The Scales

Like Lewis's dragon I showed you my scales

I hung my head while my leathery wings drooped

You were solemn

and warm

and silent

"I see now my sins" I said, and I meant it

Oh, but what I did not see!

I was like a peacock displaying its feathers

"Look upon my wretchedness, oh Lord!"

I was flaunting in a different language

When you called for my claws I tore at my shell with a fervor

The scales fell like rain with my blood and sweat

"I give thee myself!" I cried

When at last I lay, trembling, in a pile and puddle of myself

My eyes were closed and I thought I might dream

A smile caressed my lips

"Thank you" I said

When you did not reply I opened my eyes

What horror!

Though I was ripped and bleeding

Though I lay in a massacre of myself

My scales were unchanged!

As was your countenance

"Save me!" I screamed, "I am spent yet unchanged!"

In my panic I began tearing anew at my flesh

Scars and scabs were reopened

I scraped until I reached bone and lost consciousness

When I awoke the scales remained

Now I lay motionless

The weight of the scales had increased so I could not move

My wings were thick blankets which clung to the pile of scale and blood and bone beneath me

Still you were silent

Your gaze did not waver from mine

"The weight is awful" I said presently

"I feel it" you said 

"Do you bear it as well?" I asked, "I see no scales on you"

"I wear no scales," said he

I wanted to know what you meant.  I longed to understand how you felt the awful, pressing, oppressive scales while wearing no such garment.  

But I was tired.

"Can you show me?" Was all I could muster

When first I came to you I thought I had known my evils

Though they were scales they had glinted in the light

"The scales are armor" you said as you began ripping and tearing, "They are evil, but only because they pretend to protect you.  

"They have whispered in your ear about their necessity.  Not only to shelter you, but also to present to me as an offering."

Here you paused, trembling with a rage.  

"I need no offering." You said, "I need nothing of you--Not even yourself!  What I singularly desire is to see the scales removed; to reveal the pussing, rotting flesh beneath!  I wish to show you the lies you have spun for yourself.  Not so you can see them as lies, but so you can see the true disease beneath!  Only then can your wounds be treated."

He began again to rip great chunks of flesh and scale from my frame.  And truly, to my absolute terror, what laid beneath was not soft, healthy skin.

It was wet.

It was green.

It was yellow.

It was deep red.

It moved and squirmed. 

It was covered in mouths that moved incessantly, all with a wailing, screeching howl

"What is it?" I asked over the noise.

"It is the evil beneath evil," You said, "It hides under catechisms and baptisms.  It lays in wait beneath yamakas and altars.  It sets traps below the teachings of buddah and the threads of prayer mats.  It lives behind the wailing wall.  It grows on the minds of fathers who call their children ungrateful and in the hearts of mothers who think themselves neglected.  It is in the eye of every wounded man and every tortured woman.  It seeks the scales like a salve: a temporary covering to attempt to heal the wound.  But all it does is provide darkness for the infection to fester."

"But what is it?" I asked.

"It is pain." said he.  "Pain that has not been given the medicine of love"

"None have loved me." I agreed.  The infection writhed vigorously.

"Many have loved you." he said quickly--almost angrily--watching the infection closely. "Or many have tried.  But it was too long after the pain was given to you.  The armor had grown thick and had already learned to speak.  Its whispers thought to protect your wound by covering it eternally--they only allowed it to take root.  Over time your scales not only shut out the love of others, they also heeded the cries of the pain beneath.  Not as pain and lies, but as truth.  And so your armor that grew to defend you became your traitor.  The scales would have you spurn your children, abuse your lover, and scoff at heroes.  Not because they cannot love, but because they believe pain and lies to be that which I am."

At the utterance of these last words, his voice rattled and shook.  The ground beneath his feet rumbled and shifted.  I looked, and saw the infection writhe and shrivel and shrink and flake away like dead skin.  The pain was greater than any I had inflicted on myself, yet wholly different. 

When it was done, I saw what lay beneath to be smooth, whole skin.  My black, jagged scales had been replaced with polished, shimmering golden armor that could easily and painlessly be lifted to reveal the flesh beneath.  Even my wings were restored - this time with feathers of many colors.

"Thank you," I said.

You smiled.  

You were solemn.

And warm.

And silent.

Jesus, Animal Sacrifice, and the Cognitive Dissonance of the Old Testament

Jesus and God aren't the same people.  

At least it really seems that way when you read the old testament.  I mean, it really seems that way.  It's hard to imagine that the same God who gives intricate detail on how to slaughter livestock en masse for mostly just the purpose of setting their mutilated carcasses on fire because 'it is a pleasing aroma' is the same God that encourages people to be kind to one another.

