Birth Announcement ~ A Guest Post by Lauren

He may have already stopped hoping by the time Hope was born.

Over 400 years of silence from God overshadowed this man’s ancestors.  It was a silence that rivaled the 430 years of Jewish slavery in Egypt.  And this Jew, born in the Egypt that had enslaved his ancestors, thought he may as well have been hoping for a resurrected Moses liberator as for a Messiah after all that silence. 

The way this man Philo saw it, it was time for God to step out from behind His curtain and once again declare “I AM.”  But Philo Judaeus wasn’t seeing even a rustling of the curtain, so he decided to yank it aside himself.  Moses was lost up on Mt. Sinai, and Philo took his cue from an impatient Aaron, building his own Messiah in one Greek word: logos. 

He used a little dab of Plato, a good helping of Hebrew Scripture misinterpreted as merely allegorical, and sprinkled his new creation with the other philosophies of the day. 

He married philosophy with God and birthed his own mediator between God and man: logos, which in his mind meant “reason.” 

Meanwhile, the true Logos was being born of a virgin in a forgotten stable in a conquered Israel. 

Philo, looking back on the baffling centuries of silence, said that God was unknowable.  He said that the world was senselessly evil, and that since God could not come in contact with such blackness, He could not have directly created it.  This is where Philo’s logos came in, the neither unbegotten nor begotten second-in-command to God, the mystical mediator of God’s powers to humanity, the philosophical substitute for the Messiah. 

Meanwhile, the true Messiah was getting to know fishermen and tax collectors.  He, as one with God, was performing miracles and changing lives.  He was getting dirty and tired and hungry in villages and on roads, yet He was utterly and completely God at the same time.

Philo saw his logos as “reason:” impersonal, archangelic, the Idea of Ideas. 

Yet the Messiah on the cross was not impersonal, nor merely angelic, nor a mystical idea.  He was Someone greater: the Word become flesh who dwelt among us (John 1:14). 

“In the beginning was the Logos” carries with it a declaration as weighty as the entire history of the world:

Jesus is the Logos who spoke the world into existence.

Jesus is the Logos who fulfills the Ten Logoi: the Ten Commandments.

Jesus is the Logos who declares “I AM.”

Jesus is the Logos who broke 400 years of silence.

Jesus is the Logos who was seen by human eyes and touched by dirty human hands and heard and known by His creation.  He was just as much the Word when He was in Mary’s uterus as He was when He was bleeding on the cross or sitting at the right hand of God. 

Yet Philo may have already stopped hoping by the time Hope was born, settling for a God who needed the universe to avoid a death of loneliness and a logos no greater than the limits of Philo’s own human creativity.

But when John divinely penned, “In the beginning was the Word” and “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” God divinely shattered Philo’s idol of reason and his convenient pseudo-Messiah that fit his culture, emotions, and demands of God. 

With “In the beginning was the Word” God divinely shattered the convenient idols of my age, too: the pseudo-Messiahs that fit nicely into my boxed traditions of who I think God should be.  John used the very Greek word Logos that Philo had twisted, with all the weight of the Jewish history, and bridged the way to the the Word for both Gentiles and Jews.

It was the birth announcement of our Hope.  And with that, 400 years of silence was shattered by the Word, crying in a stable.

Lauren’s best friends are her family–her parents, Steve and Jennifer, and her five siblings. She is passionate about history, good music, and being a feminine woman in a feminist culture. You’ll find her blogging at One Bright Corner with her twin sister, Mikaela, and typing behind-the-scenes on the Christian Heritage blog and newsletter. When she’s not doing that, she loves teaching music, being outside, and ministering with her family!


{photo credit}

I Mean, Logically, It's Impossible ~ A Guest Post by Benjamin

{Psst. If you just got here, don't forget to hop over to Monday's post and enter the give-away drawing! Two books that I totally love are waiting for a happy home!}

The Naturalist viewpoint is the most prominent in academic society. One cannot enter a study of the sciences and not be bombarded with this concept, and why not? It is scientific, reasonable, and really the only logical set of answers for reality. Let’s examine some of them, shall we?

The world began billions of years ago. From completely natural phenomenon, the entire universe came into existence via some form of explosive energy. Then, over billions of years through the process of natural selection, life and the division of species evolved into what it is today. The process has not changed, and we are still in the midst of it!

