"there is a great gulf fixed...."

"all you ever wanted
was my heart, my simple heart
to You, that's all
that really mattered...”

Selah's  "Broken Ladders"  reminds me that when I follow Jesus' example, I am following someone who loves God more than self. Someone who is so willing to deny the ego -- at all costs.

It is his life of self-examination and humility that touches me most deeply these days. Every story, every parable, every wise word, and selfless deed is a signpost leading me into a deeper sense of my own oneness with God.

And this oneness with the divine cannot exist where there is a separate ego that I am defending, grooming, protecting, exalting. But within a deeper desire to for self-nothingness, every gospel story comes alive with new meaning and guidance.

This week, it was the parable of the rich man, and the beggar:

"There was a certain rich man, which was clothed in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day:

And there was a certain beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at his gate, full of sores, And desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich man's table.

And it came to pass, that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into Abraham's bosom: the rich man also died, and was buried;

And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. And he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame.

But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things: but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented.

And beside all this, between us and you there is a great gulf fixed: so that they which would pass from hence to you cannot; neither can they pass to us, that would come from thence."

There are a few more citations to this parable -- but this is the part that was included in my Scriptural study this week, so I am focusing on it.

For such a long time, I thought that Jesus, in the telling of this parable, was judging the rich, and comforting the poor. But something about it has never sat peacefully with me.

It just seems so contrary to the same Jesus who refused to get embroiled in judging the woman who was "taken in adultery, in the very act." The Jesus who would rather write in the sand, than weigh in on an obvious case of moral turpitude.

But, if I am nothing else, I am persistent. Or as my teacher and mentor once said, "you are like a dog after a bone, when it comes to this "stuff." No argument here.

Speaking of dogs and bones -- that is where this parable came to life for me. As I read it, listened to it, and studied it over-and-over-again this week, one section in particular stood out to me:

"And desiring to be fed with the crumbs
which fell from the rich man's table..."

It was like a bur in my side. I knew that passage felt familiar. And I knew exactly where it was from. It is, for me, one of the most profound shifts in Jesus' ministry:

"And, behold, a woman of Canaan came out of the same coasts, and cried unto him, saying, Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou son of David; my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil.

But he answered her not a word. And his disciples came and besought him, saying, Send her away; for she crieth after us. But he answered and said, I am not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel.

Then came she and worshipped him, saying, Lord, help me.

But he answered and said, It is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it to dogs.

And she said, Truth, Lord: yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters' table.

Then Jesus answered and said unto her, O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt. And her daughter was made whole from that very hour."

And suddenly I could see, this was not a parable in which Jesus was passing judgment on the behavior of others, but a window on his own inner wrestling.

Before the Canaanite woman's approach and cross-questioning, Jesus was on the fast-track to becoming the Messiah. A royal priesthood. Someone clad in the finest linen and purple. The Messiah was a nationalistic leader. He was expected to defend the Jewish nation's right to the promised land, as the chosen people.

But this woman - a non-Jew no less - throws the worst kind of wrench in that plan. She brings his plan into alignment with his message.  And without pointing fingers, she helps him see the inconsistency. Once seen, his entire ministry shifts.

He begins referring to Samaritans and strangers in his parables. He is giving water to the woman at the well in Samaria. He is found eating with Greeks and Romans. His love is inclusive. His message is universal. His healing is impartial. All are worth, all are welcome, all are whole. The kingdom of God is his nation and it is within everyone. The child of God is his brethren. The beggar - hungering after righteousness, health, and comfort -- is his mentor.

But, he must have also wrestled with the once-upon-a-time arrogance of  "I am not sent, but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel [the Jewish nation.]"  How to reconcile his own journey from royal priesthood to hungry beggar? How to gently -- but honestly -- share this shift with his disciples and his followers? How to humbly own his journey? How to love us enough to let us walk this path with him?  A parable.

And, I love that through this parable, he claims his right to identify himself rightly - with the beggar - when he says:

"And between us and you [the rich man]
there is a great gulf fixed:

so that they which would pass from hence to you cannot; neither can they pass to us, that would come from thence."

Such complete redemption.  Such a clear sense of no longer being on that side of the gulf.  Of that old, self-certain "rich man," who can never again cross over, and enter his consciousness of being. He claims his place on the side of the beggar - those hungry for the Love of an all-inclusive Father.

He reminds us that once we have seen the impartial and universal nature of God's love for all -- we can never return to the hell of hierarchies. The brimstone of thinking that there are those who are worthy, and those who are less.  The uncertainty of wondering which side of the gulf we will find ourselves on at any given moment.

Can I just say how much I love this man's example of self-examination and compassion. I love him - more than I can possibly say. Selah's song says what is in my heart:

"Wonderful, merciful Savior,
precious redeemer and friend;

who would have thought
that a Lamb would,
rescue the souls of men? "

offered with Love,

Cate

"counselor, comforter, keeper...."