Did you know the book of Leviticus is mostly full of instructions on how to harvest and clean the fatty tissue from organs in cows and goats and other animals?  Did you know the book of Leviticus also has extensive lists of what kind of animals are ok and not ok to eat?

Did you also know Peter(one of Jesus' disciples) has a vision in the new testament of a large sheet filled with all kinds of animals being lowered down to him?  In the vision Peter hears a voice that commands him to kill and eat.  But Peter knows better: Peter refuses to kill or eat the animals because in the book of Leviticus there are rules against eating these kinds of animals.  Rules set by God.  They're also pretty serious rules: if you eat the wrong animal you're 'unclean' for twenty-four hours and even then you still have to kill another kind of animal or burn a certain kind of grain to become 'clean' again.

But then Peter hears the voice say this: "Do not call anything impure that God has made clean."(Acts 10:15, NIV)

Wait, wait, wait: God can just do that?  So you're telling me God had an entire nation of people go through complex, life-threatening rituals for hundreds of years when he could have just changed the system and vetoed things being 'unclean'?  

This exchange between Peter and God happened three times in a row.  So it's not like Peter misheard God the first time or God misspoke.  Shortly after having this vision, Peter has an opportunity to speak to a large gathering of people about Jesus.  This is what he says: "I now realize how true it is that God does not show favoritism but accepts from every nation the one who fears him and does what is right".(Acts 10:34b-35 NIV)

Remember, Peter is talking about the same God who--only a few hundred years earlier--laid out explicit instructions on how to handle the entrails of a cow so that God didn't strike you dead by accident.  

What's going on here?  Did God change his mind by the time Jesus came around?  Is the bible riddled with cognitive dissonance?  Were the ancient Hebrew people wasting their time sacrificing livestock in the desert for hundreds of years?

The answer is yes.  And no.  And...who knows.

Before I explain I want to make sure we're clear on something: nobody really knows anything.  Especially about God and anything that happened before we were born.  And when you were born: did you start acquiring knowledge that would help you understand the detailed history of an ancient civilization right away?  No.  You don't remember the day you were born.  Most of us don't remember at least our first year.  So when we talk about God and the bible and history we're not doing anything much more sophisticated than playing make believe with action figures.  The sources we have for our knowledge of God and the bible and history are some copies of books that people wrote about things that happened after the fact and deteriorated objects we dug out of the ground.  Oh, and verbal tradition.  Ever play a game of telephone?  

I don't say any of this to say that we shouldn't try and learn more about God, or the bible, or history, or anything.  All I'm saying is that no matter how sure anybody seems it's all actually quite mysterious and mystical and magical.  But of course it is: We wouldn't be moved to worship something that was normal and explainable and predictable.  Nobody worships math equations.

Anyway.

In Leviticus chapter six God lays out some rules for what the priests of Israel may and may not eat from the sacrifices that are made in the temple.  When it comes to meat from the sin offering, God says that the priest who oversees the ritual sacrifice may eat the meat if it is cooked in a clay or bronze pot...on a condition.  The clay pot must be shattered after cooking the sin offering.  If a bronze pot is used, it must be "scoured and rinsed with water".  

Earlier on in Leviticus God gives detailed instructions on sacrifices and rituals that must be performed if someone has committed a wrong against a neighbor or against God without realizing it.  Once all the ritual instructions have been completed the section ends by saying, 'They will be forgiven'(Leviticus 4:26, 31, 35).  

In Leviticus 16 God gives instructions for something called a 'scapegoat'(yes, this is where the term comes from).  A priest is to lay his hands on the head of a goat, confess 'all the wickedness and rebellion of the Israelites' and send the goat off into the wilderness to never be seen again.

At the end of every set of instructions for a burnt offering we are told 'it is a pleasing aroma to the Lord'.  

Are you getting the imagery? The clay pot that held and cooked the meat representing someone's wrongdoing will be shattered into pieces.  If it was a bronze pot, it will be thoroughly cleaned.  One might say it should be made spotless.  

A person who has committed a sin will be forgiven.

The weight and guilt of a nation's wrongs are symbolically placed on the head of a goat and lost in the wilderness. 

God will be satisfied by what you bring to Him.

This imagery is all quite final, don't you think?  

There's no gray area.  

No room for questions like, "Has God forgiven me yet?" or, "Am I good enough, yet?" or one of my favorites: "Does anybody love me?"  

A certain phrase comes to mind.

"It is finished".

In case you are unfamiliar, this is what Jesus says as he draws his last breath on the cross.  You know; the place where he dies for all the sins of mankind.  