Well, actually there is no proof that the earth is billions of years old (how could there be any direct proof about the age of the earth?). In fact, in a uniformitarian environment, our planet could not have continued to its current state – due to erosion, for example, we would be a giant ocean planet. In addition, it defies the First Law of Thermodynamics to think that everything could come from nothing. And while macro-evolution has never been observed, we’ll still call it science, despite the fact that science is an observational study…

But of course, it’s all completely logical…

Let’s move onto faith and science. Faith and science should not be intermixed at all – one is a personal view of their inner self, while science is what actually explains the world around us. Your five senses, and the equipment built by man, are the only things we can trust. No, faith has absolutely no place in science.

No, of course my “worldview” doesn’t affect how I view data at all. Scientists have absolutely no bias based on their personal beliefs, unlike every other human-being on the planet. And yes, our senses have deceived us on multiple occasions, and our equipment is bound to fail at certain points. No, I’ve never seen an atom, and I definitely DO NOT have faith that it exists, I just believe it without seeing it…

Yes, well, um… final point:

If you can’t see, touch, smell, taste, or hear it, it absolutely cannot exist – it’s simply random firing of neurons in your brain. Look at us – we only rely on what we can for sure predict to be true. Human philosophical inventions have no place in modern society – only what is observed to be true.

Gravity? Well, yes, it exists and we can measure its effects, but to actually touch it… um… macroevolution? Well, it hasn’t been observed, just deduced from microevolution… Numbers?... well, numbers are… they’re…

But I assure you, all our assumptions are completely realistic, rational and observable. I mean, logically…

…

For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse, because, although they knew God, they did not glorify Him as God, nor were thankful, but became futile in their thoughts, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Professing to be wise, they became fools, and changed the glory of the incorruptible God into an image made like corruptible man—and birds and four-footed animals and creeping things. – Romans 1:20-23

Ben is the younger [big] brother of SarahJayne. In addition to composing rather satirical pieces, he enjoys composing music, re-enacting at the Fort Vancouver National Historic Site, and working at Hewlett-Packard. He’ll be graduating from college in May, after which he plans to travel the world… or at lease France, England, and China. He used to blog once-upon-a-time at White Knuckles, which his older {little} sister hopes he will resume upon graduation.

The Grown-Up Neverland ~ A Guest Post by Karlena

I know that most of you are probably tired of hearing bad news about the sorry state of the world today.  You might feel fed up with people constantly repeating more evidence of a society in demise.  Perhaps you find it depressing to hear of the news of the day.  Please, bear with me.  The following news is too important for you to ignore.

PETER PAN HAS GROWN UP!

And not just Peter Pan either.  Wendy, John, and Michael have all grown up with him.

 

“How do you know”, you ask.

Simple.  Just listen to the way today’s adults talk (or “speak”, as my mother would have said!).

Children everywhere are being subjected to horrendous things, like “soup”.  When did adults stop serving “pottage” to their “crew”?  Instead of combining their “pottage” with a “Dagwood”, kids are expected to eat “sandwiches” with their “soup”.

And whoever heard of telling a child to “stop eating with your mouth open”?  I remember when adults said fun things, like, “Quit masticating like a cow”.

Why, when I was a child adults understood that kids wanted to be told, “Your conveyance awaits”.  Nowadays you only hear, “Get in the car”. 

I, personally, am about fed up with that nasty new phrase, “Use your inside voice, dear”.  Is this not truly atrocious?  Who decided to stop telling children not to be so “boisterous”? 

I am sure that you have heard some adult say, “Walk your feet, honey”.  (I always wonder if the young person has the right leash?)  Why should children “walk their feet”?  Has no one taught them how to “tippy-toe softly- we don’t want to wake the mice babies”?

When did we forget the beauty of words?  How did we allow our day to day activities to rob us of the great vocabulary of yesteryear?

When did we forget the joy of hearing the words, “an egregious error” roll off our tongues?  I remember enjoying that saying so much, I would whisper it to myself at night!  I thank God for a mother who said, “THAT was an egregious error”!

photo credit

Mother was no grown up Wendy.  She understood how words could change everything.  That is why she never said, “You kids go play outside”.  She said, “I think that there is a new foreign country somewhere in the backyard.  Why don’t you children go explore it?”

