Mindfulness of God: Blessings

These essays record my studies of the Gospels. The intention is to remind myself, and anyone who is blessed enough to read this, what Jesus did, and what he said: the parables and the miracles. Along the way, in these bonus essays, I share my personal progress in interpreting how to live by his example.

“For I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you.”—John 13:15.

The way he treated us is the way that we should treat each other: This is the first fundamental precept in my studies. Whatever else Jesus was—the Son of God, the Son of Man, the way, the truth, and the light, and/or the Word of God—he was meant to be an example.

I set aside all definitions, except for this one that he told us himself, as I practice mindfulness.

“Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”—Matthew 6:34.

Mindfulness is a way of staying in the present. It is a goal that Christianity shares with many other religions and spiritual practices. The theory is that if you stay focused on what’s happening right now, then you won’t suffer fear for the future, or doubt from your past. I have been attempting this state of mind by using lessons from the Gospels.

My first step was to forgive every sin, as it happened.

“For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you: / But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”—Matthew 6:14-15.

If we don’t forgive, then our sins go unforgiven. Further, sins fester when we don’t release them. I can’t be happy with the weight. So I attempted to forgive every sin, as it happened.

I never realized how much other people bugged me, especially in traffic. Lord, all I needed to complete this study was to take a drive. I’m sure you know what I mean. People are crazy out there, behind their steering wheels. Their actions are selfish, as if by necessity, violent, provocative, and threatening.

If you’ll pardon the joke, I’m pretty sure that “the valley of the shadow of death” was a prophecy about highways, and how we are seduced into sin just to keep up with the flow of traffic.

I was in a state of constant forgiveness while driving around, especially when I realized that I was judging them, and that I needed to be forgiven.

That was my second step. I forgave them, then myself, over and over.

No matter what someone else does, we are responsible for how we react.

“And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but perceivest not the beam that is in thine own eye? / …Thou hypocrite, cast out first the beam out of thine own eye, and then shalt thou see clearly to pull out the mote that is in thy brother’s eye.”—Luke 6:41-42.

All of this kept me in the present, mindful of God.

God is always there, no matter where we are.

“The Lord hath made all things for himself: yea, even the wicked for the day of evil.”—Proverbs 16:4.

He made everything and exists as everything.

“Neither shall they say, Lo here! or, lo there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you.”—Luke 17:21.

This is my second fundamental precept: Heaven is within you.

It’s blasphemous to hate someone when you consider that God is with them. Instead, I want to bless God, because God has blessed me. This led me to my third step in mindfulness, which was to bless everyone.

“…Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God. / Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child shall in no wise enter therein.”—Luke 18:16-17.

I wanted to understand how to be reborn, as taught in the Gospels, because that is how you get to Heaven. I began by blessing children and their families.

“Honour thy father and thy mother: and, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.”—Matthew 19:19.

This led to me blessing the elderly, who are the fathers and mothers. Jesus taught us how to love our neighbors. He gave us a step-by-step process for how we can reach Heaven. I put this into practice because, frankly, I have a tough time loving my sinful neighbors. And since I’m sinful, I can hardly love myself either.

By blessing someone, what do I mean?

It’s kind of like when someone sneezes and you say, “Bless you.” Their heart skipped a beat, as they sneezed, and you’re just wishing them well. A blessing is a little stronger than saying good luck. If we were to alter that phrase to be a blessing, we might say, “I wish you the best of luck possible; stay well and strong, and have compassion for others, as I have had compassion for you.”

The point is that if I’m going to get involved in someone’s life by judging them, or forgiving them, then, instead, I can choose to trust in God, have faith in the Heaven within that person.

“And I will bless them that bless thee, and curse him that curseth thee: and in thee shall all families of the earth be blessed.”—Genesis 12:3.

That was God’s original covenant with Abraham, the one that Jesus renewed with his blood.

“For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins.”—Matthew 26:28.

By blessing others, we are blessed; and by cursing others, we are cursed. It’s your choice.

So now I stay in the present by blessing children, the elderly, and, the most recent addition, all animals.

Children and animals live in the present. Sure, they want food or affection, and “hunt” with a future feast in mind. But they remain focused on the present moment as they do so—ready to pounce or run away.

Jesus loves the little children, and the animals love Jesus.

“He came unto his own, and his own received him not.”—John 1:11.

Rejection is an important component of Jesus’ story.

“And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.”—Luke 2:7.

There was no room for him in our hearts. We rejected him, and killed him so that we could remain in the dark.

“For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved.”—John 3:20.

We’re addicted to sin. But the animals in the manger didn’t mind him spending the night with them.

This is an important point. There is something about animals that allowed them to accept him. They remind me of what Jesus said about children: “…of such is the kingdom of God.” By blessing what is God’s, we accept God. But to accept God’s will, we must come into the light.

Jesus is the light, or, more specifically, his lessons light the way. His story is an example for how we can bless and comfort one another.

“He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love.”—1 John 4:8.

This is the third fundamental precept in these essays: God is love.

All of my other theories and deductions must fit with these three fundamentals: Jesus is an example; Heaven is within you; and God is love.

With that as my starting point, my studies of the Gospels became a prayer for us human beings. It’s all about us, how we can learn to get along, and find peace and dignity within ourselves, by treating each other with the same compassion that Jesus showed to us.

This takes practice.

“God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.”—John 4:24.

To worship in spirit and truth, we must be in a mindful state, focused on the kingdom of Heaven that is within all things. We are alive, right here and now, and so is God.

“For he is not a God of the dead, but of the living: for all live unto him.”—Luke 20:38.

To that end, I’ve followed these three steps to keep myself in the present: forgive others when they sin; forgive myself when I sin; and bless everyone. My goal is to keep God in my heart, to keep love in my heart at all times.

“And he that sent me is with me: the Father hath not left me alone; for I do always those things that please him.”—John 8:29.

I feel that by following those three steps, I am pleasing God. And when I do that, God is with me. When God is with me, I have love in my heart.

“These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”—John 16:33.

We don’t have to overcome the world; Jesus did it. We don’t have to judge anyone; Jesus does it.

“For the Father judgeth no man, but hath committed all judgment unto the Son.”—John 5:22.

We don’t have to take revenge, an eye for an eye. God does that.

“It is mine to avenge; I will repay.”—Hebrews 10:30.

All we have to do is be who we are, and allow others the same, and forgive ourselves for being who we are, while allowing others the same: easier prayed than done.

Sin comes no matter how prepared we are. It is our nature, our cross to carry, that we slip into selfishness, or hate groups of people, so that we can feel loved by our own group. Every action has a potential sin attached; each and every thought can lead to darkness. We lack the instinctive toolset for balancing our animal urges and the growing complexity of our society. We can’t cure this disease.

All we can do is accept it: release the need to make the universe bend to our will, and, instead, bend our will to the universe. This takes practice. Stay mindful. Replace judgments with blessings. Be thankful for each and every moment, no matter how bad or painful, joyous or rapturous. It is all of God, made by the connection we all have to each other, as we walk through the valley, terrified of death, and hopeful of forgiveness.

The connection is that we all love, and sin, and need constant, automatic forgiveness, which we can only attain by forgiving others. This is the definition of love as taught by Jesus in the Gospels. If you can see this, understand it, and are willing to attempt it in practice, then you are ready to be reborn.

Comforter

In the past two essays, I studied the Gospels to answer this question: How do I become a good minister and friend? In “Tell No One” I learned to focus on comfort rather than conversion; I tell no one the particulars of my faith, my personal covenant with God (the Father), because I need to focus on their faith, not mine. And in “Spread the Word” I learned to be a shepherd one moment, and sheep the next, just as Jesus (the Son of man) was.

The one missing piece of the Trinity is the Holy Ghost. It’s first mentioned in the opening verses of Matthew.

“…[Mary] was found with child of the Holy Ghost. //…for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost.”—Matthew 1:18, 20.

Childbirth is the first clue to understanding this concept in the Gospels.

“…[John the Baptist] shall be filled with the Holy Ghost, even from his mother’s womb.”—Luke 1:15.

It links parent and child, Father and Son, completes them. This is the purpose of the Holy Ghost as well: thesis, antithesis, synthesis.

“At that day ye shall know that I am in my Father, and ye in me, and I in you.”—John 14:20.

There is a bond between father and son. They are connected by a love that goes all the way down to their blood. This connection is the synthesis. Father and Son would exist apart, if not for the Holy Ghost. It equates them, joins them. Without their bond, they are just two people. But with it, any two people can love each other as much.

Of Jesus, John the Baptist said, “…he shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost, and with fire.”—Matthew 3:11.

An important thing to keep in mind is that Jesus is an example.

“For I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you.”—John 13:15.

Since he baptized with the Holy Ghost, we do too.

“Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”—Matthew 28:19.

Baptism represents a friendship going to a new level. No longer just acquaintances, we grow closer, brought together by faith and compassion. But we also baptize with fire. We take the friendship to yet another level, at which we could become enemies.

All it takes is a heated moment, a fiery discussion, and eating from the one apple tree that we shouldn’t.

“Wherefore I say unto you, All manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men: but the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven unto men. / And whosoever speaketh a word against the Son of man, it shall be forgiven him: but whosoever speaketh against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven him, neither in this world, neither in the world to come.”—Matthew 12:31-32.

This is the one unforgivable sin, according to Jesus: blasphemy against the Holy Ghost. Otherwise, the Gospels teach absolute forgiveness.

When Peter asked how many times he should forgive his neighbor, and suggested maybe seven times, Jesus answered, “…I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven.”—Matthew 18:22.

Toward the end of the Last Supper, John’s gospel has a “deleted scene” that’s not in any of the other books. Judas had just left. Everyone felt betrayed, and Peter was worried that he would deny his faith before morning. To calm everyone, Jesus told them about the Comforter.

“But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.”—John 14:26.

The Comforter is the Holy Ghost. So everything we’ve learned so far applies now to him. He will bring a bond as strong as family. Further, he will be the connection that we call love and friendship.

When a heated exchange erupts between two friends, they should remember why they care for each other. Everything Jesus taught by example will be applied when the Comforter comes.

“But when the Comforter is come, whom I will send unto you from the Father, even the Spirit of truth, which proceedeth from the Father, he shall testify of me.”—John 15:26.

Since John referred to the Comforter in the masculine, I will too. It’s important to note that the Holy Ghost didn’t have a gender before this. What was divine has become human. The connection he offers is personified through us. When we approach an argument with love, we become the Comforter. The same love that Jesus has for us, we share with each other.

“A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.”—John 14:34.

That’s how we testify. When our ministry or friendship is interrupted by us crossing the line, committing that one unforgivable sin, we should remember why we love each other; our bond is sacred, holy. But, to do so, we both have to accept the truth.

“And I pray the Father and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever; / Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you. / I will not leave you comfortless; I will come to you.”—John 14:16-18.

I don’t always see the truth, though I always think I do. But sometimes I can’t, because I’m blinded by anger, jealousy, pride, or any number of sins. But the truth is always with me. I just have to accept it, so that it dwells within me.

The problem is that it takes two to tango, always. When there’s a disagreement, there are two people fighting and in need of comfort. To get past the baptism of fire, we both need to see the truth.

“Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.”—John 14:6.

If God is love, then Jesus is forgiveness. And since we should follow his example, as he forgave all sins, then so should we—even the unforgivable one.

“Nevertheless I tell you the truth; It is expedient for you that I go away: for if I go not away, the Comforter will not come unto you; but if I depart, I will send him unto you.”—John 16:7.

He calmed the apostles at the Last Supper by telling them that he had to die, so that we can forgive each other. With his example, we know that it’s possible. We can overcome our sins, if we love and forgive our neighbors as if they were our family, because they are.

“For whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is in heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and mother.”—Matthew 12:50.

However, to deny that forgiveness, as Peter denied his faith in times of hardship, is to blaspheme against the Holy Ghost.