Jesus doesn't say, "Hopefully now you'll all be acceptable to God".  He doesn't mutter, "You guys better appreciate this or it doesn't count".  He doesn't raise his eyebrows expectantly at his friends and family, waiting for them to thank him.  

"It is finished." 

Not just the wrongs you have committed.  But also the wrongs that have been committed against you.  You don't have to carry them around anymore.  The person who wronged you may never apologize, but that's for God to sort out.  

You.

You're free.

Christ-Like Resistance

I've been trying to talk myself out of writing this.  I almost did, but then I found a compromise.  I want to be helpful to whoever is reading, but I have a lot of pent up cynicism that needs to get out first and I'm worried that will be off-putting to people genuinely looking for help in processing the current state of our world.  So here's what we'll do: I'll warn you that there's gonna be some cynicism in the next few paragraphs.  After that, I've done my best to be helpful and constructive.  But the venting comes first.  If you just want the helpful stuff, scroll through until the paragraph before the header that has Morgan Freeman's name in it.  If you're ok with potentially getting offended or feeling attacked or judged, feel free to read the stuff before.  I don't think you need to, but I would feel dishonest and wrong if I didn't write it down and put it out there.  Here we go.

The Cynicism Part

There are more than enough white people using the current racial, political, and societal tensions to give their need to blabber on social media some sort of meaningful feeling.  Instead of posting finely edited photos of meals we just made, our latest home reno project, or our favorite bible verse or a confusing quote by some long-dead author we have the delicious option to look like we care by talking about racism in what appears to be profound new ways.  

And boy, are we eating it up.  

I have been angry about racism for my whole conscious life.  I have very early memories of my parents reading stories about Harriet Tubman to my brother and I.  We learned about Martin Luther King Jr. and Abraham Lincoln.  For a good chunk of my childhood we lived in a neighborhood where our skin color made us a minority.  We played and grew up with a kaleidoscope of melanin.  The first time I met someone in real life who made racist comments and actually believed them I was shocked and furious and immediately lost respect for them.  

'How stupid are they?' I thought.  'Don't they realize that people are people?  Why do they even care about what color that person's skin is?  What does that have to do with anything?'

As I grew up, I became more and more familiar with how ignorant and dark-hearted many people are.  At first I tried persuading them by passionately arguing.  When social media started to become a normal thing I posted about racism and other injustices as often as I could.  Then I tried to appear wise with well thought out blog posts(wait, what?).  But still the videos of funny cats that I shared got way more attention than anything about what I thought were very obvious, fixable systemic issues.  

Cynicism grew in my heart like ivy on an old building.  I internalized the anger and the rage and I decided to process it on a smaller scale: in my own life.  I felt like trying to draw everyone's attention to the injustice that was all around them and teach them empathy was a losing battle.  People didn't/don't want to care.  It's easier to live your life thinking that you're a good person and you're not the problem.  

I got really good at having ways of dealing with the rage I felt without dumping it all over others(big thanks to my parents for putting up with my outbursts while I sorted this out).  I learned a lot about how our own anger puts us in ivory towers and throwing stones just makes more bruises.         

Then, a few years after I felt like I had made peace with my inner anger about racism and injustice and developed some(what I think are) healthy and effective ways to actually do something about it without burning out and wasting my energy on people who don't want to hear it, it became trendy to be a white person who is fired up about how terrible white people have been.

I must admit: I've only loosely followed the news.  I've watched and read my friend's socials posts with deep, deep cynicism and slight indifference.  I'm waiting for everyone to stop caring and for the next thing to come up like it always does.  I'm happy to say I've been waiting for much longer than I expected.  

I'm still very hesitant and skeptical.  I don't trust human nature...because it defaults to things like systemic racism and blind eyes to injustice in the name of maintaining our own comfort.  But this doesn't seem to be going away.  In all of these posts and conversations I've seen a lot of people saying things like 'I don't know what to do or if there's anything I can do'. 

As you can guess, because this has bothered me for a long time I've given it a lot of thought: what's our role in the face of such rampant injustice?  A mountain can be moved, but you've gotta start chipping away somewhere.  What's the most effective way?  Dynamite's too destructive.  Wailing on it with our fists damages us and leaves the mountain unscathed.  Scaling the mountain will likely kill us.  So what do we do?  How do we use a boring, slow pickaxe without being filled with despair?  

