As For Me and My Family . . .

As for Me and My Family
Karl Evans

Zechariah considered himself lucky. He was a priest of Israel. That was enough, but he was more. A holy man, a son in a family of priests. In the very personal way of his ancestors, Zechariah chose to live his life as a very public priest.

Everyone around watched as he put his faith and his beliefs into every motion and word. His friends and neighbors honored his calling. Any priest could and often did fail as a man. The honor was for his calling. The calling came from the Lord.

Zechariah spent his hours and his will helping others. He gathered around himself any who were willing to struggle seriously with life. Their own relationships with family and neighbors, with the temple and with the Lord were their focus.

Together they worked out details of their own faith in action. These faithful Jews tried to be carefully proper in religious practice. As do any who are called to help order this part of life, Zechariah worked hard to develop patterns and habits of faith in action.

The sacrifices and other rituals were in Zechariah’s keeping. Helping his family and his neighbors work out their relationships with the Creator was his life. It was the holiest of callings. The prayers, songs and readings from the scrolls of the faith were his tools. These pieces of literature made relationships with the Lord real in the hearts of the people.

The nation of Zechariah was the holiest of nations. His language was the holiest of languages. The sacred hope of Zechariah was to use himself and his tools completely. His task was to build the Kingdom of the Lord with those tools. He lived to lead the community to deeper relationship with the Lord of the Universe.

Zechariah and Elizabeth were very aware this. They were most comfortable with his sacred portion. He had within his soul the sense and the responsibility of sacred events. The timing and shaping of the most ordinary, important and beautiful human activities were in his care.

Many priests do not have this inner excitement of the soul. It arises from close contact with the Divine One. Some of the priests who seemed most public around the temple were especially tepid with their sacrificial touch. Priestly wannabes often passed ritual sensitivity off as some sort of softness or even lunacy. Spiritual sensitivity taking hold of one’s life is a universally beautiful event.

Sometimes Zechariah felt wonderful ecstasy when the High Priest entered the Holy of Holies. The only action – ever – in that room was the High Priest speaking the name of the Lord. This majestic act came only once each year. On the Day of Atonement. Knowing that was happening at that precise moment always gave Zechariah a bodily chill.

Sometimes Zechariah thrilled to the sacred chants of the temple priests. It was a high sacred moment when one of them approached the altar. The temple priest usually walked accompanied by two visiting priests. These men came from other parts of the world on pilgrimage to Jerusalem. In the holy city each tried to serve at the temple as an act of faith. Serving two times each year at the temple was the standard.

Together they approached the altar slowly and solemnly. Together they offered prayers as they lit little bits of incense. The incense burned slowly and quietly. As it glowed, the scent lifted the whole environment while Zechariah's heart pounded within him.

Sacred events were Zechariah's full calling in life. More than anything else in life he wanted more than to lift his life to the Lord. It was his way to serve through the rituals of the temple, synagogue and home.

His heart quickened at all such times. Zechariah always preferred to be in Jerusalem. Whether he lived his days out in Jerusalem or not, his soul was there. Sometimes he watched the rituals in person if he happened to be in Jerusalem at the Temple on his semiannual duty.

If Zechariah stayed home in Galilee, he was still a priest. He earned his living trading leather goods at the market. But even in the market place, he lived the temple rhythms. His heart knew the sacrifice and prayer times at the temple.

At these hours his mind's eye filled with the vision of the priests. Zechariah could see them going about their duties a hundred and fifty miles away.

He even warmed to the ancient readings from Ezekiel and Isaiah at the appointed time. These sacred words told of the work of the priests in Babylonian exile six hundred years earlier.

Even the work of the priests of the Babylonian religion was exciting to contemplate. The Babylonians had held the Hebrews captive two hundred years. They had their own gods.
Babylonian life centered around the Ziggurat and the great temples of the enslaving people. But these men and women remained faithful to their gods and to their calling. The Jews knew these priests must be honored and respected as faithful in their way. The calling to be a priest is high in every religion of earth. There is a unity of the priesthood, even across faith lines.

Zechariah's calling as a priest of the One God surpassed any nationalist patriotism. The thought of any faithful priestly action moved his soul to new life.

On one of his duty weeks in Jerusalem Zechariah held the privilege of attending to the temple priest of the day. The temple priest skillfully organized the evening prayer and incense offering. The priest asked Zechariah to lead the procession to the altar. This was both an honor and a personally dramatic moment.

Zechariah walked stately along the aisle. The path carried him between the rows of a couple hundred Jerusalem residents and visitors who had gathered for the daily ritual. The Galilean priest carried the incense box at arms’ length in front of him. Zechariah walked intently and steadily toward the alter. As he walked, he chanted the old call to worship. These stately words echo even today through the assemblies of God's people.

"Prepare the way of the Lord!"
"Prepare the way of the Lord!"

Now the three priests stood in deep reverence at the altar. This is yet the holiest place of the holiest people. The holiest words spoken carefully by the priest expressed the holiest thoughts of humankind.

Zechariah was to light the incense at the great altar. But the faithful man, lost in spiritual sensitivity before the altar, seemed unable to move. It was as though he were frozen in time and space.

The temple priest was prepared for this. The guild of priests knew the embarrassing possibility. They knew one day some priest from a far land might get stage fright and be unable to serve. When the priest sensed a frozen moment, he covered the clumsiness. Easily he stepped around the frozen priest. The priest took the match from the hand of Zechariah and touched the incense with it.

The patient priest could not know the fullness of the vision of the faithful Zechariah. Zechariah stood, eyes wide-open but unseeing. A brilliant vision came before him at the altar. This vision shaped his entire life in a quick ritual moment. Somehow he knew in this time that Elizabeth would bear a son. The son would be one for whom they had prayed in earnest hope. They knew God would answer.

Zechariah also knew his son’s name would be John. This would be a surprise, for John was not a name from his own family. His inability to speak now told him he would be mute from that day until the day John was born!