Father also enjoyed using words that were worth saying.  In fact, he enjoyed using words of too many syllables to be written down here!  Father is a theologian and always believed that his kids are bright enough to know what “justification”, “redemption”, “sanctification”, and “eschatology” meant. 

I think that Dad and Mom understood that words were gifts from God.  They also understood that it is through words that we are introduced to God!

Do adults still read aloud to their children from the Bible?  Or do they think that their children are too dumb to understand what God has written to them?

As a child of God, I am thankful that He did not choose to speak to me in simple, nursery rhyme fashion!  Nor did He write a simpler “child’s version” of the Bible.

Let’s stop treating our children as though they are too weak to be given large ideas and big words.  Allow them to grow into theologians and sesquipedalians.  

It is truly a sad world to live in when we reduce our language to words of single syllables.  Let’s emancipate the minds of children everywhere!  It is time for Peter Pan, Wendy, John, and Michael to find their way back to Never Never Land.

Let me encourage you to try a few new phrases on your fledgling brood this week:

“Eschew obfuscation”  instead of “Stop making things so difficult!”

“Allay that cacophony” in place of “be quiet”

“Galloping is prohibited” rather than “stop running”

Take a cue from our Heavenly Father.  Use big words to express even bigger ideas to little ones with even littler understandings!  They, like you, are able to comprehend much when spoken to in love!

In addition to her love for sesquipedalian phrases, Karlena is someone who loves the LORD with her whole heart. She is an encourager, a fellow book-lover, a good friend, and a lovely example of a virtuous woman to all of us blessed enough to know her. Happily married to her high school sweetheart (who is Prince Charming in disguise) for the past 20 years, she has 10 of the world's most beautiful children with him.

I'm Three! I'm Three!!

Banish all thoughts of a grey & cloudy morning and take a deep breath on this fine Monday! Are you sensing an air of excitement? Because you should be. This week is (drum roll, please)

My Third Bloggy-Birthday!!

For the last 1,093 days, this corner of the world wide web has been my home for thoughts, pictures, brainstorms, smiles, and insights. I've written through conviction and triumph. Through struggles and adventures. Through life-changing moments and daily memories. I've written when every word seemed forced, and when words just spilled out. As an open journal, this little blog has been an outlet for sharing where God has taken me thus far in life -- a memory of words.

How is it that characters on a page impact us so deeply? Cause us to be happy or sad, frightened or secure, adventurous or timid? Remind us of full months of our lives or unique experiences? How is it that using specific words, and arranging them in precise order, can have such an impact on us every moment? Words have always been a beautiful mystery to me.

So, in honor of 3 years of typing words for you, my dear readers, to ...read, I have three wonderful guest bloggers who will be visiting this week to share their thoughts on "logos"! Believe you me, these posts are wonderful, and something you certainly don't want to miss, so be sure to check back in over the course of this week!

And now, for the entertainment:

If you were to search "three" on a certain photo site, you would get pictures of three cute dwarf otters, with the middle one sticking out his tongue...

But, mom! Everyone knows I'm the cutest! Please-oh-please give me the snack!

Or three sleepy owls, in various disgruntled stages of awake-ness...

That. Coffee. Doesn't. Feel. Caffeinated.

...Or three zebras in someplace warm, dry, and colorless, wishing they could be here in Washington where life is green.

Ooh! Look guys! Color! I think it's gras-- oh, nope. Just a snake.

Ok, so, I know looking at pictures of animals doesn't traditionally count as party-level entertainment, but parties are supposed to be fun, and fun things are supposed to make you smile, and you can't tell me that those didn't make you grin, so it's kind of the same thing.

Moving On.

Of course, no self-respecting blog would dare to have a celebration without a GIVEAWAY! Right? Right. Do you want to see what kind of wonderfulness you can win? Here it goes:

The Book That Made Your World, by Vishal Mangalwadi.

Yes. I've been quoting this book. And reading it. And loving it. And thinking everyone else should, too! It's about the Word, and the words used to defend/study it throughout history. Incredibly insightful and thought-provoking, I am convinced that it should be in every Christian's library.