“But he that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost hath never forgiveness, but is in danger of eternal damnation.”—Mark 3:29.

If we don’t allow ourselves to forgive someone, no matter what they’ve done, then we will have that on our conscience. We may justify it as a reaction to their blasphemy, but we each choose what we do, how we react. It’s our responsibility. By not forgiving, we risk tainting our souls forever.

Friendship and ministry begin with a miracle, as two people come together in this world of sin. After performing his miracles, Jesus told those he healed that they should tell no one. The miracle was that the blind could see (and the deaf could hear) the truth.

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised.”—Luke 4:18.

That was his purpose, as he stated it there in Nazareth: to be an example to us for how we can use the Holy Ghost to survive the fire.

Perhaps the Bible isn’t meant to be a rule book. Rather, it tells us that we will mess up, and, when we do, here’s how we can fix things.

“Howbeit when he, the Spirit of truth, is come, he will guide you into all truth: for he shall not speak of himself; but whatsoever he shall hear, that shall he speak: and he will shew you things to come. / He shall glorify me: for he shall receive of mine, and shall shew it unto you.”—John 16:13-14.

Remember, the Spirit of truth is another name for the Comforter, who is also the Holy Ghost. Within one Trinity is another.

Jesus often referred to the importance of not speaking of himself.

“He that speaketh of himself seeketh his own glory: but he that seeketh his glory that sent him, the same is true, and no unrighteousness is in him.”—John 7:18.

This is another way of saying tell no one. It’s a warning as to what can cause disagreements. A sin is unforgivable because the person was thinking only of themselves. In a relationship, there are, of course, two people; one cannot be ignored in favor of the other, since both are one.

“If I do not the works of my Father, believe me not. / But if I do, though ye believe not me, believe the works: that ye may know, and believe, that the Father is in me, and I in him.”—John 10:37-38.

Father and Son are one. We are one: the synthesis of opposites. We hurt ourselves when we speak only of ourselves. We blaspheme against the miracle that brought us together.

It is at that moment that the Comforter comes. He is the peacemaker within, the better angel of our nature.

“Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.”—Matthew 5:9.

He reveals the truth, which is this: All of us are part of the same whole. When you add everything together—all the rocks, vegetation, people, animals, earth, and sky—every component becomes crucial, no matter how small. Ministers and friends are those who speak with this truth.

“…If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; / And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”—John 8:31-32.

When we speak the truth, it’s because we hear the Holy Ghost. During an argument with my friend, if I listen to the Comforter that dwells within me, then I will speak not with my words, but his.

“But when they shall lead you, and deliver you up, take no thought beforehand what ye shall speak, neither do ye premeditate: but whatsoever shall be given you in that hour, that speak ye: for it is not ye that speak, but the Holy Ghost.”—Mark 13:11.

Our relationship can survive the fire. Faith allows me to see a better tomorrow, a prophecy of how the friendship can be saved. But it won’t happen through my will alone. I’ve already messed things up. Only through a combined will can we hope to survive Judgment Day.

This is how we glorify God.

“All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.”—John 1:3.

God is all things, the sum, thesis, antithesis, and synthesis, the alpha and omega. So when I let go of my selfishness, and if I let myself hear the Comforter, and speak with the words he gives me, I am doing God’s will.

At that moment, I receive his wisdom, since mine obviously wasn’t cutting it.

“…With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.”—Matthew 19:26.

Since the miracle of us coming together as friends (to minister to each other) was possible, so is another miracle: the saving of our friendship during crisis. But the only way to reach the kingdom of heaven within is for us both to accept the will of that which is without.

This is the third thing I’ve learned about ministry and friendship: We reach heaven together or not at all.

Spread the Word

The dual metaphor of shepherd and sheep is present throughout the Old Testament: Noah, two-by-two; God leading Abraham—who, in turn, led God’s people; Moses and the Exodus; God inspiring prophets, who inspired people. In Jesus’ story, the image is even more pronounced.

“I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep.”—John 10:11.

He was a shepherd one moment, and sheep the next.

“…Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.”—John 1:29.

We are also both shepherd and sheep. We maintain our faith by watching over each other.

Shepherds were the first to spread the word about Christ in the New Testament.

“And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.”—Luke 2:8.

Yes, those shepherds (who shared a vision of an angelic choir and followed a new star) were the first to not only witness his birth, but to tell his story.

“And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. / And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child. / And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.”—Luke 2:16-18.

I see those shepherds as quintessential, a template for ministers. While everyone else slept, they kept watch: patient, humble, their eyes and ears open.

You never know when predators will attack your sheep.

“…I will come on thee as a thief, and thou shalt not know what hour I will come upon thee.”—Revelation 3:3.

Since we can’t stay awake all the time, we need to watch over each other, sleep in shifts, so to speak: shepherds one moment, sheep the next.

In the early days of his ministry, between his rejection at Nazareth and the death of John the Baptist, Jesus decided it was time for his apostles to get more involved. We can’t just follow; we have to lead as well.

“And he called unto him the twelve, and began to send them forth by two and two; and gave them power over unclean spirits.”—Mark 6:7.

As Noah gathered the animals two-by-two, so Jesus sent out his students. The Bible doesn’t say who went with whom. I wonder who accompanied Judas. I love the idea that they went together. Companionship would make the trip safer and not so lonely.

Though the Gospels of Matthew and Luke agreed with each other on the details of this story, Mark offered some exceptions; and John left it out entirely. For example, Mark was the only one to mention how the apostles went off in pairs.

“And when he had called unto him his twelve disciples, he gave them power against unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to heal all manner of sickness and all manner of disease.”—Matthew 10:1.

Where it’s written in Mark that Jesus gave them “power over unclean spirits,” Matthew and Luke added the curing of sickness and disease. Jesus gave them the power to do everything he had done. In that way, one became twelve.

How exciting for a student to become the teacher. And how scary! The call to minister comes out of the blue.

Peter and his brother Andrew got a little warning.

“And he saith unto them, Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”—Matthew 4:19.

Matthew (the tax collector) got a simple “Follow me.”—Luke 5:27.

The text doesn’t indicate if Jesus said anything at all to the other apostles when he recruited them.

“…he saw other two brethren, James the son of Zebedee, and John his brother, in a ship with Zebedee their father, mending their nets; and he called them. / And they immediately left the ship and their father, and followed him.”—Matthew 4:21-22.

If they thought that they could just follow, and not be shepherds themselves, then this assignment must’ve been really scary. But Jesus instructed them.

“…Go not into the way of the Gentiles, and into any city of the Samaritans enter ye not. / But go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”—Matthew 10:5-6.

In time this would change. The Jewish authorities rejected him, and were conspiring to kill him. So the Gospel would go to the Gentiles. And with parables like “The Good Samaritan,” Christianity would call for a truce between the Jews and the Samaritans.

“And [Peter] said unto them, Ye know how that it is an unlawful thing for a man that is a Jew to keep company, or come unto one of another nation; but God hath shewed me that I should not call any man common or unclean.”—The Acts 10:28.

The lost were a top priority for Jesus.

“For the Son of man is come to save that which was lost.”—Matthew 18:11.

Mark and Luke both skipped over that detail. They also missed what is, arguably, the main message of Jesus’ early ministry.

“And as ye go, preach, saying, The kingdom of heaven is at hand.”—Matthew 10:7.

Before the New Testament, heaven was a vague concept. Always lower case, its plural form was a synonym for sky or firmament.

“When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou has ordained….”—Psalms 8:3.

In the singular, heaven was where God lived.

“And the Lord said unto Moses, Thus thou shalt say unto the children of Israel, Ye have seen that I have talked with you from heaven.”—Exodus 20:22.

And that’s about all there was to it. Therefore, any preaching about the details of heaven caught everyone’s attention. That was how John the Baptist started.

“In those days came John the Baptist, preaching in the wilderness of Judaea, / And saying, Repent ye: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”—Matthew 3:1-2.

And Jesus too:

“From that time Jesus began to preach, and to say, Repent: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”—Matthew 4:17.

It was a daring, new message. After all, God lived in heaven. Jesus told his apostles to preach that God’s kingdom had arrived, which meant God must not be far behind. That’s inspiring, or blasphemous, depending on who you asked.

Next, he told his apostles what they could and couldn’t bring with them as they preached.

“Provide neither gold, nor silver, nor brass in your purses, / Nor scrip for your journey, neither two coats, neither shoes, nor yet staves: for the workman is worthy of his meat.”—Matthew 10:9-10.

(Scrip was a small shepherd’s pack.)

In Matthew, they weren’t allowed to carry anything, except for one coat. I’m reminded of “The Rich Young Ruler.” Jesus told him to sell everything he owned, give all his money to the poor, and become a disciple. In essence, we are asked to surrender what we think we need, to get what we really need.

Mark was not quite so harsh.

“And commanded them that they should take nothing for their journey, save a staff only; no scrip, no bread, no money in their purse: / But be shod with sandals; and not put on two coats.”—Mark 6:8-9.

They got to carry a staff and wear sandals. It’s hard for me to imagine them any other way, but apparently sandals and staves were luxury items. Regardless of the particulars, the imagery is clear.

“For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.”—Matthew 16:25.

To do to others as I would have them do to me, I can no longer think in terms of me: spending my time pursuing what I want. I can’t serve both my interests and God’s. My treasure is where my heart is. If my heart cares only for me, then I am all that I will have.

“And into whatsoever city or town ye shall enter, inquire who in it is worthy; and there abide till ye go thence. / And when ye come into an house, salute it. / And if the house be worthy, let your peace come upon it: but if it be not worthy, let your peace return to you.”—Matthew 10:11-13.

In every new town, they stayed with a different family; but while in that town, they’d sleep and eat with that one family. What a great way to minister! You could talk late into the night, help them with cooking and cleaning. They would be your family, for a while.

While studying this passage, I got into the habit of blessing (praying or wishing kindness and happiness for) every road I drove on, every building I entered, and every sign I saw that I knew others would see. I prayed that everyone who encountered those objects would feel lifted up, that they would discover something new and exciting about their lives.

Everywhere I went, I blessed what was there. I didn’t say anything or make any gestures.

“But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth: / That thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret himself shall reward thee openly.”—Matthew 6:3-4.

God knows our hearts. We don’t pray so much for God, but to feel the connection, the love between us and the world. Prayer anchors us in the moment, which is where love exists. Sin is always in the past or future.

Sometimes, we just can’t reach people: One or both of us could be blind to the connection, deaf to any word of comfort. Maybe it’s not time; maybe I’m not the person to help them; or maybe I need to tend to myself.

“And whosoever will not receive you, when ye go out of that city, shake off the very dust from your feet for a testimony against them.”—Luke 9:5.

I love that saying. It reminds me of baseball, kicking dirt on the umpire. Remember, from “Tell No One,” a minister is not there to convert, but to comfort. If we can’t help, then we must realize and accept God’s will. We have to let go of our desire to save them, wash our hands, and dust off our feet.

We have to be willing, above all else, to let people live as they choose.

In Matthew and Mark, Jesus had more to say about those who rejected his apostles.

“And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear your words, when ye depart out of that house or city, shake off the dust of your feet. / Verily I say unto you, It shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom and Gomorrha in the day of judgment, than for that city.”—Matthew 10:14-15.

In these pages, I’ve written about a practical understanding of Judgment Day: a time of self-judgment. We have to come to terms with our actions, even though we know not what we do. When we reject someone who wants to be our shepherd, or refuse to be a sheep or shepherd when the situation calls for it, we have to live with the consequences.

“Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.”—Matthew 10:16.

That is such a beautiful verse: the core of Christianity. Jesus (the shepherd) sends out his sheep to gather the lost sheep; and, along the way, his sheep become shepherds for the lost sheep, while remaining harmless against the wolves of the world. The sheep need faith, and the shepherd teaches them.

