the integrity of Jesus, Son of Human

 there's this woman …

she's quite ill, suffering from some sort of bleeding for 12 years…
she's exhausted her finances, trying to find some form of healing…
she's traumatized

there's this man, named Jesus, and the word is that he's been healing people…

there's this day that Jesus comes close, across the sea, and she hears of it and makes her way there…

there's this crowd, bustling, no doubt all anxious to see, and maybe hear, and maybe receive healing…
but she is desperate - "I have to get to him! "

there's the struggle to weave her way to him, jostled, pushed, pushing, amid the mobbish mass… she persists…her hurting is too great to let this be taken away…

"I must get to him!! " ..

"There! I see him! "…

squeezing her way through, she is pressed on every side, and just as she nears him she falls from the press…
undeterred, just behind him as he pauses, she is within arm's reach of his feet, and reaches out between the sandaled feet of the throngers, touching the fringe of his clothing…

!!!! instantly it's stopped…
her entire world stopped in abject astoundment by the interposition of an otherworldly force in this man…

she stopped bleeding out on that spot, in that instant, for her infirmity had been healed…

trauma displaced…

Creator had healed her?
yes        indeed

..

a poignant consideration evolves…
?  did Jesus heal this woman without intending?

there was no aforethought in the mind of Jesus that he would encounter and heal this woman this day
not even just prior…
it happened apart from his knowing
GodFather had given him no 'warning', no heads-up, no direction… 

this is markedly different from Jesus' purposeful interaction with the Samaritan woman at the well, or his intentional visit with the lame man at the pool of Bethesda

he had no idea…

how on earth does that work?

he healed the sickened, purposefully he fed the hungry, purposefully he even raised the dead
      purposefully
      with intent

…

how is it that he healed her unintentionally?
      his mind not engaged
      his will not directed
how is that even possible?

apparently this was an unusual occurrence, given the tone of the text…
Jesus, immediately she was healed, asks "who touched me?!" ...
the mere posing of the question raises questions in our mind ("isn't this God?" being one)… we expect him to know, and further, to have known before the deed…

of course the disciples are taken back by his question – "how do you expect us to know that? we are crowded-in on every side"…

Jesus then says "I felt power go out of me "…

somehow, without expecting it, something integral to who Jesus is was unexpectedly subtracted, shared, given out, taken…
and it surprised him…

imagine the integrity of this person who did not rely on his divinity or divine influence, but by the sheer integrity of his humanity was fully able to bring healing naturally, almost as natural as breathing…

this incident, in my mind, challenges us to investigate our own being, to find our inner core and see if we ourselves live out of a natural compassion for our human relations, a compassion forged in the godly fire of love

like Jesus does

peace to you

i ask for peace .. a plea to the One Who Cares

here sit i
in my warm comfy clothing ..
in this intimate-y coffee shop with my connected cell and a worthwhile book ..
with the chatter from the adjoining restaurant serving up multicolored 'noise' to drown-out my barking mind pointing long fingers in my direction 

i sit here while un-counted others roam the streets and find lodging in public spaces to while-away their seemingly endless cycle of surviving the encroaching insanity of nothing solid, no fixed place, no acceptance, no fitting-in, nothing to rely on or fall back on
no hope ..  

in my comfort and security i dare not disregard my family, living in their insecurity and the constant threat of violence and aggression which could jump out from anywhere anytime ..
the level of stress underpinning such existence surely is degenerative, not merely emotionally and mentally, but physically, at the level of the gut, pulsing poison into every operating system of their body
and too soul-ly, questioning the very existence that screams cruelly in their face, mouth stretched wide, opening dark ominous avenues that lead down, only down, cavernous void spilling death-scented vapors into my atmosphere 

how on earth do they endure the night, tonight, tomorrow night, tomorrow's tomorrow night?
are they impervious to the never-ending flow of putridity drowning their present-space wherever they happen to be? 

do i realize the brave-ity required to get up out of my night-space and to face the oncoming traffic     again, on this another dread day ?
there is a certain resilience, a rebellious resistance to the daily challenge to my integrity, my sense of self-worth, my own estimation of Me as a human ..

how long does it take for that to unravel, leaving me threadbare, skin-on-bone, bereft of any substance, like some wispy tumbleweed blown across hot dry shadeless spaces, no place to lodge? 
a determination lies there, a persistent intention to not let the indistinctiveness of my existence force me over the edge into freefall .. down down into the dread darkness of the gaping mouth where Death lives 

i must respect that nobility of spirit that calls every morning with the cock's crow to get-up, straighten-up, pick-up, and head face-first into the oncoming hopelessness
there's grit there 

..

and then there are those whose mind slowly folds-in on itself as the shadows grow longer, darker, struggling desperately to deny that this could really be reality, the way things are
and so they develop friendships with their other Selves, thereby revoking their relationships, finding solace in conversations with their shadow-intimates ..
it's just become too much to continue processing, day after day, night after night, confrontation after confrontation, resistance to their Being staring them in the face with a big "NO!" wrapped in a speech bubble
.. life simply shouts "NO!" 

