tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66578571759815272682024-03-17T17:17:28.837-05:00thatjeffcarter was hereThatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.comBlogger4671125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-66273951171019024122024-03-17T17:16:00.003-05:002024-03-17T17:16:56.036-05:00I Was Possessed by the Devil <p> </p>So it was a nightmare, that moonless night just after we’d moved into the house. Strange things. Demonic things. The sound of children speaking vulgarities in the dark. I remember my mother leaning over the bed as I was rapidly shaking. Shaking harder than before. <div><br /></div><div>I was possessed by the devil. </div><div><br /></div><div>But the words had no context and the sounds had no meaning. You know how people will fabricate stories. Try to understand. Try to appreciate the situation. Can you feel those fine hairs on your arms and the back of your neck rising? Tingling? </div><div><br /></div><div>“He’s asleep again.” <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDpzv80DZ_NQQUcs-Iau6su_xq2FD1vVVTleXxnHUIbywQGiVdx0qMc83Ml2gIDuj3kr-TwNm6Vsynmy6RL0RSKPuISPXsw3EtyNxpVmdYtMY_roCtPhnWMNxBD0ujG1-YFDHtm4Em6NEUkVXJIeQWLiMQuNvOUZqzukEFWRG7S7Wn38g1I7qmjNm7Tyg/s800/IMG_8068.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDpzv80DZ_NQQUcs-Iau6su_xq2FD1vVVTleXxnHUIbywQGiVdx0qMc83Ml2gIDuj3kr-TwNm6Vsynmy6RL0RSKPuISPXsw3EtyNxpVmdYtMY_roCtPhnWMNxBD0ujG1-YFDHtm4Em6NEUkVXJIeQWLiMQuNvOUZqzukEFWRG7S7Wn38g1I7qmjNm7Tyg/w512-h640/IMG_8068.jpeg" width="512" /></a></div><br /></div><div>“Again?” </div><div>“Still. He’s still asleep.” </div><div><br /></div><div>Despite the vibrations. Despite the noise, I am still asleep. Light is blazing in the rain spattered windows. George Bush and Ronald Reagan are on the television whether we like it or not. Permission was given, that is the first. Second, external spirits will infest the place. Then comes the oppression.</div><div><br /></div><div>Where is the life I had before? I thought it was there, but I was wrong. It disappeared. It fled into the dark as I was sleeping.</div><div><br /></div><div>Late at night, even now, I still dream comfortless dreams of something watching. Something is there. Nothing is there. Nothing is there except a voice. Voices telling me to go out and to do. Something is there. Eyes that are not eyes. Voices that are not voices. And my pale face in the dark. A garble of voices, still meaningless. </div>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-45315539616040589532024-03-11T20:13:00.003-05:002024-03-11T20:14:10.985-05:00Instructions for an Auto-Appendectomy Performing medical procedures on oneself without proper training and equipment can be extremely dangerous and life-threatening. It is crucial to seek professional medical help and consult with a qualified healthcare provider if you are experiencing symptoms that may require surgery or medical attention. <div>However... </div><div><br /></div><div>The first step in an auto-appendectomy is locating the Sephirot within the context of the inner Tree of Life. Look for a small, tube-shaped organ located in the lower right side of the abdomen. Warning:Trying to locate the appendix on your own without proper training or knowledge can be dangerous and is not recommended.<div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiVwNfzQJi6teeGiW5wl4UB98jRub4hB2Ko81lROMKz-oqChihyj5YxE5d9We5SDgImA19KVf0ncc1C0kClNR90ulQvCJTeDzym0zhyphenhyphenPXqKQYNp-fB3uaqXpK4IXQtzm0Zj2ShkZJizCBWw4ODTA7R9b5lvWc_i5GcIAXrml5F_Jn0xYIAho8ClKX9ynve/s640/IMG_8037.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiVwNfzQJi6teeGiW5wl4UB98jRub4hB2Ko81lROMKz-oqChihyj5YxE5d9We5SDgImA19KVf0ncc1C0kClNR90ulQvCJTeDzym0zhyphenhyphenPXqKQYNp-fB3uaqXpK4IXQtzm0Zj2ShkZJizCBWw4ODTA7R9b5lvWc_i5GcIAXrml5F_Jn0xYIAho8ClKX9ynve/s320/IMG_8037.png" width="256" /></a>Do not take your eyes off the organ. It may shift unexpectedly.</div><div><br /></div><div>Keep moving. Keep seeking. Always be alert for opportunities where they are least expected. Perhaps you will dream of beautiful women. Maybe you will experience a vision of the future. Be sure to ask many questions. Only when you have received all your answers will your blood be free. Follow all safety protocols for blood cleanup and disposal. </div><div><br /></div><div>Cauterize the wound with a plastic, disposable lighter.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT5Pcnag0I_R-dsu3pCRkhFzAPyzmNFCcgD3iMMzdWA8L98yTfcPlz9WlBSdWFZblTbUGtpB682j1qOuysBZ17b7Hj4k0bWVp22fjl72c1ktqud9sHCpK2VOhvp36SLDn04F922ard-iMNj6kG1ZEv4Rz5gxCJU8PtU5UnUjCIwFkfi6p-Yb67CM08oOnC/s640/IMG_8036.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT5Pcnag0I_R-dsu3pCRkhFzAPyzmNFCcgD3iMMzdWA8L98yTfcPlz9WlBSdWFZblTbUGtpB682j1qOuysBZ17b7Hj4k0bWVp22fjl72c1ktqud9sHCpK2VOhvp36SLDn04F922ard-iMNj6kG1ZEv4Rz5gxCJU8PtU5UnUjCIwFkfi6p-Yb67CM08oOnC/s320/IMG_8036.png" width="256" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-78294043414128506602024-03-09T11:46:00.002-06:002024-03-09T11:46:38.745-06:00The Halfway PointTwelve people went missing in the night and we just sat there with our phones and our bloodshot, bulging eyes. Somewhere they were weeping, pulling away, screaming at cold flesh shadows. This was the halfway point: there would be no escape for anyone. <div><br /></div><div>There were mutant, albino rats miles below the surface of the streets. Strange creatures with blind, black eyes and wide mouths full of teeth like whirling blades. </div><div><br /></div><div>The hospital was waiting for this, medics bent over us with their faces covered with surgical masks. Pulsing arteries and dropping, throbbing hearts. The whiplash of worry.