As I said, I've given this whole racism and injustice thing a lot of thought.  I've sought out answers and help anywhere I can find it.  And I've been incredibly supported by work that others have quietly and patiently done to build a foundation for such a time as this.  So I thought I would share a few resources that have been foundational and ground-breaking for me.  There are tons out there, but I wanted to give a select few in a specific order to communicate a train of thought that rolls through my head almost every day as I sort out how to be angry about injustice and love everyone equally all at the same time.  Here we go.

Morgan Freeman's Short, Sharp Wisdom

I'm pretty sure I was in high school when I first heard Morgan Freeman leave Mike Wallace speechless.  The interaction is brief, but powerful.  The transcript is below.

Wallace :“Black History Month, you find?” Freeman:“Ridiculous.” Wallace:“Why?” Freeman :“You’re going to relegate my history to a month?” Wallace: “Oh, come on.” Freeman: “What do you do with yours? Which month is white history month? No, Come on, tell me.” Wallace: “Well, I’m Jewish.” Freeman: “Okay. Which month is Jewish history month?” Wallace:  “There isn’t one.” Freeman: “ Oh. Oh, why not? Do you want one?” Wallace:  “No. No.” Freeman:  “I don’t either. I don’t want a Black History Month. Black history is American history.” Wallace:  “How are we going to get rid of racism and ….” Freeman:  “Stop talking about it. I’m going to stop calling you a white man, and I’m going to ask you to stop calling me a black man. I know you as Mike Wallace. You know me as Morgan Freeman. You want to say, `Well, I know this white guy named Mike Wallace.’ You know what I’m saying?”

If you don't know what the man with the most soothing voice in the history of mankind is saying, I'll explain.  Racism exists because we choose to see humans through a specific set of lenses.  A lot of this is by default.  My mom remembers when I was very little I asked her why the first black person I ever saw was so dirty.  Skin color is very present and obvious, but color is also just something we perceive based on the way the receptors in our eyes interpret the way light reflects off the things around us.  In short; you only see color because your eyes have the ability to pick up signals that make everything more beautiful, textured, and vibrant.  If you couldn't see color, you'd just see another person, and you'd identify them by(I would hope) their name.  That's what our good friend Morgan is saying.  As long as you call this guy black, that guy white, and that guy Asian you're placing a lot of their identity's weight on the color of their skin before you even know their name or their favorite food or hobbies or loves or fears.  Choose not to see race.  Choose to see a person who is equally as important and interesting as any other person you will encounter at any point in your life.  Choose to live as though racism doesn't exist and it won't; at least not around everyone who chooses to practice this.

But Doesn't Racism still Exist as a Systemic Issue?

Yep, and that sucks, but you won't solve it if you're raging mad and still choosing to identify people by their skin color.

So do I just not talk about racism at all, then?

Yes, and no.  Because you are now paying attention to the people around you regardless of skin color, you're now going to be noticing their interests, likes, dislikes, and inner struggles more than were before.  You'll find yourself making room for them to talk, instead of preaching at them.  They might come to trust you and share things with you they would otherwise feel unsafe or uncomfortable telling others.  Notice I'm not telling you whether they have the same skin color as you or not.  That doesn't matter.  You're seeing the person and loving them beyond what's on the surface of them OR you.  Things like hate, anger, and interpersonal relationships are going to come up, because that's what we're all struggling with deep down.  Deep down we're all trying to sort out how we fit and what that looks like.  Sometimes racism will be a part of that conversation.  Sometimes it won't.  Thank God for when it is.  Thank Him for when it's something else.

Jason Petty AKA Propaganda

But you're still angry about racism!  I know.  Me too.  That's why I love rap; it's great angry music.  Few rap artists have voiced the anger surrounding racism and injustice better than propaganda.  And he has done more than just air dirty laundry - he's cleaned it, too.  On way more than one occasion, I've put on one of his albums on a drive while feeling angry, and he has done two very important things: validate my anger, then show me what to do with it without destroying a soul.  I especially recommend the song 'It's not working' on the album, 'crooked' but everything he makes is excellent.

The Brilliance

I said few artists have voiced the anger surrounding racism and injustice better than propaganda.  David Gungor and John Arndt of The Brilliance are part of that few.  Their albums are like tapestries about pain, suffering, injustice, confusion, and anger all woven into one coherent thought that resonates in my heart for days afterward.  It's not coincidence that Propaganda and The Brilliance toured together a while back.

