A Meditation on Lazarus

Yes, I'd read the story in the eleventh chapter of the gospel of John several times. Every time I read it or I listen to a sermon on it I tend to pick up a new nuance or an undiscovered application for my life. Topsy turvy, broken dreams, unrealized potential, and unfulfilled effort, cold and still seem to litter my legacy.

This time I was asked to give a lesson on Lazarus' story, and a welcome answer to a particularly difficult problem came. My pupils were children: a small Sunday school class of six- to nine-year-olds is all it took. As I explained to them the basics of this story, I pointed out to them the expectation of man.

"What do you think Jesus will do when he finds out his dear Lazarus is sick?" Of course we all thought Jesus should go and heal his beloved Lazarus and we were all surprised when Jesus let Lazarus die and we all wonder why Jesus would do that. Then Martha echoes the same sentiment, "If you had been here, my brother would not have died." Mary the other sister repeats, "If you had been here, my brother would not have died." Even some people watching on asked, "Couldn't he have done something to keep Lazarus from dying?"

On a smaller scale, I find myself in the same crowd. Where were you Jesus? I need you now. ... and nothing happens. An opportunity dies, or a possibility collapses. ... nothing. Sanity seems to fade. ... nothing. And then burial ... and decay ... of what was so dear to me. Dead and gone and moving on, it would seem.

Many saw Lazarus walk out of his tomb and were astonished. Everything they thought they knew securely died as the dead man came forth.

Oh now I remember. Something will happen that not only will raise me up, but also those around staring at me walking out of my own grave. It has happened to me before, it will happen to me again soon, and it will certainly happen on a literal level later.

Kind of takes the sting out of "not yet".

Poetry Considering ...

The following are lyrics to a song I wrote -- a consideration of similarity in all of creation or reality.

ARE WE ONE?
by Joseph Bishara

Twists and swirls, symphonic curls,
spinning round in endless worlds, dancing geography.
Pulsing flows only shows within my body it echoes
the same choreography.
Are we one? Are we one?

Lightning stripes a clouded sky. Flashing thoughts cloud my mind.
Am I a microcosm? Who am I?
Who are we? one? Are we one?

Some use hereafter to justify disaster
others say we're just here, just now.
But violence in blasphemy, And this-is-it mentality
diminshes the history yet to be ... yet to be.

Nation domination, or rational damnation
make no sense to me at all.
The heart must decide what the mind does hide
Breech the fence, open wide, make it fall.

Did you make you? Did I make me?
Or are we allowed to make in us what we were made to be?
are we one? are we one?

Do I personify an ages-old soothing lie?
Believing in something that isn't there?
Possibly.
Or am I blind to see, Love made you and me,
a cosmic family tree? And something IS there after all?
Probably.

We are one. We are one.

Are we made the same?
how many snakes remain
in pharaoh's court?
many or one? many then one.

Let every rod be cast, the truth will be the last,
that snake upon a mast will heal me.
victory.
make me one. make us one.

Quantity and Discipline after Belief in Value

I've just finished listening to Ted Koppel's recitation of his book Off Camera. It was like reading the journal entry of someone who wasn't all that excited to be writing. But what impressed me was the discipline it took to write it. Koppel picks a topic, no matter how unimpressive, and reflects on it for a whole coherent entry. Judging from his writing and his thought processes, this is a man who chews his food thoroughly before swallowing. But as unimpressive as an inidividual entry may have been (his early reflections on President Bill Clinton's scandal in office come to mind), the collection of entries were nevertheless consistent as a unified product - an informed examination of whatever daily occurence, global or personal, had gotten stuck in the formidably critical synapses of his mind.

As I was finishing the book, I began to compare, as I often do when reading accounts of others, I began to compare and contrast myself against Koppel. I do this, I am convinced, to see if I might take away some positive aspect of his nature and incorporate it into my own. Clearly, the man is educated, but so am I. The difference is Koppel finds a way to exercise his education with his journalism. In this book, he flexes his formal training and seasoned journalism to deliver quantity - the guarantor of quality.

As with all exercise, the undisciplined need not apply. What was it that made Koppel sit down and reflect on his childhood, european conflict, public fascination, the nature of journalism, etc. for a whole book? The answer may be as simple as a publisher's advance, or a contract, or some other non-profound condition, only Koppel knows. However, the answer that struck me was that he must have a belief in the value of his mind: belief in value are the key words. How else would he have applied his mind for an entire year.

So that's what I take away from Koppel -- belief in my own value. That's what I have resolved to take from Koppel's book and to infuse into my own mind, and then discipline, and then quantity, and then quality -- starting with this blog.

What I propose paints a wonderfully fractal, reflexive circle of butterfly logic: We shall see if my reslove to believe in the value of the belief in my own resolve is visible to all.