone, him had taken this boy in.  If only...

If only Yarah never left, she might still be at home.  He missed his daughter and now he knew he'd miss this new son.  Life isn't lived in 'if only' he thought, as he whispered aloud, "...only ifs." He received an assuring nod from Mahal.

Eran looked across the table at Mrs. Porter, a woman he'd known for only three weeks.  A woman he now knew more than anyone and she smiled at him.  He looked back at Mahal and grasping for the right words found some that would suffice, "Yarah hated Earl Gray Tea."

"Me too Papa," Mahal proclaimed with glee. Mama Aeolus frowned only to keep up the play. "It tastes like dog pee," he went on.  "Have you tasted dog pee!" the old man responded.  "Yes! Yes! She hated that part too Papa! She said you always said that and got mad when I did it too." Mahal laughed and then looked all too seriously toward the father.

"Do you think we'll be together?" the boy asked.  Eran looked into the deep grey eyes of the corpse before him and prayed, "May you always be."  With that the boy stood to his feet and the round old woman sternly crossed her arms.  "Goodbye Mama." - "Don't call me... Goodbye..." she jumped to her feet proclaiming in tears, "...son!"  She grappled his neck and he immediately began to pry at her hands.

As Mahal stepped to the door, he looked back at the pair.  "Eran," it was the first he had called him by his name the man thought, he nodded back. "Do you still believe..." the young man wondered.  Answering for himself as much as the others the father said, "I have too, it's an only if."

The boy looked down for a moment thinking and then smiled nodding, "You're right Eran. God and our Christ are only ifs... I believe."  looking up deep into the man's eyes, "Just now I truly believe as you do... As she did."

Mahal stepped out of the little house set awkwardly against the urban night and strolled off into the darkness.  His body was found in the morning near an outside cafe in midtown just ten blocks away.  They went together to claim him, scattering his ashes on the winds of the next night among his friends.  There they found more only ifs.

Kippo (no ma Ningen)

Kippo (no ma Ningen)

Good News (for Man)

The long darkness cast by Sal Mavet entered the room before his presence was known.  He appeared suddenly at the hospital room door then knocking quickly as he glided toward his patient.   Looking the old man up and down and then deep in the eyes, he bowed ever slightly before grimly speaking, "Mr. Ningen, your time in this life is very short."  The young granddaughter at his bedside sobbed and grabbed her mother's hand and the mother gasped loudly begging through tears, "Doctor, is there nothing that can be done."  

Reaching across the bed and over the aged Koshi Ningen, Mavet put his hand on Kokai's shoulder to comfort her.  He spoke softly- almost inaudibly, "I can only help him on his way."  She cried now too.

Koshi raised a withered hand between them angrily demanding, "Leave us alone."  Yet, he was looking at his daughter and granddaughter in such a way that it was clear he was talking to them.  "Get out.  Now!" He screamed aloud pointing at the door.  So Kokai hurriedly left taking Keppaku along with her, closing the door behind them.  It was the last old Ningen would ever be with them.

"I remember you." Ningen looked up at Mavet.  Smiling a little he responded, "From where?"  Ningen grimaced, "You were there when my wife died."  Mavet smiled wider, "Yes, Koshi that's right I remember your Koishi very well."

Ningen sat up a bit and pointed a long boney finger back at the figure before him, "You were there when my father died."  Mavet chuckled at the old man, "When was that Koshi?" Laying back Ningen scratched his bald head, "When I was six, during the war when he was poisoned with radiation from the American bombs."  Now Mavet laughed aloud, "Koshi, you're nearly 70..."  - "Yet you were there!" the dying man said as a matter of fact.  Mavet's smile faded only slightly.

For a moment seemingly like a window into eternity neither spoke.  Finally, taking his final few breaths and closing his eyes slightly he said, "Where were you when my mother died?"  Knowing the end was near and wanting to avoid difficulties, Mavet said, "Your Daifu suffered painfully to his death Koshi, not like you."  The old man opened his eyes wide proclaiming, "I knew it!  Why did he have to go so soon!  It left my mother broken."  

Mavet smiled that grim smile again, "You are all broken from your birth, from the moment your Botai brought you into this world you would die Koshi."  Ningen sat up again. "So where were you when she died Shinigami."  Stiffening up as if surprised Mavet pursed his lips, "She was not mine to claim, she belonged to Jotai Tentei."  This made Ningen smile as he gasped, "Well then, let's not waste any more time.  Get it over with then."

"Koshi, I'm only here to see you on your way." Mavet assured the man, "Your time cannot be slowed or sped up, but this life for you is soon to end."

Ningen squinted slightly at Mavet, "You know you're not as scary as most think."  Mavet frowned, "I'm nothing to be feared." He paused and leaned in slightly toward the man's ear, "What comes after..." He turned looking out and stretching forth a reddish hand pointing his sharpened nails toward eternity and began chuckling a fearful laugh as if to comfort even himself.

The man coughed and sputtered with frustration, "I don't believe in all of that."  Shaking his head and flailing his arms,"My mother tried to scare me with stories of the flames in Tenbatsu and Akuma's torments among the Daten-shi. She would tell me I could avoid it by trusting in..."  Mavet hissed, turning and holding his dark claw over the man's mouth as if to prevent the words.  "That's why I'm here Koshi and not... him."