Zechariah was immediately lifted high by the vision. For nine months it didn't matter he couldn't speak. Elizabeth would have a son. That would have brought pleasure and excitement enough to the elderly couple. The greater thrill was that this son would be a holy priest, perhaps even the high priest!

Both Zechariah and Elizabeth were of the Levitic priestly line. That meant their son would have an opportunity to become the high priest of the nation. True, it was somewhat a political office. It was certainly the highest office in the world in the minds of these faithful lovers.

The most difficult condition for a high priest of the nation was met in the marriage of Zechariah and Elizabeth. The high priest had to be the son of a man and woman who were both of priestly families. This possibility alone would validate every part of their lives together. It would give sacred wings to their love!

The second condition for the high priest had to do with commitment. Many men who might be candidates were simply not willing to serve. The high priesthood had sunk to a low level now. The reign of Herod and the occupation by Rome had been hard on the priesthood.

Herod the Great, the alien king, had installed his own high priest. Rome recognized this man as the legitimate voice of the temple. They only wanted to pacify Herod. Recognition by the people as the only meaningful high priest meant extreme danger. It probably would bring certain death. Herod would tolerate no opposition. A high priest and his family must face this as a matter of ordinary life.

On the other hand, Herod could name any man as high priest. Then the priests and lay people of the Jews could and would reject him as legitimate. This would replace the spiritual realities of the temple with politics and rebellion. Zechariah and Elizabeth knew all this. Their faith moved them to go beyond the danger and support their son toward his calling.

The son was born, Zechariah called him "John."

"John?" Elizabeth and many friends of the family were puzzled. "Why have you chosen that name for your son? There is no one else in the family by that name. Have you lost your sense of reason? Is your tongue not working properly?"

Zechariah could only smile and answer "The Lord has told me his name should be `John'. That is all I know." From that day forward, Zechariah could speak again.

For the next twelve years, Zechariah and Elizabeth and the local rabbi, Simeon, schooled him well. Simeon taught John to read the scriptures of the ancient days. Elizabeth told him all they knew about the covenant between God and the people Israel. Zechariah talked through with him the matter of righteousness and holiness.

Zechariah and Elizabeth realized their special calling. Each day they spent hour after hour pouring through all the prophetic teachings about the Messiah.

What is most important, they knew the Messiah was yet to come. They talked as a family about what the Messiah would mean to Israel. They shared visions of the world after he did make his appearance.

The family talked about the Messiah also being a priest. They planned what the family and Israel must do to prepare for the coming of the Messiah. This conversation placed an additional strain on their lives, but it was a good strain. It helped them deal with the stress of living under the Herods and the Romans.

Israel as a nation must constantly prepare itself for the coming of the Messiah. Their son might be the one who would lead Israel in its preparation for redemption. If so, surely Zechariah and Elizabeth would have great responsibility. On their shoulders would rest preparation of their son for his life's work.

They raised their son to be at peace with God. Elizabeth said they should prepare the way of the Lord. They could do this by building into their family an ability to love. Their commitment must be to righteousness. Their call was to serve the Lord without reservation.

In the evenings the family talked of their faith. Young John began to form in his heart deeper feelings about preparation for the Messiah. The maturing youth began to see the radical nature of his call to be the voice of the Lord. He was called to serve without concern for the danger to his own life.

As the years passed, Zechariah often took John along on his duty weeks in Jerusalem. As his father before him, the boy sensed his calling. Young John always found himself caught up in one spectacular moment in the daily life of the temple. At this high sacred point the priest walked down the aisle of the Temple chanting:

"Prepare the way of the Lord!"
"Prepare the way of the Lord!"

John sometimes stood hidden deep in the crowd. At other times he was near enough to touch his father's hand. Often he could close his eyes, sensing nothing but the grace of the ritual. Now, instead of the priest singing, it was the sound of a majestic angel crying out:

"Prepare the way of the Lord!"
"Prepare the way of the Lord!"

Always the lessons of the faith ran through his heart in these words. These spoken moments of living faith were precious. They were stronger to him than all the reading from the scriptures. Reading and lifting the covenant required hours of concentration. Deep questions from the synagogue class stretched his mind. John took all this very seriously.

Then came the day they ordained John a priest. He was now a special man. Legally and in the eyes of the religion, he was set apart. He was not just an adult male. That ceremony had come three years earlier at his twelfth birthday. Today he is ordained as a priest in the nation Israel.

For John, fasting for the required thirty days before the ceremony was not bad. He had fasted earlier in his life. The strong young man was all right with the rigors of going without food. John rather enjoyed spending his fasting time in prayer and in meditation. The new priest was obsessed now with the events of this day. He knew his own responsibilities as a priest.

John had always looked ahead to the next few years. He would spend his time learning the rituals and practices of temple service. Then he would be ready to take his turn at the high place.

But in these early days of fasting and preparation, John had become aware of a very different plan for his life. This plan did not seem to come from within himself. He felt it came from his relationship with the Lord. It showed itself as a self awareness vision. The plan would take him in directions away from temple service and ceremonial purity.

John walked slowly to the cool tiled pool in the Essene community. His heart was comfortable here where his ordination was to take place. His warm eyes met his father’s. Zechariah was now a very old man, but his faith was warm.

John's ears – but not his heart – were hearing the tender prayer-psalms of the Essenes, the pious and faithful ones. These were prayers for purity and faithfulness and simplicity. They focused his mind and heart again on the old, old words of the temple chants.

Even in Zechariah’s late years his voice was strong and disciplined and clear. John stepped slowly into the cool waters of the pool. As he did, he heard his father's voice as if again ringing from the steps of the Temple.

"Prepare the way of the Lord!"
"Prepare the way of the Lord!"

Now the waters of the Pool of the Purification were feeling cool on his feet. Carefully the personal helpers among the priests and laity moved to him. They began to ritually strip him of his robes and his loin cloth. Pausing only for a simple prayer, John was aware at once of the Temple call to prepare the way of the Lord. With that in his heart, he plunged naked into the cool waters of the Pool of Purification.