Peter Pan, by J.M. Barrie

This book...ahh. I've spoken about it here. It holds a special place in my heart. This edition is absolutely the best, with gorgeous illustrations by Scott Gustafson. If this book isn't in your collection, it should be.

~~~~~~~

Pretty excitingamazingwonderful, isn't it? Here's how you can enter:

1. Be a follower of the blog (required to be entered at all) and leave a comment accordingly. {1 point}
2. Respond with your thoughts to the posts going up this week, then leave a comment on this post telling me you did! {1 point per comment}
3. Blog/Facebook about this here party and leave a comment with the link. {2 points}

Sound easy-peasy? It is! When you comment, be sure to tell me which drawing you would like to enter. See you back here soon!






Otters, Owls, Zebras

We Shall Find the Stars

Every now and then, I discover a phrase, a paragraph, or a poem wherein a feeling I had, deep down inside, is somehow articulated far beyond what I had ever thought possible. C.S. Lewis does this the most frequently of any other writer I have read to date, leaving many of his words permanently engraved in my mind. Today, however, I share with you a prayer that brought me almost to tears, penned by a man not famous for his words, but for his seamanship. A man of action, he clearly saw the dangers and the missed opportunities of a life lived in the safe zone, and he not only feared, but fled, the consequences of complacency.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Disturb us, Lord, when We are 

Too well pleased with ourselves,

When our dreams have come true

Because we have dreamed too little,

When we arrived safely

Because we sailed too close to shore.

Disturb us, Lord, when

With the abundance of things we possess

We have lost our thirst

For the waters of life,

We have ceased to dream of eternity

And in our efforts to build a new earth,

We have allowed our vision

Of the new Heaven to dim.

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,

To venture on wider seas

Where storms will show your mastery;

Where losing sight of land,

We shall find the stars.

We ask You to push back 

The horizons of our hopes;

And to push into the future

In strength, courage, hope, and love."

-- Prayer of Sir Francis Drake, 1577

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Disturb us, Lord. We long to see the stars.

photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jamesjordan/533269264/

{Psalm}

My "proper" post will be on Wednesday this week. In the meantime: a meager collection of words seeking to describe something for which the words have not been formed...

With awe, I feel this quiet

Creep over my soul again,

Transcending all angst and chaos

And settling deep within.

One moment - 

One moment is all I feel,

Though many are floating by.

The wind blust'ring 'round

And the sun-kisses, warm,

Have buried me deep in the sky.

And there, in the still, is my quiet,

Looking down at the spark'ling blue.

For the heavens declare such a glory:

All creation's in awe of You.

There's nothing -

There's nothing my pen can write

(For never will words be found),

Explaining the thrill

And the deafening joy

Of a praise that by silence, sounds.

Five Minute Friday: Unspoken

{photo}

Will you be my friend?

Smiling, swaying side-to-side, she looked up at his big brown eyes, her small blue ones showing pleasure, fear, and gentleness.

He bobbed his head carefully, blowing on her gently and nudging her with is soft pink nose.

Don't be afraid. I will be gentle. We will not go too fast. You will feel like you're floating on my back.

You hear me! Her eyes were pools of delight.

The Maker gave me this gift.

He is good. He always hears me, too.

"Are you ready?" asked mama, carefully lifting her up.

For a moment, she stiffened, You're so tall!

It will be all right ~ we will go gently. Yes, I will be your friend.

And she smiled.

One word. Five minutes. No editing. It's Five Minute Friday!

Speech of Sunlight

{photo}

No contrast could be greater. Outside, the wind was racing about, shooting forth such icy threats that even the clouds huddled together in dark, frightened mass, shivering off raindrops in their distress. Yet, inside, a sunshine of words permeated the air, warming the soul as the sweet cups of coffee hugged between our fingertips warmed the body. Joy, awe, and praise ~ they darted from her eyes and sparkled out of her voice as she told of Christ's leading in the past year. She marvelled aloud. She testified through doubts. She declared the LORD's works.

Greedy, I hung on every word; her pleasure to speak such praise fuelling my desire to hear. This is the mystery of the LORD's hand: that to glimpse, to share, and to know it consume one's being so fully as to render any other pursuit impossible. *"For we cannot," ejaculated Peter and John, "but speak the things which we have seen and heard." It is addiction in its untarnished state, obsession begging greater capacity, purpose worthy of our passion.

