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."

Words of Fire

Words of Fire

Luke 19:45-47

Karl Evans

Geminel stood silently before the altar of the Temple. His eyes fogged absently as they took in the fire of the altar. It blazed and cooled, rose and fell as the priests fed it with the sacrifices.

The men of Israel had gently laid their living sacrifices in the hands of the priests. The priest had the responsibility of the last few moments of the sacrifices. Before the fire consumed the animals, their lives were in the hands of the priests. Using the ancient rituals, the priests carefully kill the sacrifices. Then the men of Yahweh said the appropriate prayers and placed the gift on the fire.

These priests worked with a show and reality of deep reverence and respect. They had been selected from their own communities as a gift of honor. The temple guild called them into this position only a few times in a lifetime of service.

Out in the courtyard, the scene was quite different. Far less reverence and respect showed among the peddlers. Many who came from far places expected to pay for their trip by hawking their wares. They sold sacrifices and keepsakes, food and clothing to the pilgrims coming through to worship.

"Get your sacrifices here! Get your doves! Two spotless doves for twenty-five dollars. I just brought these in this morning. My boys have been raising them for pets. Guaranteed no blemishes!" Of course, the doves were usually purchased from Jerusalem youth in the last few days.

"A-number one ram here for the sacrifice! Only five hundred dollars! Only one left in all of Jerusalem!"

The prices asked for the sacrifices by those who bought and sold there shocked Geminel. It seemed almost too much money changed hands.

How could it be theologically correct? How could it be an act of faith? Must the proper sacrifice to God operate on a bottom line cash basis only?

This time, Geminel himself had done what most of the poorer pigeon vendors did to get their pigeons. He had gone at night out into the city in the late dusk. Stealthy moves allowed him to catch two good pigeons sitting on their roosts.

By faint lamplight, Geminel hurriedly inspected them for flaws. These two looked all right. No broken wings or legs. The feathers were in good shape. Best of all, they were free. No feeding. No wholesaler to pay. They would have to do.

Now, with daylight came the morning business. Men and boys whom he had seen out scouring the town for roosting pigeons last night had brought in their unfortunate captives. Now the trappers were selling them at the Temple for outrageous prices.

The people who had actually raised pigeons could command huge prices for the birds. They had invested time and feed in them, and did so to make a profit. They could sell spotless birds to the wealthiest pilgrims. The best birds brought great profits to the entrepreneurs.

The scavengers like Geminel, though, had no investment other than the few minutes it took to grab the birds from the roosts. These were the ones who were ripping off the poorer pilgrims and the less devout. Many of these latter travelers had come from as far as Spain, or India, or Russia to offer sacrifices at the Temple.

Now at the climax of their journey, their own fatigue and the high pressure tactics of the traders took many of them in. This being the case, the pilgrims often offered less than perfect animals at the altar. The priests, fully aware of the problems of pilgrimage and language difficulties, generally looked the other way. No points would be made by embarrassing a traveler. That traveler might not be particularly friendly later to a supplier of inadequate products for holy sacrifice. No one wanted trouble here.

Geminel knelt in prayer at the Temple steps. He tried to avoid the hubbub around him. Concentrating on his prayer, Geminel vowed purity in his heart and commitment to the Messiah. Then Geminel rose in his turn. He stood in the line for a priests to take his two pigeons and ritually slaughter them. Then, after carefully inspecting their insides, the priest burned them as an offering to the Lord.

The flames rose and fell as they consumed the sacrifices. Occasionally a priest added wood brought by faithful pilgrims from their homes. Temple workers brought some wood from forests of the nation.

Geminel looked around at all those who were in the Temple with him. Dozens of people gathered for sacred rituals. Some came as priests. Some came as worshipers. Some came to make money. Some wanted to relieve boredom. Some came to bargain with the Lord for health or wealth or safety.

Everyone there hoped to profit somehow from something which might happen at the Temple. The profit might be money for the traders or for the priests. It might be some better gift from God for the worshiper. Or, it might be just some excitement in life. But something could probably be provided for almost every pilgrim.

Some were wealthy or tried to pretend they were. Some were poor, or tried to convince the thieves they were. Geminel felt nothing but pity for the really poor. Pity because it seemed they were actually hungry. Pity because they seemed out of place in the hubbub of buying and selling. This confusion went on as they offered up their sorry little gifts.

Geminel's mind wandered as he waited in line. His mind's eye pictured the man who controlled all this, who made things happen in the land.