Insurrection

Insurrection is a book by author Peter Rollins.  He's written a lot of excellent stuff(including a deliciously titled, 'the idolatry of god') but insurrection is hands down the most impactful book I have read in my 28 years of life.  I finished it 6 months ago and it's still shaping the way I view the world, the people in it, and my own part in everything.  There's a lot I could say about this book in way more than the arena of racism and injustice, but I'll just give you the following quote:

"..a way of living that is able to short-circuit the present social, spiritual, or political order, something that we witness at a political level in the life of Mother Teresa, who no more protested against the caste system in Calcutta than she affirmed it.  She simply lived in a different reality.  She lived as though it did not exist, helping all who came to her regardless of their social class.  This act of living the not-yet state of equality as if it already existed in the now is the truly political act, an act that directly confronts unjust systems by ignoring them and living into a different reality."

And if that's not enough to get you hooked, I don't know what is.

Above All

This brings me to my last resource: what I consider to be the most helpful and poignant.  The bible.  Set aside all religious notions for a moment.  I'm not asking you to believe anything.  I'm not asking you to perform some strange ritual and join a cult.  I have just one suggestion: if we read the bible in its original context of history and politics, we find it to be the most universally relevant piece of literature related to the struggle of being human.  Whether you are christian or not, look for some people who can help you take in the context of the bible(the bible project is my number one recommendation for this).  It is a book comprised of smaller books written by a people group who have been oppressed for longer than time and history can account.  To date, no one has a better answer to how to live in the face of gross oppression and injustice and exploitation.  You may have protests on the tip of your tongue about sacrifice and slaughter and apparant God-ordained genocide.  This is why context is so damn important.  The more I learn about context, the more I realize how radical and contrary to the system the bible was in its days of being composed.  Then, at its culmination, I see how much Jesus is the embodiment of all of it.  Jesus lived in a time period where his own nation was living under Roman occupation.  Their entire country was enslaved.  You wanna talk about systemic injustice?  That's it, right there.  And nobody was pretending it didn't exist.  Lots of people wanted Jesus to be the leader of a revolt and overthrow their oppressor.  But Jesus pointed instead to the deeper systemic brokenness of the human heart.  He opposed the system in just the way Mother Teresa emulated: he lived as though the system didn't exist and justice had already been established--and it was.  Justice was established through how Jesus treated his fellow humans, not by overthrowing the system.  He didn't see people as black or white, crippled or healthy, rich or poor--simply human.  Jesus ate with 'sinners' and he socialized with outcasts.  He befriended romans and israelis alike.  His love knew no bias and no bounds.  This was his simple but absolutely profound answer to all injustice; including racism.  And I have found no better.

In summary, I'm sorry for adding to the noise.  There's enough people talking about what's going on in our world.  I may be saying things that most other people are already saying and learning, which would bring joy to my heart.  If I'm not, I hope this was helpful.  If it wasn't, don't share it.  You can tell me I'm wrong, but I'd bet your energy would best be spent on loving whoever is sitting next to you.

Kneel

Love them kindly and be gentle, for they are your weaker half

Absolutely not

Show grace and speak humbly, because that is all they can take

I refuse

Be chivalrous and show valor in your love, because she needs a knight in shining armor

I would sooner ridicule

Gentlemen

Have you ever behind closed doors

Where the room reeks of testosterone and axe body spray

Where good intentions and twisted curiosity are overwhelming

Have you heard the phrase

Or something like it

"Love and honor the women in your life

For they are the weaker sex

They cannot handle our true nature"

Gentlemen

Have you heard of the fear of God?

I would guess when you heard the phrase

"Weaker sex"

You puffed out a little

You thought of the women in your life

Your desire for them

You can stomach the idea of honoring them if it's all they can handle

They are wonderful women!

Don't misunderstand!

They're watching your children so you can learn about how to better love them, after all

They are the kind of women who deserve a good man

A man like you

Gentlemen

Don't kid yourselves

I have seen the way you watch her like a wolf watches a young doe

It's much different than the way you look at your wife

Honor

Have you considered the word?

A knight

In shining armor

Kneels in the presence of his queen

Gentlemen

I know how what I'm saying makes you feel inside

A small, cowardly voice protests and demands respect

Gentlemen

How long did you hold your screaming infant child before angrily thrusting them back at their bleary-eyed mother?

How often did you walk through the door disappointed that no meal had yet been made for you?

How often do you wonder why you came to expect that?

How many times have you pushed a bowling ball through the end of yourself and then a few months later thought, "Yea, I could do that again"

How often, like Adam in the garden, have you pointed the finger and thought

"SHE's the problem!

If she would focus less on the kids and more on me, I would be happy!

If she would be ok with getting down a little more often I wouldn't be so grumpy all the time!"

Gentlemen

Have you heard of the fear of God?

In a patriarchal society

God chose Ruth to carry on the holy lineage

Esther to save his chosen people

Deborah to lead them

Mother Mary to birth Him(you know He didn't need to be born, right?)

