Contemplations and Theology

Tuning Forks

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

A fascinating device, the tuning fork. Jack has owned one for some time. It doesn’t get used anymore because electronic ones were invented that are a lot handier. The fork, however, has uses that are not possible with the electric styles. You possibly have had one of these forks shown to you. Hold it in your hand and give it a sharp rap on something that won’t be damaging. The tone rings out and you can put it on your mastoid bone to hear it quite clearly. You can set it on the pick guard of your string instrument and tune up with it (they come in various notes, so make a note of the note.) Just tighten or loosen an A string till the tones merge into one. No fair tuning to a fourth of A (D) it will sound a simple chord, but the string will be a bit worse for wear if it is above the D.

IF you have two forks, and they are the same tone, one will vibrate when the other is struck. Sympathetic tone response. It’s pretty cool. But, who has two tuning forks in A?

The call of other things in our lives can also resonate with us. Jack has noticed in a small crowd of people, that a certain word will ‘resonate’ in his mind and capture attention. Words such as: Fiddle or Mandolin. We all know this well. How many times have all of us heard our first name across a room and instinctively turned towards the sound? The faint sound of a voice calling you to dinner (noon lunch for those who need clarification). Resonance is a good word to explain this phenomenon. Perhaps it is now time to introduce the next phenomenon of this fascinating ‘tune’. There are friends and then there are neighbors who can also be friends. A common problem to those among us that want to be a friend for everyone. They wind up unable to be close to anybody.

A person that is the closest friend of all is another step into friendship. Proximus is the descriptive word for best friend. It derives from middle French but the original Latin basic means ‘closest’ or ‘nearest’. A neat word which branches into proximity. So Bear with Jack a bit longer, words are powerful.

The best tuning fork that resonates is the one that is the sum of you. The common phrase is: “I feel like I’ve known him all my life!” Often Jack meets a total stranger that Jack knows has met his Proximus. It really is a common experience if you can ‘tune yourself’ to be aware of it. Several moments where that really stood out are some of Jack’s favorite short stories. A helping guide in a monster sized warehouse that took time to show Jack where something was. Not an employee. A woman that waited for Jack in her car that she had just run into Jack’s car in a parking lot. Many such encounters have occurred, those are just two that are easier to write about.

People that Jack has said five words to: “You’re a Christian aren’t you?” It is encouraging and it is obvious if your tuning fork is ringing true. Brothers in Christ carry that. Don’t be afraid to say it. You’ll know if you listen for that sound. The sound of light, the sound stars sing around the throne. Often the sound that indeed is light. It’s all frequencies on the wavelength of eternity. Listen, it’s for you. Love has a sound of it’s own and it’s pretty good. Jack Gator

A Battle for Individual Worth

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

I was experiencing another melt down. An appropriate analogy for the origin of Melt Down. A nuclear power plant of any sort, has to be kept cool. There is more heat available in nuclear fission that can be used.

I volunteered for the nuclear submarine service as an engineer and thus, I am somewhat familiar with these things. The reactor must be kept cool enough to survive, to be useful and not dangerous.

The melt down I was experiencing was internal and dangerous to me I was loosing my cool. The core purpose of my being was under question. I was reacting to my perceptions of life and purpose under those perceptions. I felt I was too old and, well, sort of worthless. Thinking of those mile long lines of old grain cars that are seen in a side track sometimes near the highway. Another thought of being set aside is the farm machinery we see near the fields where a new fresh green painted combine is moving among the crop.

Old machinery, old abandoned houses with weathered gray siding and a grown over driveway. Set aside as a symbol of that old Grateful Dead song, “Old and in the way, that’s what I heard them say. They’ll never care about you when you’re old and in the way” That’s the illusion I and perhaps you believed.

We are old, yes. Our hair matches the old barn boards of gray..sometimes a silver gray. So easy to set ourselves on that shunt of rusty steel. Coupled with an endless line of others. Tattooed with gang paint spray and brake hoses disconnected. Forever. Out in the field, the old fashioned tractor almost hidden with the tires flat and grass growing through the frame. How it must be in the dormitories of the old we envision our end. Visitors these days like Clayton Moore with his mask asking how the food is.

