Bethlehem

It was about 2700 years ago that an ancient Hebrew prophet, Micah, spoke prophetically to his people about a Messiah who would be born into their midst. Several centuries later, a child was born in Bethlehem whose life and life’s work and wise teaching changed the world. In the biblical book attributed to the prophet Micah, he prophesied: “But you, Bethlehem . . . though you are small among the clans of Judah, out of you will come one who will be ruler over Israel.” The child whose birth was foretold was Jesus. During his lifetime, his role as king was rejected by the leaders in Israel. His messianic/prophetic role was judged illegitimate by the important Hebrews who were ruling Palestine in cahoots with their overlords, the Roman occupiers. However, a small band of disciples gathered around Jesus during the years that he lived, taught, and performed miracles. The biblical accounts of Jesus’ teachings, the historical records of his miracles. . . and his suffering a criminal death before being raised from death. . . were later documented in the Bible. The biblical account of Jesus’ birth, life, death and Resurrection can be found in the four gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. If you can believe the gospel writers, then you are a person whose faith has been completed by the birth, life, death, resurrection and salvation of Jesus Christ. In every Christmas season, Jesus’ miraculous birth in Bethlehem is recalled and celebrated all around the world. Bethlehem is a fascinating place; We visited the city when we were in Israel, four years ago. We entered the church that is traditionally thought to be the spot where Jesus was born. Having been raised Catholic, I was not surprised by my visit to the Church of the Nativity. it is, visually and spiritually, an ecclesiastical wonder, a tribute to the majesty of the King of Kings. Bethlehem was a pleasant city; the merchants are helpful and eager to sell their wares, which included fine clothing that we Americans do not typically wear, although the merchants were eager to amend our yankee clothing prefaces by draping their fine garb over our shoulders.

As Americans, however, we were quite aware that we were strangers in a strange land. We weren’t in Kansas any more, or Baltimore, or Charlotte. . . As we were leaving Bethlehem, we encountered a few features of Bethlehem that revealed just how different the place is from say, Charlotte. Crossing what appeared to be the main street, we heard some gun shots from somewhere not far away. We did not know what was happening, but one member of our small group became quite resolute about scooting away from there, getting out of Dodge, so to speak. So it seems Peace on Earth is not exactly the order of the day in Bethlehem. I mean, it is on. . .you know, the West Bank. Nothing wrong with the West Bank, of course. But most of the Jewish citizens live in Tel Aviv, or in some kibbutz, or Jerusalem. The West Bank is understood to be pretty much Arab territory. Driving back to Jerusalem on the main highway, we noticed that the Jewish settlement we saw from afar was completely enclosed by a high wall, with elaborate security hardware roundabout. I’m not complaining or criticizing; Israel is what it is. But I do know that all these Israelis—be they Jew or Muslim—are men and women who were saved—if they are willing to accept it— by the Prophet who had been born in Bethlehem. . . who lived, taught and performed miracles for three years before being crucified to death and raised back to life on the third day.

Surviving Death

Two men in human history crossed the death line and then returned to life. The first, a man named Lazarus, was dead in a tomb, when Jesus called him back into life. The second, Jesus, having been tortured to death on a Roman cross, walked out of his tomb, returned to life and spent 40 days with his disciples before being taken up into the eternal realm of everlasting life. I’m going with Him! There are only two man in history who died and then lived to tell about it. There was Lazarus, who is my predecessor in eternal life. He survived death because Jesus called him. After 73 years on this earth, and noticing that my body ain’t what it usee to be. I’m on long slide downhill into the cold, cold ground. But the real person that I am, my spirit, will survive bodily death when I am called to eternal life by Jesus the (one and only) Christ. In all of human history, only one man died and then lived to tell about it. In 1977, Jesus gave me an opportunity to join him—when my “time” comes—in eternity. No great person in history—no president, no general, no prophet, nor priest has the power to open that door for me. Jesus is the only one having power over our ultimate enemy—death. I’m going with him. How about you? I'm going with him.

The way I imagine it, in a vision like Jacob's, he'll drop a ladder from on high and I'll climb up from my little hole in the ground and join Jesus, with His millions of followers. What say ye? Can you believe it? What do you have to lose?. . .your little covered-up hole in the ground? your box of ashes? King of Soul King of Soul

The Least of These

There is only one man who ever lived in history and died, but then, conquered death by rising from the grave: Jesus Christ.  Here is a parable. . . a part of his life-message that reveals what is right and what is wrong in this life. From the ancient book of his disciple, Matthew, chapter 25, we find:  When the Son of Man returns in his glory. . . All the nations will be gathered before Him; and He will separate them from one another, as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, He will put the sheep on His right, and the goats on the left. Then He will say to those on his right, "Come . . .inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world." " I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited me in. . . naked, and you clothed me; I was sick and you visited me; I was in prison and you came to visit with me."