The woman at the well to proclaim His mission

And Mary Magdalene to witness His resurrection

Gentlemen

Make no mistake

These events are far from coincidence

Have you heard of the fear of God?

The one you call Lord

Master

Teacher

Saviour

Kneels in the presence of His daughters

Do not love the weaker sex

Honor your better half

Your queen

Your empress

Kneel

An Easter Reflection

Hunt me, terrible abyss
Eat my flesh and drink my blood
Thwart me, great Prometheus
Tear me limb from limb

Chase me, Aphrodite
Accost me, Thor of Ragnarok
Deal with me not lightly
O deities, grim

I have seen what becomes of men who hide from their lot in life
To many of these I have been a servant
The pleasantries of life so easily dull the hideous ache

Ruin me, Mars
Destroy me, Odin
Pry the teeth from my jaw
Rip tendons from my bones

Devour me, oh Kraken!
Drag me to the depths!
Eviscerate, maul, bludgeon, lacerate, trample, crucify!

Crucify.

"If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me."

Hunt me, terrible abyss
Eat my flesh and drink my blood

I have known the damning desire of self-satisfaction
I have worn the mask of self-deception
I have looked in the mirror and seen a good man
(or at least one with good intentions)

Thwart me, great Prometheus
Tear me limb from limb

Lest the dull, hideous ache consume me
I will chase it to the ends of the earth
I will follow it until the soles of my feet wear away and I tread on bare bone
It is poison, and all who eat of it shall surely die

So chase me, Aphrodite
Accost me, Thor of Ragnarok

Rip from me all meaning
Let my lips join the chorus
"Eloi, Eloi, lama sabbacthani!"

Ruin me, Mars
Destroy me, Odin

Envelope me, hideous void
Leave me not one morsel of meaning
Man who lives for greater good lives only for himself

Let my love be only for the other
Not for dream!  Not for fantasy!  Not for lust!

Crucify me, Christ

Show me
As the wise man said
All is vapor

Sweet, beautiful, terrible abyss
Grant me but this; so that I may eat, drink, and experience good in all the labor I do under the sun during the few days of life I have received, for that is my reward

Crucify me, Christ


Rid me of meaning, that I may be filled with joy

Elijah and the Mountain

To the reader:

I have come to the end of my days at last.  I know not for certain when I shall fall into the long sleep, but I know the occasion is closer than it has ever been.  I have spent these past few days lying in bed and pondering out the nearest window.  YahWeh has been gracious to reveal many things to me in this life, but one thing I have pondered much of my days has—I think—been revealed to me by YahWeh at last.

The occasion of which I have been pondering is not from my own experience, though I will write of it as though it was.  For I knew the one who experienced it as David knew Jonathan.  It is nevertheless my aim to keep the story as preserved as is possible while still maintaining the facets I hope to convey. 

It is with the latter things in mind that I hope the reader will approach the story.

I will leave the revelation to YahWeh.

- Elisha

I was weary and tormented.  It was several days after the happenings at Mount Carmel; where YahWeh showed His power to the people of Israel.  Though the prophets of Ba’al—who encourage and demand the sacrifice of infants—had been disproven and slaughtered, not all were rejoicing. 

I was at the gates of Jezreel when I received word from Jezebel, the Queen.  All within me longed to hear that she, the king, and all of their house had rebuked Ba’al and fallen in worship to YahWeh.  It was not so. 

“May the gods punish me and do so severely if I don’t make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow!”

This was the word from Jezebel.  She was speaking of the four hundred and fifty prophets of Ba’al whom I had ordered be slain at the Wadi Kishon just days before.  Her words bred terror in my veins.

Never has a man lived that was more cruel and terrifying than the Queen Jezebel.  I had many brethren who were cut down at her command.  From this, I knew her words were not given in vain, so I ran.  I know not why the power of YahWeh at Mount Carmel was so quickly forgotten in my mind, but it was.  I ran for several days; not stopping for food or drink. 

My servant accompanied me, but even he at last grew too weary to carry on; so I left him at Beersheba and persisted: so great was the fear of Jezebel in my being.  One morning I wandered off the road—hoping to lose any pursuers that I was certain would be close behind.  I walked aimlessly through the wilderness that day.  Always I sought to keep my path straight so as not to suddenly end up walking towards my enemies.  But when food and drink have left the body and the sun is hot and fear is strong, one’s sense of direction is quickly lost.