The reason why it’s so hard to have faith in someone is that we have to make ourselves vulnerable to them. We have to be willing to lay down our lives, to raise theirs out of sin, or make them feel loved. Faith is always a leap with two concerned parties: the one who leaps, and the one who catches them. So, when we leap, we need faith in ourselves, and faith in those who catch us. And we leap all the time.

That’s a lot of faith; it’s exhausting! That’s how and why we sin. We get tired. We have to be ready for whatever our situation asks of us: sheep or shepherd, disciples one moment, teachers the next.

How do I make that call? How do I know when to switch? Better yet, how do I know what to say?

“…take no thought how or what ye shall speak: for it shall be given you in that same hour what ye shall speak. / For it is not ye that speak, but the Spirit of your Father which speaketh in you.”—Matthew 10:19-20.

A few years ago, I volunteered in a Kindergarten classroom. I didn’t know what to say to such young children. I was afraid that I’d upset them, or talk over their heads and confuse them.

So, every day, I prayed that God would speak for me—or, at the very least, guide my speech, actions, facial expressions, you name it. And they loved me. We had a great time.

The simplest way to know if you’re following God’s will is to love and forgive everyone.

“A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.”—John 13:35.

Before I do something, I (try to) ask myself if I’m showing love, or am I only interested in what I might get out of the exchange. If I’m showing love, then I am doing God’s will.

Sending out the twelve worked so well that Jesus called on an additional seventy disciples to stand up and spread the word.

“After these things the Lord appointed other seventy also, and sent them two and two before his face into every city and place, whither he himself would come.”—Luke 10:1.

Vulnerable one moment, protective the next, we love and identify with both extremes because we have been both. When we lift someone, after catching them in their leap of faith, we are lifted in return. Faith happens in pairs, two-by-two. We don’t need to be paid back personally. Joy is what lifts us in return; the rapture of connection causes the singular person to vanish, leaving the pair as one kingdom in a heavenly state.

In this way, the one becomes two, twelve, and seventy. Every life we touch, touches others. How we interact becomes a huge responsibility. Will we comfort or convert? That is, respectively, will we allow God to speak through us, or let our ego be what we choose to pass along to the rest of the world?

“These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”—John 16:33.

With all the talk of devils and hell, sin and responsibility, we might forget the main reason for the Gospels, which is peace. We have to remind ourselves to live in the moment, to love the moment. Have faith that tomorrow will take care of itself. Being mindful of God helps: Bless and be thankful for everything and everyone. That will keep you in the present, with your eyes and ears open to what the situation calls for: shepherd or sheep, when to dust off your feet, and when to comfort.

It’s your choice, in the end, whether to spread the word or despise the kingdom of heaven that is within. And it’s their choice to hear your words, accept you as a shepherd, or reject you.

“He that heareth you heareth me; and he that despiseth you despiseth me; and he that despiseth me despiseth him that sent me.”—Luke 10:16.

By interacting with each other, we pass along a potential for connection that affects more lives than we can imagine. We can choose to share peace of mind through comfort and understanding. Or we can reject the responsibility we have to each other, to ourselves. What we do to our neighbors, we do to God. And whatever we do to God, we do to ourselves.

Tell No One

I want to understand how to minister, not just as a preacher, but as a friend. According to the Gospels, what do I do?

“For I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you.”—John 13:15.

Jesus not only gave us examples of what to do, but also of what not to do, especially when it comes to ministry.

Last time, we left off with Jesus taking Peter, James, and John into Jairus’ house, leaving the other disciples and thousands of people outside to wonder.

“And he took the damsel by the hand, and said unto her, Talitha cumi; which is, being interpreted, Damsel, I say unto thee, arise. / And straightway the damsel arose, and walked; for she was of the age of twelve years. And they were astonished with a great astonishment. / And he charged them straitly that no man should know it; and commanded that something should be given her to eat.”—Mark 5:41-43.

I love that line: they were astonished with a great astonishment. Jairus’ daughter had died. She was lost. When Jesus brought her brought back to life, through the power of her father’s faith, her resurrection made them believe Jesus was supernatural.

When something awesome happens, what do you want to do? Tell someone!

But he ordered them to not tell anyone. He allowed only three disciples and Jairus to be present. While Jairus was family, Peter, James, and John were like nurses-in-training, making the rounds, learning what to do, and what not to do.

A miracle had taken place. What else could they believe, except that he was the Christ? Since he had taken those specific people with him, the experience must have been meant for them alone. Therefore, what they believed was also for them alone.

Later, as the twelve were walking between towns:

“…he asked his disciples, saying unto them, Whom do men say that I am? / And they answered, John the Baptist; but some say, Elias; and others, One of the prophets. / And he saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am? And Peter answereth and saith unto him, Thou art the Christ. / And he charged them that they should tell no man of him.”—Mark 8:27-30.

Jesus got specific here about what we shouldn’t be telling others during our ministry to them. It’s a subtle point. Peter believed Jesus was the Christ, an ultimate and heroic figure written about by the great prophet Isaiah (referred to as Elias in the text).

Think about what happens when you try to share your beliefs. Of course, you have no proof, only your understanding, and your interpretation. If the other person has an opposing belief, it’ll become a debate, one that neither of you are likely to win. The exchange might become heated, passionate displays on both sides. Then, arguments ensue, maybe for years. If we look at this on a scale of nations communicating with each other, the arguments could easily turn into wars.

“Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also; and greater works than these shall he do; because I go unto my Father.”—John 14:12.

As we minister to each other, and comfort one another, what is more important: that we insist others accept our beliefs, or that we be kind and provide comfort? Beliefs are necessary to the person who has them; to everyone else, they are just ideas.

“And they bring unto him one that was deaf, and had an impediment in his speech; and they beseech him to put his hand upon him. / And he took him aside from the multitude, and put his fingers into his ears, and he spit, and touched his tongue; / And looking up to heaven, he sighed, and saith unto him, Ephphatha, that is, Be opened.”—Mark 7:32-34.

When I can no longer hear the truth or speak it, I need faith instead of belief. Faith comes (or flees) in the moment; belief is always with you. Those we minister to have faith in us that we will do what’s right for them, that we will help them according to what they need, not what we need.

This is a fascinating scene because we get a close look at Jesus working one of his miracles. Ministry is private. He took that man to the side, away from the crowds. For a better understanding of what he did next, consider the opening to the Gospel of John:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. /…. / And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten Son, which is in the bosom of the Father), full of grace and truth.”—John 1:1, 14.

So the Word of God entered that man’s ears and touched his tongue. He was closed off from others, and the Word opened him to the truth, the way, and the life.

“And straightway his ears were opened, and the string of his tongue was loosed, and he spake plain. / And he charged them that they should tell no man: but the more he charged them, so much the more a great deal they published it.”—Mark 7:35-36.

No longer deaf and dumb, that man had to celebrate his good fortune. He had to tell everyone who would listen. Even if he didn’t tell others what he believed, and only shared that he was healed, they would still draw their own conclusions, believing according to their interpretations. And then they would tell others. Even if all those people believed Jesus was the Christ, and there was no disagreement on that point, their collective beliefs would threaten to transform the nature of his ministry.

When Jesus first spoke in Nazareth, he shared his purpose. It was part of Isaiah’s prophecy.

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised.”—Luke 4:18.

He didn’t say he was King of the Jews, David’s rightful heir, or that he was the Christ.

“And he began to say unto them, This day is this scripture fulfilled in your ears.”—Luke 4:21.

What did he mean? Whatever he meant was whatever you believed. The people of Nazareth interpreted what he said as blasphemy, and that he was claiming to be the one Isaiah wrote about. But what he said was what any of us might say, if we wanted to comfort the poor, the brokenhearted, the captives, the blind, and the bruised.

After he had fed 5,000 people with five loaves of bread and two small fish:

“Then those men, when they had seen the miracle that Jesus did, said, This is of a truth that prophet that should come into the world. / When Jesus therefore perceived that they would come and take him by force, to make him a king, he departed again into a mountain himself alone.”—John 6:14-15.

He didn’t want to be King of the Jews. And he didn’t want people to share their belief that he was the Christ. If we are to live by his example, then we must be aware of this, and meditate on what it means.

“By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.”—John 13:35.

That was his new commandment, the reason for a New Testament, the message written in the Word that became flesh: Love one another. He didn’t want us to teach with our beliefs; they are private, applicable to your journey, not mine. Instead, he wanted us to comfort each other. That’s the point of ministry.

You might be wondering, as I did, if this is too restrictive. Should we limit what ministers have to say? And I can’t help but remember this warning:

“Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven. / But whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before my Father which is in heaven.”—Matthew 10:32-33.

When I’ve helped people, I found the less I said, the better. They don’t need me to fix their problems. Chances are that I can’t. What they need is understanding, dignity, and the respect that comes from my undivided attention.

As for confessing Jesus to others:

“Master, which is the great commandment in the law? / Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. / This is the first and great commandment. / And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. / On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”—Matthew 23:36-40.

These aren’t just two separate commandments. Jesus equated them with the phrase “like unto.” He combined them, as if to say: Love your neighbor with all your heart, soul, and mind. Our part of the new covenant is to love each other as we would love God, or as we would love ourselves. His part is to provide an example that will overcome the evils of this world.

Who did Jesus come to save? That is, as missionaries, whom do we seek to help?

“For the Son of man is come to save that which was lost.”—Matthew 18:11.

And how do we save those who are lost?

“For whether is greater, he that sitteth at meat, or he that serveth? Is not he that sitteth at meat? But I am among you as he that serveth.”—Luke 22:27.

We serve them, comfort them, and give them what they need—which is someone to love—not what we need, which is verification of our own beliefs.

I know what it’s like to have a belief transform my life, giving me hope when there was only despair. I know that I want to shout it from the mountain tops, so that everyone can share in the joy of my good news. The joy is natural, but so is the tendency to minister by our will, instead of God’s.

When Jesus healed a leper, and told him to tell no one:

“But he went out, and began to publish it much, and to blaze abroad the matter, insomuch that Jesus could no more openly enter into the city, but was without in desert places: and they came to him from every quarter.”—Mark 1:45.

His skin, his connection to the world was healed. How could he not spread ministry like a wild fire? Our natural tendencies aren’t always the best, because, by natural, we really mean without thinking. This is how and why we sin.

We forget that we need to show love and compassion, that we need to have forgiveness and mercy in our hearts, even (or especially) to our worst enemies.

Our lives are busy; we got a lot going on. Sometimes we don’t want to think, or we’re feeling vulnerable and don’t want to care.

The Gospels are here to remind us that we are not alone, even if we think we want to be.
When we interact with each other, or merely have the potential for interaction, we become a part of each other’s lives, a part of everything.

So ministering with love and comfort, instead of what I believe about Jesus, is not restrictive. It is actually the thread that connects everything. Love spreads, its ripples intersect with others, combining, growing stronger.

“He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love.”—I John 4:8.

That’s probably my favorite quote in the whole Bible. It’s simple, and it explains God with an emotion that we’ve all felt. The problem is that the emotion isn’t simple. Love can be a crazy mess; its absence is sin; its presence is heaven.

Therefore, as ministers, we go forth to fill that void, to remove the sin that is the absence of love by giving our own love freely. We do this to follow Jesus’ example, as he gave his own life.

“I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep.”—John 10:11.

We “give up our lives” when we stop insisting that others accept our beliefs as the truthful, guiding principles we believe them to be.

I shouldn’t need someone to verify my personal belief. And, if I do, then my faith in them and me is weak.

When I’m trying to comfort someone, I want to lower their defenses, not raise them by putting our personal beliefs at odds. Even if they and many others shared my beliefs, they could try to change the nature of my ministry.

“For I came down from heaven, not to do mine own will, but the will of him that sent me.”—John 6:38.

Just as Jesus took that deaf and dumb man aside, and miraculously healed him, my beliefs are between me and God. What someone else believes is the miracle between them and God. It is a sacred connection, a personal covenant.

