It Couldn’t Happen to Me….9/11

How often we look at others, our eyes turn down, for a moment or two, as we try to digest what it feels like, or how lucky we feel, it wont happen to me, they don’t seem too well, how could they cope with it, their loss our escape, lucky us, how long do we read the news from afar, the casualty list, the numbers, do we think of families or is it our luck we are sizing up, lucky me. How lives can change with dramatic affect, for all time. Solomon recalled the morning news, all those years before, the seeming animated picture, this could not be real, not live on TV, it has to be a computer generation, then the reality a minute later, that’s real people, that was real jet fuel, that is real life and it’s before the eyes of the world. How one day can alter so much. History teaches us, anything can happen, and old scripture reminds us, there is another life.

Solomon listened to the news, the anniversary, the where were you moment as it were, and the decisions made afterwards, to start a war, and the results thereafter, when the call for a great peace was lost in the big talk, we’ll get even, regardless of the cost, the soldiers return home years later, shell shocked, the desire for guns increasing daily, the nationalistic calls, revenge and security, we have the power. The Roman empire wanted to dominate the world through force, or fear, God had other plans, the memorials still exist, to remind us, war does not work, it only leads to worse.

Mothers, fathers brothers sisters, when did revenge do it for you, or what did revenge do for you; usualy caused more need for guns, and the mentality that using force brings, hatred usually, amen. Jesus pleaded forgiveness, knew how our thoughts are formed, the baggage that destroys, those bitter memorires that you save up, for that great moment, same as the viagra hidden in the shaving bag, for use when you could not do it yourself, but there in the bag, in order to save your pride. Well, in a world thar that wants immediate satisfaction, there are no buffer zones, or patience. Amen

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Love Me Love me Love Me…

She sulks on the bed, waiting, she is young, he loves me, he loves me, she keeps on telling herself, as if repeating the words will make it real, he loves me, why doesn’t he love, she repeats the mantra, imitating her teacher of yoga from the year before, her former lover. He was big into the mantra, her former yoga teacher, but the lines crossed, lust and need overcame any love that was there, same way the addict needs a hit. I’ll be angry all day unless you give me he says, and she willingly provided, he loves me she said, that was then. Now she waits for her new man to love her even more. A product of the new world, where access to all things, adult or otherwise is easy, she believes as many do, that giving is what love does, it gives. In this mood she repeats her mantra, love me love me, when she has said it a thousand times, it will become permanent in his life, and she will have him. she is an odd woman, born of the modern world.

Solomon sighs, what a conundrum to be in. Say you are of God, as many are, how can you love the Great God unless you love what he or she created. Solomon was reflecting on the words of Jesus; one of the few in terms of global influence among all religions, his words still true to this day. How can you love me if you don’t love those that love me, how can you. Jealous love destroys, real love inspires.

Her relationship takes the familiar pattern; intensity, the burn out, the end. Love only wants the best for you, amen.

Why Should We Fear God? — Just Call Me Pastor… a re blog, all that old stuff is true, and it heals too, just imagine it.

Quote

A couple of days ago I found a site on YouTube that arrested my attention. SermonIndex.net contained portions from the sermons of six preachers whose ministry together spanned more than half a century in different locations. Whatever their geographic locations, their sermons had a common theme. With one voice, they contended that there was a […]

via Why Should We Fear God? — Just Call Me Pastor

No Arguments Today….

They don’t wash their hands before they eat, common sense really, they don’t wash their hands often enough we ought to say, Solomon was taking a journey in Time, way back. The habits we acquire, the niceties we build into our lives, how we behave when the going is good, how we can change when it appears to go wrong. Peace and calm is fine to look at, the sweet words of a counsellor or preacher, so refined and polite, perfect manners, a complete picture, just an image, a still life in a moving ocean.

Solomon read the story of old, the parable Jesus told, the ritual washing, the preparation of food, the prayers before eating, the thanks to God for all that is provided. Jesus was reminding his followers, that going throuhg your routine, was not the answer, but just a way of getting you into the zone, the warm up before the game begins, the stretching exercises if you will. When you pray to God or are aware of the divine influence around you, you need to be ready and able, how can you do the exam if you have not studied, how can you know God until you begin to listen.

Many wanted to fast track into the zone, they don’t like to wait. No arguments please, but there is no fast track to being loving, you are or you are not. There is no fast track to being compassionate, you are or you are not. There are no short cuts. Jesus reminded the followers; you have to get the basics right; and simply this, If you don’t love your fellow men and women how can you love me who made them, no argument please.

She sits up in her bed, starts to read her book, it’s a Holy Book. In the few moments she is in the zone, she forgets her troubles, her pain disolves. She is in the world of the Spirit. Strange as it seems, the first visitor she has, brings her back to her worries, are you all right dear. Solomon sighed, it’s odd how your pains can ease when your Spirit in on the rise, no arguments please, just smile.

