Category: Blog Share

I am back to working on a book that takes a verse-by-verse look at the Gospel of Mark. Each verse has a comment and a stanza. Chapter 13 is seen by some as an apocalyptic section of Mark. That is too easy a reading. Here is the first of three verses that may still have an application for today. These next 3 posts were written in June 2018.

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Mark 13:3
Jesus was sitting on the Mount of Olives across from the temple.
Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him privately,

Having been in the Temple and dealt with tests from all the major religious groupings, it is time to back off and reflect on what has been experienced.

Mark shifts his use of εἰς from indicating motion to now indicating a having come to rest. It is time to take stock. They may be at the top of the Mount in a place now named Dominus Flevit (meaning “The Lord Wept” as in Luke 19:41–44). They may be at the bottom of the Mount scouting for a later visit to The Garden of Gethsemane. Wherever they are, this is probably a place Jesus went to for wilderness outside the gates of Jerusalem. Here it was always time to pause and reflect.

It is worth doing our own pausing and reflecting about Andrew’s presence with the inner circle of Peter, James, and John.

If we use the shorthand of metonymy, Andrew stands for all the rest of the disciples. In current discipleship language, this is the priesthood of all believers where each is a marker for all. This partnership of leadership asks each to bear responsibility for the others. It is a loving of one another (John 15:12). This is a larger group alone with Jesus than just four. It is also a group that includes the Readers of Mark.

We are gathered around to hear what we expect to continue moving toward an end game where we cause a coup. It will be easy to slip into the gruesome imagery of the apocalyptic, but important to keep bringing ourselves back to the more realistic picture of simple eschatology that sits ready just beyond our current reach.

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sitting across from
collection boxes
temple walls
market stalls
kitchen tables
legislative halls

shifts private to public
Peter loses his keys
James and John
lose locks on prestige
Andrew’s and other’s
sugarplums dissolve

such implacability
stares them down
walls thicker than thick
higher than high
trained horses ridden
sharp spears waved

what have we been thinking
fantasies become just that
talk of brave suffering
just talk
it’s finally sinking in
we’re sinking

the ancient story
shibboleth
continues

patriots protect
evolving practices
focused on uniting

patriots resist
evolved results
restrictive on them

some patriots
work on continuity
others smash norms

no other word today
resists translation
across cultural divides

patriots insist patriarchy
for white males
an enduring value

patriots deny patriarchy
an enduring truth
requiring violence

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[those interested in more can reference usage at Merriam-Webster and Wikipedia, which leads to Fourteen Words still furtively bedeviling societal health.]

As I listened to my regular Saturday night music – The Midnight Special on WMFT – I heard “Mercy Bound” as sung by Joan Baez. They were honoring her 80th birthday by playing a number of her recordings (including interesting snippets from interviews with Studs Terkel).

I was not familiar with Mercy Bound. In a first listening, I struck by a line, “In my mind I see myself”. I didn’t have a clear picture of the scene as I mostly heard the tone, solemn.

As is the case with radio programs, the music is here, and then it is gone. So I went searching for the lyrics. Links to a video of Joan singing Mercy Bound, its lyrics, and interviews are all listed below.

I had missed the opening line about “waking up in a dream” and now saw the context of a cultural scream of bypassed people in cold doorways. Last Wednesday, on the Feast of Three Magi, another scream was heard from people who did not have a dream of Mercy being anywhere near, much less ahead of them. There was only grievance and loss and an attempt to deal with that by causing grief and loss to the supposed winners of economic and political power. They have no expectation of a morning light streaming mercy into their lives.

The line that had caught me was a reflection on a woman in her first trimester of pregnancy (a condition of great hope and fear). The singer is surprised to recognize themself still with hope, as well as familiar fear.

It is in the singer’s imagination that a connection is made, and a “prayer” expressed that our common dreaming will lead us all to recognize we all are mercy bound. I expect it will take many more of these epiphanies before enough dreams can lead us through the current thrashing nightmare. May you keep your imagination fresh for the new social contract that needs making. May you forever know you are mercy bound, and a good way to ground that is by extending mercy, even to the unmerciful. (This does not mean avoiding accountability, but the context of such judgments is wider than strict justice.)

There are miles and kilometers to go before we sleep in peace and dream of mercy.

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A video of the song is available at – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ysO7RTk1aeU

The lyrics by Mark D. Addison can be found at – http://www.traditionalmusic.co.uk/baez/png/mercy_bound-joan-baez.png

Interviews with Studs Turkel – https://studsterkel.wfmt.com/search?query=Joan+baez

Having picked up a 4-pack of disposable fountain pens by Zebra, I decided to journal at least one page in each ink color. Where I usually find some encouragement with my usual archival quality inks (black and dark red), I find myself distracted by this pink. The pen fits well-enough in my hand and flows nicely enough. I find myself disconcerted by the color.

