- Jun 27, 2003
- 22,646
- 1,154
- 72
- Faith
- Methodist
- Marital Status
- Married
Same Day, Different Time
After much thought, I have come to the not so startling conclusion that Jesus would do nothing different. Oh, perhaps his words would carry a different accent, his clothes reflect a modern life, but I find myself backpedaling, thinking...
If we were to believe (and I do) that Jesus' original time frame is accurate according to the Bible as historical and Spiritual basis, I'd have to start with re-arranging words to form a fictional account. I'm sorry, but I am not qualified for such a task, much less have the time, so in an effort of Christian friendship, let's pretend...
Years before, Mary already chose to raise her child in spite of neighboring pressures for her to abort the fetus. Although abortion was not legal in the USA at the time, a woman, if choosing to do so, could find assistance in ridding herself of unwanted, unplanned fetal material in many other countries, including Mary's own Homeland.
From the beginning of Mary's pregnancy, common gossip fluctuated, suggesting that her family was either loopy or trying to misdirect others by covering her indiscretion. DNA could surely revel many interesting facts. While I am sure that there was, and still is internal pressure from well meaning friends, to my knowledge, all testing has been turned down both by Mary, Joseph (Mary's husband whom continued to be mute on the subject), and Jesus himself. Mary's never-stray-from-the-story communications on the topic of an "Angel" visiting her 'that' night, still leads to snickers and laughs, not always behind her back. Still, she shows grace under fire, and refuses to be baited, in spite of Basic School's logic: Health/Science classes dictate information indicating that such nonsense is best left in the Fiction aisles of Libraries.
Over the years, these same small pockets of gossip have banded to form into large, well run organizations to spread stories based on half-truths and bold faced lies. Some more than suggest that Jesus has now formed his own cult following over the last two and a half years. All eyes seem to glance at the now common subject wanting to be entertained at the newest turn of events, the hype that media attempts to weave. Jesus, they infer, is adapt at tying strong hooks to reel simpleminded easily brainwashed folk to his side.
It is rare to walk into any grocery or Mom and Pop store without seeing headlines in the weekly News Rags regarding Jesus and his motley crew. Bad, quickly taken photo's carry captions that scream headlines such as:
IS HE GOD?
or
THE GOVENMENT INSISTS ON CHECKING HIS FINANCIAL BACKGROUND.
These "professional" journalists hint of inappropriate trysts, printing snapshots of him leaving areas where prostitutes gather. Educated writers infer Drug Lord ties as Jesus is 'caught' on film sharing a meal with leaders of such myasthenia miseries of heartache. What the photo's don't show, nor words ever seem to print, is far richer in substance. Those whom he has touched, talked with, shared with, often drop from staged areas that light their former lives. Although they've occasionally been spotted as they quietly go about their own business redirected, they seem to be refocused. Changed. No interest or money to be garnered from THAT news....
The media, who breathes only when given money as its only source of life, continues to this day to rake in easy money by shamelessly nipping at the heels of Jesus' followers. Vans equipped with the latest in gear to transfer information, competes and jockey, often tripping over themselves. They haphazardly fling huge networks of coiled cables and long poles afflicted with blisters of microphones at their ends. Their collective goal is to cast shadows of doubt by re-editing feed, and meeting the deadline first.
As these media sources flood to reach printed pages, and various other news medias, many, (including at least one within Jesus' closest group), seem close to breaking, and complains occasionally over the wisdom of turning down offers such as Newsweek, People, Readers Digest, Letterman, Leno, Oprah, even Barbara. It seems as though Jesus has even turned down requests through the larger media links by nearly all Heads of States, and Countries alike.
This man, this Jesus has never shown fear, nor distraction through this barrage of lookie-loo's and paparazzi. In war torn countries, he has walked among slowly lumbering tanks covered in thick films of dust, knocking on the sides of each in passing, stopping to talk with those whom choose to spend time communicating with him-always in their own native tongue.