Suddenly, I bolted awake with a memory of incredible worth. My worth to an absolute stranger a few years ago. After following an ‘instinct’ to visit an acquaintance in the big hospital, I had an experience that doubled in size as I thought of it.

When I left my new friends room after praying for him, there was a young man, walking slowly down the long corridor. An unusual appearing youth with large hoop earrings. I asked him if he wouldn’t mind if I walked beside him. “Sure, that would be OK. I’m kind of slow” My doctor said I had to walk around this floor several times a day” I responded that I was OK too and not in any hurry. I did not ask the young man why he was in hospital. At the next corridor junction, we both stopped and I said I was going to the right to try and find my car, and it seemed the young man was going left. I then asked if I could pray for him. It was alright with him and I asked if I could put my hand on his shoulder. I do not remember my prayer but afterward the young man said to me “Are you an angel?” I said no, but God sent me here.

So now worth, eternal worth came flooding into my pity party and that was exactly what was needed. We are not abandoned machinery although existential thought and words say we are worthless no matter how old we are.

I had been reading a bit of Sartre, Joyce and Nietzsche for research. Some of those old ink stained minds. Hopelessness, no meaning to life and other cheery stories can go deep, they strain to dominate one’s spirit but God sent me that memory. A memory stronger than death, as strong as the grave and many waters cannot flood this love. A Rich and priceless memory that filled me with hope and a life well lived through the eternity we all glimpse, as through a darkened glass. We are not in the way unless we put ourselves in our own way. Live for others, pray for them and indeed Peace floods in and we become aware. Awake. Redeemed and set in a perfect place and time for His good purpose.

It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Rainbow Over the Garden

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There it is. A rainbow, in it’s original glory. Rain reflecting the colors of the spectrum. A symbol that the Lord said He would give us as a sign that He would never flood us again.

Quite a few people have taken the symbol and the miracle of refracted light and have used it to illuminate fractured light of their own designated symbols and message.

There are many people that also have taken the beauty of the rainbow and used it as a symbol of a product. Quite harmless but still, diminishing the astonishment a child sees. Do you remember the first time? I remember the first time my son saw it. He was fascinated with the arc and even went to England to meet Ken Ham that came up with building a 1:1 copy of Noah’s commanded Arc. Rainbows of covenant between us and the Lord.

Another outfit decided that the rainbow would instead be a symbol of freedom for them. The concept does not make sense in some ways. Freedom? from what? The rainbow’s only freedom is freedom from an earth flood.

The Governor of our state thinks it is appropriate to fly a rainbow flag for a month celebrating endorsing the hijacking of the beautiful rainbow image. For freedom to embrace perversion. How enlightened. It will please 5% of the population that are on board with birth control by having pregnant men.”How many fingers Winston?” (Brave New World)

Remember Judy Garlands song, ‘somewhere, over the rainbow’ ? That symbolized the promise. We of the last century (don’t ask) would never believed that someday our public schools would be teaching the ‘new’ symbol and language. No more does the rainbow offer a promise of protection and commitment. It now offers the symbol of flesh used for pleasure and a prime focus of our awokened sensibilities. Awoken to the real freedom of endorsement of a child being able to be whatever sex they want to be. When our new Supreme Court Justice cannot define what the word ‘woman’ really means, then we are on the way to Ephesus or Pompeii redux.

Maybe the words ‘on the way’ are inappropriate. That train is here, at the station, engine idling. It has already arrived . How about sliding open that boxcar with the really neat rainbow painted on it? Oh look, it’s already open but there’s nothing inside but an unpleasant odor. What’s in the rest of them? Famous authors and ‘experts’ for Newspeak magazine perhaps. Professors and liberal teachers to indoctrinate the children.