I expect there is something to the seasonality of color tones that go well with or clash with one’s skin or aura. It may be that same, usually unconscious, effect with word color on a particular page. At the same time, I am loathe to seek out a variety of papers on which to experiment with this ink.

I’m going to cut this comment short with the only positive I can come up with. Perhaps, among the readers here, there is someone who does appreciate words in pink. The first to indicate their desire for the pen and send their address will receive this pen and ink.

To assist in the decision-making, this post is being transmitted via an image rather than a font. Of course, you have to put up with my scrawl, but, hopefully, that will be a small penalty to pay for an ink pleasing to your eye. [Note: the picture did not translate well into my WordPress website and so this transcription.]

Somewhere along the way, I encoded an image of a Holy Spirit as an eagle that swoops down to embed its talons or claws into the back of my head and drag me where I would not otherwise go.

I have thought it was in Nikos Kazantzakis’ manifesto, The Saviors of God. Not finding it there, I think the next possibility is his, The Last Temptation of Christ.

Since I would like to reference the image, I wonder if any readers here have also come across the image and know its source. There is also a touch of possibility it is in Kazantzakis’ Odyssey: A Modern Sequel or the work of Carlos Castaneda.

As I think about the image, it is a helpful corollary to a passive sign of safety brought by a dove returning to Noah with an olive branch in its beak. It also adds another dimension to a dove streaming down from a third-story heaven with an announcement of risk-inducing belovedness.

The claws of an eagle directing traffic are closely akin to a “Word” set loose in a creation setting, calling into being—earthling from earth. This is an intentional G*D at work in the world to discover any mechanism of further creation, such as partners.

The eagle is not a partnership image. It is directional in intent, even self-referential. G*D holds a non-verbal conversation with us to reinforce the need to save all those who have gone before and can no longer struggle to redeem their broken context. There are also overtones of necessity rather than fuzzy belovedness. The unborn need preparations made for them to flourish, and that, too, is our work.

Hints appreciated about the source of the image.

a scary truth
scars are bone-deep
an outer sign
of an inner shrivel

twisting contorting
avoiding reprisal
fails in its task
constant safety

anything built
can be brought down
babbling terror
denying its past

to honor a new tomorrow
requires equally honoring
each checkered yesterday

such depths require plumbing
for a desiccated seed
in need of watering

tomorrow demands
its ancestor
be found honored

follow proud flesh
to its marrow
to find our ’morrow

it’s true
I’m scared
of being scarred

so much so
its mere suggestion
stymies choice

only a next door
will avail
wherever it leads

no larger plan
is available
only present escape

looking back
a lack of scars
is the largest

so many gifts
aborted in fleeing
a flaying

so many gifts
still available
even now

lost is not forsaken
a hand to the plow
tills until

speculated scars
no longer scare
trust away

scars too many
one or many
leave us scarred
to the point of scared
of any more
reducing choices
resigned to passivity
ordered to murder
risk in its cradle
sheltered as best we can
beneath false narratives
inevitable scars
aft fore midship
unbelieving
scar scared
might be sacred
seed
rising after
an unknown
into a shelter
become a retreat
deeper in wilderness
leading out
another way
past sad triumph
steady enough
to change scared of
to cared for
walking steady-eyed
ahead anyway

We’ve all seen a “purple cow” rampaging beyond its range. We claim we would never want to be one. Yet, we can’t put the spectacle and the promise of purple milk rising to the top of desired commodities out-of-mind. We remain committed to garnering a monopoly able to be our cash cow. No matter what the color of a cornered market, it all looks green to us. Even invisible bitcoins have a green tinge.

Agricultural innovation is never far from any other that can build a base upon an economic loophole, an enforcer military/police, a purchasable body politic, and a captive educational process able to justify anything with select data points. With these structures, innovation never is innovation. It is just the latest distraction that can be taken advantage of.

If we are to have eyes able to spot the latest illusionist’s nakedness, we will need to better parse out indigo and violet without settling for a generic purple. It is a skill to be specific and not get caught up in what-if and might-be and all the other rumors that cherry-pick information and recombine it into one suspicion after another, each further afield than the last.

May we end this new year better able to cut through life’s illusions. We might start with being clear that a “common defense” cannot generate “general welfare.” Defense always needs more, and there is soon nothing left for goodness’ sake. General welfare will rally a defense when needed. Until we get this, we will lurch from one Space Force fraud to the next. A final lurch will be into the graveyard of every Empire – hollowed until it implodes from a lack of care for what we hold in common.

ends are always drawing nigh
and eventually petering out
the ripples from that stone
in a still pond do fade away

conclusions are stuck like insects
to be displayed behind glass
with a generalized hope
that someone later will learn

all museum collections are not shown
some are incomplete others rotate
there is no unabridged dictionary
some options are chosen against

every eschaton remains speculative
until realized and then passes
within a larger field to passé
vitality can never be past or future

at the turning of a year
we are haunted by what has been setup
we are daunted by all still needed
nonetheless we turn with the year