Spring lambs graze and nurse with their mothers on the farm of the columnist's father a little beyond the city of Madera. (Photo by John Rieping) By John Rieping | All rights reserved | Published 20 April 2013 in The Madera Tribune
On several mornings of this ongoing Easter season I've had the joy of watching 16 little lambs, all born on various days since Good Friday. Fragile, hungry, occasionally bouncy, precocious, close to family yet daring, and more, they seem apt symbols of life. Though my fleece is not white as snow, I can readily identify with them. But unlike me, they are new and fresh in this world, like innocents. My father is their shepherd, I suppose, although "farmer" is a more accurate title. He checks on them several times a day, and cares for their wellbeing and that of the flock. He saved the lives of several lambs that needed help during or after birth. One less well-timed arrival suffocated before he could tend to it. On Sunday I heard someone preach that the depiction of God in Jewish scriptures seemed angry and punishing, but Jesus came and straightened people out, letting them know his Father in heaven was, instead, loving and compassionate. Recent and past conversations with others on Facebook have hinted of the same view. Yet in solitude I read in Jewish scripture: "Behold the Lord God shall come with strength, and his arm shall rule: behold his reward is with him and his work is before him. He shall feed his flock like a shepherd; he shall gather together the lambs with his arm, and hold them close to his heart, and he himself shall carry them that are with young." (Isaiah 40:10-11; cf. Tehillim/Psalm 95:7; 100:3) I wonder if perhaps we wrongly see power as contrary to gentleness, and justice as an enemy of mercy? In my own earthly father's work and judgments regarding his flock, I see no such contradiction. I remember in years past when packs of household dogs -- allowed to roam freely by irresponsible owners -- attacked my father's flock. This happened more than once, and my dad grieved. He would keep an eye out after such bloody incidents and try to fend them off with rifle shot. One time it was one of my dad's mules that protected the sheep. It used its powerful legs to stop the nearest dog, and whenever it tried to move afterwards the mule would stomp it again for good measure. The pack fled. "I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd gives his life for his sheep. But the hireling… whose own the sheep are not, sees the wolf coming… and flees; and the wolf catches and scatters the sheep. The hireling flies, because he… cares not for the sheep. (Cf. John 10:11-13) When I walk along the fence of my father's pasture, the sheep often run away from me. Not so much with my dad. Nor does his talking disturb them, for they know his loud voice. If expecting to be fed, they even bleat hungrily or come running at the sound of him speaking. "When he has let out his own sheep, he goes before them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. But a stranger they follow not, but fly from him, because they know not the voice of strangers… I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep, and mine know me… My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me." (Cf. John 10:4-5, 14, 27) My dad has raised goats too in the past, but didn't care for them. For fun, they would climb, eat and damage most anything in reach, such as fences that kept them safe, a metal shelter he had built for their comfort, and a mature shade tree. During escapes, they stunted or killed thriving bushes to fill their stomachs. Though small, they left desolation and brokenness where they wandered. It is no surprise Jesus said that humanity would be separated into two groups, sheep and goats, at the end of human history (Matthew 25:31-46). For Christians, the time of Easter celebrates God's care for we his sheep, though often enough we may fit into the goat category. Unlike the unleashed pet dogs who invaded my dad's fields to feast on his sheep, God became man for an entirely different reason: "I am come that they may have life, and may have it more abundantly." (Cf. John 10:10) Let us strive to behave more like sheep than goats that we "also may walk in newness of life" (Romans 6:4) -- like my dad's lambs. Let us imitate the "Lamb of God" (John 1:29).