That open boxcar in particular had a whole wardrobe for the King! Splendid it is said. A veritable rainbow of color and coordinated accessories. The parade has already started and has startled one young boy…”the King doesn’t have any clothes on!” He is walking around, prideful in his power. Naked and seen as a fool. You and I know the difference between men and Women. Counterfeit money is in the till. Try and spend it. Jack Gator Scribe

Creativity of a Wordsmith

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

“The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, does glance from heaven to Earth, from Earth to heaven; and as imagination brings forth the forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing, a local habitation and a name.” a

There is a great deal of unread and unnoticed wisdom floating about. Often, those words get clouded over with brash recitation. The meanings almost completely lost for the listener to the erudite speaker. We all do it. As a radio would just become background noise to alleviate the lack of conversation, so does great literature and poetry become in the hands of a tone deaf musician. After all, music is poetry put to sound. Prose and poetry are intoxicating concertos when done well.

Of course, there is a beginning to listening and that is a decision to be made by us all. Do we believe in what is being said as truth, real truth? Or does the effort to inculcate us with excitement in discovered truth not appeal? After all, You and I are most ignorant of great wisdom that lies just about, flat and bound in cardboard or fine leather. Stacks of those at times around my comfy chair that somehow manages to lull me to sleep. Just when my hungry mind starts to come awake, I fall into a slumber. Too much of the fruit of the mind can be intoxicating. Small doses work better for me.

Am I getting tedious and bit vague now? Good, that’s the point. Trained at an early age to embrace ‘speed reading’, I become a bit of a prig without understanding well. The words were read correctly and their meaning understood. There is a word that showed up on the old, yellowed report cards now and then, comprehension. A good illustration would be a story about a young boy that had an extraordinary experience. This boy in the story found a treasure that was revealed later in the book. I instantly thought of booty and coin like. My intellect was not engaged in the story.

The story in mind was a fantasy about real things of spirit and life. The author (a recognized master) had written the story to engage both our excitement and awareness of our selves in the story. After a paragraph or two, stories like this one should be vivid. We paint pictures and set in a sound track. After the story or movie per se’, the author rather insists we go beyond and play the melody of words that add a great deal. Great literature can resemble piano lessons. Suddenly the flatted fifth is beauty..

The next time this happens, I catch himself either dozing, editing to make the story make sense in my mind. ‘This isn’t relevant to me. Why am I listening/reading this? Just as wheat is combined, the sifting begins to yield the golden kernel hidden in a plain looking stalk. The loaves of bread in the promise are not seen by casual glances. Gleaning it is called and we are called to glean wisdom from everyone we meet in person or not. Our choice. Be arrogant and think of ourselves as complete as we are, or open up our hearts and find treasure at hand. Treasures abound if we look for it. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator Scribe

a. William Shakespeare With much thanks to George MacDonald for his novel, At the Back of the North Wind

Conversation Desire and another Glimpse of Eternity

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was one of those soirees, delightful providence of food and people well all yearn for. It went on for the perfect amount of time. Beautiful children, eager pets and faces and voices familiar. Polite words of promise and the search for lives barely understood. Surrounded by a choir, singing a light opera of intimacy, queries and laughter. The author of the notes and stanzas still in the wings waiting for the stage call.

Bits of the score, heard but not completely understood are jealously embraced, acted in a dream that night. The unrecognized but palatable yearning to be written into the opera at various stanza’s almost heard and ended many times with recognizable laughing voices.

Sometimes, you have the impression that the author has saved your savoring for last powerful measures. The ending of stunning beauty, only felt by a few actors still remaining on the stage. Duets mostly but with engagement of song between several singers. Fulfillment and with the dishes put away and the snap of tables folded for the next production in the background. The final notes played like beautiful, loud trumpets and kettle drums building to your then silent departure.

We have all been there. It was an invitation with promise and the invitation given casually. Turn on the voice in the car and follow her instructions. ‘Turn left’ almost going through the stop sign while looking for the road she was telling you about. Blue tooth on the car radio and it works. Sometimes. Upon arrival, it was anticipated that parking would be somewhat complex. It was a breeze this time. A few decades of months in the winter past, the sleigh and the snow complicated parking. A wonder of landscaping came into view. The stage was set.

The guest of honor spoke after a delightful lunch. myself and Julie, sitting in the front heard him plainly. The intriguing thing was his demeanor. Engaging. You knew he was not used to speaking and it really helped him. Not smooth but truth easily heard and personal as weakness’ and surprises as well.

After he spoke there were the inevitable requests for clarification and he handled that very well. Professional speakers are a dreadful bore in those circumstances. Thanks be he was again, engaging and the time sped by.