This was not science at all. It was one of those brief exchanges, full of important and meaning but we failed to understand.</div>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-38283235023757971612024-03-06T16:12:00.002-06:002024-03-06T20:43:16.135-06:00She Says, “No.”I fall back into the chair, one of those cold, comfortless chairs that you find in any underfunded government agency. I am frozen cold, too cold and I apologize. “I’m sorry.” “There is no need to apologize,” she says. She is dressed in black, black as a raven on a cemetery fence. I whisper again with new urgency, “I am sorry. I am so sorry.” She says, “No.”<div><br /></div><div>The shadows cluster in the corner of the room, in front, forward. Her grey eyes lock in place and fix on me and I know. I know her deformity. I know her disappointment. My palms are damp with sweat. The room is warm and hushed - though I am still cold. The doorway to the hall outside opens and she says, “No.”</div><div> </div><div>She slides into the second arm-chair next to me. She wants to co-opt my emotions. She wants to corrupt my sympathies. My pulse is fluctuating: seventy, ninety, one-twenty. Spiking cerebral hemorrhage. I am dangerously high. Sweating profusely. Hypertension blood pressure, danger of stoke. I am swearing profusely. But she says, “No.”</div><div><br /></div><div>I cannot believe that it is her making these noises, these ominous noises - like a medieval messenger, rocking from side to side. She is speaking to me with some unknown tongue. Her fragile eyes disappear. Vanish. All changes. Dropping, cracking, hitching, shuddering. She reaches out to me once more before she is gone and I say, “No.”</div>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-65979984119337541042024-02-11T09:30:00.004-06:002024-02-11T09:30:00.139-06:00Dislocated in Time and Space - A Transfiguration Event <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Transfiguration Sunday comes early this year. It seems that
we’ve only just wrapped up the Christmas festivities and put away the trees and
lights and decorations and already we’re at the Transfiguration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a few days, on Wednesday, we’ll exchange
beauty for ashes; we’ll trade the joy of Christmas for the mourning of lent (to
invert Isaiah 61:3). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ll put away our hallelujahs
and begin the long trek toward the crucifixion, burial, and resurrection of our
Lord. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But that’s the way of things in this life. Life turns
quickly. Yesterday the children were born, today they’re grown, tomorrow they’ll
have children of their own. Our lives move from one moment to the next in a
continual blur. It all happens so fast, everything changes. It’s here and it’s
gone, every moment fleeting. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In our gospel reading for today we find Jesus along with his
friends, Peter, James and John atop a very high mountain experiencing one of
those fleeing moments – a literal mountain top experience that is over all too
soon. The glory of the theophany fades and Jesus and his disciples return to
the plains below.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But for that one glorious moment, they were overwhelmed by a
theophany, an appearance of God. God, who is a separate reality distinct from
and unlimited by the word, sometimes embraces the self-limitations of a
specific time and a particular form in order to appear to us in this world. God
appears as a thunderstorm, with thunder and hail, lightning and torrents of
rain. Or God appears as an infinitely burning bush. And there atop the mountain
in the glory of God’s appearance, Jesus was transfigured, transformed, changed.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It is a strange experience, dislocated in both space and
time. Heaven and earth meet, the past and the future overlap in a moment of
transcending present. Time and space are warped, blending forward and backward.
And the mountain is the place for this kind of experience. The mountain is the
place where one can meet with God, the place where one can leave the world of
the natural and the mundane and to ascend into very heavens. Around the world,
in nearly every culture, from Israel to Greece, from India to China, from Japan
to the Americas, the mountain is a place where the reality of our world touches
the divine realms. There is a mystery there – a sense of awe, surrounded by
banks of clouds with an expansive view, unlimited vision of both the clouds of heaven
and the horizons of earth. The God of the bible is sometimes named <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">El-Shaddai </i>which may mean the God of the
mountain. He meets with Moses on the mountain. He meets with Elijah on the
mountain. And this is not without relevance to our story today. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The mountain is unnamed in our gospel account; Mark
describes it only as a “very high mountain.” Some have suggested that it was Mount
Hermon, or perhaps Mount Tabor, but neither of these are especially high
mountains. Others suggest that Mark is thinking of the same mountain of the north
that apocalyptic authors, like the author of 1 Enoch, described as the place
where there would be a manifestation of the divine in the last days. This is a
place of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mysterium tremendum </i>– a place
of strange harmony between fear and awe, a place of both fascination and great
danger. A place of wonder and of terrible power. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jesus was transformed there in front of them on top of that
mountain. Elijah and Moses appeared with him and a cloud of glory overshadowed
them all. And from that cloud a voice from heaven spoke saying, “This is my
son, whom I dearly love. Listen to him!” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Here on the mountain with Jesus we are dislocated in both
time and space. The same voice that spoke to Jesus at this baptism, speaks
again to say, “This is my son, the beloved.” Moses and Elijah, prophets from
the past are there to speak with Jesus about his soon coming death. Time and
space blend back and forward. The Greek language has two words for time,
chronos and kairos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chronos refers to
chronological or sequential time, the tick, tick, tick, of the clock hands one
moment following after another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kairos
signifies a time between, moments of indeterminate time in which something
special happens. Chronos is quantitative and measurable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kairos is qualitative and cannot be measured
or marked or preserved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It can only be
experienced.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Jesus took John and James and Peter up the mountain in
ordinary, daily chronos; during the glory of the Transfiguration they were
dwelling in Kairos” (L’Engle, 93)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Indeed – the transfiguration event has sometimes been
interpreted by theologians as a misplaced story of the resurrection. The description
of Jesus’ transfiguration shares some similarity with the resurrection and it
is thought by some scholars that the events of the resurrection were moved
backward in the story so as to help make sense of the inexplicable resurrection
event. Jesus had just before this event, told his disciples that he would
suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, chief priests and teachers of
the law, and that he would be, that he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">must
</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>be killed – but that after three
days he would rise again. He spoke to them plainly about this, but they didn’t
understand. (Mark 8: 31 – 32). The passion prediction – not understood in the
moment is finally comprehended when seen through the eyes of the resurrection. We
didn’t, we don’t understand how death can be glory – not until after the
resurrection. I’m not convinced that this is the case – that the
transfiguration story is a resurrection account transplaced in time - but it is
true that the mystery of the transfiguration event expects the resurrection, and
the resurrection explains the mystery of the transfiguration. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Peter’s desire to memorialize the moment is understandable.