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By John Rieping | All rights reserved | Published 13 April 2013 in The Madera Tribune After visiting the empty tomb, Simon "Kepha" (Aramaic for "rock" or Peter) Bar-Jonah and fellow disciple Johanan (John) returned to the upper room. Mirriam (Mary) of Magdala did not immediately follow, but when she did so she claimed to have seen Yeshua (Jesus) alive. Hearing such news, Kepha went again to the burial place. He came back to the upper room similarly overwhelmed with joy and reported that he too had seen the rabbi among the living (Cf. Luke 24:34). At this, the other 11 disciples made visits of their own to the garden of the tomb but saw nothing of their teacher. This especially upset Tomas (Thomas), who retreated from the others to sort matters out for himself. He would find lodgings of his own that night. In the evening, Cleophas (Cleopas) and his companion unexpectedly returned and claimed to have met Yeshua walking along the road, though they did not recognize him. The rabbi had joined them as they journeyed slowly toward the village of Emmaus. He set their hearts aflame with his explanation of how the suffering and death of the messiah fulfilled the promises of scripture. Late in the afternoon, they stopped to eat, and when the rabbi blessed and broke the bread they finally knew his identity. At this, he vanished. So they rushed to Jerusalem to tell the others. Competing voices filled the room with stories, questions and opinions on all that had been shared. Yet a familiar voice cut softly through the clamor with a traditional Jewish greeting: "Shalom aleikhem" ("peace be with you," cf. Luke 24:36; John 20:19; Bereishit/Genesis 43:23). All were startled to hear the voice of the man who only days before had been crucified. Though grown men, many became pale and trembled with fear. The door had been locked after all, and tales of ghosts were not unknown. Displaying the nail wounds in his hands and feet, Yeshua said, "Why are you troubled? And why do such thoughts arise in your hearts? See by my hands and my feet that it is I myself; touch me, and see, for a spirit has not flesh and bones, as you see me to have." (Cf. Luke 24:38-39) Dazed smiles spread across the room like uncertain flames. So the rabbi asked, "Have you anything to eat?" One of the disciples offered him a bit of baked fish, leftovers from their recent meal, which he ate with appreciation as they stared. Fish was a pricey treat this far inland. Truly he had risen from the dead, they realized. "Peace be with you," he said again. "As my Father has sent me, I also send you." (John 20:21) He breathed on each of the 10 men present, a symbolic gesture that played upon the words that followed: "Receive the Holy Spirit. Whose sins you shall forgive, they are forgiven them; and whose sins you shall retain, they are retained." (John 20:22-23) The Hebrew word used for "spirit" ("ruach") can also mean "breath" or "wind." That same "ruach" swept over the waters on the first day of creation (Bereishit/Genesis 1:2), according to scripture, and it came upon King David (1 Sefer Shmuel/Samuel 16:13) and others. Now, Yeshua claimed, it came upon those who would eventually be called "apostolos" (Greek for one sent out "from the fleet"). The rabbi scolded them for their skepticism about his resurrection and helped them to understand the scriptures that had been fulfilled. "Thus it is written," Yeshua continued, "and thus it was the responsibility of the messiah to suffer, and to rise again from the dead on the third day, and that repentance, for the forgiveness of sins, should be preached in his name, unto all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things." (Cf. Luke 24:46-48) So he spoke, as he consoled and prepared them for their mission, and it would not be their last hours together. He would appear repeatedly to them and others within the next 40 days. During a later visit, Yeshua asked Kepha three times if he loved him, which distressed Kepha. Yet Kepha affirmed his love again and again, a love he had thrice denied on Good Friday. Each time, the rabbi told him to care for and feed his flock. (John 21:15-19) This Kepha did, until -- after a time ministering to the Christians of Rome -- he too died by crucifixion. May we Christians today be filled with such love. Peace be with you. By John Rieping | All rights reserved | Published 6 April 2013 in The Madera Tribune In the dream, Simon "Kepha" (Aramaic for "rock" or Peter) Bar-Jonah reclined on cushions around a low table with his rabbi, Yeshua (Jesus), and the other disciples during the Passover Seder meal. Yeshua promised he and the other disciples would be enthroned as judges of the 12 tribes of Israel. But confusion replaced Kepha's pride as the teacher continued. "Simon, Simon, behold, Satan has desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat; But I have prayed for you, that your faith may not fail, and when you are converted, strengthen your brethren." (cf. Luke 22:31-32) He protested his loyalty, and Yeshua replied that Kepha would deny him three times before the rooster crowed. Then Kepha remembered it had been so. A tremor of the earth shook him in his dream and it faded. He would have rather it continued, regardless of