Only when he removed it slowly did Ningen realize there was one even death feared. He wondered if his Mother's stories of Kamidesu Kyusheishu, God become man, could be true.  Botai spent hours telling young Koshi stories of the miracle birth brought by the Seirei upon a young girl, the god-man on earth doing miracles among his creation, and finally being killed by those he came to save through crucifixion.  Botai said they killed him for claiming his true nature as one with Jotai Tentei.  She told him how Kamidesu's body was placed in a grave by his followers, but on the third day it was gone and he appeared alive to many of them even ascending into a glorious place with Jotai Tentei.  Botai told her son he only needed to believe in the Kyusheishu, to trust him and he would deliver Koshi from death and Tenbatsu into Jotai Tentei's great presence for all eternity.

She had always said it was never to late, not until... "Death comes," Mavet whispered.  With that Ningen released his last breath and a great blue field of energy came forth from his body.  Mavet glowed growing younger by many years.  "Goodbye Koshi. I shall be with you in Tenbatsu soon enough."

The door opened and a nurse of noticeable age walked in staring angrily at Mavet who said plainly, "Mr. Ningen is no longer here Nurse Memitim."  She glared at him and seem to moan, "I had hoped to assist you."  As he left looking back at the shell of the man in the bed he said, "This one was personal." He smiled at her assuringly, "There will be many, many more."

knowing nothing new now not never

initial inquiry inherently inhibited

failing foresight for forensic focus

subtly suggesting simplistic surety
seeking certain situational specifics

emphatic elementary explanation exists

nihilism inbreeds knowing pneumaticities

grasping grandiose gravitational gradients

convinced causative conclusion consistently

nothing naissances noministically enigmatic
sensing sum cedent circumstance sequentially

percipient prescience postulates past presence

expecting exceptional extremity exactly explicated

derivable determination defiantly definitely disposed

what we were was

whether which way works

where wills wield worldly wants

without wrestling weighty wringings

wildly wanting wisdom without wane

worthlessly worshipping whorefully

wrongly wandering when wealthy

winning wars with words worse

warrantlessly wishing weightily

witlessly wasting willfully

worthlessly writing

wilted worn wry

withdrawn writs

wondering why

we whither

Ruthless Lover

This ruthless lover
in pursuit of the prize
longing for true embrace with
one dead to love's advances

Loveless utterly fails
to describe heartless
unresponsiveness given
ceaseless caring caress

After all, alone inside, to hide
this darkness, tears must stay
as this jealous lover stands
holding me firmly, waiting

Then in a moment of greatest weakness
maybe of desire, longing for some touch
looking at these hands of this,
my lover, why do I notice so seldom

patiently, tenderly having always
held this struggling soul who
would otherwise just run away
into the arms of another lesser

this lover still waits to captivate my soul
in ways mere mortals merely marvel
I know, I've experienced before
why wait, why hesitate, my hate of me

this lover who loves
and would love me so,
my heart wilts because of,
for not being what I should be,

this lover gives, has given all for me
but what have I, so I withhold
this my ultimate rejection
the last thing I control

suddenly a hand grasps me firmly
turning me to face fully the blazing fury
of this lover's eyes and feel the truth
of my foolish game and sad lies

a thunderous voice echoes
throughout the night into forever
"It is finished." Oh, this great Master
our Lord, my Savior, Christ, the Almighty.

Jesus is a ruthless lover.

're-mind-ed'

Once I was wild eyed
unstoppable with passion
awakened at four AM
by dreams that played on
while my eyes where open
seeing what is meant to be
drives the very soul depths

But I forget and slip
whether the brokenness
of my body, or my mind
or my longing heart
is at fault for my many
failures matters not

the pain of each remains still
yet as a mere mortal man stood
on a stage of wood saying
what he was praying
for the long season
that had dried
and cracked
this being
I thought
yeah
sure
yet
I
knew
this God
he's talking to
this hope offered
this love given freely
this truth and life and Way
here inside me the Spirit stirs

Christ commands commitment
never have I left His hand, even...
especially, when I have tried myself
here, found condemned again as always

I remember;
pain, failures, wasted time without effort;
my pride, my arrogance, my hurts,
my temptations and desires, my fears
I own these too much and they own me much more

I remember;
the past, who I was and too often am;
the present, who I am and too often aren't;
the future, who I am supposed to be becoming... but, stop short for me, for myself.

I am suddenly 're-minded':
the most important thing in this world-
I don't matter as much as what Jesus has done and is doing in this world.

Christ reminds me:
He spoke this existence into being
knowing I'd be here typing these
words that so poorly capture
what redemption is about.

Christ reminds me:
There will be a time when pain
and hurt and frustration are no more
because He will stop their causes, but
for now sin and death are allowed... allowed to continue in this world... but that they should not continue in my life and relationship with Him.

Christ reminds me:
He has saved me from sin and death by His love and mercy alone, not by anything I have or will ever do, yet He calls me deeper to walk, to live, to exist in Him, in Him alone, by faith alone.

I look away from these many things toward Him, they seem to hurt much less now.

Christ reminds me:
He awoke me from death in the first place, He gave me that flaming passion to see a world of men who followed Him like they were meant to, who lead their families and their friends and their communities like they were meant to.

Christ reminds me, those wild eyes were for Him, that passion burned from His Spirit for His Glory... worship ensues and so it does again.

That man's amen wasn't in vain and neither will this moment at 4am be.

I haven't forgotten, nor have I remembered, Christ 're-minds' me.

a cool drink of water indeed
a fire for my soul as well
quenching my thirst
meant burning
me whole
leaving
only an
ember