Time is fleeting. Everything fades. The voice speaks and then is silent. The cloud
of glory envelops them and then is gone. The moment on the mountain fades and
Jesus and his friends return to the plains below. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: 2.25pt;">'Tis good, Lord,
to be here!<br />
Your glory fills the night;<br />
Your face and garments, like the sun,<br />
Shine with unborrowed light.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">Fulfiller of the past!<br />
Promise of things to be!<br />
We hail your body glorified,<br />
And our redemption see.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">Before we taste of death, <br />
We see your kingdom come;<br />
We long to hold the vision bright,<br />
And make this hill our home.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Tis Good, Lord, To Be
Here</i> - J. Armitage Robinson</p><p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday
is the beginning of the Lenten season – a time of preparation. We only just
recently celebrated the birth of Lord and Savior and already we are getting
ourselves ready to consider his gruesome death and glorious resurrection. But
here on the mountain, in this transfiguration event, we see and hear and
experience the fulfillment of that preparation. In the words of Robinson’s
hymn, “We hail his body glorified, and our redemption see.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And
with Peter we might say, “Rabbi, Teacher, Master, it is good that we are here.”
But Peter didn’t really understand what was happening and he definitely didn’t
know what he was saying. He was so afraid. He was sore afraid (to steal from
Luke’s phraseology.) On the mountain, surrounded by the cloud of glory, with the
prediction of pain and suffering and death blotted out by the awe and wonder of
the moment, Peter says, “let’s build three shrines here. One for Moses, one for
Elijah, and one for Jesus.” But he didn’t know what he was saying. He was
afraid. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But
time moves on, and as suddenly as it began, it was all over. Time is fleeting,
every moment bleeding into the next. The vision fades, the cloud evaporates and
the transfiguration is over. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus and
his friends come back down from the mountain and he tells them to keep quiet
about it all – until after the Human one, the Son of God, had risen from the dead.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“History cannot be stopped, and we must
grasp it significance. The light of the resurrection enables us to see it with
hope. The death of Jesus is not the victory of darkness, which is already
overcome” (Gutierrez, 51).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Lent is
the time of preparation. We’ve had the glory and joy on the mountain, but now
we’ll go back down to the plain and begin the long, hard road towards death and
suffering and to the wonder and mystery of the resurrection. We may not
understand, but we will take that journey. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Gutierrez, Gustavo. <u>Sharing the Word through the
Liturgical Year</u>. Orbis Book, Mary Knoll, NY. 1997. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">L’Engle Madeline. <u>Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith
and Art</u>, North Point Press, New York, NY, 1980. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Robinson, J. Armitage. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Tis
Good, Lord, To Be Here</i>. 1890. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-75506300970193457052024-02-10T14:30:00.001-06:002024-02-10T14:35:49.856-06:00Imponderabilia<p><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was late and I was tired after a twelve and a half hour
shift at the factory and I knew I shouldn’t have done it – but I turned on the
radio to listen to the news as I drove home in the freezing rain and the dark. It
was a poor choice, tired and worn as I was. The highway was dark and the lane
markers covered with snow and ice. Reports came through of the war in Ukraine
and more bombings in Gaza with unnumbered civilian deaths. Reports of
earthquakes in South America, of wildfires in the south-west, of another school
shooting in the heartland. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Everything hurt. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It seems like I feel that way all the time these days. I am
exhausted and weary from work and still grieving old wounds. Everything hurt in
the cold and dark as I drove through the night, crying alone in my car. Alone and
cold in the dark on a lonely road between here and nowhere. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The world is dying,” I said aloud as I clicked off the
radio with its ceaseless bad news broadcasts. “The world is dying,” I said
again, “and there is nothing to replace it.” Someone once described this as a
time of monsters and I will not disagree. The world is dying and full monsters.
The human ones are the worst. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I arrived at home and made dinner for myself but in the
process I broke a glass pitcher given to me as a wedding gift. Then I spilt a
beverage on the couch which will probably stain the fabric. I tried to put it
all out of my mind by watching police dramas on TV until bed, but when I
finally slept I struggled with dreams of my ex-wife.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t want the
world to see me, ‘cause I don’t think that they’d understand,” the song says,
but I say, “I don’t want to see the world ‘cause I don’t understand it either.”