It was during this time that I began to wonder at how any of this had come to pass.  YahWeh had shown his power at Carmel.  Ba’al was routed.  Israel was on its knees before Adonai.  I saw no better course of action than to do to the prophets of Ba’al what they coerced Jezebel to do to my brothers.  Was it not the justice of YahWeh?  Should not the king and queen of Israel have seen their wrongdoing and repented? 

Perhaps it was the heat of the day and the hunger in my bones, but I was no longer certain. 

This uncertainty was the final blow to my resolve.  I lay down under a broom tree and prayed for death.  Had death been granted, it would not have been so miraculous, considering.  At some point I fell asleep.

I was awakened by a most unpleasant start.  A light brighter than that of the sun was piercing my eyelids.  Something not unlike a human hand touched my shoulder and a deep, ringing voice—I call it a voice, though voices come from somewhere distinct.  This sound came from all around, including, it seemed, from within myself—commanded me to get up and eat.

I looked first to see if I could find the one who had awoken me, but I saw none: The brilliant light and ringing voice vanished as quickly as they had appeared.  Instead, I found a few feet away a loaf of warm, fresh bread and a jug of water.  This was the first time since hearing Jezebel’s message that I thought of hunger.  So I ate, and the effort of eating was so exhausting that soon I was asleep again.  Again the light, hand, and voice came to me, commanding me to eat.

This time the effort of eating was not exhausting, and in fact I finished the meal feeling incredibly invigorated.  It occurred to me at this point that I knew not how long I had been sleeping, and that Jezebel’s men could have gained significant ground on account of my tarrying.

So I arose and walked for 40 days and 40 nights to the mountain Horeb, where YahWeh first appeared to our father, Moses.  This may seem strange to the reader, and indeed it is strange to me now to think back upon it, but during those 40 days and nights I took no more food than what was given me under the broom tree.  It was not for lack of availability: I passed many an edible plant.  Rather, it was for lack of hunger.  Because of this, I thought nothing at all of not eating.  The reader again may find this strange, but think back to the days of one’s childhood: when did we think of hunger but when we were offered food? 

Nonetheless, I remained in great turmoil during this long walk.  For though I thought nothing of food, I thought much of everything else.  I wondered at the prospect of being cut into pieces by Jezebel.  I wondered at the might of YahWeh displayed at Mount Carmel, and I wondered at the people of Israel.  Their hearts were swayed by the terrifying rule of Jezebel when she slaughtered my brethren, and their hearts were swayed again when YahWeh sent fire from heaven.  Would they be swayed when another came to demand their attentions?  Was YahWeh so different to them from Jezebel?  Was His power not even more terrifying? 

It shames me to say that I resented Israel for much of that journey.  My anger for her grew with each step, and my contempt inflated with each breath. 

When at last I arrived at Horeb, I entered a cave and spent the night. 

Again a deep, ringing voice woke me from my sleep.  This time there was no dazzling, penetrating light. 

“What are you doing here, Elijah?”

Believing I held an audience with one from the heavens, I withheld nothing in my reply.

“I have been very zealous for the Lord God of Hosts, but the Israelites have abandoned your covenant, torn down Your altars, and killed Your prophets with the sword.  I alone am left, and they are looking for me to take my life.”

It is worth noting here the vanity and blindness of contempt.  I knew of 100 other prophets of YahWeh who were kept hidden and safe from Jezebel by our dear brother Obadiah.  In my anger and pain, they were blotted from my mind.

“Go out and stand on the mountain in the Lord’s presence.”  The voice replied.

Had I been of sound mind, this command would have brought great trembling over my being.  None have seen the face of YahWeh and lived.  As it was, I remained determined to plead my case and thought nothing of it.  I was making ready to get on my feet when a terrible wind tore across the face of the mountain.  It knocked me to the ground and ripped great pieces of rock from Horeb’s cliffs.  The falling rocks shook the earth so that I thought for certain the cave would collapse upon my head. 

Then, like the day on Mount Carmel, fire rained from heaven.  The noise and heat and movement of the three events was so tumultuous and sudden that I believed it would never end.  Indeed it felt like an eternity until it was over, at which point it seemed only a moment.  When it was finished, I lay stunned on the floor of the cave.  For a brief period the only sound was that of my breath. 

The silence was broken by a soft, gentle whisper.  Would that I could tell you what that whisper said, but as soon as I heard it, it escaped me.  All I can recall is immediately rising to my feet and moving to the entrance of the cave.  Here the voice that woke me came again.

“What are you doing here, Elijah?”

My anger burned like the fire that had fallen from heaven.  Were the angels of the Lord not listening?  Was His council no different than that of man?  I gave my reply through gritted teeth:

“I have been very zealous for the Lord God of Hosts.  But the Israelites have abandoned Your covenant, torn down Your altars, and killed Your prophets with the sword.  I alone am left, and they’re looking for me to take my life.”