Lewis, in his Reflections on the Psalms, records his wonder at the joint compulsion and responsibility experienced in praise:

"I had never noticed that all enjoyment spontaneously overflows into praise unless (sometimes even if) shyness or the fear of boring others is deliberately brought into check. The world rings with praise ~ lovers praising their mistresses, readers their favorite poet, walkers praising the countryside....
 

I think we delight to praise what we enjoy because the praise not merely expresses but completes the enjoyment; it is its appointed consummation. It is not out of compliment that lovers keep on telling one another how beautiful they are, the delight is incomplete till it is expressed."

Time, coffee ~ all was forgotten as excitement and awe at the ways prepared for us enveloped the room. Declaring the LORD ~ His character, His works ~ is our purpose, our "job." Yet, it is also the key to unequaled joy. What solemn privilege to us granted! What precious duty to us bestowed! Small wonder that to speak and hear of His ways deepens and fulfills every aching void within our soul.


{photo}

Yet, somehow, even so, there are rainy days. Icy moments. Weeks when blast after blast of frigid air batters the door, seeking entrance through even the smallest crevice. There are seasons when blue skies disappear. When mornings dawn shivering, and creep away in cold.

Seek sunshine.
 

Ready at every moment, waiting upon a choice, the warmth of spring and summer is always within reach ~ but it is not to be found in the frozen-silent, tight-lipped enjoyment of blessings. Sunshine abounds in the cloud of glorious words surrounding the King's throne: words of praise.

 

**"Oh, magnify the LORD with me,

And let us exalt His name together."

 

Speak sunlight. Speak of the Son!

 

*Acts 4:20
**Psalm 34:3



Five Minute Friday: A Special Moment

Another 5 Minute Friday, with another lovely word: "Remembering"

My memories are not like other people's. I do not remember "when I was little" in chronological order. The people I saw every day, the things I did each week - they are simply not there. My memories are more like a scrapbook. Snap-shot moments placed at random. Some of them I know were special moments, others I am clueless as to their significance in my mind. Sometimes, I cannot even remember events I know now were milestone events. Who knows why this is?

 

I do know, however, that I treasure those moments I have. They are all special to me, now.

 

Like the time I was in my room, at night, and daddy brought little Ben in and put him in the crib at the foot of my bed. I still don't know why he was in there - ours was the girls room - but he was. For a moment after daddy left, Ben stood at the end of the crib closest to the door, and mournfully marked daddy's departure. I squirmed out from the covers, crawled down to the foot of my bed, and leaned over the crib, stretching out both my arms.

 

"Ben, you wanna do this?" (apparently a code word, or tradition)

 

Ben turned and walking on tiptoe to my end of the crib, replied, "I do, I do, I do!"

 

We grabbed each other's hands and just stood there, perfectly content.

 

And that's the end of the memory.

(a memory I love)

 

Want.

To.

Edit.

 

Posting now, to avoid the temptation.

 

What are some of your treasured memories? Do you remember moments, or seasons of your life?

 

Blessings!

 



Watch-It Wednesday: The Power of Words

What do you say?
What do you write?
Do you words change the world?
Do they change it for Christ?

A Story of Names

Note: You may want to either grab a cup of tea or skip this post entirely...it's pretty long, but I couldn't help myslef. :)


Photo Credit

“But do you know that this is true?” Libbi leaned as far forward as she could, her eyes searching the faces of first Shimon, then Andrew. While the typically-silent Andrew nodded enthusiastically, his eyes alight with a passion and energy Jonah had not seen before, Shimon hung his head in shame. “I do know this to be true, mother,“ he replied, “because I was the most unbelieving of the lot, and yet He – the Christ – has proven Himself to me.” “Tell them, Cephas,” Penina urged, her voice full of enthusiasm, “tell them what happened that awful day, and afterward – with the fish.”

Cephas? Jonah started. Since when had Shimon become “Cephas”? His mind was so puzzled over this change of name that he was hardly listening as his son began the tale. Cephas. Why was it that he felt a nagging feeling that this name meant not “rock”, as was the popular belief, but “hollow rock”? He searched his memory, trying to recollect. Was it because his savta, his grandmother, had known the meaning of every name he’d ever heard? Yes, now he remembered – she had told him once that while many thought the name Cephas a name for a strong child, it actually came from the Chaldee word for “hollow rock” – a rock that needed to be filled with something outside of itself in order to be sturdy. Why Cephas? From the day he was born, his son had been “Shimon”, a man made “to be heard”...