Yes, friend, he does get strange looks on occasion, but what is even stranger is how those who stop and talk respond back-once they look him in the eyes, hear his voice.
There are many documented pictures that share stories without words as he walks among many. Often, he has woven his way through thick crowds accompanied by his 'inner circle' of friends, or braving it alone, without a fluster or concern for his personal welfare, and creates something that baffles and goes beyond the much overused word: magic. Yet he seems adapt at disappearing, reappearing within small huddled groups with a quiet, unobtrusive exit/entrance.
In one of the 'bigger' magazines there is a very poignant photograph taken of him holding a child in his lap while another plays with his hair. Annoying how even his hair is the catalyst of Late Night Humor on television, because it always seems a month or two behind in trimming to the latest style.
Although this Jesus is not particularly tall by Today's Standards, he commands, carries himself not with pride, but assurance, confidence. He seems to know what and where and when he is...going-although that topic is always debatable by others.
Earlier today, while I waited for the rest of my tourist group to disembowel from a museum, I spotted aggressive paparazzi buzzards flocking toward his direction. Cameras flashed, film clicked and whirled, but Jesus ignored them.
He, this man Jesus is leaning against an old jeep. Three teenagers, none looking over 16 sit in wrinkled uniforms inside the vehicle. Exhaustion exhumes, leaving them limp from the hot, dry sun. With every breath they take, their bodies seem to curl into themselves while in a sitting position. A fine film of dust sticks to their perspiring skin, over the cloth canopy of the jeep, over all. They murmur back and forth, words indistinguishable to my ears.
Quietly, I walk toward them, wanting to be drawn into the conversation, yet feeling intrusive. A half circle of curious onlookers backs up behind me, wanting to keep distance between this strange man and their personal lives.
I am too late to pick up the body of this conversation, but catch the look the lone female of the jeeped group as she gazes up into His Face. Her eyes well, dropping fat tears that wash a trail of clean wet skin down her dirty face. Without shame, she pulls out a corner of her shirt, and wipes at her nose. She lowers her head, crying softly. Jesus stretches a well muscled bare arm out to her. Covering the top of her dark hair with his open palm, he leans forward, into her, speaking softly, deeply. Her shoulders shake, then relax. Stroking her hair, he caresses the tears from her cheek with his opened hand, wiping her whole face clean.
A thin thread of Sun, moving across the horizon, lights across her face, radiating-beaming every fiber of her clothing, her skin, her hair, with...joy? Life...
Bending forward, she slowly reaches down to her feet and lifts a carefully wrapped bundle inside a soft looking blanket.
All three soldiers-this young woman and her two companions, step down and out of the jeep. Unbuckling holsters, each drops their weapons into the backseat of their vehicle. Turning back to face Jesus, they follow this man who now walks ahead of them while cradling the precious bundle to his chest.
Evening is closing out the day.
Silent, the small group hikes the short trail that winds its way down the softly rolling incline to the fading shoreline.
Others walk, following the footpath marked through time on that narrow path.
Young; old; poorly dressed; wearing the latest fashion designs; hair spiked or shaved bald; mothers with strollers; young people wearing uniforms both as Peacekeepers and Sports Figures; wheelchairs pushed by loved ones;
curious folks, looking for assurance, answers.
Many are afraid to draw closer, not sure if they want to hear the answers, the truth. They sob in fear, holding back while calling out to loved ones that walk...forward.
As I inspect the group of people whom chose to follow Jesus, I notice that the majority of this group are young. Perhaps having heard a lifetime of answers given by Man and finding them lacking, they now sense Real Truth, Love, and Promise.
The Sun sets flashing lights across the glassy, still, reflective water, stretching long shadows that dance in unison at the shoreline as the group gathers together.
Sighing, I take a deep breath. Burdens drop from my soul with each step taken in the direction of the group that has banded together with Jesus in their midst.