the pain it evoked. For in it the rabbi lived. He shifted his position on the straw-filled mattress he shared with the rest of the disciples on the floor of the upper room, the same place where the Seder had taken place. While entire families would sleep on the same mattress under blankets of goat hair, few consisted of 11 grown men. Yet they made do. They had known worse conditions during their three years of wandering and ministry across the Roman province of Judea. Gathering all of them before the sabbath was both hindered and helped by the turmoil of Friday's events. Some had returned here on their own. The rest had to be found and brought. Kepha tried to live up to the name Yeshua had given him despite his weakness and guilt. Other followers visited of course, such as Yohannah (Joanna), Mirriam (Mary) of Magdala, and Mirriam, the mother of the disciple Ya'aqov (James) the younger. They fed them news and refreshment while the men remained hidden from the authorities. His mind recalled a time when Yeshua spoke to them, away from the crowds, of going to Jerusalem to suffer, die and be raised. Clearly by "raised" he must have meant the way he would be executed -- high upon a cross. But at the time it made no sense to him. Only now he understood. Kepha took Yeshua aside and sharply said, "Be it far from you, rabbi! This shall not happen to you!" (Matthew 16:22) Yeshua turned and said, "Get you behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me: for you savor not the things that are of God, but those that are of men." (Matthew 16:23) Kepha thought: Is this what God wanted then? The death of the one who was to liberate us from our bondage? How could such an utter defeat bring about victory? If this is how God defines success, what is failure in his eyes? Tears rolled down his cheeks. Insistent knocking at the locked door interrupted his thoughts. Perhaps it was Cleophas (Cleopas) and his companion returning for something forgotten when they left earlier. With the passing of the Sabbath, they wished to return to the village of Emmaus. Indeed, Kepha himself longed for his nets, boat, and the fickle Sea of Galilee, which he considered less treacherous than Jerusalem. Kepha rose, as did Johanan, but it was Mirriam of Magdala they met at the door, breathless and pale. After a moment, she gasped, "They have taken away the rabbi out of the tomb, and we know not where they have laid him." (John 20:2) She, Shelomit (Salome), and the mother of Ya'aqov had gone before sunrise to anoint the body of Yeshua with oil and spices. But when they arrived at the tomb, the large stone over its entrance had been rolled back, the Roman guards lay stricken with fear, the burial shelf stood empty, and a young man spoke nonsense that affirmed the absence of the rabbi. At this news, Kepha and Johanan abandoned any concern for secrecy and ran. Mirriam followed. Through the busy streets of Jerusalem and beyond it, they raced to the garden near the house of the honorable Yosef (Joseph) of Arimathea, a member of the Sanhedrin and a secret disciple of Yeshua. Johanan, a young man, arrived first but waited for the others outside the garden's new tomb, which was as Mirriam said. When Kepha came he did not hesitate. Entering the tomb, he saw the burial linens there -- empty. The cloth that had bound Yeshua's head sat rolled up by itself. Anger gripped Kepha's heart, for the rabbi's body had obviously been stolen. Having waited patiently, Johanan stepped into the tomb as well, and when he saw how the shroud had been neatly arranged, he believed. He did not understand, but this was no robbery. It was a miracle. Yeshua lived. By John Rieping | All rights reserved | Published 29 March 2013 in The Madera Tribune
Temple guards bound and led the rabbi Yeshua (Jesus) by torch and moonlight down into the Valley of Josaphat and then back up into the metropolis of Jerusalem, which sat upon a limestone plateau. At their teacher's arrest, Yeshua's followers scattered. One young man had dared to follow, so a guard seized him by the linen cloth he wore. The panicked man pulled free of it and ran naked into the night. Other disciples, no less desperate, likely hid among the burial caves of the Mount of Olives as fear of death overpowered dread of the unclean dead. Still others probably climbed the mount to see what might be seen of the city's doings before recovering their courage and returning to its embrace in search of news. Loud knocks surely roused Yeshua's mother, Mirriam (Mary), that night but they could not compare to her sobs after hearing what the beloved disciple had to tell. Her grief surpassed his shame and anxiety. He could not let her go out alone. The mother ached with all her might for her endangered child and the hour of darkness could not daunt her. Kepha (Aramaic for "rock" or Peter) too regained his resolve and so he shadowed his rabbi from a safe distance. As they passed through the slums, those exposed to the heavens would have been rebuffed by the armed guards if they sought glimpses or information of the encircled prisoner. In time, murmur and lament would spread among the poor, who had so welcomed the healing and hope the rabbi brought. Pleas to men and God for mercy seemed unheard. Yeshua's captors hastened onward to