The determined young John, a Man of the Lord, knelt on the bottom of the pool. A priest ran his hand over John's back and head to be certain the clear waters of the Pool of Purification covered it completely.

The waters came over his body and released him from the forces of gravity and from his own past. John felt himself lifted now. He was not aware whether he was buoyed by something ordinary or other worldly. It might be the physical buoyancy of his body in the waters, by the Spirit of the Lord, or by his own commitment. John knew full well his was a special role in the world. It was a role no one else could fill. Somehow the Lord would use the waters of this Pool of Purification. With them the Lord would release both John and the nation from the sins of the past.

Somehow within John there was a way of knowing sacred things. John knew he would not die until he had seen the Messiah, the Chosen One of the Lord. John would live to greet the One who would redeem the world.

John would see - perhaps even be a catalyst for - the making of the new relationship between the Lord and the People. Then this new way of living would last until the end of time.
John knew it was God's grace which redeems. He also knew it is a person’s responsibility to live the pure life after the redemption. More, it had been the grace of the Lord which had chosen John. He eagerly answered his own call. John was read for his own role. He could and would announce the coming of the Messiah to the world.

His Spirit now felt calmed by the waters of purification. John rose to come out. Here was the new man, baptized by water and purified by grace. He dried himself carefully in the sun. The boy-man who would be priest then wrapped the towel around himself. His mother had prepared a soft white cloth especially for this sacred event.

One of John's mentors among the priests of the Essenes led him to the cupboard where the scrolls of scripture were kept. These scrolls of the laws of Moses and of the Prophets were open to his choice.

John was surprised to feel his hand taken by his father. Zechariah gently squeezed it. Then with great determination he placed it gently on the scroll of the prophet Isaiah. He firmly but gently pressed the young hand against the document of hope and expectation. The Teacher of Righteousness served as leader of the Essene community. Now he repeated the words said over all priests at their ordination, even to this day.

"Take the authority to teach and to declare that which you find in the Scriptures. May the Lord defend you with righteous strength and heavenly grace."

Again the voices of the community around John rang with the old words. They were the sacred call heard in the temple and in the temple of John's heart.

"Prepare the way of the Lord."
"Prepare the way of the Lord."

Zechariah and Elizabeth spread John's robe around his shoulders. The parents held him in a family embrace for a moment. They kissed and shared huge tears.

As the three held each other, Elizabeth's mind wandered to the first days of her son's life. Those first painful days were filled with humbling awe at the new life. The mother both reveled in and dreaded the prospect of future threats and hurts. Even when she held him as an infant, there was a special quality about him.

John went to greet each spiritual brother or sister in the little Essene community. The young priest hugged each individually. As their faces touched, John heard only words of personal and community support.

As each held John for a moment, one could hear a little prayer and personal request for the new priest.

"Prepare the way of the Lord!"
"Prepare the way of the Lord!"

Then John returned for one last quietly ecstatic embrace with his parents. Now committed and ordained, the new priest stood for a moment alone. Then the would-be high priest of the nation Israel walked slowly off into the desert.

A Good War -- A Good Death

A Good War

Luke 8:22-25

Copyright: Karl Evans

"It’s not right, really. It just doesn’t work out. The prophets made their promises hundreds of years ago. The priests keep making promises today. They promise and promise. Nothing comes of them. It just isn’t right."

The other fishermen on the boat were used to this. They knew Delos well enough. They just let him go on. And on.

Rough weather was not uncommon on Lake Tiberias, as the Romans called it. The Jews called it the Sea of Galilee. But the name did not matter.

This lake was the livelihood, even the life, of the few thousands who lived on he shores. It controlled their lives in many ways. The economy was about fishing. The fresh water even supplied small gardens for the families. But it was not an easy life.

When the winds and rain came hard, they put a lot more pressure on people such as Delos. Sometimes it seemed to be more than he could handle. Delos seemed to flip out from the wind and rain and all the stress of his life. The others just let him talk. They could do nothing else.

"I have done nothing to deserve this. Oh, I have made my mistakes, sure enough. Nothing I have ever done should cause this." The sound of a bitter man mumbling to himself is always a scab on this world.

Delos made those around him very uneasy. They knew he was no direct danger to his neighbors and partners. Their problem was that they did not know how to help him, except by letting him talk to himself in their presence. Perhaps he could work past his grief and his struggle. They did not know what else to do.

They were also afraid of his bitter words. If those words should find their way to the Romans, they would invite trouble. These invaders would assume some manner of group revolt from the fishermen. They would crush the assumed revolt without question or remorse.

Delos’ faithfulness to his beloved Samantha, his son, the temple and even to the Romans themselves would count for nothing. A revolt must be crushed. Any revolt. Crushed, and crushed hard.

Delos raised his son alone. His beautiful wife died young, many years ago. These were hard years for Delos and his son, but they still went by too quickly. Too soon came the time for Delimon to look to the horizon for new life. Too soon came the time for Delos to begin to relax his hold on the next generation of the family. Too soon came the time for Delos to be alone in the world. He could only remember the good years with Samantha and Delimon.

Delimon quickly grew into a strong, mannerly, polite young man. Delos sometimes smiled privately at his handsome son. Delos could see the attraction between the son and the young women of the town. Delos enjoyed watching his son become the target of romantic notions.

Every girl around the lake, it seemed, watched him as he grew to manhood. His laughter and his obvious concern for those around him brought the attention he craved after the death of his mother.

Delos enjoyed having Delimon around, really. Supporting him was a lot of extra work at first. Caring for the household needs and guiding Delimon added hours to his day. He did not feel burdened for long, though.

He could see Samantha’s smile in Delimon’s eyes and face lines. His skin reminded Delos of her touch. His laughter was like hers, gentle and easy. Neighbors and strangers chose to be around Delimon. Delimon made good company for a lonely Delos who mourned the death of his wife through the rest of his life.

The pride of Delos' life grew to near-manhood. At fourteen, Delimon spent most of his time working and studying and growing. Young men and women have taken this pattern of personal development since time began.