Shortening the distance, I desire more.
by-Karen Rice
aka Daily His
Submitted by Richard
After much thought, I have come to the not so startling conclusion that Jesus would do nothing different. Oh, perhaps his words would carry a different accent, his clothes reflect a modern life, but I find myself backpedaling, thinking...
If we were to believe (and I do) that Jesus' original time frame is accurate according to the Bible as historical and Spiritual basis, I'd have to start with re-arranging words to form a fictional account. I'm sorry, but I am not qualified for such a task, much less have the time, so in an effort of Christian friendship, let's pretend...
Years before, Mary already chose to raise her child in spite of neighboring pressures for her to abort the fetus. Although abortion was not legal in the USA at the time, a woman, if choosing to do so, could find assistance in ridding herself of unwanted, unplanned fetal material in many other countries, including Mary's own Homeland.
From the beginning of Mary's pregnancy, common gossip fluctuated, suggesting that her family was either loopy or trying to misdirect others by covering her indiscretion. DNA could surely revel many interesting facts. While I am sure that there was, and still is internal pressure from well meaning friends, to my knowledge, all testing has been turned down both by Mary, Joseph (Mary's husband whom continued to be mute on the subject), and Jesus himself. Mary's never-stray-from-the-story communications on the topic of an "Angel" visiting her 'that' night, still leads to snickers and laughs, not always behind her back. Still, she shows grace under fire, and refuses to be baited, in spite of Basic School's logic: Health/Science classes dictate information indicating that such nonsense is best left in the Fiction aisles of Libraries.
Over the years, these same small pockets of gossip have banded to form into large, well run organizations to spread stories based on half-truths and bold faced lies. Some more than suggest that Jesus has now formed his own cult following over the last two and a half years. All eyes seem to glance at the now common subject wanting to be entertained at the newest turn of events, the hype that media attempts to weave. Jesus, they infer, is adapt at tying strong hooks to reel simpleminded easily brainwashed folk to his side.
It is rare to walk into any grocery or Mom and Pop store without seeing headlines in the weekly News Rags regarding Jesus and his motley crew. Bad, quickly taken photo's carry captions that scream headlines such as:
IS HE GOD?
or
THE GOVENMENT INSISTS ON CHECKING HIS FINANCIAL BACKGROUND.
These "professional" journalists hint of inappropriate trysts, printing snapshots of him leaving areas where prostitutes gather. Educated writers infer Drug Lord ties as Jesus is 'caught' on film sharing a meal with leaders of such myasthenia miseries of heartache. What the photo's don't show, nor words ever seem to print, is far richer in substance. Those whom he has touched, talked with, shared with, often drop from staged areas that light their former lives. Although they've occasionally been spotted as they quietly go about their own business redirected, they seem to be refocused. Changed. No interest or money to be garnered from THAT news....
The media, who breathes only when given money as its only source of life, continues to this day to rake in easy money by shamelessly nipping at the heels of Jesus' followers. Vans equipped with the latest in gear to transfer information, competes and jockey, often tripping over themselves. They haphazardly fling huge networks of coiled cables and long poles afflicted with blisters of microphones at their ends. Their collective goal is to cast shadows of doubt by re-editing feed, and meeting the deadline first.
As these media sources flood to reach printed pages, and various other news medias, many, (including at least one within Jesus' closest group), seem close to breaking, and complains occasionally over the wisdom of turning down offers such as Newsweek, People, Readers Digest, Letterman, Leno, Oprah, even Barbara. It seems as though Jesus has even turned down requests through the larger media links by nearly all Heads of States, and Countries alike.
This man, this Jesus has never shown fear, nor distraction through this barrage of lookie-loo's and paparazzi. In war torn countries, he has walked among slowly lumbering tanks covered in thick films of dust, knocking on the sides of each in passing, stopping to talk with those whom choose to spend time communicating with him-always in their own native tongue.
