Jesus asked him, "What is your name?"
My name is my only possession from the day that I was born. When I die, it will be the one thing I possess that won't be detached from me personally, carved up and distributed. Not to the State, medical research, or even my descendants.
It's not a bad name. Not a particularly fine one, but it's mine, and I'm used to it. So it saddens me hugely when it is used in a context of dislike, distrust, reproof or disrespect.
Wednesday, 16 April 2008
Tuesday, 15 April 2008
Luke 8:28
When he saw Jesus he cried out and fell at his feet, shouting at the top of his voice, What do you want with me Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, don't torture me?
I'm afraid of everyone who opens that door now. Death Row does that to you. You never know if tomorrow morning will be your last, whether you will be pulled roughly from your sleep and dressed in your best clothes, moved to the cell at the end of the corridor and asked what you would like for your last meal. Even the prison chaplain makes me sweat, if he knocks on the door and asks to see you that is a sign, so prison mythology goes, that in the next few days your number is up, it's your turn for the chop.
So when he came, I didn't exactly say I was pleased to see him. He asked how I was feeling, whether I was afraid of the electric chair. "Bugger the electric chair," I told him, "All I'm really afraid of is meeting God."
I'm afraid of everyone who opens that door now. Death Row does that to you. You never know if tomorrow morning will be your last, whether you will be pulled roughly from your sleep and dressed in your best clothes, moved to the cell at the end of the corridor and asked what you would like for your last meal. Even the prison chaplain makes me sweat, if he knocks on the door and asks to see you that is a sign, so prison mythology goes, that in the next few days your number is up, it's your turn for the chop.
So when he came, I didn't exactly say I was pleased to see him. He asked how I was feeling, whether I was afraid of the electric chair. "Bugger the electric chair," I told him, "All I'm really afraid of is meeting God."
Monday, 14 April 2008
Luke 8:26-7 The demon-possessed man
They sailed to the region of the Gerasenes, which is across the lake from Galilee. When Jesus stepped ashore, he was met by a demon-possessed man from the town. For a long time this man had not worn clothes or lived in a house, but had lived in the tombs.
They used to call it demonic possession. Now, the word is epilepsy. The effect is the same: I lose myself, for a time, I lie on the floor and shake. If you do not know that it is perfectly normal for me, you are frightened, concerned, rush to help. No need. This is just my way of being alive: frustrating, inconvenient, occasionally painful if I bang my head or bite my tongue: but not of itself unnatural or strange.
If I lived in a country where almost everyone had epilepsy, then the few who did not would be stigmatised, questioned, worried over. There would be a religious meaning attached to my seizures: I might be described as "leaving my body to visit the soulworld" or "overcome by God."
Men and women would compete to have the most impressive, dramatic experiences of seizure: there would be demonstrations, videos, perhaps even competitions. Epilepsy might become the centre of a state faith, spoken of and preached on as a sign of God's pleasure, his special gift to us as a chosen people.
Would the non-epileptic be driven out, expelled for their impurity and presumed sinfulness, driven to the edges of our towns and forced to live in tombs?
They used to call it demonic possession. Now, the word is epilepsy. The effect is the same: I lose myself, for a time, I lie on the floor and shake. If you do not know that it is perfectly normal for me, you are frightened, concerned, rush to help. No need. This is just my way of being alive: frustrating, inconvenient, occasionally painful if I bang my head or bite my tongue: but not of itself unnatural or strange.
If I lived in a country where almost everyone had epilepsy, then the few who did not would be stigmatised, questioned, worried over. There would be a religious meaning attached to my seizures: I might be described as "leaving my body to visit the soulworld" or "overcome by God."
Men and women would compete to have the most impressive, dramatic experiences of seizure: there would be demonstrations, videos, perhaps even competitions. Epilepsy might become the centre of a state faith, spoken of and preached on as a sign of God's pleasure, his special gift to us as a chosen people.
Would the non-epileptic be driven out, expelled for their impurity and presumed sinfulness, driven to the edges of our towns and forced to live in tombs?
Saturday, 12 April 2008
Luke 8:26 In fear and amazement....
In fear and amazement they asked each other, who is this? He commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him.
Who are you? I said to him in my mind, as we circled around the steadied boat. No fish had ever seen the like, a silenced storm, turned out as sharply as a candle dropped into our world from above. We knew who had done it, of course. The man who had walked across the water. The man whose still presence at the bottom of the boat had maddened the wind, sent it screaming across the earth as we had rarely heard, even in the depths of winter. And this was summer. Such a strange summer storm.
No one can quiet the wind, we said to each other. And the waters, around him. Quiet like his voice, placid like his steps across the waves. And yet so strong, so steadfast, so steel-like, that even the wind turned tail. Not just the disciples, as their Bible puts it, but all of us, heaven earth and sea, we did not know what to make of it. Or of him.
Is it reasonable to be terrified, as we were, of such a quiet, gentle man?
Who are you? I said to him in my mind, as we circled around the steadied boat. No fish had ever seen the like, a silenced storm, turned out as sharply as a candle dropped into our world from above. We knew who had done it, of course. The man who had walked across the water. The man whose still presence at the bottom of the boat had maddened the wind, sent it screaming across the earth as we had rarely heard, even in the depths of winter. And this was summer. Such a strange summer storm.