The worldly Syrian capital of Damascus is a great arena for learning skill and grace. Living in Damascus was great training for one who had designs on a higher position in the world. Delimon learned to see himself as a ranking officer of the Roman Government. He saw himself as a leader of men, maybe in the military.

Delimon also thought he might build a business, an international import-export system. He saw the potential for profit in the trading he witnessed along the great caravan routes. He listened and watched the people around him. He learned about other peoples on the far sides of the earth. Soldiers and traders and diplomats of Spain and Egypt and India covered Damascus. These travelers were as much parts of his life as were the Greek alphabet and the Roman Legions.

Even with this in his mind, though, Delimon stayed close to his father. From Damascus, Delimon began to travel around the region. He could always be home in a few days. Sometimes he could catch a ride on a passing chariot, or help with a caravan in return for a horseback or camelback ride. Sometimes they could only send letters to each other.
As the young man grew, Delos could only offer some small advice to his son. "Pay attention to the caravans. Watch what sells and what doesn’t."

Sometimes Delos could only sit and listen to the new generation. Delimon spoke with ease and wonder at all he had seen. The market place and the government halls teemed with life every day.

Finally it was time for Delimon to serve his six years in the Roman Legion. The army of Syria enforced Roman law over the area, from the land of ancient Babylon to Egypt and Asia Minor. Delos did not own a slave to send in place of Delimon. He had no money to pay someone else to go. Delimon had to walk his own path now.

He wrote home a few times over the first two or three years. These were just short notes to his father. Letters were hard to send from campaigns in far countries of the Empire. The final message did not come from Delimon, but from another soldier. This note has meant bitterness and sorrow for families and nations around the world.

"Yehula, the supreme commander of the armies of the sovereign nation of Syria, regrets to inform you of the death of Delimon bar Delos. You may be proud of him. He died fighting for the most noble cause of all. He died to save the empire from its enemies.

Hail mighty Caesar!"

That was the end of Delimon bar Delos, son of Delos of Damascus. Twenty years of hope. Twenty years of joy and sorrow. Twenty years of seeing in the son the life of the mother.

It was not the end of his memory. It was not the end of the hurt, or the pride, or the love. It did not end the bitterness of Delos.

Somehow Delos knew he would keep his bitterness forever. He would be bitter toward the Romans and toward God and toward life itself until the day he died. He began to drift away from making leather goods, shoes and harnesses and belts. Finally Delos gathered his knives, awls and punches into a simple knapsack. He carefully wrapped and packed into the knapsack the remaining articles from the life of his beloved wife. Then, with a last quick glance around, closed the door of his tiny home. Delos never went back.

Delos drifted south, stopping long enough in several villages to earn enough for a few meals. Finally he made it to the shores of the Sea of Galilee. The Romans had renamed it Lake Tiberias. Delos began to work around the area, selling his handiwork. The lonely widower never left.

Eventually Delos began to work on another man’s fishing boat. A hired hand had a better chance to make a day’s pay. He could keep up his leather work at night when he had was nothing else to do but mourn his wife and son. The other men went home to their families, but for Delos there was only the leather.

Day after day, Delos worked hard in the boat. Spreading the nets and hauling them in repeatedly all through the day was tough. The struggle and the sweating and the tired muscles were a gift. They kept Delos from losing himself in self-pity. He rebelled in his heart against mourning the loss of both his wife and their only child.

Then at night Delos whiled away time repairing the nets and re-pitching the boats. The others laughed and joked or spent time with their own families. Delos was driven by life itself. He worked as hard as possible to banish away the thoughts of rebellion and death and divine betrayal.

Delos spread the hot pitch on the seams of the boat using a crude hand-carved paddle. He wondered quietly where and how Delimon had died. He was bitter at the military establishments of Rome and Syria. These military geniuses had taken his only son to a violent death.

Delos thought of the good times the two of them had shared. They were few but powerful. Delos could only weep as the flood of memories came over him. The images of fishing together and running together filled his senses. They almost brought the boy to life again in the heart of the father.

The father also remembered the bad times. He was mad at himself for wasting even a moment of the days shared with Delimon. Father and son had known disagreements, even yelling matches. Thankfully, though, Delos and Delimon were close when Delimon left to serve in the legion.

Delos thought about the young excitement in Delimon. He had seen the wonder in his son's eyes at the rising sun. Delimon liked people. He had a gentle way with older friends and relatives. Almost everyone liked Delimon, especially the young women.

Delos appreciated the pretty girls who came around looking for his son. Now that Delimon was gone, still two or three regularly stopped to see if he had written. Now with Delimon was slain in battle, only one still checked on the old man of thirty-five.

Perhaps most important, Delimon had known great hopes for marriage and children of his own. Grandchildren might be around for Delos to adore in his own old age. Any of these who stopped would be quite acceptable as daughters-in-law. Not quite yet.

Now Delos was angry with God. God took the life of the son. If Delos could ever get this God in a corner, he would tell God a thing or two. Delos knew now God didn't care. War still went on. Young men still died. Delimon was not coming back, not even in a box. The survivors just bury the slain where they fall, these young men who die in battle. Often the soldiers have no time for even a simple ceremony.

Delos wrapped himself now in so much bitterness he was not aware of the world around himself. He did not see that some of his partners were on a mission. They were spending their evenings and the stormy days with a traveling teacher and prophet. They claimed to have even seen him perform miracles.

Delos tuned out their conversations in the boats when they talked about this man. Delos did not hear when they talked about the teacher. His own pain was deafening when they asked each other if Jesus were the Messiah. Delos kept to himself more every day. He even became a recluse to his own friends.

One clear spring day, fishing had been good. The men in the small fleet of boats saw a crowd gathered on the shore. This was unusual because the site was some distance from any town. Anyone standing out here must expect something big to happen. This looked like an eager crowd.