"counselor,
comforter, keeper;
Spirit we long to embrace.

You offer hope
when our hearts have
hopeless lost their way..."

Yes, this is the same song from the previous post. But sometimes a song begs to be heard, until every word has blessed the listener. Selah's "Wonderful, Merciful Savior"  is one of those songs for me.

I have written about this song's lessons of redemption and mercy before. But tonight, it's all about "counselor." As someone who loves camp and couldn't be more grateful for the counselors that have nurtured my daughters over the years - I've always thought of a camp counselor when I've heard Christ referred to as "counselor."  And over the years, I thought I'd fully plumbed that relationship.

But listening to its message again tonight, I was touched by the song's call to revisit its  Scriptural inspiration -- Isaiah 9:6:

"For unto us a child is born,
unto us a son is given:
and the government
shall be upon his shoulder:
and his name shall be called
Wonderful, Counsellor,
The mighty God,
The everlasting Father,
The Prince of Peace."

But this time it wasn't a camp counselor that came to mind, but the defense counsel in a court of law.

I've written before about my love for law, my desire to enter the practice of law as a human rights attorney, and the moment I discovered that the word "comforter," -- as it appears in Scripture -- is translated from the original Aramaic as:

"counsel for the defense"

It was a pivotal moment in my life. One that clarified the course of my life's purpose -- forever. In that moment, I realized that as a Christian Science practitioner, I was already in the practice of law.

I had already been to law school -- through Christian Science class instruction.  I had a copy of Science and Health withKey to the Scriptures -- which continued to teach me everything I needed to know about the practice of spiritual law.  I had the Bible -- filled with every precedent-setting case I would ever need.  Yes, I was already engaged in defending the spiritual rights of humanity in my work serving the chief Counsel -- Christ.

I was not a partner in the firm -- partnership was never going to be an option.  There was only one "Counselor." At any given moment, I was the receptionist, the law librarian, the paralegal, the billing clerk in this sacred office. But the Christ -- operating in the hearts and minds of each client -- was the only "Counsel for the defense."

Since that day, almost thirty years ago, I have arrived at work each day with a clear sense that I serve in a law office. I have not modeled its operation after a clinical practice, but a law practice. This clear sense of what is practiced here has never failed to provide the structure and discipline for an office that is engaged in defending innocence, rather than fixing brokenness. Here, the Christ rests each case on cited Scriptural precedence.

Yet, even after thirty years of serving in this law office, I had not seen the reference to "counselor," -- in the passage from Isaiah -- as scriptural validation. The prophet's vision for Christ's promise, was not one of reparation, but of spiritual exoneration -- defending innocence and freedom -- for all.

The real comfort of the Comforter, is found in its coincidence with the law-based activity of the "Counselor." Isaiah prophetically brings the operation of the Comforter into partnership with the office of the Counselor.

We each face times when we are falsely accused of being mortal -- of being born into heredity, predisposed to poverty through socio-economic "beginnings," forever defined by our mistakes and choices. But Christ's love frees us from bondage. Stands with us in the court of Spirit, and defends our pre-existent, God-established, invariable perfection and purity. Christ lifts our hearts to hear the God-proclaimed verdict, "You are innocent. You are free."

Serving in this office is a joy. Opening the door each day, researching precedence, answering calls and taking messages, listening for guidance, and helping to prepare briefs [or treatments] for court - it is my greatest joy. Each client's innocence is constitutionally guaranteed under the higher law of Love. And the Christ never loses a case.


offered with Love,

Kate

"to know the Truth..."

"You are the one that we praise,
You are the one we adore,
You give the healing and grace,
our hearts always hunger for..."

Selah's recording of "Wonderful, Merciful Savior" was just the simple message my heart was hungering for today.

I have been thinking about two Scriptural messages this afternoon:

"Ye shall know the Truth,
and the Truth shall make you free."

and:

"Be still and know,
that I am God."

These are simple messages. And this is a simple post. I have spent the last few years quietly aware of the difference between thinking and knowing. For me, thinking happens in the head, while knowing is a presence in the heart. Thinking is the human mind doing what it love best -- reasoning, assessing, processing. While knowing is the silencing of the human mind and giving space to the radiance of divine Truth flowing from the kingdom of God -- within.

I have become keenly aware of how often the human mind wants to justify itself by thinking about God. But Consciousness is not waiting for the engagement of the human mind. Consciousness -- the ever-presence of the divine Mind - as impartial and universal Love -- is not contingent upon an engaged human thinker -- any more than the law of gravity is contingent upon our thinking about it's operation, in order for us to be held to the earth.

Mahatma Gandhi wrote:

"Whether mankind will every consciously
follow the law of Love, I do not know.
But he law will work, just as
the law of gravitation will work,
whether we accept it our not."

