When the Chaos Dies

Aragorn plunges his scarred hands into the sink, searching for a plate. Leathery, tan, and roped with bulging veins, his left fumbles with a sponge, while his right grips a plate.
The bubbles swirl around his hairy, muscled forearms, calloused and rough from spending years among the trees and beasts and earth. A shimmering globe of suds drifts near a long, pale, ropy scar, caressing and lingering on the old wound.
He grits his teeth, face pale and cold despite the rising vapor from the steaming, foamy sink. His hands tremble, adrenaline beginning to pump through them.
Screams of men and roars of hellish beasts echo, mingling with the laughter of his children and his wife.
He lifts the plate, seemingly attempting to bore a hole in it with his gaze. A laughing orc's face fills it.
He snarls and scrubs away at the grime on the plate, porcelain squealing from the pressure.
His knees begin to shake.
He calmly set the scratched plate to the side and strode to an old chest, locked and covered in dust, hidden among various other items in his chambers.

Bounding off into the night, clothed in filthy, earth-tinged, blood-stained, wind-whipped cloth and leather, tonight he is not Aragorn the Father, Husband, or King. He is Aragorn, flitting from tree to rock in silence.

Hugging a Cactus

Jesus told a lot of stories when he was here, all of them with some kind of underlying message. I read one the other day found in the beginning of the book of Mark chapter 12, and it hit me like a train.

Here's the scenario:

A guy plants a vineyard. You know, to grow grapes to make wine. He then rented this vineyard out to some local farmers, maybe friends of his, and moved somewhere else like the respectable, successful gentleman the story seems to make him out to be.
Eventually he needs to send some workers to get some fruit from his vineyard, so he does. The people he rented it out to, however, respond in a very vicious manner. They "seized him, beat him, and sent him away shamefully." No doubt the owner was in shock, since he left his land with people he thought he could trust. So he sends another servant, since maybe there was some kind of freak misunderstanding. It happened again. They beat him up and kicked him out.

By now, I'm sure this has the owner really confused and hurt. Let's take this parable by the horns and figure out what on earth Jesus is saying.
For a good long while now, the Israelites had been God's people. His folks. The people group that he promised would generate a savior, a king that would redeem the Israelites and establish his kingdom on earth. His name was going to be Emmanuel, which literally means "God with us." He sent several prophets to tell them this, many of whom were not received very well. Ringing any bells? The beaten, disgraced servants? There you go. God could have given up at that point, but he persisted. Let's continue with the story...

The owner of the vineyard had only his son left to send. His son, "whom he loved." Could he have held on to him? Of course. Did he? No. He sent him anyway, saying "They will respect my son."

You think God hoped we would respect his son when he sent him to this planet? I'm sure he would rather not have to watch him die. Here's the kicker: did he know Jesus was going to die? Yes, he's God. But he sent him anyway.

My gut reaction is to look up and yell "WHY??" If you love him, why the heck did you do that? Why did you send him to a rebellious, straight up evil people, knowing that he would die a horrific death? This is described in my earlier posts, so it should come as no surprise if you've read my other stuff: It's because he loves us so much that we have no concept of the depth of it.

You probably guessed by now that the son is murdered. Betrayed by friends. The implication for those listening is worse, since it's not just a patron that will be betrayed, it's the all-powerful God who made everything. That's scary. Men beating their breasts and screaming defiance to the sky. We are such a lost and depraved people, yet despite our rebellion, he still accepts us. In the story, the owner kills the people he left the vineyard with. That's the only discrepancy, since the owner is still human. God, however, took those people who killed his son, and redeemed them. That's like hugging a cactus with all your might.

My Cup of Morning

I pour the coffee beans into the grinder, individual beans clinking against the sides. Just like every morning. The scent hits my nostrils: pungent, thrumming, bold. It’s the smell of morning, at least to me. My brain slightly twitches, the tingle from my nose reaching my sluggish head.