Delos could see the people seemed to gather around someone who must be a teacher or an entertainer. That was fine. In fact, it was very good.
Perhaps a chance to sell some fish to the crowd would come. They were probably hungry. People always want to eat. They might as well have been at a carnival or at a fair. What could be more satisfying than fresh fish, slowly roasted over an open fire?

The man was talking to the crowd as the boats neared the shore. While he talked, the men from the boats quickly sold cleaned and salted fish to the crowd. Soon small driftwood fires were blazing at several places along the shore. Some sharp entrepreneurs in the crowd saw an opportunity as the crowd began to cook and eat the fish.

Waiting at the boat, Delos was curious about the teacher. One of the crowd came to buy some fish and asked Delos’ opinion. "Do you know who this man is? Some say he is the son of God. What do you think?"

Delos looked again and laughed. "What? That loafer? The one they call the son of God? You make me laugh! I've seen him out on the boat. He can't even row a straight line. He doesn't look like anything special to me. If he's a Son of God, I would not want one of them to marry my sister."

About then, Jesus asked them to take him across the lake. He knew a few of the men. While the crowd finished their meal, Jesus and the small group of men climbed into their fishing boat. Once away from shore, Jesus, obviously tired, quickly went to sleep. While he slept, the others worked the sails and nets. They could fish their way across the arm of the Sea of Galilee.

Out on the lake, just as all the nets were out and filling with fish, a squall blew up. A squall on the Sea of Galilee can be a vicious blow. Air currents often rise off the hot land around the lake. Then they combine with cool air coming off the lake or coming inland from the Mediterranean. Together these can raise the wind to gale force in a matter of seconds. Such a blast can also reduce to calm air just as quickly.

Winds swirl and scream in every direction. Rain and hail rips at the sails and clothing. Lighting can wipe out entire boat loads of men. When the gale struck, the little boats were in serious danger. The builders did not rig them for so many people and so many fish and so much wind.

The men shouted and cursed as they frantically hauled in the nets. They stumbled around, crudely grabbing the blowing sails in their arms. The wave-tossed men struggled with the oars and tillers to keep from capsizing. They fought back panic as they struggled to reach the shore without attracting a bolt of lightning. The din of the wind and the men and the clattering boats and wooden equipment overcame any voices.

The open boats were in danger of swamping. Every wave dumped more water into the craft. The wind threatened to rip apart the sails and masts before the men could get them down. Heavy gusts whipped the boat around as if it were a piece of bark. Lives were going to be lost if the wind kept up. Some began to panic, fearing for their own lives.

The teacher, asleep in the front of the boat, never stirred. Finally, seeing the man asleep, Delos shook the man roughly. "Wake up! Wake up! Don't you care if you drown, you fool?"

The man wearily sat up and opened his bloodshot eyes. His dreams had taken him far away. Water cascading over the bow of the tiny boat brought him to reality. The spray from the rain and the waves was drenching him through. He looked around at the towering seas. He felt the water in the bottom of the boat and heard the mast beginning to break.

The man lifted his eyes to the heavens as if searching for some clue, some guidance. Then he spoke quietly, yet it seemed to Delos as if the voice echoed off the hills miles away. His words masked even the thunder of the storm and the cries of the men.

"Silence!"

It seemed the whole world stopped. The waves eased off to a gentle roll. A great gust dropped to an easy breeze.

The men on the boats stopped their struggling and stood in amazement. The shock and surprise of what had just happened quickly sat in.

For an incredulous moment, Delos forgot his anger over the death of his son. "Gosh, that guy back on the shore said you were the son of God. I didn't believe him. Anyone who can make the wind and the waves stop in their tracks must have some divine power of some kind."

Again, stunned silence as the other men wondered what to say or do. Nothing in their experience had prepared them for this. No one anticipated seeing the very storms obey the quiet voice of one strong man.

Delos, though, composed himself. He had still more to say. "Do you know what I think about you? Even if you are really the son of God? You are not really worth one little bitty fish scale. Not worth a thing."

"You sit up in the front of the boat. You sleep away while the rest of us work. We fish and break our backs on these fool boats just to survive and keep going. You talk and talk and do nothing. You act as if we should treat you like a king. So you can make the sea go calm. Big deal!" Delos began to find his fire. It was as if he finally had God in a corner.

"So who besides ourselves cares whether we drown or not? No one, that's who. You and your supposed father are too busy playing dominoes with the clouds and the seas. Go ahead and chase the clouds away. It doesn't matter to me or anyone else, anyway. Nothing you do matters."

"If you want to do something constructive, why don't you do something about war and about death? Do something about our kids killing each other."

Now Delos was feeling a strength from this man. Something about this man gave the frustrated Delos power to dump it all out now. He quickly seized the precious time of strong words to purge his soul.

"My wife died giving birth to my son. So I raised Delimon in the best way I could. It wasn't easy, but I loved her so much and I loved him. I did everything I could for him. I am proud of the way he turned out. But now he is dead. My son has died fighting some stupid war for some unknown purpose in some far-off god-forsaken land. Nothing about it even matters. It does not matter to me, or to you, or to anyone else."

"So why don't you at least stop people from killing each other. If you are the son of God, it seems you could do at least that."

Now the bitterness of Delos' heart was coming out. It was falling all over everyone in the boat as if it were a cataract on the Nile River. The spray of tears from the broken heart covered every man on the boat.

"Oh, but pardon me, I forgot. If you are the messiah, you don't know anything about death. You will never die."

"Well, maybe God won't do anything, but I have to. I cannot stand by and see other young men die in useless battle. These battles are just action by greedy human beings."

"Maybe it isn't God's affair, but it is my affair. I have to do something. Maybe you are right. God doesn't start wars, people start wars. I wish God cared! That's all I ask. I wish God cared about me and my son."

"God should care enough to live with what we humans have to live with. Maybe he would, if God had to die the way we have to die. Maybe God ought to have to die with a spear in his side. Maybe God should feel the whip on his back before he dies. Maybe God ought to know the feel of the spittle of enemies before death comes. I should feel better about God. I probably would if I thought God could ever know these things."