Then the righteous Christians will answer Him, "Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty, and give you something to drink?" "And when did we see you a stranger, and invite you in, or naked, and clothed you? When did we see you sick, or in prison, and come to visit you?" "The Son of Man will answer and say to them, . . . to whatever extent that you did it to one of these, the least of these people of mine, you did it to me!" So we see that the Lord did not deport them, but He had mercy, and gave them a chance to begin a new life. In the here and now of American history, we find that this great nation was founded upon the belief that all men are due a second chance at getting this thing called life. . . right! So send us your tired, your weary, your huddled masses yearning to be free!  Don't deport! Support! those huddled masses yearning to be free. This is what America is all about.  King of Soul

Dick and Jane Doe

Dick and Jane have their piece of the world at the corner of Elm street and Smith avenue. Their eight-tenths of an acre homestead features a garage door on the left, at the terminus of their driveway. The Does' front door is in the middle of their home's front;, on the right side is a bedroom window. Inside they have a kitchen, a dining room, a living room and a bedroom, a stairway and two bedrooms upstairs. Their yard is well-kept; the two cars are clean and well-maintained.

Dick's 40-hour gig is at the widget factory, seven miles away, near betlway exit 17 which says "Pleasant Valley." Jane serves as substitute teacher at nearby McWillie elementary school, where Johnny, Sally and Edith are enrolled. They watch network TV at night. On weekends Dick likes pro football on weekends, a smattering of baseball in summertime. At night they watch sitcoms and dramas on flixnet an amazon. Dick and Jane their nose to the grindstone and their hands on the wheel of American fortune that supplies their needs. They don't much about the supply chain that brings such bounty to their domain. They're not hip to the latest and greatest tunes turning up and down and over and out on the net or the web or the x or the faceblot. They've not thought much about natural resources that grown in Amazon jungles. What they do know is that Amazon delivers stuff to them once a week or so on the doorstep, and on most evenings via the web and the net. So they don't keep track of carbon emissions, or rainforests in the actual Amazon river basin, or the tribes of people who live there. They are not privy to the tokenisation of the natural world or the global carbon market or satellite surveillance or predatory institutions or the wall street casino or the buying and selling of carbon blahblahs for the sake of putting a tether on global warming or climate change or whatever we're calling it these days. They're not linked into the technocracy or blackrock or the AI underclass or the silicon overlords. They're perfectly content with our new-feudalism, or what ever the wizards of academia are calling it nowadays. They use social media platforms on their phones to stay in touch with Aunt Matilda and Uncle Joe and cousins Luke and Lucy. Deep fakes mean nothing to them; they live in the real world. No deep fakes for them. They are grounded in common sense, a mortgage, car payments and media networks for unwinding at night. The analogue future is not on their radar. They have no use for a sentient chatbot or cryptocurrency or stable coins or programmable CVDCs. They can remember, back in the day, hearing about, learning about the robber barons of old and the gold rush in California and then World War I, the roaring '20's, crash of '29, The Depression and then the World War II and the D-day invasion and the Battle of the Bulge and the horror of Auschwitz and then Hiroshima/Nagasaki and then, and then. . . The golden age of the '50's when Dick and Jane were growing up with Howdy Doody and Lassie and Buffalo Bill and Romper Room, Ozzie and Harriet and Walt Disney and then Johnny Carson and what happened in Dallas on November 22, 1963, and then. . . and then. . . I forget what happened after that. Give me a minute. To hear a song about all this stuff, listen: Boomer's Choice

Banana/maga Republic

Sitting around the extended family table during Thanksgiving-tide, discussions somehow degenerated to subjects that were dangerously close to politics. I made the mistake of mentioning to an in-law relative that our Republic was delivered from insurrectionary disaster by one brave Vice President. The defender of our Constitution was, on January 6, 2021, Mike Pence. Now it is popularly believed that trump chose Pence as his VP in 2020 because it was a favorable political arrangement. . . a Republican ticket led by a bad boy, but with a good boy strung along just to keep things decent. In our little confab around the big table, one member responded to my comment about Mike Pence with a statement that the Capitol police had set barricades aside so that the the crowd could enter the building. Say what? She must have watched the edited/redacted video versions that had been presented, a year or so ago, by some GOP guppy who was fishing for excuses about the insurrection, or maybe by some foxy video editor whose mission was to spoil the vines of public journalism. The videos I had seen, supplemented by hours and hours of testimony from the House Jan6 Committee enquiry - those videos were a visual testimony that the attackers at the Capitol had not gathered for a walk in the park, or a stride up the steps, or a stroll through the halls . . .