Since we were in the front row, it was natural to approach him and reassure him. We talked and talked well. There was no lecturing. Fascination. Worlds presented from far away. The mission to intrigue and cause a slight tip of the head to look beyond sight. The author delighted in us.

A light opera, conducted just for us it seemed. As indeed the accouterments were put away and no one else was seen or heard around us, we realized it was the curtain call. The car was easily seen as the other ones were gone.

Every one of the guests and hosts had politely exited and we felt very honored as we conveyed the mutual pleasure of the evening to one another. Real conversation. After all, the opera of honor was well written and well sung by all. Silence and delight at what had been given.

The author of the play is still with us. He has a habit of doing that. He rode back with us and is, as usual, still about the ranch. He helps me write, he surprises us with snippets of astonishing beauty that we have never seen before. We long for more, always. We hunger for the meal again as we wait with eager anticipation. At times, He shouts his name over us. Jesus, author and finisher of our faith. it’s pretty good.. Jack Gator Scribe

Born on The fourth of July

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

The flash and flare in the east and it is time. Move away from the comfort and deep sleep, awaken to dawn.

There are duties and places to be and now, it’s easier to find things because there is light streaming in. A little bit of Brownian movement from the dust and put on the pot. Find the good bread and drop two slices in with the timer set to max. The good bread is heavy. Got to find the cash for that upgrade on my cell phone is important too. Can I afford it? After all, everyone in the family has a new phone. Mine is old and I need to be current.

There is a shuffle and purpose at hand to indeed waken fully and the hot caffeine warms the old ceramic cup. Carefully, set it down besides the fresh toast and open up a book next to the vitamins and various pills.

The accouterments of morning rituals. The book at hand is a collection of short stories that are a bit hard to understand. Sarte, Sallinger and the rabbit eared current selection is Tolstoy’s ‘The death of Ivan Illych’

Nothing to it. Toast and coffee and a little orange juice to sluice down a hearty meal of existential writing and with some of the greatest short stories ever written. It’s still early and Jack’s son is stirring a bit. Jack comes to the part of the story when Ivan knows he is dying and no one will be honest with him about how they feel about it and him. Only a peasant boy that tells the truth.

A quote from la Rochefoucauld is at hand: “One can neither stare long at the sun nor at death” During the war the thought was, it will come quickly perhaps? It did to that shipmate on the horizon. It was close but I am OK. Next stop, Palma De Mallorca. Great liberty!

As the inevitable death to Ivan comes, close behind is the funeral. All attend and all contemplate what this means to us as perhaps connections for work. How will the widow get by? Really, there is nothing we can do financially for her. Our own debt is big and that new payment for the big pickup is going to really strap our finances. Of course, how could I forget that vacation to Venice! I think I have enough saved.

We go on, inwardly feeling we will live forever and poor old Ivan, it must have been his diet or that he just wouldn’t go to gymnasium as we advised him so many times. After all, his whist game was more important to him. There was nothing to be done and here I am, dressed as though I was in a church service. Listening to one after another speak of Ivan. The fact that we are in that silken and narrow box does not cross our conscience.

Even when the preacher tells us we are off the hook by death of sacrifice, we do not comprehend the sacrifice not really understood. Put a few quarters or even a dollar bill in the red kettle. Tithe well and perhaps, just perhaps, we will walk as Enoch did and not have to suffer as Ivan did. That’s it! The second coming and it will all work out! Don’t worry, be happy.

Death was defeated lingers and we are all good to go. Mourning seems to have passed us by. Ask not who the bell tolls for, it’s you. Old Ivan, it was his time to go. Is there lunch after this, should be. It’s pretty good here at the church of endless life. Maybe I should get in line before every one else does. Jack Gator

From Awe to Awful

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While reading at breakfast, I was astonished and admonished by a simple small book, a gift from a relative really. A great gift that the relative didn’t even know they had given to me. The book started a hiatus in breakfast that actually took my attention away from the table to the bookshelf to look up a word. ‘Awful’ was the common word we all use but is derived from ‘Awe’. It is a transitive verb which means it is describing an object not an action.