Jesus thought ahead. He tried to see into the future. The son of Mary wondered how he would die. He wondered about a spear in his side. He wondered about the whip.

The little boat was now nearing shore. Even yet no other man on the boat had spoken. No one knew words to say, either to Delos or to Jesus. As the boat slid upon the beach sand, Jesus turned to Delos.

"Delos, it may be you are the one who is pure. Will we know you as a true son of God? What does the father require of us? The Lord only wants us to present ourselves before him in purity and in faith?"

A year later a governor, a priest and the temple crowd sent Jesus to death. They called him a revolutionary. They branded him a rebel. The priests named him a heretic. Guards beat him until he could no longer carry his own cross. Soldiers nailed him to that cross and derisively crowned him ‘King of the Jews.’

Then Jesus died. His power was gone. They thought.

Meanwhile, Delos Yeshua lived on.

Love Talk

Love Talk

Luke 24:13-35

Karl Evans

So it was, on that day the world changed completely, forever. God had risked everything, and won.

Later that day, that first day of the Resurrection of Jesus, life went on. Bartholomew and Kelita walked together through the dusty streets of Jerusalem. The word was spreading fast among the community of faithful. Jesus was no longer in the grave. Jesus was alive.

The faithful community could not bear to be together just yet. Later they would gather to talk about what was going to happen. They would try to fathom what this resurrection meant, if it were really true. Perhaps more, they would just be together as people who knew God loved them. They needed to be together.

As Bartholomew and Kelita walked and talked, they calmed themselves. The close couple was able for the first time to really share what was on their minds. In their faith and their conversation they destroyed for themselves all the old expectations and boxes with which people yet today live with in the resurrection of Jesus. Now Bartholomew and Kelita suddenly felt they didn't need to worry about what other people thought about their relationship. The pair was free to worry only about their relationships with Jesus, and with each other. They held hands walking together on the streets of Jerusalem. This was a strange thing in those days.

Bartholomew and Kelita talked about children and they talked about love. They had the sense of release with forgiveness and grace. Just as water floods over a spillway when the gates are opened, new conversations came, spilled out and found their own channels. New questions arouse about where they wanted to live. They debated their choices of new careers. They talked openly with each other about their sex life and about their feelings when they touched each other.

As they walked along, they thought about the gathering that evening. Nothing was certain in these first few days after the tomb was found empty. They could not know who would come to be with the group and who might pull out. Bartholomew and Kelita knew they had found new ways to show their love for each other. Now they wondered whether it would be this way in the whole group.

Kelita's uncle had given them some money to purchase needed items for the trip back to Galilee. As they went into the market there might be some special things they needed to purchase instead. These articles had nothing to do with the trip home.

Bartholomew found a cloak, a simple but pretty piece of cloth for Peter. Peter had lost his in the scuffle in the Garden of Gethsemane when they arrested Jesus. In the life of a wandering evangelist, it could be a protection from the wind, or a regal show piece, or a tent or even a table covering.

For Matthias, the writer and accountant, they bought a new pen-quill for record keeping. None of the group was concerned about keeping records for later generations. Matthias only recorded some small pieces of discipleship business.

James was the rowdy one who really didn't seem to need anything. He couldn't have kept it in one piece if he had stored anything away. For him, Kelita found a gag gift, a lemon. The sour lemon might make his lips pucker so he couldn't talk so much.

For Judas, not Judas Iscariot, but the one they called the monk because he was so serious, a little carved wooden monkey, making a comic face. Everyone liked this Judas. He listened well, keeping the shared privacies to himself.

For the others there was a little of this and a little of that. Oh, what a difference a few hours can make. Earlier today they were crying. They worried the temple or the government would catch and murder them as well. Now they were buying gag gifts for each other out of their joy.

What a difference! It was not a total change. They were still hungry. As do all the people of the world, these followers of Jesus still needed to eat.

Bartholomew and Kelita supposed they had all the money of the little community. The two of them bought several loaves of bread and some wine. The new harvest had just come in, and the wine had no time to ferment and age properly. It just happened to be the cheapest available, so they bought it with their precious hoard of coins. No one knew how long these coins must last. But this was a special occasion. It called for celebration.

Bartholomew and Kelita left the market feeling good about their treasures. They laughed about the gifts they were making. They joked about the changes in their lives. They carried their sack of treasures slowly toward the meeting place outside town. Oh, it would be a good day! They would be together again. The ability to touch each other with hands and eyes and voice would renew them. To distribute the gifts would feel awfully good later in their nostalgia.

As they came to the city gate, an old woman sat huddled in rags. Poor, dirty, homeless, probably very cold at night, she looked pitiful. Bartholomew and Kelita stopped talking as they came near to her. It was as if they really did not have anything to say to each other just now. They knew each other's thoughts. Perhaps there was a better use for at least one of the gifts.

Peter, the rock, the hard one, wouldn't really need the cloak. He could be warmed with some rags and some hugs until they were all back in Galilee. Besides, in Galilee lots of young women waited to make a new cloak for Peter. He was eligible, you know. The cloak spread nicely over the woman.

Down the road under a tree, an aging rabbi sat with a young student. He was teaching the young man the skill of writing and reading. The new writer struggled with a bit of chalk stone on a hard clay tablet. A piece of scroll and worn-out quill lay beside him. Too many hours of pressure from untrained fingers had made it unusable.

When Bartholomew and Kelita walked on, the young man was the shocked and amazed owner of a fine quill. Matthias would be too busy for a time to do much writing. Besides, the quill would probably be broken before they returned to Galilee anyway.

Now the day was growing hot from the noon time sun. At the first water hole they passed, a family milled about desperately. The small children cried with throats so parched from the desert heat they could scarcely utter a sound. The parents had counted on there being water here, but as water holes will do sometimes, the hole was dry.