“But Jesus held his peace. And the high priest answered and said unto him, I adjure thee by the living God, that thou tell us whether thou be the Christ, the Son of God. / Jesus saith unto him, Thou hast said: nevertheless I say unto you, Hereafter shall ye see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven.”—Matthew 26:63-64.

Just as Jesus never specified who he was, I should not specify my belief, because it is mine. Though I need to strengthen my faith in myself by becoming more comfortable with my beliefs, I cannot achieve that by “converting” others. I can only accomplish that by following God’s will, not my own.

“If I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet; ye also ought to wash one another’s feet. / For I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you.”—John 13:14-15.

Talitha Cumi Part Two

I know how hard it is to have faith in others. If someone hurt me once, chances are they’ll do it again. I can forgive them, but then I need to have faith that they won’t repeat their mistake. Believing in another person gets progressively more difficult, since there are always new ways to be thoughtless and cruel. These add up and are multiplied by however many people we know. The process is made infinitely more complicated when we consider forgiving and believing in people we don’t know personally: for example, random strangers who test me regularly on the highway.

This is why we have the Bible and the gospels in particular: In order to coexist, we need to have faith in people who can’t help but sin, including ourselves. Such belief is impossible or, at the very least, improbable, because we know that every one of us can be thoughtless.

“And [Jesus] said, The things which are impossible with men are possible with God.”—Luke 18:27.

To be more precise, the unlikely is made more likely with the Bible’s lessons. When we pray or meditate on doing what’s right, then our hearts are in the right place.

Think back to Noah, and the reason God flooded the world.

“And God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thought of his heart was only evil continually.”—Genesis 6:5.

If their evil hearts destroyed the world, then maybe our good hearts can save it.

Faith in yourself and others becomes possible through prayer and meditation on Jesus’ lessons. Where the Pharisees and the people of Nazareth showed their lack of faith by rejecting him, the way to be healed through faith is by acceptance—not just of Jesus, but that life is often out of our control. Such times are usually when we’re required to make a stand, declare ourselves as shepherds of the weak, or the beasts who prey on them.

What makes the gospels fun to read is that there’s so much action, drama, and movement. There are high stakes in the lives of these simple people. For example, sandwiched between Jesus casting the demons out of Legion, and being rejected by the people of Nazareth are two back-to-back tales of astonishing faith.

After seeing Legion healed, the locals were scared of Jesus, and insisted that he leave. So back across the Sea of Galilee he went, where a crowd was waiting for him. While one group rejected him, another accepted him so much that they waited on the shore for his return. Among them was Jairus, a ruler of the synagogue.

Keep in mind, this happened after the Pharisees declared Jesus a dangerous man, wanted dead or alive (mostly dead).

“And the Pharisees went forth, and straightway took counsel with the Herodians against him, how they might destroy him.”—Mark 3:6.

Though many of the other priests wanted to kill Jesus, Jairus went to him for help.

“…and when [Jairus] saw [Jesus], he fell at his feet, / And besought him greatly, saying, My little daughter lieth at the point of death: I pray thee come and lay thy hands on her, that she may be healed; and she shall live.”—Mark 5:22-23.

It’s a pity that my ability to perform a leap of faith often coincides with the adrenaline rush of a hopeless situation—if only I could make such leaps when it wasn’t a matter of life or death.

Still, the faith that Jairus showed was remarkable. It wasn’t just that his fellow rulers of the synagogue disliked Jesus; they wanted to kill him. He was a criminal who had blasphemed and broken God’s law of keeping the Sabbath holy. Jairus had so much faith in a stranger that he was willing to put his position and reputation in jeopardy.

“Nevertheless among the chief rulers also many believed on him; but because of the Pharisees they did not confess him, lest they should be put out of the synagogue.”—John 12:42.

To accept what your peers reject is, indeed, a strong faith.

“And Jesus went with [Jairus]; and much people followed him, and thronged him.”—Mark 5:24.

I’ve often wondered why he was followed by these large crowds. To show up and listen to him speak was one thing; following him from town to town, waiting for hours or days on the shore for him to return was something else. Most of them wanted to be healed, or had someone with them who needed to be healed. And since we are all in need of rejuvenation, the comings and goings of his followers made for a constant multitude. Plus there was this:

“And the whole multitude sought to touch him: for there went virtue out of him, and healed them all.”—Luke 6:19.

Some people make me feel a certain way: anxious or safe, for example. Jesus’ presence made his followers feel virtuous. I think we should consider how we make others feel. What is your presence like?

“And a certain woman, which had an issue of blood twelve years, / And had suffered many things of many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse, / When she had heard of Jesus, came in the press behind, and touched his garment. / For she said, If I may touch but his clothes, I shall be whole.”—Mark 5:25-28.

There is no better medicine than being around the right person. Their belief in me encourages my faith in them, which reaffirms the faith I have in myself. On the other hand, being around the wrong sort of person, one who doesn’t believe in me, makes me doubt myself. While doubt can be necessary, since it forces us to meditate on the state of our faith, if doubt comes at the wrong time, when we’re living on faith, coasting on fumes, it can be devastating.

Just as I need people of strong faith in my life, I need to be there for others too.

“…freely ye have received, freely give.”—Matthew 10:8.

My attitude, appearance, the way I look someone in the eye, i.e., my presence contributes to others’ faith in me; so do my actions and sharing what’s really in my heart.

What is your presence like to others? How do you make people feel?

“And straightway the fountain of her blood was dried up; and she felt in her body that she was healed of that plague.”—Mark 5:29.

That’s what it’s like for me when I’m around a good person. My bleeding stops. My wounds are healed. The plague of the world’s doubt is healed by people who believe in you. It doesn’t take much: just being near enough to touch.

“And Jesus, immediately knowing in himself that virtue had gone out of him, turned him about in the press, and said, Who touched my clothes? / And his disciples said unto him, Thou seest the multitude thronging thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me?”—Mark 5:30-31.

I love this exchange. It began with mystical overtones: virtue going out of Jesus, as if virtue was his power, the fuel for his miracles. He seemed confused, as if not knowing who’d been healed by touching him. The disciples, as usual, didn’t understand what he was talking about. And there were lots and lots of people everywhere: singing, laughing, pushing, walking, running, hugging, praying for a miracle.

The woman “had an issue of blood twelve years,” and Jairus’ daughter was twelve-years old. I can’t help but think of the twelve tribes of Israel. If the people would come to Jesus, that is, meditate on his lessons and practice them regularly, then they/we could be brought back to life, cured of the plague of fear and doubt.

“O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, which killest the prophets, and stonest them that are sent unto thee; how often would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen doth gather her brood under her wings, and ye would not!”—Luke 13:34.

You can’t help some people. There are some of us who are lost in ourselves. If I was lost in Alberta, then a Canadian could help me. If I was lost in Calculus, then a math teacher could help me. But I’m lost in myself. Any help from the outside, like prophets, if you follow, will be removed. Coming from outside of me, they don’t know the territory, and would only get lost themselves. But if I am lost, then I can’t really help myself either. The only answer is faith.

“And he looked round about to see her that had done this thing. / But the woman fearing and trembling, knowing what was done in her, came and fell down before him, and told him all the truth.”—Mark 5:32-33.

When someone helps us, we should acknowledge it, if not by thanking them, then by paying it forward. The woman could’ve just walked away. She got what she came for. This was her moment. Would she turn her back, like the Pharisees? No. She took a stand for what’s right by dropping to her knees, humbling herself. She recognized that a miracle had taken place.

The miracle is faith in others; with it we can do what would otherwise be impossible. Without it we’re lost. We need to believe in ourselves and others, because there’s so much we don’t know, about each other, the future, what’s best or worst for us.

“And [Jesus] said unto her, Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace, and be whole of thy plague.”—Mark 5:34.

Since we know nothing of how things will work out, whether left is better than right, faith makes us whole because, with it, we accept the unknown. No longer plagued by fear and doubt, we can see the world as it is, see people as they are, and finally know our place.

Meanwhile, one of Jairus’ servants came with bad news.

“While he yet spake, there came from the ruler of the synagogue’s house certain which said, Thy daughter is dead: why troublest thou the Master any further?”—Mark 5:35.

Jairus was willing to go behind the priests’ backs for his daughter, sacrifice his life for hers. Faith requires a sacrifice too. We have to let go of our fear and doubt.

Even when something is bad for me, I can grow accustomed to it, to the point of needing it because it’s part of my understanding of the world. But that is when I have to make a choice, take a stand.

What is my life about: fear or faith?

“As soon as Jesus heard the word that was spoken, he saith unto the ruler of the synagogue, Be not afraid, only believe.”—Mark 5:36.

It was an apocalyptic moment for Jairus. His daughter was dead. He was willing to sacrifice his life for hers, but would he sacrifice his fear?

“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding, / In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”—Proverbs 3:5-6.

Acceptance is the most difficult choice to make. But when apocalypse comes for you, there’s no pleading, rearranging, or planning what you’ll say or do. We behave according to what’s in our hearts.

“And he suffered no man to follow him, save Peter, and James, and John the brother of James.”—Mark 5:37.

This is the first mentioning in these essays of those whom I like to call “The Big 3.” Peter and the two brothers, James and John, got to witness some amazing stuff that no one else did. I’ll do a full analysis on this later. Just keep in mind that what happened next was not meant for everyone to witness, only a select few.

“And he cometh to the house of the ruler of the synagogue, and seeth the tumult, and them that wept and wailed greatly. / And when he was come in, he saith unto them, Why make ye this ado, and weep? The damsel is not dead, but sleepeth.”—Mark 5:38-39.

We cannot be afraid while showing faith; the two are mutually exclusive. This was shown and stated many times in the gospels: when Peter tried to walk on water, when the disciples were caught in the storm at sea. They were afraid when they should’ve had faith.

When your life rages as a perfect storm and you have no choice but to try the impossible, like walking on water, you will succeed if you have faith in yourself and others.

“…as I was with Moses, so I will be with thee: I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.”—Joshua 1:5.

Of course, like Peter, we’re going to sink. It’s inevitable. The gospels taught that lesson repeatedly. The Big 3 fell asleep while they were supposed to be guarding Jesus in Gethsemane; the priests and his own townspeople wanted to kill him; and those who were in Jairus’ house, mourning the death of the little girl, laughed at Jesus when he told them she was just sleeping.

Maybe we can’t fight this, and have to accept that fear is a kneejerk reaction, completely out of our control. However, we can pray for faith and meditate on it, so that when we are fearful, we’ll recognize that we are “of little faith.” Then, instead of continuing to sink, we will arise, stand up for what’s right, and release our doubts—as Jesus released the demons from Legion.

“And he took the damsel by the hand, and said unto her, Talitha cumi; which is, being interpreted, Damsel, I say unto thee, arise. / And straightway the damsel arose, and walked; for she was of the age of twelve years. And they were astonished with a great astonishment. ”—Mark 5:41-42.

Stand up for what you believe in. Declare your side of the fence: fear or faith, dying or living. Choose now, before life makes you choose, so that you can meditate and consider all the factors. If you wait, and your apocalypse comes like a thief in the night, then there’s no telling what you will choose.

The Pharisees and Jesus’ townspeople had waited their whole lives for their Messiah, their perfect moment. And when it did come, they had spent so much of their time and filled up so much of their hearts with doubt and mistrust. Whatever you spend your time doing, whatever you invest your passion into, that’s who you are.

We have to choose whether or not we’ll accept that. Because, in the end, it’s all about our choices: Sometimes we get overwhelmed by all the bells and whistles, the distractions of life, especially during a personal apocalypse. These distractions form a perfect storm, impairing our judgment right at the moment when the thief comes.

So pray with gladness and appreciation. Thank the world for every blessing, no matter how small. Unlike the people who died in the great flood, fill your heart with love continually. So that, when your time comes, your reaction will be no different than what it normally is.

“Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. / This is the first and greatest commandment. / And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.”—Matthew 23:37-39.

To love God is to love everything and everyone. One is like unto the other.

“…Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”—Matthew 25:40.

To love everyone and everything is to love God. You can tell if you have this love because there will be gladness in your heart. You will radiate virtue. If, instead, your presence causes doubt and discord, accept that you will have to get rid of your fear by choosing to accept that you are the miracle, your faith, your trust: With these you hold the key to not only your salvation, but others’ as well.

Meditate, pray, and be ready.

“…for the time is at hand.”—Revelation 1:3.

Talitha Cumi Part One

The people in the gospels had a mixed reception of Jesus, depending on their faith. Some adored him, like the woman who washed his feet with her tears and dried them with her hair; others wanted to kill or imprison everyone around him: infants or apostles. He was a charismatic outlaw healer.

Our faith is comprised of that very combination, depending on how we receive each other, and how we perceive each other: We all have within us the charisma to charm people out of their money, or make them feel comfortable enough to let us help them; we all live by the laws of others, but can choose when we feel it’s necessary to change or break the law for the greater good or our own benefit; and we all have the power to heal each other, or tear down those around us.

Would we kill Jesus because of his blasphemous claim to be the Son of God? Or would we throw palm fronds before him, singing hosanna as the blind see, and the deaf hear? Will we obey the letter of the law, or the spirit?

Though we struggle with our faith, eventually we have to stand and say, This is who I am! These important moments can come at any time.

“But the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night; in the which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat, the earth also and the works that are therein shall be burned up.”—II Peter 3:10.

Judgment Day: We don’t have to approach it literally to understand it literally. We just have to think about those crazy times, in the heat of the moment, when we have to choose what side of the fence we’re on, and what we stand for.

When looking for examples of faith in the gospels, there are good ones and bad ones. Since I believe there is no greater teacher than failure, we’ll start with the bad.

Rejection at Nazareth

“And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not. / …. / He came unto his own, and his own received him not.”—John 1:5, 11.

At the beginning of his ministry, the people of his hometown not only rejected Jesus, but tried to kill him.

“And all they in the synagogue, when they heard these things, were filled with wrath, / And rose up, and thrust him out of the city, and led him unto the brow of the hill whereon their city was built, that they might cast him down headlong.”—Luke 4:28-29.

They knew him, and his parents, brothers, and sisters. He wasn’t a stranger, foaming at the mouth, threatening them. He had been their neighbor for 30 years. But all their mercy vanished when they thought he had blasphemed. Those Godly people knew their scriptures well.

“And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying, / Bring forth him that hath cursed [blasphemed] without the camp; and let all that heard him lay their hands upon his head, and let all the congregation stone him.”—Leviticus 24:13-14.

That came from God! How could the simple people of Nazareth even think of disobeying God? It’s important to note that they not only had a reason for accusing Jesus, but he had provoked them. If he had just read from the book of Isaiah, and then sat without saying another word, his neighbors would not have rejected him. Instead, he told them, “…This day is this scripture fulfilled in your ears.”—Luke 4:21.

Since the passage he’d read from (Isaiah 61:1-3) was accepted by all to prophesize the coming of the Messiah, then Jesus was saying that he was the Messiah. And since none of their priests had interpreted scripture to indicate that their savior would come as their neighbor, the carpenter’s son, they assumed Jesus was blaspheming.

What’s odd about the gospels is this binary nature of faith: You got it or you don’t. Wasn’t anyone in these stories capable of waiting to see, having enough patience to not judge right away? Apparently not, and what does that say about us? I see this as a warning, a lesson.

Our faith is not as robust or flexible as we assume. Everything takes practice. Without a daily regiment, faith weakens as quickly as muscles do. Our faith must always be ready to leap, not to throw others off the cliff, but to jump willingly, for the sake of others.

“And he could there [in Nazareth] do no mighty work, save that he laid his hands upon a few sick folk, and healed them. / And he marveled because of their unbelief….”—Mark 6:5-6.

Those who were unable to believe were not healed by Jesus. All of his miracles were accomplished because of the faith of those receiving his help. Faith enables healing. To heal a friendship, then, we would have to forgive each other by believing in each other.

“And Jesus said unto him, Receive thy sight: thy faith hath saved thee.”—Luke 18:42.

What are we supposed to have faith in, according to the Bible? What are we claiming to believe? The people of Jesus’ hometown believed in God’s laws. They would kill or heal according to the law. They had to; it was their covenant with God…as they understood it.

I think what Jesus was trying to tell them (and us), and what they couldn’t hear because of their rigid beliefs, is that we should have faith in each other.

“A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.”—John 13:34.

Doesn’t love assume faith? We’d need to have faith in someone before we could love them. Just as the gospels are lessons on how to love one another, they are also examples of how difficult it is to have faith in each other. To understand my faith in God, I need only observe my faith in others.

The people of Nazareth had no patience or faith in their neighbor. And what faith they did have was rigid and cold as stone.

My favorite part of this whole episode was how Jesus escaped the mob.

“But he passing through the midst of them went his way.”—Luke 4:30.

He slipped right by them. Now that’s faith. When you’re surrounded by people who want to throw you off a cliff, what do you do?

“…Be not afraid, only believe.”—Mark 5:36.

Jesus had faith that they wouldn’t stone him, or throw him off the cliff. He had faith in the good will of those who only had expressed ill will for him.

“But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.”—Matthew 5:44.

Talk about a faith that can move mountains: It’s a reminder to not let our belief in others be lessened when they are unreceptive; the weaker their faith in you, the stronger your faith in them must be.

That was just the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, and his perceived blasphemy. He didn’t catch the attention of the Pharisees until the crowds started following him; but that happened right away. For people who did believe, they were healed of every possible illness.

“And his fame went throughout all Syria: and they brought unto him all sick people that were taken with divers diseases and torments, and those which were possessed with devils, and those which were lunatic, and those that had the palsy; and he healed them. / And there followed him great multitudes of people from Galilee, and from Decapolis, and from Jerusalem, and from Judea, and from Jordan.”—Matthew 4:24-25.

For people who didn’t believe in the goodness of others, however, Jesus was a threat. And since all those thousands of people were out following Jesus, they weren’t in the synagogues. The priests were losing their audience. They were failing God. It was a catch-22 for them: In order to follow God’s law, they would have to murder this man; or they would have to accept Jesus’ new teachings, thereby abandoning their old ways.

I sometimes think we’re too hard on the Pharisees. They are the most human of all the Bible’s characters, and excellent examples of what can happen when our faith in each other isn’t strong.

First encounter

“And when the Pharisees saw it, they said unto his disciples, Why eateth your Master with publicans and sinners?”—Matthew 9:11.

In Matthew’s gospel, the Pharisees had three encounters with Jesus before they conspired to kill him. This was the first. He had just blasphemed in front of the scribes, by forgiving a man of his sins—only God could do that, according to their laws. So he caught the Pharisees’ attention.

Surrounded by huge crowds, all of them treating Jesus the way the Pharisees wished they were treated, Jesus stood up to those who were, in a sense, the Bible’s policemen.

“But when Jesus heard that, he said unto them, They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick.”—Matthew 9:12.

If he had left well enough alone, that statement might’ve perplexed them and not made them angry. He could’ve changed the subject, and everything would’ve been fine. Instead:

“But go ye and learn what that meaneth, I will have mercy, and not sacrifice: for I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”—Matthew 9:13.

Am I the only one who sees Jesus had an attitude sometimes? It was as if he said, I’ll let you off the hook, this time, because you need to go away and think about it. And he said that to the cops! He liked to rub his fingers in open wounds, perhaps to remind us that we’re wounded, and not infallible.

“Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword. / For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law.”—Matthew 10:34-35.

Second encounter

“At that time Jesus went on the Sabbath day through the corn; and his disciples were an hungered, and began to pluck the ears of corn, and to eat. / But when the Pharisees saw it, they said unto him, Behold, thy disciples do that which is not lawful to do upon the Sabbath day.”—Matthew 12:1-2.

They referred to the fifth commandment: “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.”—Exodus 20:8. Since God rested on the seventh day, then we should too. It was the law.

“Six days shall work be done: but the seventh day is the sabbath of rest, an holy convocation; ye shall do no work therein: it is the sabbath of the Lord in all your dwellings.”—Leviticus 23:3.

Jesus’ disciples were breaking the law. As clever as the priests thought they were, Jesus smooth talked them, showing how their own scriptures and greatest heroes supported what he was doing.

“…Have ye not read what David did, when he was an hungered, and they that were with him; / How he entered into the house of God, and did eat the shewbread, which was not lawful for him to eat, neither for them which were with him, but only for the priests?”—Matthew 12:3-4.

He left the Pharisees speechless, unable to present a counter-argument. And then, of course, he had to rub it in.

“But if ye had known what this meaneth, I will have mercy, and not sacrifice, ye would not have condemned the guiltless. / For the Son of man is Lord even of the Sabbath day.”—Matthew 12:7-8.

It was as if he said, I could chastise you Pharisees even more, but I won’t, because you’re unable to understand what I’m talking about. And they didn’t have a clue. They took everything literally, and were without imagination.

Once, they thought Jesus threatened to destroy the great temple in Jerusalem, while boasting to also raise it in three days. They had not only misunderstood him, but misquoted him.

“Jesus answered and said unto them, Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.”—John 2:19.

They had wanted a sign, so Jesus told them that if they destroyed the temple, then, in three days, he would raise it up.

“Then said the Jews, Forty and six years was this temple in building, and wilt thou rear it up in three days? / But he spake of the temple of his body.”—John 2:20-21.

And then some lied about what he’d said, after he was brought before Caiaphas.

“…this fellow said I am able to destroy the temple of God, and build it in three days.”—Matthew 26:61.

The Pharisees couldn’t understand Jesus as he spoke, and later lied about what he said. They were so caught up in obeying the letter of the law that they forgot about its spirit.

In a two-page rant against them, Jesus said to the Pharisees, in part:

“Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye pay tithe of mint and anise and cumin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith: these ought ye to have done, and not to leave the other undone.”—Matthew 23:23.

And that brings us to his third strike.

Third encounter

“And, behold, there was a man which had his hand withered. And they asked [Jesus], saying, Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath days? That they might accuse him.”—Matthew 12:10.

By that point, the Pharisees were already trying to trap him in his words, prove him to be a fool, and therefore a fraud. His first infraction was barely more than a faux pas: hanging out with the wrong sort of people. The second time, his disciples actually broke the law, by picking corn to eat on the Sabbath.

As usual, Jesus had a smooth, common-sense approach to help them understand what he was doing.

“And he said unto them, What man shall there be among you, that shall have one sheep, and if it fall into a pit on the Sabbath day, will he not lay hold on it, and lift it out? / How much then is a man better than a sheep? Wherefore it is lawful to do well on the Sabbath days.”—Matthew 12:11-12.

But the Pharisees weren’t trying to understand. Whatever Jesus said was lost on them, except they perceived him as threat.

“And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.”—John 1:5.

If I don’t even try to understand my neighbor, how can I have faith in them? How many times have I been guilty of not listening? The practical way to experience faith in God is to have faith in each other. Even though they clung desperately to their faith, the Pharisees betrayed “the weightier measures of the law” by not showing mercy.

It’s one thing to not understand, or even want to understand; it’s another to seek to murder what you perceive as a threat.

“Then the Pharisees went out, and held a council against him, how they might destroy him.”—Matthew 12:14.

Not only was Jesus rejected by his own people in Nazareth, but by the Jewish priests as well.

“After these things Jesus walked in Galilee: for he would not walk in Jewry, because the Jews sought to kill him.”—John 7:1.

Jesus was a wanted man.

The Pharisees would’ve killed him right there, if thousands of people weren’t cheering his name. I imagine steam blowing out of their ears. Then Jesus rubbed it in even more:

“Then saith he to the man, Stretch forth thine hand. And he stretched it forth; and it was restored whole, like as the other.”—Matthew 12:13.