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He would never forget this moment – never. Overwhelmed with joy and gratitude, the scraggly fisherman fell to his knees, murmuring a prayer of thanksgiving to Yahweh for the safe arrival of his son and good health of his wife. Screams arrested his concentration, jerking him from the moment of worship and scattering his thoughts. In vain he attempted to finish the prayer, but his mind was now a total captive to the wails gusting in from the other room. Reluctantly, he rose and approached the side of his wife, lying spent but happy upon the bed. “Listen to him!” he exclaimed, humor and exasperation intertwined within his tone, “do you think he will ever learn when it is proper to speak, and when it is right to remain quiet?” Snuggling the tiny babe in her arms, his sweet wife – his dear, darling Libbi – smiled up at him, and, gently rocking the inconsolable child, whispered, “He will learn; one day, he will learn.” “That day had better be soon, or his wails will keep the fish from our nets!” His words were harsh, but his voice softened as he looked down upon the precious duo. Libbi just smiled again, and continued her efforts to console the little one. But when the passing of several minutes brought no relief to the scream-soaked atmosphere, Jonah found he must at last clear his head or else run mad. “I’m going to the docks,” he informed his wife, and quickly ducked out the low-hanging frame. Closing the door behind him, he took a deep breath and let the air whistle out between his lips while he, silently, mouthed again the words: “One day, he will learn.”

As the hours begrudgingly gave way to days, and the days to weeks, however, Jonah began to doubt if the Little One would ever learn. He had returned that evening from the docks to find both Libbi and Baby asleep, but even slumber did not deter the seemingly endless sounds which poured from his newborn son. In sleep, it was grunts, groans, and whimpers, while Baby’s waking hours were filled with gurgles, squeals, and screams. Much as he thanked Yahweh for the blessing of a boy, Jonah sometimes, in the depths of his heart, wondered if it was too much to ask that he be blessed with a son who would allow for a moment’s peace of mind?

“Your young one was born with much to say,” Abigail observed with a smile one evening, a few weeks after the baby’s arrival. She had come by to help Libbi around the house while Jonah was out at sea, and had remained with them for dinner, her husband being gone on a journey to the city. “It certainly seems that way,” Libbi replied with a laugh that was almost a giggle, tickling the cooing baby’s feet. The constant bombardment of sound seemed only to further delight her - she was the epitome of a good mother. Jonah wondered if a good father was one who could be worn out by the never ending sounds of his son. No – he did not think so. And he did not think he was a good father. Not yet. Nevertheless, he did love his little bundle of a son. Scooping him up and holding him at eye level, he mumbled gently, “I will try to be patient with you, my little Shimon, my boy with the need ‘to be heard’.”

As the weeks began to pile and morph into months, and as the months slowly gathered themselves into years, little Shimon matured, and as his body grew, so did his vocabulary. Soon, he was peppering his father with questions about the boats, the nets, the fish, the other fishermen, the great city (which he had never-never-never been to – well, not since he was old enough to remember – why not?), and anything else that popped into his head. He rarely waited for an answer, and even more frequent than the questions were the details of his own self-important discoveries and opinions on everything under the sun. Yes, young Shimon was certainly opinionated. Once he had decided something in his own mind – be it right or wrong – there was no argument that could change that resolve. He had once argued away his entire afternoon with another fisherman’s son on whether or not a stone was smooth enough to skip. The friend said yes, Shimon said no. The boy skipped the rock, Shimon argued that it had it only bounced twice, and therefore he had been right. The discussion would have ended with fists, had not Libbi, on observing the scene, called Shimon away for evening chores. “The Proverbs say,” Jonah had rumbled on more than one occasion, “that ‘with the multitude of words, sin abounds.’ Hold your tongue, Shimon.”