The author of the book I was munching on I he munched my toast was attempting to describe the impossible attributes of God. My mind began to tumble and bumble as the short paragraph started to strike deep into breakfast. THE question that atheists and devout worshipers both stumble upon when thinking actually takes place. ‘If all things I see, feel and hear are created things (I.E. the sky, our bodies, water and food) what can an uncreated thing be?’ Of course to stir great confusion, a thing that is eternal and always existed is the unavoidable question. The usual questions that arose during breakfast are a bit easier to answer. ‘what to do with my day? Why did my friend say that hurtful thing to me yesterday?’ The usual undigested flummery we all ruminate upon.

As we have asked since time began, If the universe is eternal, where did it come from? And if there is a God that created this universe, where did He come from? It’s the most basic of all theology and a question that begs an answer that cannot be found in science. Our mind, odd as it is, has not the slightest clue on how to begin this quest either. We comforted by the company of some of the great theologians. They don’t know either although there are many ‘interesting’ speculations. A lot of these books are found on a shelf in the second-hand stores. “Eternity for Dummies” is one of them.

The origin of an eternal God is an oxymoron. There is none because eternal forbids an origin. The vision of eternity begs a different mind that I have. I have always seen life unfold and then turn along a time line. No time line, no time, no sunset or a sunset that never ends. Ever. my choice. It has been speculated that God has eternity to guide us writing and this. Also to you to read it. It really is impossible. Everyone, every nice event or disaster can be seen and experienced forever.

So, what does the result of all this searching generate within us? At first it’s a great ‘time waster’ and then the awe of my vision turns rapidly into ‘awful’. It’s fear generated along with the awe that turns quickly into awful. There are also no words except the ones written about 700 years ago by Julian of Norwich which do pretty well: “For of all things, the beholding and the loving of his maker, makes the soul seem less in our sight. It fills this seeker with reverent dread and true meekness…” Reverent dread is a good description of Awe that does a quick turn to awful.

Seeking the creator of everything that is and was and will be…everything..and then be told by pretty reliable sources that this awesome Person (God ) is very interested in you. He wants to have a nice chat and tell you things. It makes me tremble when a little bit of this truth gets in deep.

How about you? If you have another answer, I would definitely like to hear it or read it. It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

Mail Call

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Catching attention is that announcement over the 1MC (That is the speaker system throughout a Navy Ship)

Mail call! Overseas, it was a light moment, usually news from home. Packages of cookies and such were obvious and demanded attention from one’s division. Hopefully a large box. After doing a few tours in a war zone, it was a welcome diversion. Mail was found aft, at the Mess deck by the ship’s Gedunk.

Being on watch 24 hours with 12 hours to sleep was a bit uncomfortable. The mail call was a pleasant relief besides Folgers coffee or Mid rats on the mess deck.

We all do it, walking out now to the box at the end of the driveway to see what’s there. On Tuesdays when the trash is also in it’s container there, it’s an easier job to not have to clutch the rolling trash can and the mail at the same time. You can tell what to toss in the empty can. Sometimes, it’s the whole days mail with all the ‘Special offer just for you!’

Every one on a rural route knows the drill with the flag up to signal there is outgoing mail in the box. Country folk nowadays usually skip doing that flag thing. It used to be convenient, but now there are a very small minority who have a calling to inspect boxes late at night with flags up.

There is almost a romance with the mail. It is something our government really got right to establish the Postal Service. Our language has responded with phrases and words particular to our mail. Special Delivery, Tracking, Return to Sender, Postage Due, Return address’, Zip codes and the inevitable, Junk Mail (spam for Gmail)

There was a rumor afoot that messenger and email type communication would completely eliminate mail. At first, paper mail was called ‘snail mail’ but electronic mail is easily lost and addresses are tricky too.

A few years back, I was told to walk a bicycle trail and then cross the highway to find a treasure. One of those gentle commands that cannot be ignored. He told me to keep my eyes open!

Or course, I thought of treasure of some sort. Nothing but trash and discarded cigarette butts. Not even field stripped. (ask a vet about that phrase) Then He told me to cross the highway, leave the trail. A nice ditch next to a golf course came into view.