the home of the priest Ananas ben Seth (Annas, son of Seth). By now, Kepha was not the only one following his rabbi. The other, Johanan (John), followed the crowd into the courtyard of the palace, for the household knew the young man. But the gate closed to Kepha until Johanan convinced its keeper to let him in. As Johanan watched his rabbi's interrogation within, Kepha huddled with others about a charcoal fire in the courtyard, for the night had grown cold. Talk of Yeshua's arrest dominated here as it had elsewhere among those not sleeping. As the hours passed, the gossip had shifted from shock to scandal. The troubled had voiced their doubts and found no answers to calm them. Suspicions grew. Perhaps the rabbi was yet another false messiah and beneath all the hype about his good words and deeds lay only corruption and hypocrisy. The Galilean may have been exposed at last. How could we have been so foolish? Shame fed anger. The words battered Kepha's heart and he felt like the only sane man left. Why couldn't they recognize the obvious truth? He stared into the glowing coals and finally blurted his thoughts: no, Yeshua isn't like that. He's a good and loving man. You're twisting everything. Kepha looked up and all eyes were on him as though he were the lunatic. The gatekeeper expressed her surprise: "You're not one of his disciples, are you?" (cf. John 18:17) He felt keenly his solitude against the many. Would they turn on him? "No, I'm not!" he replied. Spying another fire in the outer court, Kepha excused himself to seek its safety. But the woman, who was no fool, followed him and told bystanders: "He is one of them." (Mark 14:69) Annoyed and scared, Kepha repeated his denial. Listen to that Galilean accent, someone remarked in agreement with the gatekeeper. A fellow servant and kinsman of Melek (Malchus) peered at Kepha and asked: "Didn't I see you in the garden with him?" (cf. John 18:26) To defend Yeshua, Kepha had tried to kill Melek in that garden, though his clumsy strike slashed only his ear. Now he stood among Melek's co-workers, friends and family. His vulnerability could have been no greater. So Kepha cursed and swore by God: "I know not this man of whom you speak!" (cf. Mark 14:71) Taken aback by his passion, the others said nothing, and into that silence burst a rooster's cock-a-doodle-doo. Just as the rabbi foretold, Kepha realized. He blindly pushed his way out into the streets, his chest convulsing as he pierced the night with weeping. The inquiry of Ananas complete, guards escorted Yeshua to the palace of the priest's son-in-law, Yosef ben Kayafa (Joseph, son of Caiaphas). The locale was prudent, for it held a basement dungeon and sat only 100 paces from Pontius Pilatus' Hall of Judgment. As ben Kayafa had already predicted, the rabbi would die so that the people might be spared. By John Rieping | All rights reserved | Published 23 March 2013 in The Madera Tribune
Simon "Kepha" (Aramaic for "rock") Bar-Jonah joined with the others in singing the second part of the Hallel (Psalm 114:1 - 118:26). The fourth cup of wine had been poured and blessed at the end of the Passover Seder, a ritual feast he -- like many Jews -- knew well. But questions about the future most likely held his thoughts even as he sang: "I will praise you: for you have heard me, and have become my salvation. The stone that the builders refused has become the head cornerstone" (Psalm 118:21-22). After three years of gathering support across Palestine, the battle for kingship surely approached. The crowds in Jerusalem for the Feast of Unleavened Bread so rejoiced in their coming only days ago. The others clearly felt the same. After the hymn concluded the Seder, conversation about the coming kingdom turned anew into a heated argument about what office each deserved. Their rabbi, Yeshua (Jesus), calmed them all by assuring them they would each dine at his table in his kingdom and sit as judges over the people. As he often did, the rabbi wished to pray on the Mount of Olives, one of three peaks east of Jerusalem. It offered the best view of Solomon's Temple where, in the Holy of Holies within the Tabernacle, lay the Ark of the Covenant. There the God of Israel dwelled. But when they left the house's upper room, Yeshua warned vaguely of a coming test of their faith in him. This surprised no one. No kingdom is established without risk and bloodshed. Speaking what all felt, Kepha promised, "Rabbi, I am ready to follow you, both into prison and to death… Though all turn against you, I never will!" (cf. Luke:22:33; Matthew 26:33) Yeshua replied Kepha would indeed deny him before a rooster crowed that night. Though gentle, his words struck Kepha like a blow, and it only hurt worse as the others added their own reassurances that they, at least, would be faithful. The rabbi then shocked them all by asking that they carry money, sacks, and swords as they went out. He had always sent them out without any of these, trusting God and kind hearts would provide whatever they needed. He said tonight they must fulfill scripture prophecy. What did he intend to do? Two swords were found, and Kepha made sure he kept one of them. Whatever happened, he assured himself he would be ready to act regardless of the cost. He would prove himself. A