as i sit enjoying the opportunity to spill my mind on paper, knowing that tonight's 30s will be eased by the conditioned space where i dwell ..      what is my relation to those, my friends, my human family, who will steel themselves against the night's demons, staring into a dark sleepingbag or blanket, praying no one challenges your tenure here in this place tonight?      whether flashing blue light or desperate desperado

what should my motivation be?       my attitude?       my intention?   ? 

i ask for mercy of the One who lives there with them in that bag, and body-warmth, and comfort, and peace 

i ask for peace

      in Jesus' name

not 1 ..

 we want so much to be my individual self ..
"i can only think me, be me ..
   how else could i be?" 

and God marks it out from the beginning ..
2, not 1
a people, not Abraham or Isaac or Jacob
   or David or ..
a nation
   holy
a kingdom
   of priests
a body
   of parts 

specifically, God says, from early on (Lev. 19:18),
   "you shall love your neighbor as yourself"

not 1
1 is 'not good'
"i will make another .. and the 2 shall be 1"

i am a body-part
part of a body
   the Body of Christ

one body
   of me's 

we say
"but
   I am not you
   you are not me" 

true 

Trinity says
"behold .."

sounds of nature ..

 not absence of sound
     just no intrusive sound

sound of sounds that fit
     tweets and twitters and softened footfalls 
          on dried leaves
     a dog's pant
     the thrump-thrump of a blooded soul
          alive to the silent sounds of a live nature
     the valiant cry of a hawk in glide
     fresh-green moss growth
     gazillions of small white flowers
          blood-streaked where the stamen lay 
          at just this altitude               
               hardly another to be found
                    up or down

the wicked sound of gunshots
     crack!
     crack!
     crack!
     crack!
     betray the silence

and the responding deathly silence
     silences the silent sounds for a breath, or 3
     and then they venture abroad again

..

and i am delightedly human ..

resurrection and futurelife under Christ ..

".. if the dead are not raised, then not even Christ has been raised, and if Christ has not been raised, your faith is useless, you are still in your sins.  Furthermore, those who have fallen asleep in Christ have also perished, for if only in this life we have hope in Christ, we should be pitied more than anyone. 

But now Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead also came through a man. For just as in Adam all die, so also in Christ all will be made alive .. but each in his own order: Christ, the firstfruits, then when Christ comes, those who belong to him. 

Then comes the end when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father, after he has brought to an end all rule and all authority and power.  For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet.  The last enemy to be eliminated is death.  For he has put everything in subjection under his feet. But when it says 'everything' has been put in subjection, it is clear that this does not include the one who put everything in subjection to him. 

And when all things are subjected to him, then the Son himself will be subjected to the one who subjected everything to him       so that God may be all in all. "

the word of the Lord, as per 1Corinthians 15. 16-28

let the reader understand ..

walking into Death ..

yesterday ..
such a memorable experience with my friends
I washed their feet
I couldn't think of a better way to express Our love for them
   to them
they were scandalized ..

..

there is so much lost on humanity
people still refuse to acknowledge me as Son, Messiah
they hardly recognize me, even while they shouted, cried out for salvation - "Hosanna! Save us now!"

and now .. we are here at this place in history, witnessing this cosmic singularity - everything is brought to focality here, now, in this apparent nebulousness
   even as the people prepare to sacrifice their Passover Lamb

..

my soul rebels

..  

I have seen the hatred in their eyes, the scorn, felt their murderous intent in my bones
I do not want to be here

..

how can this be happening like this?
how can they not see 

..

I feel the gathering of the unseen powers of Darkness
   advancing, closing ranks

..

is everyone against me?
I am so hated  .. ..    ?
despised
   as if all the wrong ever done everywhere is my fault 

I cannot bear it ! ..

my very body cries out !
have pity 

how am I to endure this ? ..

Father 

Father            Abba ..   .  .

will you also go away?

surely we can do this another way 

Abba ... .. ... .

..

I am assaulted
   we are assaulted !

are you here?
where are you, Abba ..

..

I will do this
   but I need your strength
I need you! 

do not leave me to do this alone
I will not be able to endure it alone

..

I am not sure I can do this ..

how can there be so much hatred ? ..

..

the cosmic Scapegoat I am
   my blood drawn in their violence
how could our Imago Dei release such venom .. ?

how have they not seen us all along
   even now
      when we have come to them in person 

?  ..     ?

I am stumbling at this
you must help me
I'm going
but you help ..   .

Abba . .      ..           .

triumphalism vs. the way of the cross ..

" As long ago as the 16th century, Martin Luther boldly voiced a vigorous 'either/or' for Christian faith in terms of a theology of Glory or a theology of the Cross. 

By the former, Luther referred to an articulation of gospel faith that smacked of triumphalism that was allied with worldly power, that specialized in winning, control, and being first, and being best. For Luther that theology was all tied up with the European Imperial of his time. 

By the contrast of a theology of the Cross, Luther referred to the risky way of Jesus that is marked by humility, obedience, and vulnerability, standing in sharp contrast to, and opposition to, the hunger for Glory. The way of the cross for Luther is demanding and costly because it contradicts the dominant way of the world. "

Walter Brueggemann