There was old mail in the ditch. Dozens of envelopes. I opened one and it was from Korea from a local soldier asking about the crops and the tractors and things like that. Keeping in touch and letting the folks know he was thinking of them, their dad, a soldier overseas. There was a broken cedar box in the midst of the scattered white envelopes. The last name on the envelopes address’ was familiar and it was a name of a girl we had in the Kinship program

We called the number of the last name and the local town. It indeed was that girl and when we told her what I had found, she excitedly said; “There was a break in at my grandfathers house not long ago!” It was a flash of understanding that the thieves opened the box in their getaway vehicle and seeing the old letters, tossed the box out the car window. We bundled up the letters and gave them back to the family and it was very good to do so. There was the return of precious memories.

Personal mail, ah, that is the treasure at our mailboxes! It even surpasses envelopes with checks to cash. A real letter that shows a friend that cares enough to gather ink and pen and encourage us immediately when we see the return address. We all get Email and that has no impact as a folded piece of promised love from an old friend. I get those letters often when I need them.

So, what have we always had that is faster and never has any junk mail or spam with it? We have a passel of love letters from a very dear friend which bear re-reading and we have the incredible permission to answer those letters with just..thoughts. Spoken alone or with friends or just found behind our eyes. The only requirement to receive those letters is to understand them and if needed, ask for clarification with our response. To hear and read and feel our hearts move to get closer to the writer and speaker to our very core.

It’s time now to read and understand and respond to the best correspondent that is and always will be. You know his address. Jesus. Among His many names is ‘The Word” He’s waiting for you to read his letters. Pay attention, it is very important that we do so. Think seriously about those spoken and writtern special letters from your best friend and devour them with joy. Send a response with all your heart, mind, soul and spirit. He is delighted to hear from us, especially you.

It’s pretty good. Norm / Jack

Painful Changes

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An analogy, inspired by an author that I owe a greater debt than anyone for language. Imagine that there is an automobile that is sentient. With it’s own thoughts, desires and purpose. Then you own this automobile and are constantly tinkering with it: Redoing the paint and finish. Taking out critical things and making them better and more powerful. Putting the engine right with better pistons and timing components. Literally ripping out the seat coverings and replacing them with better fabric and even airflow types.

Better mirrors to see what is behind and clear glass to see what is ahead. The basic model now being turned into a high performance one that is seen as needing these things. Not things the car wants to be done to it, but things the engineer knows will bring it closer to the ultimate car.

What would that tearing apart and scraping and stripping be like for an automobile that is aware of itself? The first thought would be “I did all that is needed before! I get from place to place in a reasonable fashion. Why make me go through all these painful changes?”

And so it is with us. Our Lord and builder and designer of us has plans to improve us now that we have the ability to do our own modifications which are part of His plan. The changes are only powerful and go deep if we connect with Him and then start the process within us. I go to a church meeting at least twice a week. It’s as if a man, desiring physical healing, went to a lecture about medicine. Great teaching and preaching for sure but it is a window into truth for me. I must act on this revelation again. It is up to my will to go deep and open my heart to the Lord. My pastors are showing me the door and the doorbell. It is a door locked from my side and I have the key to open it.

All the good intentions we have are just that, thoughts. Our inner core can’t be changed by good intentions. Can’t be changed by a good friend telling us what is wrong. Worse yet, sometimes a good friend will tell us to ‘just stop doing that!’ As though a leaking faucet can be fixed by giving it good advice to stop dripping. The faucet needs a good plumber and we need our Creator. The one that knows us and would love us to change. The change can’t be done by reading the instructions we are given by loved ones.

The change comes by us opening our hearts to the only one that can actually do it. We can be changed if we finally realize we need to. The creator of all things and us, can fix us in an instant if He wished. He knows all things but we must discover how to find Him and ask Him for help. There is no other way, no other path, no other treatment, no two for the price of one, no spiritual duct tape that will do the job. We must die to our raging, often wounded, basic core and ask for the warranty that is offered for our spirit man, Heart, and soul. (Whatever phrase works for you.)

I have answered the gentle knock on my door and accepted the life offered. He could blow down our doors if He wished, but those changes have to come from our wish, our surrender, giving up love for the wrong things we have thought were right and the way we accomplished them.