The dark hair faded to grey on Jonah’s head, but Shimon – though more mature in some respects – remained the same. Stubborn as a snagged net, his greatest pleasure lay in debating and over-talking anyone so unfortunate as to disagree with him. And yet, behind the arguments and the stubbornness, Shimon had a good heart. Loyal to a fault, tenaciously dedicated to whatever course of action he settled upon – Jonah still clung to the hope that his son’s intense personality would eventually soften into the character of a strong and dedicated man. When Shimon married Penina, and had more to consider than just himself, Jonah saw the transformation beginning, but there still were times when he wished Shimon was more like his calm younger brother: when he wished for a household of peace and quiet.

And then, suddenly, he got his wish.

For weeks his boys had been just short of crazy – each in their respective ways – over the fanatic teachings of some radical preacher near Bethabara. Rumors spread faster than storm clouds, and one day Andrew kissed his mother good bye and left Bethsaida to hear the man for himself. Shimon might as well have gone too, for all the concentration he dedicated to his responsibilities. Still, he was the firstborn, and it was only right that he stay to care for Jonah and Libbi. Weeks passed, and the family was just sitting down to supper one evening – Jonah steeling himself for another hour of Shimon’s ravings on the Bethabara preacher – when Andrew suddenly returned. Ever sparing with his language, he seemingly ignored his parents’ greeting, and simply walked up to Shimon with the words, “Come. We have found the Messiah.” Shimon bolted to his feet, “The Baptist?” he queried anticipation quivering in his voice, “is it him?” But Andrew shook his head, “The Baptist came to point to the Messiah. You must come.” Shimon was already putting on his coat and gathering his scant travel necessities. “Surely not now!” cried Libbi, and her desperate voice, coupled with Penina’s mournful face, filled Jonah with sorrow. It surprised him. He supposed he should feel angry at his sons for being so willing and thoughtless as to leave them and follow a man they knew nothing about. How could they know it was really the Messiah? Hadn’t there been plenty of rumors before this? Yet, somehow he knew they must go.

They would go.

And they did.

It was three years before Jonah and Libbi were able to have their sons to themselves again. Three years of abrupt, sporadic visits which lasted only as long as their leader (a mere carpenter from Nazareth of all places!) desired. Three years of confusion and concern over the company their sons were keeping – at least one of their group was a tax collector! Three years of wonder and doubts over the authenticity of the man Shimon and Andrew had chosen to believe and follow. Yes, this man Jesus had performed many fantastic feats – he had even cured Penina’s mother of a deadly fever – and his preaching drew crowds from all over the country, but was he really who he said he was? Jonah was not so sure he could believe it. Yet, here they were, all gathered once again around that worn, wooden table, with Shimon, Andrew, and Penina telling them the most unbelievable story yet – that this Jesus had been crucified and then come to life again: that he was God Himself!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

…”And mother, though we fished all night we caught not a single fish. We were all worn, and depressed, and tired – you know how it is, father, when nothing comes in – when we saw this man standing on the shore.”

“’Children, have you any fish?’ he called, and of course, we told him that our nets had been empty all the night long. ’Cast your net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some.’ He shouted to us, and we were so tired and desperate, we did as he said, though later I couldn’t think why.”

“And then,” Penina interjected, her dark eyes sparkling with the excitement she could no longer contain, “they threw the net to the right side, and there were suddenly so many fish that all of them together were unable to pull it out!” Jonah’s attention was now fully on the tale. Never had he hauled in such a catch as his daughter-in-law was describing. Could it be true? Was it possible?

“Yes,” said Shimon with a smile, “we did as he said, and what he predicted came to pass. So John said to me – you remember John, mother? – that it was the Lord. He always seemed to know sooner than the rest of us, somehow. Well, when I heard that, I knew I had to see him right away, so I swam to him as fast as I could. When we all got to shore, he had breakfast for us…” his voice trailed off for a moment, and his eyes held a far-away, thoughtful look that spoke of memories never to be forgotten. For the first time in his life, Jonah wished his son would keep speaking, would finish what he had to say, would let the rest of them in on what was playing through his mind. Finally, he could stand it no longer, “And?” he urged, unconsciously leaning forward himself to be sure of the words, “What happened next?”