The egoic human mind loves to think that it is a vital partner in the operation of divine law. It needs to feel that its cooperation is necessary for God to be God. But whether we are thinking about God, or just letting God be All-in-all to us, it doesn't change this ever-operative law of Love.

I read, I pray, I study, I worship -- because I love God. Not because God needs my consent in order to be God to me. I love reading about His nature, listening for His voice, hungering for ways to celebrate my love for Him. Loving Him is what I know in the very deepest part of me. It is not something I have to think about. I just know it. And what I know, frees me from what I think.  


offered with Love,

Kate

"the unspeakable gift..."

"Wonderful, merciful savior,
precious redeemer and friend --
Who would have thought that a lamb could
rescue the hearts of men..."

I realized today that I am not ready to return to "business as usual." I love this season. I love the focus on the nativity. On the life story of Jesus of Nazareth.

I was watching this  beautiful video of Selah's "Wonderful, Merciful Savior," and remembered how meaningful it was for me to discover Mary Baker Eddy's own love for Jesus. I've written about that night, briefly, in the post, "One December Night in 1910."

Since then I've seen how deeply she loved Jesus. Not just the Christ he embodied, but the man who was willing to be "the highest representative" of that office.

Sitting next to her bed that December night, looking up at the portrait of Jesus which hung on the opposite wall, in her direct line of sight from where she slept -- and faced her darkest moments -- I realized how important his example was for her...and is for me.

It is not just his divinity that inspires, but its coincident humanity. The bold boy, the eager student, the hard-working carpenter, the tired passenger, the patient teacher -- the tempted, the angry, the forsaken, the forgiving, the merciful -- the willing man of God, the playful son of Mary.

When I think of those "unspeakable gifts," we are asked to give thanks for, it is his humanity that chokes me up. Those are the "gifts" that leave me speechless. 

I think it's why I love this little film clip (with it's subtitles) that underscores Selah's, "Wonderful, Merciful." It reminds me that this was a boy, a woman's son, a father's apprentice, someone's friend. He was part of a community.

When I was in high school I served and participated actively on the teen board for my local Adventure Unlimited Chapter. I loved it so much. But because we only met for activities once a month and held board meetings even less frequently, and I often missed the camaraderie of those gatherings.

Fortunately, our rural high school had an active non-denominational youth group that met weekly to plan and host activities that were wholesome and fun. I loved this too, since most of my high school friends were active in this group.  And as much as I enjoyed bowling, or ice skating, it was the conversations that kept me coming back.

There was one in particular conversation that I will never forget. It was with a guy I'd watched from a distance for a long time. He was peaceful in a way that wasn't lonely. He seemed to be just as happy hacking around with his friends in the hallway at school, as he was sitting alone in the library staring out the window at a migrating community of geese.

I wanted what he had.

One night, after a dance at our town community center, he'd taken a break from the pick up basketball game in the gym to come sit outside and get some fresh air. I was there to find relief from the room-jarring noise level. 

 He sat down on the bench next to me, and didn't say anything for a while. So I didn't either. We knew one another well enough to say "hi" in the halls and to participate in group discussions about faith and politics, but we'd never spoken one-on-one.

After a few moments he asked me, "Have you received Jesus as your Lord and Savior?"

I thought this was a pretty bold, and personal, question to start a conversation with. And I was caught off guard enough to answer it without self-editing. I said, "No, we don't do that in my church."

"Hmmm," he said, "you might want to do that some day." Then he turned to me, gave me a hug, said he would pray for me, and got up and went back to his basketball game. And although we became better friends through the rest of high school, we never talked about that conversation again.

And for as long as I knew him, I never felt my faith was questioned, wondered about, or judged. But his question never left me.

After high school, and the sudden passing of my dad, I explored many philosophies, religions, and beliefs systems before coming back to my childhood faith. But I was never led to formally "accept Jesus" as my personal savior and "be saved." I wasn't opposed to it. It just hadn't been part of my faith journey.

But that night, after sitting next to Mary Baker Eddy's bed and seeing Jesus' portrait on the wall not 15 feet from where she faced her darkest moments, I knew I wanted -- and needed -- to feel a sense of "relationship" with Jesus, as much as I felt with "the Christ." Both became important to me.

In her, Miscellaneous Writings 1883 - 1896, Eddy suggests that:

"It is most fitting that Christian Scientists
memorize the nativity of Jesus."

As I've studied her writings, I've also learned how deeply she felt about Jesus -- someone she identified as "the greatest man who trod the globe."

I love him too. More than words can say. He is the man who has had the most profound influence on my life. He is the man I want most to emulate in my all ways. He is the teacher I have learned the most from.  He is the model of true humanhood for me.

I think my high school friend knew that I needed to have this kind of relationship with Jesus. 

 Knowing all that Jesus was able to navigate with deep spiritual grace and poise, I can see why my friend was so unconditionally peaceful.

We learn most, from those we love most. 

with every hope...

Kate