The voice replied by telling me to return by the way I had come, and gave instructions on what to do when I arrived there. 

The instructions and what became of them can be read about in the 1^st book of Kings at the end of the 19^th chapter.  They are not the reason for which I tell this story. 

My rage upon realizing my complaint would not be heard by YahWeh was so great that I could do naught but stand in silence.  Did Adonai have no compassion?  Would the Lord not hear my suffering?  I ALONE was left!  There were none in Israel who would stand for YahWeh!  Not like I would!  They had turned from Ba’al at the sight of the Lord’s power on Carmel yesterday, but they would turn to some other god tomorrow!  The children of Abraham were like waves in an ocean or wheat in a field!  Only I—Elijah the Tishbite—was righteous and steadfast enough to remain faithful to the Lord of Hosts!  I ALONE!! 

--

I had been standing and trembling angrily so long that the moon replaced the sun in the sky.  Somewhere in the passage of time while I stood at the mouth of the cave of Horeb, a stillness came over me.  Within that stillness, I again heard a whisper.  Perhaps it was the same soft, gentle whisper I had heard in the cave hours before.  Perhaps not.  Who can discern the ways of the Almighty?

Whichever it was, these words I remember with clarity, for I had heard them twice before in the deep, ringing voice.

“What are you doing here, Elijah?”

The Lord is great.  His wisdom is boundless and everlasting.  At last, the Almighty’s question had worked to examine my soul.

When my heart was weakened and grieved with the loss of my brothers at the hands of Jezebel

YahWeh remained steadfast and true. 

He used his faithful servant Obadiah to rescue whomever He could. 

When my heart was rent with anger and power at Carmel

YahWeh remained steadfast and true. 

He rained fire from heaven to demonstrate the futility of Ba’al. 

When my heart was filled with vengeance and I ordered the slaughter of the four hundred and fifty prophets

YahWeh remained steadfast and true. 

He grieved the continuous bloodshed.

When my heart was overcome with fear and I fled at the message from Jezebel

YahWeh remained steadfast and true.

He fed me and provided me with shade.

When my heart was blackened and embittered with hatred for His people

YahWeh remained steadfast and true.

He did not come in the wind.  He did not come in the earthquake.  He did not come in the fire. 

He came in the soft, gentle whisper.

My trembling anger turned to trembling sobs.  I fell on my face, wept before the Almighty on the face of Horeb, and repented.  When there were no more tears to shed, I stood, turned, and carried out the instructions of YahWeh.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L2LtB9KLf98

The Greatest Single Cause of Atheism

Once upon a time there was a christian band that went by the title 'DC Talk'.  They wrote a song that had an incredible impact on me as a preteen titled, 'What if I stumble'.  The song wrestled honestly with the question of hypocrisy within Christianity and the kind of pressure one can feel to not screw up.

I'm sure that as one of the most popular North American Christian artists of the time, this question was all too real for the members of DC Talk, but it is intended to be real for us as well.

The most chilling and gripping part of the already intense song is the very beginning.  It opens with a quote by Brennan Manning that sounds out like a gong amongst an already stand-out album.

"The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians; they acknowledge Jesus with their lips, walk out the door, and deny Him by their lifestyle.  That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable."

This rocked me at 12 years old, and in many ways still rocks me today.  It's convicting to be reminded that as an ambassador of Jesus Christ, my actions will be perceived as direct reflections of the character of Christ.

And why shouldn't they?  Certainly a part of the journey of being human is learning to have grace for ourselves and others amidst our brokenness and ideals; but a mark of responsibility, authenticity, and maturity in a person is how strongly they hold to their convictions.

Do pilots not believe in jet fuel?  Do doctors not believe in medicine?

Of course their practice goes much further than belief.  It has to!  Their lives revolve around those beliefs being true and practical and real.  Doctors lay their reputation on the line with every diagnoses.  Pilots place the lives of many at the feet of the altar of turbine engines and aerodynamics.

Do we do the same with Christ?

I'm not talking about bold-faced, conversion-centered evangelism.  I'm talking about allowing our belief in Christ to shape our every action and thought.

As the pilot engages the throttle, so shouldn't we engage the poor, the sick, and the needy?  As the doctor examines the patient with precision point criteria for health, so shouldn't we examine our hearts with precision point criteria for the fruits of the spirit?

Why would our belief in Jesus warrant any less practical, visceral responses than a surgeon to her stitches or a captain to his instruments?

Unless, of course, we don't actually believe.