Our Creator knows us and desires us to know Him more. I talk to Him as often as I am able. The way He showed me how to talk to the Father. A good way to start is to sing to him. Works for me. Singing scripture is another form of prayer. Worship with the Word it has been called by some, and it’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Telestati

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The downtown Minneapolis square block window show is coming back. It was at Dayton’s store and will be again. Myself and my family would walk around the huge building, viewing every window’s offering to the story of the world’s Christmas. Fashion, appliances, gifts of all sorts. The window that I really looked ahead to was the one with the electric trains. A young boys fancy and dream. Who predicted that when I was barely a reasonable man, I would be building those train tracks for the Burlington Railroad. Not as much fun as the models. Good pay and more fruitful that going to the gym to work out.

Decades later, I found the real Christmas story. Not the story of the manger and the shepherds and the three wealthy astrologers from the East. The most amazing story. The little boy Jesus, asleep on the hay, coming to make a trade for all of us with his Father, by dying one day. There really should be a Roman cross over the manger scene.

Does this offend some of you? I know I was shocked when I heard the Greek word Tetelestai and found it’s meaning in the Bible. The word means completed, finished, paid and done. A debt satisfied completely.

This is why Jesus was born, this was the mission he accomplished. He was to pay off a debt owed to his Father. A debt so monumental that it is still impossible to comprehend the size of it. Everyone’s debt except His own and he had no debt of sin. I’ve never seen a son like this before.

Jesus did not come to us to teach us social justice. He did not preach salvaging the poor. He did use the phrase “Poor in Spirit” but this has nothing to do with wealth. It means those of us that know we are lacking in connection with His Father and need to know Him and pray for an awakening in our heart and Spirit. He did not come to us to teach about feeding lots of people or being really nice. It was foretold by many of the prophets in the Bible as to what he came for. Freedom and Joy and Everlasting life. The three basic food groups of love.

Jesus came to give Himself to be the perfect, unblemished sacrifice for a sinful world. Us. That is why he was born. Not to preach love and peace and care for the poor parse. God told Mary and Joseph that Mary will give birth to a son, and you will give him the name Jesus, because He will save His people from their sin.

John the Baptist points to Jesus and declares: “Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” John, who was Jesus’ cousin knew about this. After all, the two of them met before either of them were born. Nice story, it’s good reading and, of course, astonishing and beautiful.

For centuries the Jewish religion demanded sacrifices of animals and food to atone for their sin. It made everyone feel a lot better as we go on sinning in spite of our tremendous offerings. God, giving Himself to death for the ones he created is the only cure.

I know about about sin, I should, I consider myself the be the chief of sinners at times. that’s a phrase I borrow from Peter the Apostle. Since my last name is Peters son I inherited that penchant for sin. That was 42 generations ago. Yet, The key is not bragging about how bad you were and are, It’s the thing that is true for every one who has, is, or will be living. All of us no matter how nice you believe you are.

You know it, even though we all think we will ‘make the cut’ because we’re not so very bad and we even go to church and give to the poor!’ An illusion we all embrace at some time or another. That’s in scripture too by the way. Talk to Jesus and listen to what He says. There is the moment that gives us incredible joy when we are delivered from a sinful behavior. It makes life real and purposeful for us and our loved ones. Still, we sin, and have sinned. The debt we owe to the judge of all things can’t be paid by us. We are to be holy and we are not. Now we are on that Highway of Holiness and shall not go astray.

That debt is the reason Jesus was born. He taught and loved and healed and showed us His perfect life. The only perfect sacrifice for us. A spotless Lamb which was a usual Temple sacrifice. But now, a lamb of God. Given to death for all , once and forever. Tetelesti. There is so much more, there isn’t room in this short column. It is indeed the Good News that we are ransomed from the righteous wrath of His Father. We deserve death, “He made me alive, when I was dead and He raised me up and seated me with Christ. It’s by his Grace, that I am saved and it’s though faith, the very gift of God”

Oh yes, Jesus is alive. I’ve never met a man that’s more alive. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator.

With many thanks to Gregory Koukl