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am lonely even in my dreams. Separated
and alone and I think that maybe I should go ahead and separate myself from it
all. I can’t fix it. I can’t change it. Why not go live out in the desert?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I remembered the stories of those devout men of faith who
lived as hermits beyond the fringes of civilized society, or in caves, or alone
atop high pillars, relying on ravens to bring them food day after day for forty
years. I know it sounds fantastic, but ravens have been known to bring gifts to
people they consider friendly, so why couldn’t these avian benefactors bring
bread to hermits in the desert? It may be a pious legend, but it could still be
true.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I woke the next day, still weary. Still worn, still
pondering all the imponderabilia of this strange life. But with a stretch and a
cup of coffee I was ready to step out into another new day. As I drove to work
there was a carpet of fire across the eastern sky. Maybe the world is on fire
but the sun is rising in the east and I think that I can try again. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-25464451375713437042024-01-30T20:12:00.002-06:002024-01-30T20:14:06.065-06:00From the Winter Walks<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBljb7e2glHUKBgBhil2sOK6ZyFDwU9g5PTZCmnm-xPNqRxPYWmtKI9M_yYdfdXksKWVoxOPWzmeEatRZGV27xOQqvsmmozebna3JWILu7v9ibNUoR7lM6Vel5PJCUHnvU_mJg22gfYKASv27RtoNvxiCRvKhFqkqEjfgZFbGtOIKOQgKfyz9xWzjZIZUM/s4032/IMG_7814.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBljb7e2glHUKBgBhil2sOK6ZyFDwU9g5PTZCmnm-xPNqRxPYWmtKI9M_yYdfdXksKWVoxOPWzmeEatRZGV27xOQqvsmmozebna3JWILu7v9ibNUoR7lM6Vel5PJCUHnvU_mJg22gfYKASv27RtoNvxiCRvKhFqkqEjfgZFbGtOIKOQgKfyz9xWzjZIZUM/s320/IMG_7814.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2XKttZFen_6TOm26M2fLv9ZVmK1aDRt4gxX3M9UWxdwdIffcIBOO9BrOsuYiGEfU4pynVAJgv9CgCp3COrEpkXuKaqf3xUfa4EqD4Mq0ksdGYuelP_pLoYTLmc36RoCxxlZT8KKc09yJ04zp3R_b_MUQtqIsKrNJ235jkI3Bv0Qpm-THCzqB-v6ac444Z/s3088/IMG_7631.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>I’m a postal carrier these days. I walk every day- in the wind, in the snow, in the fog, in the sleet and freezing rain. Every day, five to ten miles. It’s not much, but it’s honest work. It gives me time to think, time to write, to compose. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKxxLdxlMJRwh1KE1jawuq7GdM80T_clX0wFYARtThN_b9tjDNE9VYqjV64kJ6YQSU55gkvmX8N4W7xzzdHekkIM9SGf9l08-r24hw3lJfPAM_Enbq1RL_PoRa-ct5toLyfZ9qwbxlGK0srS0OrqZjzGApSz5dUiE9hFXr7CVeEmP8HksMMETxpUazxP1A/s3088/IMG_7631.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKxxLdxlMJRwh1KE1jawuq7GdM80T_clX0wFYARtThN_b9tjDNE9VYqjV64kJ6YQSU55gkvmX8N4W7xzzdHekkIM9SGf9l08-r24hw3lJfPAM_Enbq1RL_PoRa-ct5toLyfZ9qwbxlGK0srS0OrqZjzGApSz5dUiE9hFXr7CVeEmP8HksMMETxpUazxP1A/s320/IMG_7631.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-18588963380923845562023-12-19T15:56:00.004-06:002023-12-19T15:56:41.462-06:00It Should Have Been Delightful - A Nativity Story<p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Lars and Marge Antisdel built a huge nativity display in
their yard every year for Christmas – and not one of those cheap plastic sets
with Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus either. They went all out. Their
nativity scene included the Holy Family, of course, but they also had sheep and
a shaggy donkey, and scruffy shepherds, and singing angels, all crafted out of
durable resin in Italy. And Lars had them displayed in a crèche he’d built from
distressed lumber and dressed with hay. The whole scene was especially
beautiful at night, illuminated as it was with carefully arranged spotlights
that gave Jesus, Mary, and Joseph nimbuses of light around their heads like
soft haloes of glory. They even hid small speakers in the manger so that folks
who drove by could listen to string arrangements of “O Holy Night,” “Angels We
Have Heard on High,” and other Christmas hymns. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Antisdel display had been featured on the front page of
the local paper. The Herald Examiner sent out a photographer and a reporter for
an interview with Lars and Marge. “Come to Bethlehem and See” was the headline
of the article. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But this year their display left me disappointed, as
beautiful as it was. And this year they’d even added a trio of Wise Men on
camels far to the side of the manger scene. It should have been delightful. But
it all left me sad because also in their yard was one of those yard signs with
the flag of the United States in blue, black, and white and the words: SUPPORT
OUR POLICE. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I can’t look at the Antisdel’s display without thinking of
Herod’s troops, dispatched to slaughter the children of Bethlehem. I can’t look
at the Antisdel’s display without hearing Rachel weeping for her children; she
would not be comforted because they are not.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-28472968909277029342023-12-04T19:14:00.002-06:002023-12-04T19:14:51.696-06:00Sing a Song of Advent <p> I shared this song yesterday with the united method church that I attend. They liked it well enough that they want to sing it as a congregational song this coming Sunday. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="295" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MD5mlG82KHA" width="355" youtube-src-id="MD5mlG82KHA"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-97e7b316-377f-6234-a605-c745a0ffcb12" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sing a song of winter - now the chill has come we’re trying to remember the warmth of the sun </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And even though the ice is freezing </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the streets along our way </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We find our hearts are warmer </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A little every day. </span></p><p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sing a song of Advent, a new year’s just begun </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We’re waiting and we’re watching for the rising of the sun</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So let us