Shimon shook himself, and looking from one parent to the next, said simply, “He told me to feed his sheep.” Jonah sat back, thoroughly confused and not a little irritated. “Feed his sheep? What does that mean?” he flustered. “It means,” Andrew answered, “that all of us – but Cephas most especially – are to tell others of Jesus, to make them understand that He truly was the Messiah, and that he has freed us not from the physical bondage of the Romans, but from the spiritual bondage of our sins.”

Shimon turned to them with passion. “Don’t you see, mother – father, how Jesus fulfilled every prophecy we were ever given? Remember what you taught me of the Scriptures...”

They sat there for hours, the five of them, listening to Shimon speak in a way Jonah had never heard before, understanding things, by his son’s explanations, that he had never thought to be within his grasp of comprehension. When at last they separated for the night, Jonah understood.

He understood that Shimon – the one who needed to be heard – was no more.

He understood that Cephas – a man of great strength because he was filled with the strength of Another – was now the man who stood before him.

And he understood, finally, that this change had been brought about by Jesus – the Messiah – who had chosen to fill the void and be heard through one who had been empty with nothing to say.

It was time to listen.

Thoughts for Thursday: Words and C.S. Lewis

"Those hills," said Lucy, "the nice woody ones and the blue ones behind -- aren't they very like the Southern border of Narnia?"

"Like!" cried Edmund after a moment's silence. "Why, they're exactly like...."

"And yet they're not like," said Lucy. "They're different. They have more colors on them and they look further away than I remembered and they're more...more...oh, I don't know..."

"More like the real thing," said the Lord Digory softly.

Suddenly, Farsight the Eagle spread his wings, soared thirty or forty feet up into the air, circled round and then alighted on the ground.

"Kings and Queens," he cried, "we have all been blind. We are only beginning to see where we are....Narnia is not dead. This is Narnia."

...."it's all so different," said Lucy.

"The Eagle is right," said the Lord Digory. "Listen, Peter. When Aslan said you could never go back to Narnia, he meant the Narnia you were thinking of. But that was not the real Narnia. That had a beginning and an end. It was only a shadow or a copy of the real Narnia which has always been here and always will be here....You need not mourn over Narnia, Lucy. All of the old Narnia that mattered, all the dear creatures, have been drawn into the real Narnia through the Door. And of course it is different; as different as a real thing is from a shadow or a waking life is from a dream." His voice stirred everyone like a trumpet as he spoke these words....

I've been thinking about this passage from The Last Battle a lot lately. Particularly, as I've been memorizing/studying John 1.

Rabbit Trail: Oooo, the wonderful first five verses are simply mind-boggling. Did you know the Greek word for "Word" means "the Divine Expression"? To think that God's expression of Himself became a human being is...incomprehensible; as Martin Luther said, "The mystery of Christ, that He sunk Himself into our flesh, is beyond all human understanding." End Rabbit Trail.

Anyway, what I've been thinking is this: Many things in life are, as C.S. Lewis pointed out, a foreshadowing, a shortened version, a muted color of what exists in heaven. Life here on earth lasts only an average of 78 years (in the U.S.), yet, in heaven, there will be no end of life. (Actually, this is also true of death. While the moment of death is an instant here on earth, it too lasts for eternity for those who have not accepted Christ).

But words...words. If Jesus Christ is the incarnated Word, then the words we speak are only a foreshadowing of something deeper...something we will only fully understand when we stand before the living Word.

What are words? What are they in their real, bigger, brighter colors? 'Til we see God, I am not sure if we can understand, but this I know: If, somehow, the Son's Word had such power that He became a Person, I can finally understand why we, as Christians, must guard our words so closely. Our words are to parallel the Word, and all those which don't are nothing short of blasphemy. Because words - real, bright, shining words, the true words that the sounds we speak foreshadow - have a deeper impact than we realize.

It was the Unicorn who summed up what everyone was feeling. He stamped his right fore-hoof on the ground and neighed, and then cried:

"I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now. The reason why we loved the old Narnia is that it sometimes looked a little like this. Bree-hee-hee! Come further up, come further in!" - The Last Battle, C.S. Lewis

CIA World Factbook 
Photo Credit