. . . but rather that: the attackers had intended to obstruct justice, through violence and unlawful disruption, by terminating the count of Electoral vote. The tallying of those Electoral votes was a duty of Congress that had been planned in the founding documents of our democratic republic, Constitutionally mandated - to be conducted by the Vice President of the United States. Mike Pence did his job that day. JD Vance, read 'em and vpleep. But I digress. So I learned my lesson yesterday evening: For a peaceful thanksgiving with extended family, don't talk politics. But I do harken back to the bountiful heritage of Thanksgiving: we can still be thankful for our United States of America, even if is, in 2025, being transformed into a banana-maga republic. I do like bananas, with a little peanut butter. Reminds me of that good ole boy peanut farmer from Georgia, Jimmy Carter. Where's Jimmy when we need him? But I know where Jimmy is now, because he was, as I am, born again. I am glad that this life on earth is not the whole deal. We who are born again have far more beautiful and righteous home awaiting us in the heavenly realms. I am Thankful for that! Thank God for eternal life, proven historically by the man from Galilee who was executed on a cross and then, three days later, lived to tell about it. King of Soul

The New Song

In the midst of our first snowfall of the season, a visitor stopped by at the window, to provide the first hint of yuletide color.

I thought of the words that Jesus had spoken long ago:  "Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them." So I was pleased to serve as an instrument of God's will by providing seedpods, which they crack open with their beaks and then pluck for food. I am grateful to the Lord, who created the bird, and provided an abundance of resources so that I could feed the bird and so that I can, and have been for 43 years, providing for the family that the Lord birthed, through Pat, to me and her.  But shortly before that album and our union in marriage, many years ago, the Lord provided for me resources and opportunities to compose and record, on vinyl LP, a record of original and traditional songs sung for the glory of the Lord who was born in Bethlehem long ago.  Revelation 5:9The message sent out on those vinyl grooves concluded with the phrase, "and they sang a new song, saying," "Worthy are You to take the book and to break its seals; for you were slain, and purchased for God, with your blood, men from every tribe and tongue and people and nation." . . . which is to say, Jesus "purchased" all persons on earth who are willing to join Him instead of hooking up with the pricipalities and powers and wise guys and deceivers and magamaniacs who think they are in charge of this world. How about you? Perhaps some day you'll join us. You can hear the song here: Revelation 5:9

The Henry and the donald

Henry VIII was the tyrant king of England from 1509 until 1547. He was a MEGA king. (Make England Go Awry) Anybody who got in his way, he just pushed them aside and did whatever he wanted to do. He was a misoginyst. His first wife, Catherine gave birth to a bunch of daughters. But those future queens did not match his expectations, so he ditched Catherine and hooked up with another consort, Anne. But there was a clusterfud of complications surrounding that switcheroo. There was a problem with his desire for her, because scripture (this was a time when the MAGAs of that day were pseudo-religious). . . scripture forbade him to ditch Catherine and marry his brother's wife. He wanted the pope to annul his marriage to Catherine but the pope wouldn't go along with it. So in order to grant himself legitimacy, Henry forced his MAPA (Make a pope go away) lawyers to recognize him as blahblah head of the church of England instead of the pope, and just to make it plain who was in charge he conjured up a MEGA attack to get them to trash their ages-old religious legacy and replace it with MEGA (Make England Go Awry) abd ditch the fuddy-duddy pope and the church's old-school biblical rules. So the MEGAmaniacs stormed the steps of religious tradition and the halls of English Law; thus Henry was able to ditch Catherine and get himself hooked up with Anne. But she birthed girls too. . . a disappointment that intensified Henry's institutional assaults, which actually turned out to be all for naught anyway. Anne's daughter Lizzie was on the throne for sixty years, a rein of such longevity that it was not surpassed until her namesake, Elizabeth II reigned for an even longer period in the 20th century. Now I don't know but I been old that history doesn't repeat but it rhymes, and I think that's what we detect here in these modern times. In distant America, Henry's orange-headed monarchical stepchild, king donald of MarLago, conjured up legal and so-called evangelical psuedo-religious manipulations and insurrections to summon up a MAGA (Make America Go Awry) insurrection and trash the 14th amendment so he could put his fat ass back on the oval throne again. So we see that history does not repeat itself, but it does rhyme. Capitol barricades falling down, falling down, Capitol bridges falling down, MAGA breaky. 

Glass half-Full