all rejoice, amen</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Prince of Peace is here </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The King of Glory at the gates</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">His kingdom drawing near </span></p><p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So sing - sing a song of joy </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sing a song </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sing </span></p><p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Song his song forever; his glory will not end </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He pulls the mighty from their thrones and scatters the proud </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He fills the hungry with good things</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And sends the rich away </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Raising up the poor and weak, he is mighty to save. </span></p><p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-13115642438645707672023-12-02T15:45:00.005-06:002023-12-02T15:45:47.284-06:00The Communion of Saints<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRjMPzcWL6YJIf0UC0j593P8NlOvAWCeXIp1u7q-CQx-VVtikrwqoDfb5a4Pntv0HkHt8iztobWYR5EsyJpNwdRbY1JO8AQqUWrtSFSL8pVSdPBJEcs5ujmqpKrG_BO_6nhVHN1la4tWByJbNBtgvYl9MfcbhyphenhyphenHJC_fw2d7McIwN_JAX3G6Tmr4L3o6f01/s3340/IMG_7335.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2729" data-original-width="3340" height="522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRjMPzcWL6YJIf0UC0j593P8NlOvAWCeXIp1u7q-CQx-VVtikrwqoDfb5a4Pntv0HkHt8iztobWYR5EsyJpNwdRbY1JO8AQqUWrtSFSL8pVSdPBJEcs5ujmqpKrG_BO_6nhVHN1la4tWByJbNBtgvYl9MfcbhyphenhyphenHJC_fw2d7McIwN_JAX3G6Tmr4L3o6f01/w640-h522/IMG_7335.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-11823432992174499862023-11-27T19:42:00.004-06:002023-11-27T19:42:28.952-06:00I Cannot Remember the Sun<p> The moon may be bright but the night is so cold and lasts so long that I can remember neither the sun nor the apricity that warms my soul even when my finger tips are cold. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlntgH8EgZBzmnCpetIV0wRIm8TJWpe7HJcNRZgeZpsPfrMB1Jqy339urwORNzFZPfOV21r_8iv0-vYLQB0NHsqbAXmpMLtbKkEyhplNx9259i4VoPIivumYpK1fsFgruyAu05mv-vpX77TRrYVrjeWsa0kJZeiWiuwsDUJvnW7EDKbVyCZRnokQ0ej5O7/s3535/IMG_7300.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3535" data-original-width="2651" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlntgH8EgZBzmnCpetIV0wRIm8TJWpe7HJcNRZgeZpsPfrMB1Jqy339urwORNzFZPfOV21r_8iv0-vYLQB0NHsqbAXmpMLtbKkEyhplNx9259i4VoPIivumYpK1fsFgruyAu05mv-vpX77TRrYVrjeWsa0kJZeiWiuwsDUJvnW7EDKbVyCZRnokQ0ej5O7/w480-h640/IMG_7300.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-53113347571690154342023-11-24T07:00:00.004-06:002023-11-24T07:00:00.133-06:00November Juniper<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhX5Nbli9FwyKDUg0b4UpWwoFI9_Zli7zGQxrSvaMp6ejUAEl7t8AzDdGwRmBttJJW_YrKcIvpj8fs_Yr9Pq6JAmZWX-CUt5CNgexl1yQ3aEX7RJVQvV0vUncUhJvcYl-O7W9a-eTyDgQnnuev8kRyk2mWR_Z8CpZ8LLB2T6s08vkWqJik40ROCDKbkWZT/s2809/IMG_7249.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2809" data-original-width="2107" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhX5Nbli9FwyKDUg0b4UpWwoFI9_Zli7zGQxrSvaMp6ejUAEl7t8AzDdGwRmBttJJW_YrKcIvpj8fs_Yr9Pq6JAmZWX-CUt5CNgexl1yQ3aEX7RJVQvV0vUncUhJvcYl-O7W9a-eTyDgQnnuev8kRyk2mWR_Z8CpZ8LLB2T6s08vkWqJik40ROCDKbkWZT/w303-h404/IMG_7249.jpeg" width="303" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-34326376493722806942023-11-21T18:53:00.004-06:002023-11-21T18:53:39.431-06:00Hidden Nativity 2<div class="pixels-photo">
<a alt="Hidden Nativity 2 by Jeff Carter on 500px.com" href="https://500px.com/photo/1080979565/hidden-nativity-2-by-jeff-carter">
<img alt="Hidden Nativity 2 by Jeff Carter on 500px.com" src="https://drscdn.500px.org/photo/1080979565/m%3D900/v2?sig=f83d7a90685a3f954ec23be7600ceef317d3474dbfaf1610d9d61e5b0dd57e95" />
</a>
</div>
<script src="https://500px.com/embed.js" type="text/javascript"></script>
<p> </p><p><br /></p><p>The first version is <a href="http://thatjeffcarterwashere.blogspot.com/2023/10/hidden-nativity.html?m=1">here</a> </p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-43450492562070221022023-11-17T19:59:00.002-06:002023-11-17T20:04:24.820-06:00Early Morning Stained Glass<p> </p><div class='pixels-photo'>
<a href='https://500px.com/photo/1080775865/early-morning-stained-glass-by-jeff-carter' alt='Early Morning Stained Glass by Jeff Carter on 500px.com'>
<img src='https://drscdn.500px.org/photo/1080775865/m%3D900/v2?sig=00cbf3f56e26fd8559d8ae786040fdfe0b314b8df9b04e19312d839e5dce30dc' alt='Early Morning Stained Glass by Jeff Carter on 500px.com' />
</a>
</div>
<script type='text/javascript' src='https://500px.com/embed.js'></script>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-56225160972131057132023-11-14T09:58:00.001-06:002023-11-14T09:58:22.659-06:00All the Times that We Sigh<p> </p><p>“Light, and life, and love still win,” she said meaning me now that I’m gone. <br />What's the difference between sarcasm and irony? I don't know.</p><p><br /></p><p>A new life, an old life, accept it for what it is. Maybe this time it will be all right.<br />I don't know what I've been told about you. Don't believe what you've heard from me. </p><p><br /></p><p><i>We have technology to read the prophecies - all the signs of the times. <br />But we can't understand, we cannot comprehend all the times that we sigh.</i> <br /></p><p><br /></p><p>If I were a monster I'd stay out all night and come to bed at dawn. <br />Light the fireworks, send up the alarm; you're going to miss me when I'm gone. <br /><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="439" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XAYUbOWd680" width="528" youtube-src-id="XAYUbOWd680"></iframe></div><br />Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-16312300069219597122023-11-12T13:00:00.025-06:002023-11-14T08:48:44.036-06:00No Eschatological Expectations for the Ten Virgins (Matthew 25: 1 – 13)<p> <span> The </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">End Is Near.</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>That’s an exciting way to begin a
sermon. I use it somewhat tongue in check, not to indicate the imminence of
Jesus’ return or the end of the world – though with the gospel reading for