Kelita placed the lemon on the ground and then kneaded it with her foot to break the juice free. Then she took Bartholomew's knife and cut the lemon in half and squeezed half into her own water bag and half into Bartholomew's. Now not only was there water for the family, it was a drink fit for royalty. The children and parents drank their fill. Bartholomew whispered they could probably get another lemon for James. James really needed a lemon, sometimes. He really ought to have one. Perhaps this one was too ripe.

Bartholomew was beginning to notice the bag of gifts was not as heavy as it had been. He could walk a little easier now.

Down the road a small boy walked slowly along, in tow behind his mother. Giant tears ran down his face. These were tears such as only a small child can shed. When a Roman chariot ran over a puppy, it was real tragedy. It was just an accident. The puppy just got away from its master as puppies do. It ran out into the road. The charioteer stopped and tried to help the puppy, but it was no use. The puppy was just hurt too badly.

It was Bartholomew's turn. Ah, yes, the little monkey making the funny face. It wasn't quite the same as the puppy, but it did seem to help.

One by one the rest of the gifts made their way out of the sack on Bartholomew's back into the hands of strangers. Finally there was left only one loaf of bread and the wine.

Bartholomew and Kelita talked about this a little. They thought about Jesus who had given and given and given until he had nothing left to give but his life.

Later that night, the disciples and the others gathered to talk about Jesus. They wondered aloud about what had happened to them since the empty tomb was found. They talked about the people they had met and about what might have happened to Jesus.

Someone read the words of Moses about the victory of the Lord. Somehow Jesus was sitting there among them. Somehow, some way, his presence neither really surprised or shocked them. It was almost as if they would expect just such a thing from this Jesus.

Then Jesus said the strangest thing. "I am hungry. I have not tasted food for three days. Do you have anything to eat? It would not take much. Perhaps a little bread and wine."

All there was to eat was the dried loaf of bread and the small skin of wine Bartholomew and Kelita brought from Jerusalem. Bartholomew laid the bread on the small table. He poured the wine into Elijah's Cup which stood waiting for the return of the prophet.

Kelita said "Jesus, three days ago, when we were last together, you took the bread and broke it and blessed it. You passed it out to all of us and said `This is my body broken for you. Take this and eat it.' Then you passed the cup, Elijah's Cup, for all of us to share and you said `This is my blood poured out for you and for many.'”

“Now I also remember another thing you said one day. You said whenever we do something toward the least of the children of the Lord, we do it also to you. Perhaps now I understand."

The Frustrated Parade Marshall

The Frustrated Parade Marshall

Matthew 21:1-18
Karl Evans

This fellow was with Jesus since the earliest days of the movement, from the days in Galilee. He was not the first to come on board, however. He was just certainly one of the first and one of the most devoted.

Our hero had at first been an outsider. He was something of a loner. After time and after putting a great effort into Jesus' work he was finally a trusted part of the inner circle.

Now, on the long trip to Jerusalem, he was able to showcase his work. His ability to handle details of lodging and housing and support was really beginning to pay off. He seemed to have an uncanny ability to find just the right accommodations. This kept the tiny band of wanderers from coming unglued entirely.

His work was unsung. Few apart from Jesus paid any attention to his successes and his toil. But he knew slowly and surely he was working his way into a position of strength within the group. This was important.

As the little band gathered in every town, people came to see Jesus. They wanted healing, or to be seen with Jesus, or to challenge his authority. They wanted to invite him to their home for dinner or to spend the night.

First, though, anyone who wanted to see Jesus had to deal with this fellow. He had things organized and wanted to keep them that way. He had an elaborate little system of procedures, simple yet adequate. This kept things on an even keel.

These procedures also helped ensure when they left even the larger towns such as Jericho the same small band went on together. Thus they left behind the citizens of the smaller towns to wonder who had really been among them.

When they were out on the road again, there was work to do. Our hero would pick up the pieces and get the group ready for the next town. He would tell them what the town was like, who was important and who was not. He would go to various disciples and tell them about a specific person they might try to find and talk with.

Then, while the group was in town, our man double-checked everyone's assignments, then began to prepare for the next community. He had worked all these communities before in the short period of time he had traded in the area. He personally knew just about every important person in the nation. Now he had an opportunity to put those old acquaintanceships to good purpose. He was very good at what he did. Jesus knew he needed this man for the mission.

Jerusalem was a huge challenge. It was much larger than the other towns they visited, larger even than Jericho. There was more wealth, more power, many more self-claimed important people. There would be many persons resistant to being moved around by a forceful intruder from the north.

But it was not an impossible task. Judas knew he was up to it. With any kind of luck the little group would survive Jerusalem in good order. They would make their visit to the Temple, burn their incense and call it a day. They would sacrifice a dove or two or perhaps a lamb during the Passover festival. They might even celebrate the Passover together as a family before they left town.

Our man knew it was critical to be ready to leave quickly. But he also knew it was important to Jesus and the others to be in Jerusalem at Passover.

"Next year in Jerusalem!" This had been the rallying cry of the Hebrews at Passover since the days of the Captivity. Dozens of generations of families have gone by since the captivity. Yet many families had not seen any family member able to stand at the Temple during these holy days. Many of these men and women would never have another opportunity.

This was the great opportunity, and it would be done properly if everyone would just stay in step.

Probably the person who was most likely to get out of line was Jesus himself. He had a way of doing things on his own which frustrated the best of plans. But one could not complain too much. After all, he was what this whole parade was about.

But our man was confident. Had he not brought the group this far safely? His plans were ready. Even the procession to the Temple was in order. First, two or three of the disciples would come carrying banners proclaiming the salvation of the nation.

Then the other disciples would come walking in order of age. Our man tried to come up with a marching order that recognized some criteria of rank within the organization. He deserved to lead it, but he knew the others would not go for this. Their egalitarian spirit deeply frustrated him.

But populism would be all right in this instance. The disciples would be moving around greeting people and letting the world know their faces. They would kiss the babies and tease the children. They might even carry a banner proclaiming "This year in Jerusalem!".

Then Jesus would come riding a chariot our friend had arranged with a local friendly chariot rental service. There would be none of the rent-a-junker stuff, either. This had to be first class.