This man in Geminel's thoughts was not the high priest. The high priest was just a functionary named by another. The job of the high priest was to organize the religious work. It was not up to him to build the faith or to run the nation.

The governor named the high priest. He was the one who made things happen around here. Right now, most of what was happening was bad.

Pilate was not really a military man, but he prided himself on his army. After all, it was the strongest force around. He had thousands of men who were well armed. His army was equipped with the latest weapons. Pilate had their swords and shields and helmets made with the strongest steel and iron.

Geminel had to chuckle at the thought of Pilate's army being a sign of strength. Armies are not of strength but of weakness. Strong leaders and diplomats do not need armies to fighting battles within their nations.

We build strong nations on trust and honor, not on swords and spears. Pilate could not see that. He believed all the hype about the need for spears and machines and spies.

Pilate only used the Temple to build his forced dictatorship. He needed protection only from those who questioned his dictatorship over their lives.

The Temple was a good organization to protect the interests of the power structures of Pilate's rule. All Pilate had to do was pass the word.

One priest or another would call judgement on those who were revolutionary enough to speak of a better way. The priest could call them radicals. He used words like "bleeding heart liberals." He could use any words he could find.

Forget their concern came from reading the prophets of ancient Israel. Forget their compassion, their sense of justice. If they challenge the system, they are wrong. Simple as that.

These matters were no concern to Geminel. Geminel only wanted to stand before the Lord, to make the sacrifice. Geminel wanted and needed to make peace with God.

While Geminel waited, he wondered for the profit of all this. How much of the proceeds of this scene would find its way into Pilate's pocket? Making the sacrifice only cost Geminel a few coins tossed into the hand of the officiating priest.

As he waited in line, some sort of ruckus began on the steps of the Temple. From where Geminel stood, he couldn't see what was happening. He could hear men shouting and see pigeons flying off. He could hear sheep bawling. Geminel was not really concerned until the Temple guards buckled on their breastplates and grabbed their shields.

Then a man whom Geminel had not seen before pushed his way through the crowd and came to the altar. There he knelt, obviously in deep and fervent prayer.

While he knelt a silence spread over the temple. It seemed the whole world had come to a complete stop. No one moved.

The Temple guards seemed frozen. Priests stopped their sacrificial slaughter, hands poised with sharp knives, not moving. The milling crowd paused as if waiting for something extraordinary to happen.

When the man rose, a wealthy men in the line walked over to the stranger and whispered something in his ear. The stranger listened to the Pharisee, then slowly lifted his eyes to survey the crowd.

He could see the men in the Temple, going about their daily work. He could see the rich and the poor, the home towners and the wanderers.

The Galilean looked out through the door of the Temple at the hovels of the poor. Forced to build outside the city walls, without water and without the protection of the walls, these poor could only dream.

Now the Galilean eyes filled with tears. He saw the broken down shacks of the poor pushed up against the outside walls of the city.

Inside the walls, the homes of the wealthy stood as fortresses against poverty for the owners. They were vaults for the wealth of the nation.

He spoke. "Go tell Herod, that sly fox, I am here. Tell him I will heal the sick for a couple days. Right here. I will give hope to the poor. I will make the blind see. I will release the captives of a sick world."

"This city, Jerusalem, the city of David, has had its chance. How often the poor of the city came to you. How often have those who live out in those mud huts in filth and disease and hunger come to you in their need? How often you could have taken them in as a mother hen covers her chicks. Yet you would not."

"Instead, you have stoned the prophets. You have slain those who told the truth about you. You have trampled the poor in your search for the almighty gold."

"Jerusalem, they will destroy you. These very ones who are turning a profit from your existence and your faithfulness. They will not just circumcise you. They will clean cut you off."

Jesus paused a moment. "I will go away now, but I will be back. When I come back you will say `Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the Name of the Lord!'"

As the man left, Geminel knew he would be back. More trouble was coming -- lots more trouble. Geminel knew Herod's soldiers would be waiting for him. Geminel knew the Temple guards would fight against the man. He had told the truth about the city and the Temple and the priests.

Somehow, Geminel knew down deep inside this man was no loser.

All the armies of all the nations did not destroy this man of the world. The most elite Temple guards can not hold him. The self-righteous statements and the hypocritical patriotism of the wealthy could not protect the temple. They could not hold back the forces this simple fisherman would loose. The class system that made up the nation could not withstand his justice.

This fellow would be back, all right. Jesus would be back to stay.

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