If you see a miracle, and still don’t believe, then you are of “little faith.” The Pharisees had to choose, right then, what side of the fence they were on. Their Messiah had come and performed a miracle right in front of them. Would they fall down and worship him, abandoning their power and influence, their worldly wealth?

It is startling to think that they did, in fact, know Jesus was the Messiah. If you remember, I see the Pharisees as being us. I also have the tendency to reject what will help me. I can make it on my own: That’s my battle cry. But it’s obvious that I can’t. None of us can: We need each other. I need to treat my neighbors well, so that they’ll treat me well, so that we all can, by prospering, cause each other to prosper.

Before I can reap the rewards of such a potential relationship, I need to love my neighbors, which means I need to have faith in them.

Next time, we’ll look at the good examples of faith in the gospels.

The Sower

Test time! We’ll be grading on a 10-point scale: Anything below 70 = F. Ready?

To ease test anxiety, take a deep breath and visualize my favorite teaching moment from the gospels.

“The same day went Jesus out of the house, and sat by the sea side. / And great multitudes were gathered together unto him, so that he went into a ship, and sat; and the whole multitude stood on the shore.”—Matthew 13:1-2.

We don’t have to do anything for this test, except be honest with ourselves, and see how far along we are in trusting God’s will: how much patience we still need to learn.

“My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; / Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.”—James 1:2-3.

Grade F: By the wayside

“…Behold, a sower went forth to sow; / And when he sowed, some seeds fell by the way side, and the fowls came and devoured them up.”—Matthew 13:3-4.

Jesus later explained most of this to his apostles. Remember, he spoke to the crowds only by parables.

“All these things spake Jesus unto the multitude in parables; and without a parable spake he not unto them.”—Matthew 13:34.

But to his twelve apostles he spoke openly:

“When any one heareth the word of the kingdom, and understandeth it not, then cometh the wicked one, and catcheth away that which was sown in his heart. This is he which received seed by the way side.”—Matthew 13:19.

Before we can hope to fight temptation, we first have to understand how to fight it.

“Now the parable is this: The seed is the word of God.”—Luke 8:11.

Like God, the word of God is everything.

“That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have handled, of the Word of life: /…/ That which we have seen and heard declare we unto you, that ye also may have fellowship with us….”—I John 1:1,3.

You could say that the word is God.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”—John 1:1.

Before I can follow God’s will, I have to understand the word.

However, before I can get to that point, I have to understand who the sower is. We aren’t told—which seems odd, since it’s the title of the parable. As you read, keep this in mind, and decide for yourself the identity of the sower.

This first type of ground, the wayside, is for those who don’t understand the word of God. Think for a moment. Do you understand it? Do I? I’d like to think I do. But we’re human beings. That means we don’t know much, unless it can be proven with math and the scientific method.

“…Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do….”—Luke 23:34.

I think of that plea from the cross as the definition of humanity, which is (or should be) humility.

“For I came down from heaven, not to do mine own will, but the will of him that sent me.”—John 6:38.

Therefore I humble myself by acknowledging that I don’t understand everything taught in the Bible. Think about that. Who would dare claim such a thing? I try. Sometimes I think that I have flashes of insight. But it is never total. Should I expect it to be?

My grade: F!

“And he said unto them, Know ye not this parable? and how then will ye know all parables?”—Mark 4:13.

So this is really a learning exercise. If we can understand this parable, which is all laid out for us, then we can apply what we learned to the others.

The sower gave me the word of God. This is the first hint at the sower’s identity. Who gives us the word? How does it come to us?

When I don’t understand, it’s because my earth failed to absorb the seeds. I wasn’t doing anything with the seeds, so the birds came and ate them. When we leave our faith up for grabs, and don’t take responsibility, the potential we have for loving one another slips away.

“A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. / By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.”—John 13:34-35.

Did you fail too? Don’t give up. Understanding is all we lack. That can be overcome with patience.

“And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; / And patience, experience; and experience, hope.”—Romans 5:3-4.

Grade C: Rocky ground

“Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth: and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth: / And when the sun was up, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they withered away.”—Matthew 13:5-6.

We want the seed to reach good earth, but there’s always something in the way.

“But he that received the seed into stony places, the same is he that heareth the word, and anon with joy receiveth it; / Yet hath he not root in himself, but dureth for a while: for when tribulation or persecution ariseth because of the word, by and by he is offended.”—Matthew 13:20-21.

Notice that the sower is no longer mentioned, and won’t be for the rest of the parable. Yet, everything that happens is a result of his/her actions.

So far, this is my highest score. Sometimes I do understand. I get it, and I’m so happy. Though I have faith in the word, I struggle during tribulation because of a lack of faith in myself. Faith is the root; if it’s strong, then so am I. But sometimes I get caught off guard, overwhelmed.

“But when [Peter] saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me.”—Matthew 14:30.

If you’ve made it this far, then you somewhat understand the word, but have trouble using it. The rocky ground is where we suffer temptation from within. Maybe we’ve built a stone wall, which keeps everything out, including the word. Or it could be that our hearts are cold, refusing personal investment and connection. Whatever the case, the lack of faith is due to fear. We think that we have to protect ourselves, look out for number one. But this shuts us off, not only from the damage of living, but the love of living.

Since we’ve made it to Grade C, it’s time to start using our understanding to fight temptation. The Bible is full of quotable mantras. This is my favorite one for dealing with fear:

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”—Psalms 23:4.

Repeating this to yourself in times of need may not make you fearless. It won’t solve all your problems. But it is a good first step. We have to remind ourselves that we are not alone.

“When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”—Isaiah 43:2.

Rocky ground is the hardest level for me. I am my own worst critic. While the kingdom of heaven is within us, so are the worst angels of our nature.

My goal is to learn how to control my fear, by reminding myself that God is with me. Through patience and honesty with myself during prayer, and using the Bible’s mantras in mindfulness meditation, I have faith that my grade will improve.

Grade B: Thorny ground

“And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprung up, and choked them.”—Matthew 13:7.

Whatever we put our faith into, that’s what gives us strength; whatever we put our time into defines who we are.

“He also that received seed among the thorns is he that heareth the word; and the care of this world, and the deceitfulness of riches, choke the word, and he becometh unfruitful.”—Matthew 13:22.

Sometimes we get our strength from the things of this world: (the good) family and friends, and (the bad) addiction and greed. While these can work, if my strength doesn’t come from God, but from the things of this world, then I’ll have to choke and smother myself with temporary fixes. All we need is one God, but we need countless cars, clothes, food, cigarettes, promotions, larger apartments, etc.

At this level, we would’ve learned to understand a majority of the word, and dealt with our inner demons, but we’re still a fat camel trying to squeeze through a needle’s eye. The good news is that we’re almost perfect, just one letter grade remains. The bad news is that one can’t find anything more contrary to the gospels than the temptations of the physical world.

“…for that which is highly esteemed among men is abomination in the sight of God.”—Luke 16:15.

“For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul…?”—Matthew 16:26.

“…My house shall be called the house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves.”—Matthew 21:13.

Is that what we are: a den of thieves? Are we the Pharisees, or the Romans who cast lots for Jesus’ torn garments?

At this level, the thorny ground, we must answer these questions. Basically, where do we put our faith? The needs of this world spring up like thorns: unpredictable, unstoppable, at least by conventional methods.

“And Jesus looking upon them saith, With men it is impossible, but not with God: for with God all things are possible.”—Mark 10:27.

We can’t fight sin without sinning ourselves; it infects everything it touches. That’s my problem. That’s why I’m here: to find a way to cleanse myself, and then share that knowledge.

“Wherefore let them that suffer according to the will of God commit the keeping of their souls to him in well-doing, as unto a faithful Creator.”—I Peter 4:19.

We suffer so that we can learn patience. We need that very kind of patience to follow God’s will. We have to follow God’s will, or the cares of this world will overcome us. It’s an impossible fight without the word of God: the seeds that bring fruit according to our actions, i.e., what type of ground we’re on.

That reminds me of how the sower’s actions are all we have to determine his/her identity. And it reminds me of Judgment Day, the ultimate test.

“For the Son of man shall come in the glory of his Father with his angels; and then he shall reward every man according to his works.”—Matthew 16:27.

Grade A: Good earth

“But others fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit, some an hundredfold, some sixtyfold, some thirtyfold.”—Matthew 13:8.

We are into science fiction territory here.

“But he that received seed into the good ground is he that heareth the word, and understandeth it; which also beareth fruit, and bringeth forth, some an hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty.”—Matthew 13:23.

Our sower never stopped to clear the thorns and stones. He/she didn’t even seem to be aiming. Everyone got treated the same, no matter what type of ground they were on. This is how the word comes to us. The question remains: who is the sower?

At this level we understand the word, and rejoice in temptation, since it tests our faith. We are pros at being tested, because we’ve faced all our demons, maintaining patience through every tribulation; and we were able to do all that because we put our faith in the will and word of God.

If I were to get an A, what would the prize be? What’s my goal in all of this? First, my goal is to be what I just described. But there must be something beyond that, on the other side of the door.

“Ask, and it shall be given unto you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.”—Matthew 7:7.

Once we’ve understood the word, and faced our inner and outer demons, then we are able to bear the fruit of our seeds. This is unique to the good earth. Since the seeds are the word of God, what kind of fruit would that be? Think back to how you received the seeds, and the peace they brought to your life: comfort during tribulation, strength during temptation.

“Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils: freely ye have received, freely give.”—Matthew 10:8.

That’s what Jesus said to his apostles, before sending them to minister to the people. For the twelve, Jesus was the sower. He brought them the word. For those ministered to by the apostles, the twelve were the sowers. They sowed by their actions: cleansing, raising, casting out; we sow, or bear fruit, according to our actions. Therefore, we not only receive the seeds, but give them to others as well.

We are the sowers. It’s all entirely up to us. The kingdom of heaven is within us. We are the source of evil in this world.

“Not that which goeth into the mouth defileth a man; but that which cometh out of the mouth, this defileth a man.”—Matthew 15:11.

We have two potential roles in this parable: giving and receiving. Sometimes we are the sower; other times we’re on rocky or thorny ground; or we may just be by the wayside.

We are free at any point to shift to another level, seek better understanding, fight our demons, free to decide if we want to follow God’s will at all: Some people like a lost cause; I know I do.

“For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.”—Luke 19:10.

Amen to that.

The Tower and the King

Imagine yourself back in the time of the gospels. You walk beside the Sea of Galilee—all is wide-open green, brown, and blue—and you listen to stories that promote love and forgiveness above all else. And then, the man who calls himself the Son of Man, the one who speaks to you only in parables, says this:

“If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.”—Luke 14:26.

The murmurs would surely wake those who were dozing in the back, staring dreamily across the sea. Everyone would be asking, what did he just say?

My term for this teaching technique is “shock therapy.” Sometimes I’ll learn things incorrectly: bad postulates, faulty assumptions, thinking with my ego instead of my heart, or my heart instead of my brain. Whether correct or not, I’ll hold onto my beliefs because they are mine. And I won’t compromise even if it means the heavens fall. This is the point when shock therapy becomes necessary.

“For this people’s heart is waxed gross, and their ears are dull of hearing, and their eyes they have closed; lest at any time they should see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and should understand with their heart, and should be converted, and I should heal them.”—Matthew 13:15.

Jesus was an ace at performing shock therapy, a real showman.

‘And Jesus went into the temple of God, and cast out all them that sold and bought in the temple, and overthrew the tables of the moneychangers, and the seats of them that sold doves, / And said unto them, It is written, My house shall be called the house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves.”—Matthew 21:12-13.

He walked on water, turned water into wine, resurrected Lazarus (and himself); he smashed up the exchange tables in the temple, threatened to destroy the temple, and on, and on.

When we are shocked, we’re scared, vulnerable…like children.

“Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child shall in no wise enter therein.”—Luke 18:17.

Before the crowd by the sea could murmur for too long, Jesus launched into the first of two back-to-back parables.

Parable of the Tower:
“For which of you, intending to build a tower, sitteth not down first, and counteth the cost, whether he have sufficient to finish it? / Lest haply, after he hath laid the foundation, and is not able to finish it, all that behold it begin to mock him, / Saying, This man began to build, and was not able to finish.”—Luke 14:28-30.

One minute the crowd is wondering why they should hate their mother and father, and how that’s against the fifth commandment (Exodus 20:12), which Jesus mentioned as essential to the Rich Young Ruler: “Honor thy father and thy mother….”—Matthew 19:19.

The next minute, they’re in a hypothetical scenario, wondering what it means to be able to afford to accomplish their goals. Do I have enough money to build the tower, hire the contractors and engineers? If I do, fine; if I don’t, then where (or from whom) can I get the cash?

Before going too far with any interpretation, I want to skip ahead, so that we know the point of these parables. Jesus didn’t often spell out his parables to his followers. So this is a key note moment.

“So likewise, whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple.”—Luke 14:33.

If you’ll remember, that was the high price the Rich Young Ruler couldn’t afford: surrendering everything. This is probably the most important lesson Jesus taught, symbolized by his death on the cross. It is the first commandment.

“Thou shalt have no other gods before me.”—Exodus 20:3.

While that could be interpreted literally, no graven images, we can also think of it as putting nothing before God. On the list of all the important things in our lives, God is (or should be) number one. That means our parents would come after God; even our own lives are not as important.

“No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.”—Matthew 6:24.

Mammon is the way of the world. It is material greed, something that Jesus warned against.

“And he said unto [the Pharisees], Ye are they which justify yourselves before men; but God knoweth your hearts: for that which is highly esteemed among men is abomination in the sight of God.”—Luke 16:15.

My greed and lust for things in this world are abominations because they are just for me, not God; Mammon is the love of my will, and not God’s. That’s how you can tell whether or not a choice follows God’s will. If it benefits only you, then it is not God’s will, but yours.

I think of my will as the currency to build my tower. I want to look out over the world, and understand, and appreciate, and grow wiser from the effort, so that I can teach the path to others who are lost. But do I have enough in the bank to afford my dream? Since my dream is my whole life, I would certainly surrender everything I have now, in exchange for what I want later…eventually, once the tower is finished.

“And he that sent me is with me: the Father hath not left me alone; for I do always those things that please him.”—John 8:29.

I don’t have to build my tower on my own. I’d probably go bankrupt, get all stressed out. I should have a partner. And if that partner knows how to build the whole thing, and wants to design it in the most perfect way possible, why not surrender my pride and ego, and accept this as a wonderful gift?

Parable of the King:
“Or what king, going to make war against another king, sitteth not down first, and consulteth whether he be able with ten thousand to meet him that cometh against him with twenty thousand? / Or else, while the other is yet a great way off, he sendeth an ambassage, and desireth conditions of peace.”—Luke 14:31-32.

While the first parable asked if we had enough funds to afford the tower, this one tells us that we do not. It’s a lost cause; we can’t overcome the sins of the world, not without sinning ourselves.

“Behold, the hour cometh, yea, is now come, that ye shall be scattered, every man to his own, and shall leave me alone: and yet I am not alone, because the Father is with me. / These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”—John 16:32-33.

We don’t have enough men, so to speak. We cannot accomplish the Golden Rule on our own. When I have tried, the result was twisted into this: Do unto others as they have done unto you. I have to look out for myself first, right?

No, actually, I fell into that trap for years. By looking after myself, I never had enough time or energy for anyone else.

“But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. / Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”—Matthew 6:33-34.

God looks after us. This frees us to look after each other. And so I have come to the most shocking idea of all: How do I let my will become God’s?

“Jesus said unto [the Rich Young Ruler], If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come and follow me.”—Matthew 19:21.

Could a person really do this? I think of Pope Francis, and I know that we can. Why don’t we live more by God’s will? I know that we all have our good moments, but we have bad ones too.

When I consider surrendering my life to God’s will, I remember the definition for God that I’ve used in all these essays.

“Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God. / He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love.”—I John 4:7-8.

In trying to understand what love was, I realized it was God. And God is inside each and every one of us.

“…The kingdom of God cometh not with observation: / Neither shall they say, Lo here! Or, lo there! For, behold, the kingdom of God is within you.”—Luke 17:20-21.

Love connects us: By loving one another, we love God, who loves us in return. Whatever we do to one another, we are doing that to God.

“For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you: / But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”—Matthew 6:14-15.

“…Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”—Matthew 25:40.

Therefore, I’d be surrendering myself to the love that connects all things. I can do it through mindfulness meditation: avoiding choices that are done for me alone, or for destructive purposes, and instead focus on what will improve the lives of others. I don’t mean to imply that I’ll refuse to eat or sleep. Quite the contrary: I’ll stop smoking. Cold Turkey.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”—Psalm 23:4.

It won’t be just my willpower against those cigarettes, but God’s. What would be impossible for me, will be easy for God.

“And again I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God. / When his disciples heard it, they were amazed, saying, Who then can be saved? / But Jesus beheld them, and said unto them, With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.”—Matthew 19:24-26.

I told you that story so I could tell you this one.

My New Year’s resolution is to surrender myself to God’s will. All of my choices will be based on the Golden Rule. Even if the heavens fall, and I doubt they will—It’ll be party time!—I promise to stick to this, and see where it takes me. What’s the worst that could happen? What’s the best that could happen?

I choose the leap of faith. I invite everyone who reads this to consider the difference between your will, and God’s. Note the choices you make and why (or for whom). Ask yourself if you can accomplish your goals on your own. Count your men. And if you can’t overcome the world, there is a way you can. But you’ll have to surrender the life you thought you wanted, for the life that is waiting.

Back in the time of the gospels, this was what it took to become Jesus’ disciple. (Don’t confuse the term disciple with apostles, of which there were only twelve.) It’s the same choice today. We are still walking thoughtfully by the Sea of Galilee, pondering whether or not it would be better to surrender all that we have for all that we want.

Legion Part Two

As I study the gospels, I realize more and more the importance of Isaiah. Everything Jesus did was to fulfil Isaiah’s prophecies.

“But John [the Baptist] forbad him, saying, I have need to be baptized of thee, and comest thou to me? / And Jesus answering said unto him, Suffer it to be so now; for thus it becometh us to fulfil all righteousness.”—Matthew 3:14-15.

From the beginning, Jesus fulfilled prophecies by healing the sick and casting out devils.

“And his fame went throughout all Syria: and they brought unto him all sick people that were taken with divers diseases and torments, and those which were possessed with devils, and those which were lunatic, and those that had the palsy; and he healed them.”—Matthew 4:24.

But why did he heal the sick? What did that have to do with saving people from their sins? Yes, it was a show of compassion; and that alone was reason enough. Yet it wasn’t something he did in passing, on the way to accomplish his main goal. Rather, the healing of the sick was his goal.

When he sent out his apostles, as sheep amidst the wolves, he told them, “Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils: freely ye have received, freely give.”—Matthew 10:8.

Even after a long day, he was always ready to cleanse people of the evil within:

“When the even was come, they brought unto him many that were possessed with devils: and he cast out the spirits with his word, and healed all that were sick: / That it might be fulfilled which was spoken by Esaias the prophet, saying, Himself took our infirmities, and bare our sicknesses.”—Matthew 8:16-17.

We’re told why he healed the sick in that last verse: He did it to fulfil Isaiah’s prophecy. But that’s not all. Isaiah was the one who explained Jesus, painting a picture of him that reminds me of the people he cleansed, especially Legion.

“He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not. / Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. / But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.”—Isaiah 53:3-5.

Jesus wasn’t accepted by the established authorities. Instead, he was born in a manger (Luke 2:7), prophesized by John the Baptist, who lived in the desert and ate locusts (Mark 1:6), rejected by his own townspeople (Mark 6:3), and crucified by those he came to save.

This makes me wonder about my tendency to not only reject evil, but good as well. I live in the middle, wavering between compassion and sin—both, mainly, when it suits me. I feel as justified in sin, as I do when I am noble. I don’t want to surrender my way of living, my choice. This is why the townspeople rejected Jesus and Legion.

“And when [Jesus] was come out of the ship, immediately there met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit, / who had his dwelling among the tombs; and no man could bind him, no, not with chains: / Because that he had been often bound with fetters and chains, and the chains had been plucked asunder by him, and the fetters broken in pieces: neither could any man tame him.”—Mark 5:2-4.

This is Legion’s time in the wilderness. When Jesus was isolated for 40 days and 40 nights, he had God with him, or, rather, he was with God: I think that’s an important distinction.

God is infinite, because God is all things, within and without. So God is always there: with you, me, the animals, the trees, and so on. It’s just that sometimes we are not with God. At that point we are sinning.

Jesus showed what that time in the wilderness is like when one has compassion. He went to the desert to find God; Legion went to get away from people. Or maybe they drove him out; the story is unclear on that point.

We do know they tried to put Legion in chains.

“Then the band and the captain and officers of the Jews took Jesus, and bound him.”—John 18:12.

But they couldn’t tame him.

“But Jesus yet answered nothing; so that Pilate marveled.”—Mark 15:5.

So Legion went to the wilderness.

“Then was Jesus led up of the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted of the devil.”—Matthew 4:1.

The big difference, as noted, is that Legion “…was driven of the devil into the wilderness.”—Luke 8:29.

This is where sin comes from; it is when we remove ourselves from God, when we ignore the connection we have to everyone and everything, and the responsibility of compassion that comes with this familial bond. While in the wilderness, Jesus put his faith in love; Legion chose fear.

“And always, night and day, [Legion] was in the mountains, and in the tombs, crying, and cutting himself with stones.”—Mark 5:5.

I’m reminded of the Revelation, after the opening of the sixth seal:

“And the kings of the earth, and the great men, and the rich men, and the chief captains, and the mighty men, and every bondman, and every free man, hid themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the mountains; / And said to the mountains and rocks, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb.”—Revelation 6:15-16.

And that reminds me of Adam and Eve:

“And they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day: and Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God amongst the trees of the garden.”—Genesis 3:8.

Jesus did not go into the wilderness to hide from love and compassion, but to seek it; Legion went there to deny it. And when we have denied love, committed this ultimate crime of the soul, then we can’t stand to acknowledge our weakness. So we hide, even from ourselves.

“But when [Legion] saw Jesus afar off, he ran and worshipped him, / And cried with a loud voice, and said, What have I to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of the most high God? I adjure thee by God, that thou torment me not.”—Mark 5:6-7.

This was the first time (in the book of Mark, at least) that Jesus was called the Son of God. How odd that someone so full of pain and self-loathing, as Legion, was the first to recognize this miracle.

“In that hour Jesus rejoiced in spirit, and said, I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes: even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight.”—Luke 10:21.

That’s one of my favorite verses. Those who have compassion are able to accept the sins of others, as Jesus did when he took on the sins of the world.

“The next day John seeth Jesus coming unto him, and saith, Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.”—John 1:29.

And those who live in darkness can see the light a mile away.

Legion begged Jesus not to torment him because Jesus had said, “Come out of the man, thou unclean spirit. / And he asked him, What is thy name? And he answered, saying, My name is Legion: for we are many.”—Mark 5:8-9.

We are many, we human beings. There are over seven billion of us. We all want the sustenance we need to feed our sensations. Sometimes others must starve so that we can feast. When we allow our advancement to degrade others’ quality of life, we have sinned. It’s a double-edged sword: I get cut, or you do. Is it any wonder that we can’t help but sin?

“Now there was there nigh unto the mountains a great herd of swine feeding. / And all the devils besought him, saying, Send us into the swine, that we may enter into them.”—Mark 5:11-12.

