Getting Married, or where did all the years go!

marriage, they were drinking in a downtown bar, an early house. Seven in the morning, the heads were drowsy, the hangover affect, the brain slow to engage, the words just a mutter, a sigh, a fart, what a life.

“Life is a marriage!”

What do you Mean jack?

Well, the day your born your into it, and the day you die you dissolve it, isn’t that a marriage. His friends looked at him, maybe that was it. Divorce was akin to a breakdown, a RETREAT. They shake their heads, his companions. You got it wrong they say. Marriage is a relationship bond, the promise to hang together not alone on the journey. When we get carried away, children arrive and we settle down.

The same way life is a marriage, the older you get, the more becalmed you become.

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Jesus and His Friends….

He’s not supposed to hang out with women, they should be at home, women, what do they need to hear, they don’t make decisions, we do. The apostles are having a few beers in the tavern, Jesus is after heading out of town, they are doing his head in complaining, could they not just relax. Why are they anxious in the company of women, what do they fear. Jesus is seeking a place to relax, sit still, enjoy nature, listen as they say, undisturbed, he likes Martha, Mary, Elizabeth, even Lazarus’s sister, a pretty cool person; she listens better than the men, and they have no difficulty thinking the options through; always with the well being of children in mind; they are not planning on global domination, they think of the world to come, and how it will be for children. They are tired of the constant wars, and the talk of revenge; It’s doing his head in, they have to forgive, but first he has to forgive them, so he seeks solace. Lying on a blanket in the middle of a field, he asks wisdom to come to him, listen he says, this is not an easy situation, i need your advice, what will I do…Jesus and his friends, Men and women were always equal, they just had different skills in a world that was slow paced, that’s all….

Run Run Run

Shrieking, screaming, shattered emotional woman runs down her long drive, her petunias have been stolen and her life has been destroyed. Mobile in hand she phones the police, they are private, they arrive in minutes.

Mrs B, what is wrong, one of them asks. He puts an arm on her shoulders, comforts the lady, “so what is the matter Mam,”

my petunias, my petunias she points, to the hole in the ground, they are gone. Her award winning flowers, the ones she was going to enter in the show (be dramatic).

Five minutes away, a child lies hungry in the Ghetto. so much for Mrs B’s petunias, amen.

The Connector

They are not soldiers you train and put into action archbishop. The young curate was risking his career, trying to explain the difficulty, the shortage of new entrants, and why it had happened. Old men don’t want to listen, unless it’s the doctor they are talking with.

In the fifties, there were processions of young men, that ran the length of a football field, men who had offered to serve the higher calling, “called” by the Spirit, the Spirit the religious orders cared for and minded as if life itself depended on it. It was years ago, the parade was now a trickle, a drip drip of water compared to the full flow; same way the Spirit had been depleted due to a whole set of factors too long to mention. The basic rule according to Solomon; you nurture the Spirit and the results will deliver. Sadly, that Spirit was squeezed out of existence almost; too many interfering influences, and too little forgiveness, just as happened to so many things, as the new takes over from the old.  Would they ever learn sighed Solomon?.

One day, was that too much to expect, one day they would get it right. The Spirit is the Holy Messenger, the one who reminds of the life to come, brings blessings, it was spoken of many times in the ancient scripture, it was told in the ancient tales, how many of us had invited angels into our homes, and the blessings they would bring with them. Today, fear rules he sighed, and it’s not unreasonable either, the threat of violence on those who suffered it, is devastating. Solomon wrote the story so often, a thousand times, get the Spirit part right, the rest is made easy. Spirit connects us, amen.

The Vocation

He is lying across the bed, in his PJ’s, a side table, on it a new Glock, the equalizer as he calls it, since he took up his vocation,  a hit man for the mafia. He is pondering, it’s a few hours before the assignment; it shouldn’t a difficult, the target has no protection; he is just another noisy environmentalist, a planning artist, he objected to a new development that threatened the water supply in his town, a bit like JFK when he was slow to embrace war, he was in the way. Room service he sighs as he swings off the bed, and pats his way to the en suite. Professional, he always likes to look good, it also helps. Well dressed types rarely arouse suspicion till it’s too late. Over the years he has liquidated a few, his vocation as he calls it, the only spirit he needs, the cash fountain that gushes the same way the blood gushes from his victim, that’s his thrill, money.

The world of God, the times of Jesus all those years ago, spell a different thrill, and a bounty at the end, that is simply beyond belief, a world based on love empathy and sharing, where there is plenty, it requires Spirit of the loving kind, intangible, you can never own it, you have to pass it on, your responsible for it, a minder.

Solomon looked at the empty church; it was over a hundred years old. He wondered how many knees had knelt at the pews, the knees, the prayers said. Years before he saw the pictures, full houses everywhere, fifty years later, they are close to despair, half empty even on the busy days, vocation. What happened in the intervening period, to cause such a flow in the other direction; they forgot about the Spirit he supposed, and thought they were running a business.  He sighed, that is easy to fix, amen.

 

Beat the Devil

Poor, lacking an education, passed over, your home address off putting, what a start, there has to be something better, your weighing up the chances of success, while others are weighing up your chances of failure. It will reach a point when you fall over, and where will you be then, where will your God be then. The fear seeps in, the constant worry. temptation rises, you take unnecessary chances, you have less and less empathy for others, till finally you use any opportunity, regardless, where is your God when you need Him, the taunt of the demon.

It was said all those years ago; you will be mocked, made a fool of, ridiculed, spoken badly of, after a kind or thoughtful act, your troubles will mount, you will become despairing, what then, where is your God.

A child looks in the window, knows he will never afford to buy what is for sale, the only way of getting one, is stealing them. Eventually, gets caught, is thrown into a detention center, where there are worse, who will teach him even worse things, and invite him into their world as soon as he is free again. It is a carousel, the new arrivals, the few who are deemed ready, the life after, when they join the Gang, all over a simple pair of shoes in a window. He is transferred for £100 million, cheap says the oldest of the boys, cheap at a 100, he could have gone for 140 instead.

Noah, Abraham, Moses, Jeremiah, Isaiah, Esther, and many others braved temptation, and we still recall them today, and many others. They all beat the devil, amen.

Jesus promoted forgiveness for reasons of supreme wisdom; think about it, how forgiveness leaves you light as a feather, no more grief to hang on to, that is how you do it, amen.

Gathering at the Table — smile calm Martin Luther King … a reblog

Originally posted Jan 26, 2013 I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit together at the table of brotherhood. -Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. On our path towards heart’s dream, journey’s value, at […]

via Gathering at the Table — smilecalm