Yes, friend, he does get strange looks on occasion, but what is even stranger is how those who stop and talk respond back-once they look him in the eyes, hear his voice.
There are many documented pictures that share stories without words as he walks among many. Often, he has woven his way through thick crowds accompanied by his 'inner circle' of friends, or braving it alone, without a fluster or concern for his personal welfare, and creates something that baffles and goes beyond the much overused word: magic. Yet he seems adapt at disappearing, reappearing within small huddled groups with a quiet, unobtrusive exit/entrance.
In one of the 'bigger' magazines there is a very poignant photograph taken of him holding a child in his lap while another plays with his hair. Annoying how even his hair is the catalyst of Late Night Humor on television, because it always seems a month or two behind in trimming to the latest style.
Although this Jesus is not particularly tall by Today's Standards, he commands, carries himself not with pride, but assurance, confidence. He seems to know what and where and when he is...going-although that topic is always debatable by others.
Earlier today, while I waited for the rest of my tourist group to disembowel from a museum, I spotted aggressive paparazzi buzzards flocking toward his direction. Cameras flashed, film clicked and whirled, but Jesus ignored them.
He, this man Jesus is leaning against an old jeep. Three teenagers, none looking over 16 sit in wrinkled uniforms inside the vehicle. Exhaustion exhumes, leaving them limp from the hot, dry sun. With every breath they take, their bodies seem to curl into themselves while in a sitting position. A fine film of dust sticks to their perspiring skin, over the cloth canopy of the jeep, over all. They murmur back and forth, words indistinguishable to my ears.
Quietly, I walk toward them, wanting to be drawn into the conversation, yet feeling intrusive. A half circle of curious onlookers backs up behind me, wanting to keep distance between this strange man and their personal lives.
I am too late to pick up the body of this conversation, but catch the look the lone female of the jeeped group as she gazes up into His Face. Her eyes well, dropping fat tears that wash a trail of clean wet skin down her dirty face. Without shame, she pulls out a corner of her shirt, and wipes at her nose. She lowers her head, crying softly. Jesus stretches a well muscled bare arm out to her. Covering the top of her dark hair with his open palm, he leans forward, into her, speaking softly, deeply. Her shoulders shake, then relax. Stroking her hair, he caresses the tears from her cheek with his opened hand, wiping her whole face clean.
A thin thread of Sun, moving across the horizon, lights across her face, radiating-beaming every fiber of her clothing, her skin, her hair, with...joy? Life...
Bending forward, she slowly reaches down to her feet and lifts a carefully wrapped bundle inside a soft looking blanket.
All three soldiers-this young woman and her two companions, step down and out of the jeep. Unbuckling holsters, each drops their weapons into the backseat of their vehicle. Turning back to face Jesus, they follow this man who now walks ahead of them while cradling the precious bundle to his chest.
Evening is closing out the day.
Silent, the small group hikes the short trail that winds its way down the softly rolling incline to the fading shoreline.
Others walk, following the footpath marked through time on that narrow path.
Young; old; poorly dressed; wearing the latest fashion designs; hair spiked or shaved bald; mothers with strollers; young people wearing uniforms both as Peacekeepers and Sports Figures; wheelchairs pushed by loved ones;
curious folks, looking for assurance, answers.
Many are afraid to draw closer, not sure if they want to hear the answers, the truth. They sob in fear, holding back while calling out to loved ones that walk...forward.
As I inspect the group of people whom chose to follow Jesus, I notice that the majority of this group are young. Perhaps having heard a lifetime of answers given by Man and finding them lacking, they now sense Real Truth, Love, and Promise.
The Sun sets flashing lights across the glassy, still, reflective water, stretching long shadows that dance in unison at the shoreline as the group gathers together.
Sighing, I take a deep breath. Burdens drop from my soul with each step taken in the direction of the group that has banded together with Jesus in their midst.
Shortening the distance, I desire more.
by-Karen Rice
aka Daily His
Submitted by Richard