This is an amazing passage that shows the symmetry of Jesus and Legion.

“But the goat, on which the lot fell to be the scapegoat, shall be presented alive before the Lord, to make an atonement with him, and to let him go for a scapegoat into the wilderness.”—Leviticus 16:10.

The pig is considered an unclean animal in Judaism. Their Passover sacrifice was either a goat or a lamb.

“Forasmuch as ye know that ye were not redeemed with corruptible things, as silver and gold, from your vain conversation received by tradition from your fathers; / But with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot.”—I Peter 1:18-19.

This is about acceptance. Jesus accepted the sins of the world. When we don’t accept the sins of others, when we refuse compassion, and choose to put our faith in fear, then we have sinned.

Legion did not accept (or forgive) the way others treated him. He broke his connections and isolated himself. He suffered suicidal ideation and extreme depression as a result. The very presence of one who embodied compassion tormented Legion.

If we aren’t careful, we’ll grow accustomed to our pain, and learn to feed off of it, until nothing else satisfies us. At that point, like Legion, we’d prefer to live in the tombs, in the wilderness, with the unclean swine.

“And forthwith Jesus gave them leave. And the unclean spirits went out, and entered into the swine: and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the sea, (they were about two thousand;) and were choked in the sea.”—Mark 5:13.

I’m reminded of Moses:

“And the waters returned, and covered the chariots, and the horsemen, and all the host of Pharaoh that came into the sea after them; there remained not so much as one of them.”—Exodus 14:28.

And Noah:

“And every living substance was destroyed which was upon the face of the ground, both man, and cattle, and the creeping things, and the fowl of the heaven; and they were destroyed from the earth: and Noah only remained alive, and they that were with him in the ark.”—Genesis 7:23.

And, ultimately, God:

“And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.”—Genesis 1:2.

Even in the worst of times, we can choose compassion. We can choose to do to others as we would have them do to us, instead of doing to them what they did to us. Forgiveness destroys sin like a great flood. This is the wrath of God, which drowns the legion of sins within us, leaving only the inner love, the center of our being, the great ark of our lives.

“And they that fed the swine fled, and told it in the city, and in the country. And they went out to see what it was that was done. / And they come to Jesus, and see him that was possessed with the devil, and had the legion, sitting, and clothed, and in his right mind: and they were afraid.”—Mark 5:14-15.

The man who had the legion—and I like that phrasing—was healed! But, in a strange twist, we see that “the devils” went out not only into the swine, but the townspeople as well. They had rejected evil, but now, out of fear, they rejected good as well.

“And they began to pray [Jesus] to depart out of their coasts.”—Mark 5:17.

Would you really want to have the ultimate in good role models around you all the time? What about when you felt the need to flip off that rude driver, or have a beer (or 12), or not tell the cashier that they’d charged you too little? We want to be free to sin when we deem it appropriate; I sure do, at least.

This is what makes us susceptible to sin. We are never evil all the time, day after day. I am good one minute, thoughtless the next. Sometimes I know that I’m being a jerk. And I go right ahead. But I am also noble and courageous when the situation demands it, or when I feel like it. So the thought of pure good or pure evil is so impossible in my perspective, that I’m likely to reject both.

Yes, this means that I can, now and then, reject what is good…because it creeps me out. That’s why Jesus’ fellow Nazarenes rejected him, and why the people of this Legion story were afraid of Jesus, and wanted him to leave.

The reason we sin is because we exercise the right to reject what is good. Sin can be cast out, even though it’ll hop into the next available person. Of course, it doesn’t need to hop; it’s always there…but so is God.

People don’t need to express compassion in order for us to feel it. Instead, we feel it when we choose to.

We must remember that the perspectives of good and evil are just that, perspectives. They come from us. Our big brains are always working, defining, judging, and looking for loopholes, understanding, and forgiveness for that which we can’t help but do.

Legion Part One

To understand love and forgiveness, I think it’s necessary to meditate on what sin is, and where it comes from.

“And the Lord God said unto the woman, What is this that thou hast done? And the woman said, The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat.”—Genesis 3:13.

We are tempted to sin, mesmerized by evil. Temptation is continuous. No matter how good or careful we are, eventually we surrender to it, or indulge in it. Still, as Jesus told the adulterous woman, after saving her from being stoned by the mob: “…go, and sin no more.”—John 8:11.

I have to believe that sin can be identified, resisted, and, perhaps, extirpated entirely. This possibility was illustrated by Peter the apostle walking on water, until his faith wavered.

“And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water. / And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus. / But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me.”—Matthew 14:28-30.

This is one of my favorite scenes in the gospels. It’s a remarkable, miraculous thing done by a human, not by Jesus—at least not directly. The scene symbolizes the importance of faith, and the difficulty in maintaining it. I also can’t help but see it as an example of what we might achieve with practice. We can’t walk on water. But we can choose, when faced with a storm at sea, to put our faith in love, to remain compassionate. In this way, I believe it is possible to overcome sin.

“These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”—John 16:33.

Jesus was able to overcome the world, because he accepted the sins of others. That’s the key. Acceptance is faith in action. And I must accept that the sins of the world will overcome me, if I try to fight them, take an eye for an eye. It’s an impossible fight without love and acceptance. I’m outnumbered 7 billion to 1. It comes down to human nature: man’s greed vs. God’s ideals, lust vs. love.

As Jesus said to Peter: “…Get thee behind me, Satan: for thou savourest not the things that be of God, but the things that be of men.”—Mark 8:33.

While the world of God (which is love) and that of men (which is sin) appear to be distinct, Jesus also said this: “…The kingdom of God cometh not with observation: / Neither shall they say, Lo here! Or, lo there! For, behold, the kingdom of God is within you.”—Luke 17:20-21.

So if the things of God exist within us, and, certainly, the things of men are crafted by us, then where does evil come from?

To define “sin,” I look to the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:1-17). I propose this simplified summary: Don’t be a jerk. Whenever I’m mean or snooty, dismissive or short-tempered, I have sinned.

In the Bible, sin and temptation are symbolized by Satan and his devils. While I find numerous references to them, it’s seldom that they appear and speak. And while they are symbols, I think it’s important to meditate on whether or not they are also the source of evil, or if we are. If evil comes from us, our greed, then maybe we also hold the cure. If it comes from the Devil, then it’s out of our hands.

“Now the serpent was more subtil than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made. And he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden?”—Genesis 3:1.

While this is generally thought of as Satan’s introductory scene, he isn’t mentioned by name. Instead, he’s referred to as another beast of the field. The metaphors are all there: serpent, beast, and temptation. But it’s missing the basic, dramatic component of identification. If the serpent isn’t a specific entity, then it is just an idea, a tool, and an abstraction—which points us back to the importance of the human beings in the creation story.

The serpent was able to trick Eve by telling her what she wanted to hear.

“For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.”—Genesis 3:5.

We want to be gods. We want power over others so that the world can be made to match our perception of it, so that we don’t have to change.

The next verse doesn’t show the serpent doing anything further to tempt Eve.

“And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat.”—Genesis 3:6.

The serpent wasn’t even mentioned. We are the origin of sin. It isn’t thrust upon us. We choose. It is our will, our honor, or the lack thereof that allows for sin, creates it so that we might exercise power over the world.

Satan first appears by name in the Book of Job.

“Now there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan came also among them. / And the Lord said unto Satan, Whence comest thou? Then Satan answered the Lord, and said, From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.”—Job 1:6-7.

He doesn’t show up again, by name, until the Revelation. The rest of the time, evil is shown by the actions of sinners, those who act according to the world of men, not the kingdom of God.

Those possessed by devils are the most compelling examples of this representation through action. But even their stories are only hinted at, referred to in passing.

“And it came to pass afterward, that he went throughout every city and village, preaching and shewing the glad tidings of the kingdom of God: and the twelve were with him, / And certain women, which had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities, Mary called Magdalene, out of whom went seven devils.”—Luke 8:1-2.

And though Jesus refers to the source of his temptation in the wilderness by name (“…Get thee hence, Satan…”—Matthew 4:10), the narrative text does not.

“Then was Jesus led up of the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted of the devil.”—Matthew 4:1.

The lower case use of devil doesn’t indicate a proper noun. And, as discussed in one of my former essays (In the Wilderness Part Two), the forty days and forty nights of temptation that Jesus experienced could be interpreted as inner temptation, i.e., not coming from without.

Jesus even addressed Peter as Satan in the previously quoted verse from Mark 8:33: “Get thee behind me, Satan….”

The Bible’s message can be tricky. It’s easy to take a verse out of context, consider that to be the truth, and meditate no more on it. This is one of the most frightening examples: “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”—Exodus 22:18. It was the basis for the Salem witch trials.

Likewise, consider this next verse.

“How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! How art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations!”—Isaiah 14:12.

And it goes on from there, describing what was echoed in the Revelation about Satan’s origin story.

“And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels, / / And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.”—Revelation 12:7, 9.

Isaiah was writing about the tribes of Judah being freed from Babylon.

“And it shall come to pass in the day that the Lord shall give thee rest from thy sorrow, and from thy fear, and from the hard bondage wherein thou wast made to serve, / That thou shalt take up this proverb against the king of Babylon….”—Isaiah 14:3-4.

But, being Isaiah, the story takes a surreal turn.

“Yea, the fir trees rejoice at thee, and the cedars of Lebanon saying, Since thou art laid down, no feller is come up against us.”—Isaiah 14:8.

So the trees are singing to God, celebrating the release of the Jewish people from slavery. Then things get really weird.

“Hell from beneath is moved for thee to meet thee at thy coming; it stirreth up the dead for thee, even all the chief ones of the earth; it hath raised up from their thrones all the kings of the nations.”—Isaiah 14:9.

So the trees are singing; the dead are rising—not just the dead, but deceased kings. And they have something to say to God and, more directly, the Jews.

“And they shall speak and say unto thee, Art thou also become weak as we? Art thou become like unto us?”—Isaiah 14:10.

The dead are the ones speaking. This is an important thing to note, as only one verse remains until we get to the supposed origin of Satan.

“Thy pomp is brought down to the grave, and the noise of thy viols: the worm is spread under thee, and the worms, cover thee.”—Isaiah 14:11.

That’s just more of the dead kings speaking to the Jews, who have been brought down to the dead’s level of humility. I put a period at the end of the quote, but, in the Bible, a comma is used; this indicates that the next verse, which ostensibly addressed Satan, the fallen angel, is really more of the dead kings talking to the Jewish people…as the trees rejoice.

See what I mean? Tricky. While appearing to describe an angel who fell from God’s grace, the Bible uses the various names (Satan, Lucifer, serpent, tempter, etc.) as a title, a signifier for those who sin. Again, this is about the people who are sinning; they (or, more appropriately, we) are Lucifer.

Peter was called Satan because he protested that Jesus must die. He didn’t know that Jesus had to die to save us from our sins. We are often ignorant of the big picture, which is why we need faith.

“And he began to teach them, that the Son of man must suffer many things, and be rejected of the elders, and of the chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. / And he spake that saying openly. And Peter took him, and began to rebuke him.”—Mark 8:31-32.

It was for this lack of faith that Jesus answered Peter’s rebuke by saying, “Get thee behind me, Satan.”—Mark 8:33.

When I lose my faith in love, that compassion will lead me to what is best, and not self-interest, I have lost my faith in God. When faced with the choice of doing what I know to be right or being a jerk and doing what I feel is justified due to my indignation, I must have faith in whatever path I choose. This is the faith that can move mountains.

And if this faith is not impeded by a supernatural force, then I am all that stands between my soul (i.e., the child within), and the kingdom of Heaven that is also within.

We are left with only one story that actually shows possession by evil, instead of just referring to it, one story to help define sin as (possibly) something other than man’s actions.

“And [Jesus] asked him, What is thy name? And he answered, saying, My name is Legion: for we are many.”—Mark 5:9.