today, it would be understandable if you leapt to that conclusion. But the end
is near – the end of the liturgical year. We are coming to the end of the
church’s calendar and we will soon, with the beginning of the Advent season,
begin a new year. But now, in these last few weeks before advent, the
lectionary readings take a turn toward the eschatological – things related to
death, judgement and the end.</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>I grew up in an Evangelical church,
and for many evangelical Christians in America there is a peculiar fascination
with all things eschatological. I grew up with those heightened apocalyptic
expectations. I vividly recall being at the church building with my parents and
not knowing where they were and being scared that I had missed the rapture – at
least until I heard their voices again. I still remember dreams that I had as a
young boy of volcanoes and blood falling from the sky, dreams that could rival
the visions of John recorded in the book of Revelation.</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>As a young minister, I spent a lot
of time studying the prophetic and apocalyptic books of the bible, reading commentaries
on, watching documentaries on the various interpretations, and going
conferences on the topic. I even spoke at a couple of conferences dealing the
study of eschatology. I was fascinated with the subject. </span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>But these days I’m less interested
in apocalyptic speculation. Less interested, but not </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">disinterested.</i><span style="text-indent: 48px;">, I still am. <a href="https://wipfandstock.com/author/jeff-carter/">The novels that I’ve written,</a> especially my first, have a decided influence from the apocalyptic genre. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">My interest has waned but not disappeared
completely. Meanwhile, the Christian community these days, at least in America,
is fired up on the topic again. It seems to flare up with regularity every time
there is renewed conflict in the Middle East. I see many of my friends on
Facebook and X (formerly Twitter) posting memes and messages about the soon
expected coming of Jesus. When I listen to Christian radio, I hear them talking
about the thrill of “living in these last days…” And, honesty, I find a lot of
what they are saying and posting to be a little disturbing. I’m not sure I
trust people whose religious faith is </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">excited</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
by the imminent expectation of the end of the world.</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>So I come to this parable of Jesus
with mixed feelings. I like the topic and still find it fascinating. But I also
find it wearisome. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Tiring and thrilling
at the same time.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I’m difficult. I know.</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>“The Kingdom of Heaven will be like
this: Ten wedding attendants took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom
and the bride.” This is how Jesus’ parable recorded in Matthew 25: 1 – 13 begins.
And already we have some difficulties to examine. The first thing we should
note is that most English translations stop with “the bridegroom.” A few
include a footnote to indicate that “other ancient authorities add </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">and the bride</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">.” The bride is missing
from some manuscripts, “probably because the ‘bridegroom’ was understood as an
allegorical reference to Christ, and the copyist could see no way of fitting
the bride into the allegory (Johnson 556).”</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>First – this is a parable and not
an allegory. Allegories need a specific referent. The novel </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Animal Farm </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">by George Orwell is an
allegory about the Russian Revolution of 1917. John Bunyan’s </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Pilgrim’s Progress</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> is an allegory of the
spiritual life from baptism through trials to heaven. Allegories need a
specific referent. Parables do not. Parables don’t need a point by point
comparison, this equals that, in order to be understood. They are simple
stories that point beyond themselves to greater truths.</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>But the Church got stuck reading
this particular parable as an allegory of Jesus as the Bridegroom and the
sudden appearance of the bridegroom at midnight as the Parousia - the expected
second coming of Christ, and eventually ‘the bride’ dropped out of the parable.
For how could Jesus, the bridegroom, come with his bride, the church, at his
second coming?</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>The allegorical interpretation was
fleshed out, point by point, to make the foolish Virgins, or maidens a reference
to Israel and the wise Virgins, or maidens to Gentile believers – further exacerbating
the tensions between Jews and Christians over the years. (Jeremias 51 - 53) Interpreted
thusly, the parable is used to encourage believers to not fall asleep – like the
Jews, or other non-believers, so that we can be ready when Christ appears to receive
his bride at the rapture or the second coming. (Never mind the fact that the
story clearly says that all ten of the waiting virgins, both the foolish and
the wise) fell asleep as they waited…)</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>Maybe the confusion is to be
expected. After all Jesus said that he taught the people with parables so that
they would not understand. His disciples asked why he taught the people using
parables and Jesus said, “The reason I talk to them in parables sis that they
look without seeing and listen with hearing or understanding. So in their case
what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah is being fulfilled: </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Listen and listen, but never understand! Look and look, but never perceive!