No one can quiet the wind, we said to each other. And the waters, around him. Quiet like his voice, placid like his steps across the waves. And yet so strong, so steadfast, so steel-like, that even the wind turned tail. Not just the disciples, as their Bible puts it, but all of us, heaven earth and sea, we did not know what to make of it. Or of him.
Is it reasonable to be terrified, as we were, of such a quiet, gentle man?
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
Luke 8:26 "Where is your faith?" he asked his disciples
I am dumbfounded. Tears streak my eyes. I am fifteen years old and I have been in the Holy Convent of Mary Magdelene since I was twelve, the earliest day they would admit me, my father bringing me to the door and paying dowry in the time-honoured way. I was desperate to be a nun. A surefire way to heaven, I believed. Now, here I am, three years later, and the abbess is mounting a campaign against me, my father is too powerful to have friends in all the right places, he has enemies and those who wish to curb his influence, they have taken a dislike to him and have put pressure on her to refuse his daughter. It should be the day of my vows, but they have been postponed.And the worst of it is that she is right, the question she asks is apt, even if her reasons and motivations are clouded. "Where is your faith?" If I had true faith, I think, this setback would not upset me, I would leave this convent with the same joy with which I entered it three years before. I would know that God was in His heaven, and all was well with His world, and that the minor setbacks that I encountered were nothing besides the glory and heavenly splendour of his world.
Tuesday, 8 April 2008
Luke 8:25b Jesus Calms the Storm
He got up and rebuked the wind and raging waters: the wind subsided, and all was calm.
It is rare that we notice a storm, from the depths of the lake. Oh, we have our currents and our tides: the waters in which we live and breathe hurl us one way or another, in unexpected directions at times. But the winds which churn up the surfaces rarely trouble us. They are like wrinkles far above.
This storm, though, was strong enough to twist fronds and scatter rocks even on the lake floor. We were rocked, tossed, turned, as though the lake itself was twisting upwards, splaying itself out into the air above our world. As if - I almost wondered - as if it was trying to upend one of the boats that flailed and shivered above.
When it stopped, it stopped suddenly. Not like a natural gale, blowing itself out. No, this was like a performance of an opera, brought to a sudden close by the conductor: so that in the tingling silence afterwards you were aware of the strength and passion of the final note. And the lake waters subsided almost sullenly, as if they had been matched, then outdone in strength.
I always wondered what it was, that could come from beyond the sea and produce such a calm. A calm, a quiet, stronger and more striking than the noise of the storm.
It is rare that we notice a storm, from the depths of the lake. Oh, we have our currents and our tides: the waters in which we live and breathe hurl us one way or another, in unexpected directions at times. But the winds which churn up the surfaces rarely trouble us. They are like wrinkles far above.
This storm, though, was strong enough to twist fronds and scatter rocks even on the lake floor. We were rocked, tossed, turned, as though the lake itself was twisting upwards, splaying itself out into the air above our world. As if - I almost wondered - as if it was trying to upend one of the boats that flailed and shivered above.
When it stopped, it stopped suddenly. Not like a natural gale, blowing itself out. No, this was like a performance of an opera, brought to a sudden close by the conductor: so that in the tingling silence afterwards you were aware of the strength and passion of the final note. And the lake waters subsided almost sullenly, as if they had been matched, then outdone in strength.
I always wondered what it was, that could come from beyond the sea and produce such a calm. A calm, a quiet, stronger and more striking than the noise of the storm.
Monday, 7 April 2008
Luke 8:24
The disciples went and woke him, saying, 'Master, master, we're going to drown!'
Sometimes it was awful following Jesus. He lay there in the bottom of the boat and when we shook him, I just knew he was going to open his eyes and say something patronising, like, relax, don't worry, I am the king of the universe. And don't get me wrong, I knew he was the Son of God and all, Messiah dah-dee-dah-dee-dah, I'd left my family and my work and my friends to follow him, but there was just something about the way you knew he was there, he was probably going to have a solution, he'd just fallen asleep to test our courage or something, everything was in God's hands and we were all right, but there's something about watching the waves whip up into a whirlpool and send your boat spinning in circles, half full of water, that makes your legs shake and your teeth chatter, so that you cry out for your mamma in fear, and wait for death to arrive. Even if you don't want to. Even if you believe He's the Son of God.
Sometimes it was awful following Jesus. He lay there in the bottom of the boat and when we shook him, I just knew he was going to open his eyes and say something patronising, like, relax, don't worry, I am the king of the universe. And don't get me wrong, I knew he was the Son of God and all, Messiah dah-dee-dah-dee-dah, I'd left my family and my work and my friends to follow him, but there was just something about the way you knew he was there, he was probably going to have a solution, he'd just fallen asleep to test our courage or something, everything was in God's hands and we were all right, but there's something about watching the waves whip up into a whirlpool and send your boat spinning in circles, half full of water, that makes your legs shake and your teeth chatter, so that you cry out for your mamma in fear, and wait for death to arrive. Even if you don't want to. Even if you believe He's the Son of God.
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