Chugga chugga. The grinder crunches, whines, smashes. The smell becomes a little bit stronger, shooting into my nose in waves. I pour the grinds into the machine, and turn it on.
The coffee machine grumbles and gurgles, shooting hot water through the dark brown grinds. The whole room is now filled with an earthy, bright aroma, one that makes me want to sit down with a good book.
So, once the coffee is ready, I pour it in a mug and add some cream and sugar. I pick up a book and curl up on the couch, holding my steaming cup of morning.
All hell will break loose in about a half hour, but this is peace.
I plunge myself into the story. A hero, of course, fighting frighteningly colossal powers levied against him. A girl, of course, beautiful, blue eyed, madly in love with the hero and strongly committed to his cause. A wizened old man, guiding the hero and teaching him. An antagonist. Huge, demonic, powerful. Evil; blatantly disregarding any moral boundaries; preying on those unable to protect themselves. A world hanging on the edge of a knife.
My phone rings.

I fold the corner of the page and close the book.

The coffee is cold, and the smell is now mixed with roommates’ burnt toast, eggs, and various shower products as bodies dry from just having used them.

My ears are filled with shuffling chairs, grunting and chattering men, the girl above us who thinks she’s Demi Lovato, and one voice fretting over his charred piece of bread.

I hold the phone in my hand, frantically beeping and buzzing to get my attention. I sigh, and answer it. Let the day begin.

Why Be a Christian?

There's a few folks out there that talk about being "christians."

What's with these guys?

Why on earth do they do it? Are they just following a norm set by their parents and close friends?

Unfortunately, yeah, a lot of them are.

What about the ones who tell homosexuals they're going to hell?

What about the ones who try to hold Koran burnings?

What about the ones who talk about Jesus, but live in sin without caring one whit about it?

With all of these preconceptions in the minds of lots of Americans, it isn't surprising that to some people the whole prospect of being a christian is pretty unappealing.

If it doesn't do anything to you to change you, why be one anyway?

If it just gets you a label and maybe getting to heaven (who knows what happens after we die anyway? No one. That's right.) but life here stays the same, is it even worth it?

Dunno about you, but my answer is no.

So. Is there anything else? Or is it really just something to assuage our consciences until we get put in a box to decompose a few feet underground and fertilize a tree? An aspen would be nice. Bury me by an aspen. I don't want my body feeding a russian olive tree. They smell funny.

Let's rewind. Past aspen trees (and russian olives, thank goodness) and the earth itself. Boom. God makes the universe (just humor me, even if you disagree). He didn't need to, but He did. And on just one planet, he placed a whole bunch of stuff. Water, air, dirt, hyenas, manatees, more dirt, fish, birds, trees (even russian olives), and everything we see on it today.

Then he did something interesting. He said "let us make man in our own image." He made a dude. In HIS image. Whhaaaat??? Why? I don't claim to know His mind, but it pleased Him to make this dude.

Then He made a woman (from this dude) to be the dude's companion, because He said it wasn't good for the dude to be alone. But that's another subject.

He gave the dude and the woman ONE command. They couldn't eat fruit from a specific tree.

You guessed it, they did. Just like a 5 year old kid will eat a lump of cookie dough thirty seconds after mom tells him to stay away from it. They rebelled. From that moment, we were all toast. Sin became a part of every human being from then on.

Kind of a depressing story, yeah? According to God's Word, his manual for us clueless sacks of meat, the punishment for sin is death. Since God is perfect, sin cannot be near Him, so basically, with only this part of the story, we'd all be frying (christians too, along with the people they condemn).

BUT THAT'S NOT ALL! He sent himself as a dude to this planet to mingle with us, teach us a lot of cool stuff, (read the book of John. It's pretty interesting.) and ultimately die a horrific death on a cross for us. For us. To pay that penalty, to take our place.

That's crazy. Why on earth would a perfect God die for a rebellious, filthy lot like us?

The only answer that makes sense is that He loves us. Like crazy.

So basically, with that piece of the story, all ya gotta do is take it. Let Him know that you're fully aware that you're a dirtbag, and need Him and Him alone to take away your dirtbagginess. That's all there is to it.

So why be a christian?

Because the promise is that it doesn't stop there.

Ohhhh no.

You become a totally different person. Over and over and over and over again the new testament talks about "new life", "being transformed", and referring to sin being dead. Dead. Not even twitching. Does it mean that christians are perfect? Nah, of course not. It does mean, however, that sin does not rule them any more. Ever feel like you can't get out of all the garbage you're in? Like you're being engulfed by the world and your own dirtbagginess?

Give Jesus a try. I'll vouch for Him.