 

Give it Up

The car needs a service, he prefers to walk, she is worried about her weight, he says exercise will sort it out, she prefers the Gym, the choices. The amount of time we spend on stuff that we will soon forget. He had a dream, there was all the stuff you could possibly want, and the other end of the spectrum, a new car, low wheels, open top, warm weather, he is walking to the shop recalling the dream, spots the sign offering cheap car insurance, then he thought, if he had what the dream said, he wouldn’t be thinking that, rather, the garage, would it be big enough for the collection, or would he need a group policy, they probably do it cheaper for celebrities, the stuff that fills the head, red or blue, another detail he would have to  mull over. The ideas that we fill our heads with. Solomon recalled the parable of old, it’s your heart that matters most, even if you need a top up every so often. Easy to see the conflict though, between the Spirit and the material, the daily existence, amen.

The Gift

“Imagine it, your thoughts can be used to remedy, heal, improve, restrict demons, curtail extremism, and an awful lot more, while being still able to enjoy a nice glass of wine, not forgetting the simple things, the peace of mind that good sleep brings, imagine, those demons of the night, they can do nothing, simply aware, of the future that awaits them, and being merciful, at least they get the opportunity to amend, and it’s all real.”

“Are you for real she says”, interrupting his flow. I only asked him about the book he was reading, she didn’t expect a thesis.

They are sitting side by side on the Jet, they are both flying across the ocean, strangers, she had asked a question about a book he was reading, “the imitation of life according to Jesus”. It’s a five hour flight, and he reminds her of someone from her past. She does not fear asking questions. Well, if he is reading a book about “Jesus”, he has to be friendly and easy to open a dialogue with, she hopes. Her own trust in the world is on a downer, divorced, discarded, dumped, thrown overboard, at a loose end, she is looking for the light. She’s been in this frame of mind all day, the journey she is making, a rest and escape from it all.

You don’t believe he says with a smile. Her eyes rise in her head, she looks at the ceiling, if only he knew she thinks. Dumping her stuff on a stranger, who wants to hear about other peoples woes. She purses her lips, half looks at the book cover, then begins to speak.

“If he was so right way back then, it seems he has disappeared don’t you think,” she lowers her eyes to the book.

Jesus she says again. He smiles, it’s catching isn’t it he smiles. The more you think of the Holy Name, the memories and feelings that are created. Well she says, you seem confident about it, can you explain it simply for me. He hums and haws. No one want’s to be a bad teacher, and not every question can be answered as if it’s coming from a machine or robot.

His tongue swirls around his mouth, he catches the scent of her perfume, it makes his nose itchy, he reaches up and rubs his nose.

“Spirit he says, it’s inside you, and there is the Spirit of God, that stuff you call the soul. If you imagine your soul as a new computer, without scratches, then years later, used, with a few cuts and smears, after years of usage, when you are prepared to put it in the rubbish, you might call it a journey. Life is like that disc. What condition is it in at the end of the journey when it’s returned to the original vendor, do you get me he says.”

She is confused, she is trying to get her head around it. Who wants a philosophy lesson on a mid Atlantic flight. Computer discs, souls, the condition at the end, she is thinking all these bits. He looks at her, can see that she is digesting what he has said, waits.

Confusing he says, she pauses, well, it’s not what I expected. The air hostess is passing with the trolley. Can I have a gin and tonic he says, and yourself he says. Non drinker she says.

She listens to the crackle of the ice, as the liquid flows over the ice. He listens and talks well, she wonders how long the flight is, there are many questions she wants answers to. Being an achiever all her life, this conversation is something she does not want to miss. Her Heart feels lighter, that name she sighs, Jesus.

I just Growing up…

She sits in the chair, a little subdued, the medication, she sits while she waits, she is not so sturdy, they gave her a diagnosis, the memory disease, well, it’s an age thing. The limbs don’t have the same stretch, your energy isn’t what it was, the eyes not a clear as they used to be, the appetite too, not as appealing, getting old they said, Mable sighs, I am on a journey, I’m not giving up, I am growing up. A mind of her own, her own ideas, she didn’t beleive the blarney of men in charge, thanks rubbish, who filled them with such stuff, who. She fought her life seeking equality, now the journey has brought her to the care home, at the mercy of those she railed against, those that followed the rules. A nurse approaches, Mabel frowns, the pills, the last time she refused it, they sedated her a whole day, and gave her god knows what. I was just forgetting stuff, doesn’t everybody do that. How much do so many hide inside their heads. How those playing games would change the topic once the questions got testy. No one is allowed question the experts.

Solomon smiled, the story he heard on the radio, the lady with the mind disease, all she wanted, treated me as I am, it’s not your pity I want. Getting old sighed Solomon, we just want to be accepted. The story is never ending, it’s just a change in circumstances, one day you breath, the next your a bird, flying somewhere. Do birds worry when they wake, do they reach for the medication. Mabel, she is a living being in a fast changing world, so fast, the time to look after her is no longer left to relatives, the world so busy, it can hardly look after itself.

The weather, warm and sunny, no one rushing, the only que at the ice cream van, mabel recalls the days of old, how everything that a mother could do was done, same as it always was, by mothers across the world. There is a bitter taste in Mabels mouth, its’ not the tablets, its the story in the paper. The role of women, whitewashed from all circles of importance from the beginning of christianity, then copied by other religions, framing the mind set, bastards she sighs to herself.