This people’s heart has grown coarse, their ears dulled, they have shut their eyes
tight to avoid using their eyes to see, their ears to hear, their heart to
understand…</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">” Matthew 13: 10 - 15</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>But all of this is going astray. If
we keep in mind that it’s a parable – and not an allegory – and that in the story the
bridegroom is coming with his bride we can read it as an occasion of joy and festivities
with shouts of rejoicing and mirth and the voices of the bridegroom and the
bride proceeding through the city. (Jeremiah 7:34). It is an elaborate
procession with the bridegroom and bride decked out as the King and Queen,
carried on a palanquin of wood from Lebanon, with posts of silver and a canopy
of gold. They are surrounded by their friends and families dressed as champions
and swordsmen (Song of Solomon 3: 7-11)</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>Ten wedding attendants went out to
wait for the procession, but the wedding party was delayed and the attendants
fell asleep. But at midnight, the cry went up. “Look! The bridegroom! Go and
meet him!”</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>The attendants snapped awake and
readied themselves to go join the festivities. But five of them had come
unprepared, with no extra oil. Their smoking, sputtering, smoldering wicks
would not light. “Share some of your oil with us,” the foolish ones said to the
others who’d wisely brought extra oil. But they replied, “There might not be
enough for all of us. Run quickly to the oil merchant (the oil merchant is open
at midnight?!) and buy some.</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>And while they were off buying more
oil, the wedding party arrived and everyone went into the house for the feast. When
the foolish attendants returned, with their lamps burning brightly now, they begged
for the door to be opened so that they could join the party. But the bridegroom
said to them. “I don’t know you,” and the door stayed closed.</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>There’s no need for fearful apocalyptic,
eschatological expectations here. And definitely no need to slur and vilify people of
the Jewish faith. The Kingdom of God is like this: those who are ready and prepared
will enter and be welcomed to the party. Those who are not ready and prepared
will remain unknown and outside the door.</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>Some might have difficulty with the
seeming finality of that that “I do not know you.” But another teaching of
Jesus recorded in the gospel of Matthew ends the same way. In chapter 7
Jesus told his disciples, “It is not anyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord’ who
will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but the person who does the will of my Father
in heaven. When the day comes many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not
prophecy in your name, drive out demons in your name, work many miracles in
your name?’ Then I shall tell them to their faces: I have never known you.”
(Matthew 7: 21 – 23)</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>Many who think they belong, who are
prophesying in his name, who are driving out demons, who are preaching sermons,
who are waiting for the coming of Christ will find that they have missed the
boat because they haven't been doing the will of the father. </span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>A few days ago – November 7</span><sup style="text-indent: 0.5in;">th</sup><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">-
would have been the birthday of the French existentialist philosopher,
journalist, and author, Albert Camus. In a quote that is attributed to him (but
for which I cannot find the source) he said, “You will never be happy if you
continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you
are looking for the meaning of life.”</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">We
won’t know the kingdom of God if we’re sitting around waiting for the kingdom
of God. To know (and be known in) the kingdom of God is to hear the message of Christ
and act on it. Do the will of God. Do the work of the Kingdom. Feed the hungry.
Give drink to the thirsty. Welcome the stranger. Clothe the naked. Visit the
sick and the imprisoned. (Matthew 25: 31 – 46)</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span>The Kingdom of Heaven is like this:
Some of those who are waiting to see it will miss it because they are not ready
to see it. Listening and listening, they will not hear it. Looking and looking
they will not see it. And when the cry goes up, they won’t get in the door
because they haven’t understood. So watch and be ready. Do the will of the father.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="433" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MNmeTr_QDaM" width="521" youtube-src-id="MNmeTr_QDaM"></iframe></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jeremias, Joachim. <u>The Parables of Jesus</u>. New York,
NY: Charles Scribner’s Sons. 1972. Print. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Johnson, Sherman E. “The Gospel According to St. Matthew: Exegesis.”
<u>The Interpreter’s Bible Volume VI</u>I. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press. 1951.
Print.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-30265698451721145652023-11-10T16:36:00.002-06:002023-11-10T19:42:06.301-06:00Ishmael Contemplates His Life <p> A few years ago I wrote <a href="https://thatjeffcarterwashere.blogspot.com/2011/05/ishmael-contemplates-his-life.html?m=1">these verses.</a> Last autumn I wrote some music (and a new verse) for it. And now I’m putting it all up on the old blog again. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ISD_rvM2uRs" width="320" youtube-src-id="ISD_rvM2uRs"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-63664153488722146092023-11-07T12:57:00.003-06:002023-11-14T11:09:08.555-06:00Danger at Every Door <p> </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="511" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/NgzOFLvY00w" width="615" youtube-src-id="NgzOFLvY00w"></iframe></div><p><br /></p>There is danger at every door<br />ghosts and corpses for our travail<br />all our heroes and our villains<br />come at us with their sharpened knives.<br /><br /><i>There is power, wonder working power</i><br /><i>in the blood of the Lamb. <br /></i><br /><br />On the edge of a great abyss,<br />lost at sea in a rowboat,<br />we are grieving, we are wounded, <br />we are wasted but we'll return. <br /><br />And the blood of all our enemies, <br />it will never satisfy, <br />a crown of thorns on his head<br />the god of heaven, he will forgive. <br /><br /><br /><p></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-30624179331396406652023-11-07T09:35:00.002-06:002023-11-11T14:36:37.687-06:00The Owner of this Property Is Armed<p> </p><p>For the past several months I have been working as a United States Postal Carrier in a rural community in central Iowa. It's hard work, but I enjoy it. I'm outside, working independently, and helping the community. It's good work. <br /><br />And I observe a lot as I carry the mail. All through the month of October I watched people putting up thier Halloween decorations. Now those are coming down and Thanksgiving and <a href="https://thatjeffcarterwashere.blogspot.com/2023/10/hidden-nativity.html">Christmas decorations</a> are going up. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Q0QW4A01JoCvgoDcctVEvD7FLm5vncPQ7_6m5HrbZccehx5OlCUHhkV_1IY-_SOmqvnT9svQzp2flMcL_kSgiFVi-u1zNBWx6-HycMzf3cNnDZFdKmxmIgwDTH5n-FlSzjvHG2_3cvNeoiOnuJPlPk95ib72YCkBFB5WCmCUiNzBE0ER25Pq5JonCsjg/s300/armed%20and%20watching.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="244" data-original-width="300" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Q0QW4A01JoCvgoDcctVEvD7FLm5vncPQ7_6m5HrbZccehx5OlCUHhkV_1IY-_SOmqvnT9svQzp2flMcL_kSgiFVi-u1zNBWx6-HycMzf3cNnDZFdKmxmIgwDTH5n-FlSzjvHG2_3cvNeoiOnuJPlPk95ib72YCkBFB5WCmCUiNzBE0ER25Pq5JonCsjg/s1600/armed%20and%20watching.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>One of the things that I've observed at a number of the homes that I deliver to are stickers at the front door that declare: The owner of this property is armed and prepared to protect life and property from criminal offense. There is nothing inside worth risking your life for.<p></p><p>Now - the question I have is is this: IF there is nothing in the house worth dying for AND the owner of the house is <i>still </i>willing to shoot and kill for it - what does that say about the owner of that house? </p><p>If none of it is worth dying for - why are they willing to kill for it? </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><br /><p><br /></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-24992942594499031272023-11-02T19:05:00.001-05:002023-11-03T14:26:31.301-05:00One of these Days (new song)<p> A few days ago I posted a <a href="https://thatjeffcarterwashere.blogspot.com/2023/10/one-of-these-days.html">bit of doggerel poetry</a> that I'd written (appropriately enough) using bits and pieces of the dialogue from the stage version of Frankenstein that I'd recently directed for a local community theatre production. </p><p><br /></p><p>Today I'm posting a song arrangement of the same. <br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="455" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/kz33mVu4As0" width="547" youtube-src-id="kz33mVu4As0"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><br /><p><br /></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-66052629103491075352023-10-31T21:00:00.000-05:002023-10-31T21:00:35.806-05:00Once More Around the Sun<p> My girlfriend and I had our first date a year ago at her sister’s annual Halloween party. It’s been a year so I wrote her a song. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="366" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Wdg3Oluk9ng" width="564" youtube-src-id="Wdg3Oluk9ng"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-36645400389013932972023-10-26T13:46:00.004-05:002023-10-26T13:46:46.783-05:00Hidden Nativity<p> Ordinarily I am insistent about one holiday at a time. I'm frustrated and irritated when I see Christmas decorations in stores before Halloween, but... <br /><br />I spotted this Hidden Nativity this morning while I was out walking in the rain and it gladdened my irritable little heart, so I took a picture of it. </p><p><br /></p>
<div class='pixels-photo'>
<a href='https://500px.com/photo/1079683754/hidden-nativity-by-jeff-carter' alt='Hidden Nativity by Jeff Carter on 500px.com'>
<img src='https://drscdn.500px.org/photo/1079683754/m%3D900/v2?sig=708b9a48f91eb0620319a6e863496ca29f01dfe65f4e7f9a7049e5d91109d327' alt='Hidden Nativity by Jeff Carter on 500px.com' />
</a>
</div>
<script type='text/javascript' src='https://500px.com/embed.js'></script>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-45762402916724051512023-10-25T13:02:00.000-05:002023-10-25T13:02:13.622-05:00Living in a Springsteen Song<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="364" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/UhwjovV1nVU" width="692" youtube-src-id="UhwjovV1nVU"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-4820589025691571502023-10-25T10:39:00.004-05:002023-10-25T10:39:34.531-05:00This Death and a Thousand Others<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">We are only a breath away, a breath
away from disaster. The wind, the wind is blowing. Can you hear the word of the
Lord?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are breathing, yes, but with
great difficulty with all the smoke in the air, the chemical haze, the
particulate matter thrown into the air by the fires and explosions in Des
Moines. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">This death, and a thousand others,
have I suffered. And have you suffered? Are you satisfied yet? But now I will
live my life anew. More than death. More. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How much more would you demand of me? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">I sing along with the radio, all
the stupid love songs that I used to know. But I don’t feel like myself
anymore. I’m pretending to be who I am. I am a stranger even to myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why are you still here? Why are you still
here, when you were never here before? I have a memory – a memory of someone I
never knew. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">It was the loudest explosion I’ve
ever heard. Suddenly the lights in the city dimmed and blinked twice before
humming back to light. Then the lights blinked out and left us all in darkness.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">I will leave speculation and all
experiments in idle philosophy. I will leave all chemical persuasions even
though I am still exhausted. These are the shared phobias and weak hearts of
unloved children. Leave them. Leave me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
<br />
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<br />
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<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6657857175981527268.post-49256360726334247512023-10-13T12:24:00.004-05:002023-11-02T19:06:11.950-05:00One of These Days <p> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One of these days I will work out my own destruction, <br />
studying my notes – an incomplete thing<br />
- not yet happy, and nowhere near excellent. <br />
<br />
I am moving farther and farther away <br />
from great sorrows <br />
and cruel flesh and blood. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It happens to me sometimes –<br />
mostly when I’m alone<br />
against the secret machines. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I am innocent, but not all right. <o:p></o:p></p>Thatjeffcarterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10164244091093015896noreply@blogger.com0