Then the women and anyone else of lower class who wanted to join in would come at the end.

Then on to the Temple. There the great welcome would spontaneously erupt when the crowd recognized who was coming.

Oh, yes, our hero. He would not be directly in the parade. He was much too busy for participation. Besides, marching was for the ordinary folk, like Simon and James. Our man still had trouble with the nickname Jesus had placed on Simon. Jesus used the silly word "Peter." Calling him "The Rock" seemed to refer more to the state of Simon's mind than anything else.

But with the procession, our hero would march proudly, moving forward and back. He would walk slightly to the side, keeping the whole organization in order. Someone had to check the timing and speed and discipline for maximum crowd effect. He would watch the faces of the crowd, checking for responses.

Of course, they would probably ask him to sign a few autographs. He wouldn’t really mind.

But wouldn't you know it. Some things went wrong and our hero was nearly frantic.

First, the chariot wasn't there on time. Jesus insisted on riding a donkey which one disciple found tied at the gate of the city. Oh, the horror of it! The Son of Man, the King of the Jews, riding a jackass! This embarrassment rather than the royal $400 per hour chariot which they had already contracted!

This was not a typical Jerusalem crowd. The Jews had an ancient rallying cry of the people at Passover, "Next year in Jerusalem." Many people in the distant towns took being in Jerusalem at this time of year very seriously.

Then, because they came as pilgrims, the additional crowd of beggars and thieves and pickpockets showed up to conduct their own businesses. Others brought out trinkets and fast food and hats and even palm branches to sell to the pilgrims headed for the Temple. Pilgrims have always been an easy mark.

In the milling around, in the confusion, the crowd started gathering without any order. The disciples who were supposed to lead the procession lost their banners to beggars looking for clothing. These people would steal anything!

The disciples were forced to tear some palm branches off the closest trees just to have something to wave.

Worse than that, by the time they got the branches cleaned and ready, Jesus had already started his donkey ride up the street. Jesus was just beginning to press his way through the mob of people. These were not the dignitaries of the city who should have been at the parade. Rather, they were riffraff who gathered just to see what the excitement was. The disciples could only follow along and wave their palm branches in the air.

Other people saw the branches. Some thought this looked like a good thing. It was a traditional parade activity for the Jews, of course. Boys quickly scampered up the trees and cut more branches to sell to the parade watchers for waving and for fanning themselves.

Soon the whole mob was just sort of slowly stampeding its way toward the Temple. It moved at the slow pace of a less-than-eager donkey. At first, no one really knew why they were going to the Temple.

All the slogans our hero had drilled into the disciples were lost. The disciples scattered among the crowd of tourists and beggars and palm branch sellers. Finally someone picked up an easy one which seemed to stick. Shouts of "Hosanna!" and "Here comes the King" sounded through the crowd. Then the crowd began to suspect the meaning of the parade.
It's easy to join in a parade as long as you are not the one who has to pay if the revolution fails.

Our poor hero, now just struggling to keep up with the crowd, was simply lost. All his planning, all his struggles were wasted. They trampled all his weeks of thought and preparation for this day under the feet of these undisciplined new followers of Jesus. They didn't even know his name!

Our man was heartbroken. He began to make rude comments about the clumsy newcomers who had made the parade their parade. He scorned the wandering disciples who wouldn't help him get things organized.

This illiterate mob with no sense of timing was destroying all of Jesus' work. They simply had no idea what was appropriate action around the Son of Man. He might be the King of the Jews, the One who rightfully belonged on the throne, but the crowd did not know how to treat him.

Our hero began to curse this mob which forced him out to the sidelines. They pushed and shoved as they tried to get closer to the one who would bring in the Kingdom of God.

Judas cried "But this isn't right! Get back in line! This is supposed to be a royal parade. It is certainly not a street dance after a victory by some foreign gladiators!"

Grabbing and holding, trying to make people follow the pattern he had so carefully laid out, he failed. Judas couldn't get these new followers of Jesus to fit the patterns of the well-planned parade. Our hero became so frustrated he wanted to shake from his feet the dust of the whole mess.

At last one woman who had been trying to get past our man for several minutes lost her patience. As the parade moved yelled in his ear, she yelled at Judas. The whole crowd could have heard her voice. "If you don't want to move along with Jesus, stand aside. Don't block the parade! Don't block those of us who want to be with him! If you do want to move with Jesus, join the parade. Don't gripe about it! Join the parade or move over!"

What? Join the parade? An invitation to join the parade? Our hero who had masterminded the whole thing?

Our hero who had laid the best plans, although circumstances had forced them to be laid aside?

Our hero who had been with the group from the beginning? Someone who had been a follower of Jesus for less than ten minutes was now telling our hero to join the parade?

They were ignoring our hero with deep credentials of long standing. They were pushing the months of trial serving Jesus and his ministry aside.

Now, with the rabble clearly taking over the procession, Judas had to act. The rabble was indeed taking over the entire process of Jesus’ ministry. He would have to force the crowd and Jesus to make the shift. They must move from operating as a rampaging mob to being a steady governing body for the New Kingdom.

It seemed to him the only way to do this was to shock this crowd to its senses. They needed to be brought to their knees by some great miraculous event.

He had seen Jesus do miracles. He had seen the lame walk, and the blind see. He had been there at the feeding of the five thousand. He knew what Jesus could do, if Jesus were forced.

But here was the problem. Jesus would have to be forced to perform the greatest miracle of all time. This would bring the whole nations to its knees in front before its new king.

So our hero made his plan, laying out in his minds the actions and responses which would finally lead to this great miracle. There would have to be a trial, perhaps even an attempted execution. But there, at the last second, Jesus would save himself. When Jesus would walk away, everyone everywhere would finally know this One was the rightful King of the Jews.

The confusion and clamor of the rabble grew as they escorted Jesus to the great temple of the Lord. Quietly, Judas Iscariot drifted away from the disciples and made his way to the High Priests.