full moon guided their way as the 12 men exited the city after midnight and crossed the dry wadi bed of Kidron in the Valley of Josaphat before walking towards the mount, with its burial caves cut into the white chalk and gray flint of the ridge. Like usual, they stopped at the quiet Garden of the "Oil Press" ("Gethsemane") at the foot of the mount. Leaving behind the other disciples, Yeshua took his most devoted with him further in: Kepha and the two sons of Zavdai (Zebedee), Ya'aqov (James) and Johanan (John). This preferential treatment soothed Kepha's wounded heart a little, but only at first. For the rabbi loosened his self-control and his moonlit eyes shone with wrenching grief, which he himself admitted. "Stay here, and watch with me," Yeshua asked, and so they did (cf. Matthew 26:38). They saw their teacher, the long-awaited scion of King David, gradually melt fully in sorrow under the olive trees. Kneeling became prostration as he prayed face down in the earth. The hearts of Kepha and the others followed into his gloom, though unintended moments of sleep left them briefly bewildered upon awaking. After one such nap, Yeshua softly scolded them and urged them to pray to be spared the coming test of faith. As he spoke, a crowd of religious leaders and temple guards came, and Yeshua greeted them. Kepha's fellow disciple Yehuda (Judas), who had left the Seder long before its end, stepped forth from the crowd to kiss the rabbi's cheek to identify him for the guards. Yeshua asked Yehuda why he would betray him with a kiss. Betrayal. The idea pierced Kepha's groggy mind. While others wasted precious time asking Yeshua what to do, Kepha raised his sword and sliced off the right ear of a nearby man named Melek (Malchus), a servant of the high priest. But the rabbi told him not to fight and tended to Melek -- healing him! It all made no sense. Courage fled Kepha and the "rock" ran away. By John Rieping | All rights reserved | Previously published 11 January 2013 in The Madera Tribune
During my 10th year under the light of the sun, I decided there could be no better age to be. A child no more, I had two proud digits to express the number of my longevity. Without regret, I left the children’s menu behind when ordering food at restaurants. I had reached the pinnacle of my existence. The seemingly sturdy boat of my being seemed a great seafaring ship compared to the simple and trembling raft of my earlier self. The fickle waves and storms brought by the winds of puberty had not yet wrestled with me, and I had not the sense to fear them. I kept a diary that year, though not with any faithfulness. I barely filled a handful of pages within the tiny notebook. Yet I sincerely wanted to record summaries of my days. I would be a famous poet and novelist someday, and people would want to know my tale. With the boldness of innocence, I confided to my diary on July 8, 1984: “Today is Sunday (and) this morning I went to Mass. Today they talked about sainthood and so I am going to try to be a saint. Don’t you tell, okay?” A spontaneous online reflection of mine on another Sunday, May 13, would unintentionally comment on my progress 23 years later. Still a poet, I responded to a forum discussion: “Every boy dreams himself a hero / and sees his face in every epic life. / Yet what changes within our hearts / that we rise less and less when called? “The day may come when true heroes unmask / the villainy of the child grown / so selfish now. But wasn’t he always so? / Perhaps he sees what always was. “We find ways to cope with forgotten dreams / and cease to struggle as we slowly numb / to all the gifts we bear and yearn for. / But spare us mirrors about our selves. / We do not wish to see. “Even so, I pray to God / for mercy on this villain, I, / too weak to stand for long / upon his feet God-given. / Teach me to walk and see / the hero in me.” Some bristled at my labeling myself as a “villain,” but don’t we all encounter within us at times someone contrary to the hero we’d like to be? As the apostle Paul admitted in a letter to Christians in Rome, “For that which I do I understand not: for what I would do, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I.” (Romans 7:15) Moments of ineptitude aside, sometimes we freely choose to act wrongly or to neglect to do what we should, even though we know better. Paul’s answer and my far less inspired response to this self-contradiction are the same: God. For what moral law and conscience fail to achieve in us due to our weakness, “God did by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh…” (cf. Romans 8:3) So Christians believe. As a medieval Gregorian chant exclaims, “O marvelous exchange! Man’s Creator has become man, born of the Virgin. We have been made sharers in the divinity of Christ, who humbled himself to share in our humanity.” This unearned gift of divine help -- to love as God loves -- is cause enough for hope. For Roman Catholics, the Christmas season lingers on the church calendar a few more days. For others it might persist only in memory. But for all Christians the true joy of Christmas, this “marvelous exchange,” should never be far from our hearts. For that to be so, we must never cease to participate in the exchange it celebrates. We must daily offer to God our all-too-human self as a sincere gift, as completely as we can, and in return we will receive God. “But as many as received him, to them he gave the power to become children of God…” (cf. John 1:12) “At that time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, ‘Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’ And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them, and Jesus said, ‘Verily I say to you, unless you turn and become as little children, you shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18:2-3) It is no accident the festival of Christmas is associated with children. For we who claim to be born of God, the mystery of Christmas is only fulfilled when Christ is born in us. By John Rieping | All rights reserved | Previously published December 15, 2012, in The Madera Tribune
Throughout my childhood and early adolescence, my parents would drive our family to the nearby city of Fresno most Sundays to visit my "Oma." The name itself symbolizes the dual ethnicity of my clan, because it is German for "grandmother" and yet she had been born in Mexico. Love tied our two heritages together. Her home, though small, never felt so to me, and it was filled with wondrous things such as the little black box of a wind-up gramophone that amplified music records through an elegant black horn. Oma had broad metal bookshelves and a display cabinet that abounded in other mysterious or delicate objects. We were seldom allowed to play with her things of course, but for a child her home evoked the awe of a living museum. A sentimental magic lay in her cherished and thoughtful mementos. Behind her home tall rose bushes and cacti competed for attention, and I'm unsure which delighted this boy more. Both offered their own particular beauty and pain. One Sunday when I was perhaps 10 or so I discovered a lovely girl my age had moved in next door to Oma. We played and talked, and I surely had a crush on her. Whether on that visit or another, we exchanged addresses and promised to write letters. She did so, but to my shock she confided she had cancer. Cowardly and selfish, I did not know how to respond to that and so I never did. I broke my promise and did not write back. I never did see her again either. As my life endures in this world I find I collect many such memories. Like my Oma's curios, fine porcelain and more, they line the walls of my heart. By grace I hope they whisper wisdom. We all have such regrets, and for these and more God offered humanity hope in the form of one like a son of man who yet was also the son of God. This God-man would not leave us hostage to past sins and failings, but would ransom us by paying justice's price for our dark legacies. So we Christians believe. This hope was, appropriately enough, born of regret. The first prophecy of a rescuer can be found in the part of the Bible shared by Jews and Christians – at the very beginning in fact. Speaking to the Devil after humanity's first parents rebelled against God, the proto-gospel passage of Bereishit/Genesis 3:15 reads: "The Lord God said to the serpent... 'I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel.'" Another translation says rather that the serpent's head will be crushed. The wandering rabbi Yeshua (Jesus) recalled this passage indirectly by publicly addressing his mother by the unusual and seemingly impersonal title of "woman" on significant occasions (IE John 19:26 and 2:4). This wasn't a typical term of endearment of a son for his mother, but rather a reminder of his mission... and to an infinitely lesser degree her own mission as well. The relationship between the Devil and its accomplices on one hand and the woman and her offspring on the other is one of strong, active and passionate opposition. Between evil and goodness there would be no compromise. Humanity would be liberated from the self-imposed tyranny of its own proud rebellion. Yet this turnabout would be long in coming. Whether one interprets the Book of Genesis literally or not, humanity would clearly wait millennia before a liberator would be born. This long period of hopeful waiting for the fulfillment of God's merciful promise is part of what many Christians remember and indeed relive (insofar as that is possible) during the season of Advent that leads up to the celebration of the Christmas season beginning the evening of Dec. 24. One of my favorite carols for this Advent time has long been, "O Come O Come Emmanuel." The lyrics recall key prophecies of the Bible that Christians identify as pointing the way toward the Mashiach (aka Messiah, Christ or "Anointed One"). The title and refrain itself repeats the symbolic name for humanity's savior, Emmanuel, which means "God is with us" in Hebrew. We Christians believe that God indeed came to be with us and to remain with us. We were not left orphans or abandoned to our ill-chosen fate. May we choose to make Advent, and every day of our life, a time when we in turn choose to be with God. "O come, thou Day-Spring, come and cheer / our spirits by thine advent here. / Disperse the gloomy clouds of night / and death's dark shadows put to flight. / Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel / shall come to thee, O Israel." |
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