I-YOUniverse

3:38 a.m.

The house is still. A nightlight glows in the hall. Outside thunder grumbles, lightning peeks in the windows. Gustav ravages the Gulf. Lord, have mercy.

On the coffee table in plastic bags lies the booty of yesterday’s raids on craft stores.

9 a.m. yesterday.

I load up on pain meds before we leave the house. We drive through Burger King for a sausage biscuit, a bacon cheese wrapper, cini minis, milk and coffee; park in some shade and eat, listening to a Selah CD. In college we used to drive through and eat our 19 cent lunch in the car together.

At Michael’s, the craft store, Sandy lugs my wheelchair out of the trunk. I wish she’d ask for help. (The spiritual drama for today is my control issue. Silently I pray about letting go.)

We find half off beads and things.

• Plain brown wood for the Hail Mary beads
• Wire wagon wheels for the Our Father beads
• A beautiful cream pendant for the main cross
• Rustic brown/black beads for the Hail Mary
• Wire shells for the Our Father
• Gray ceramic beads for the Hail Mary
• Medium black ceramic flat rectangles for the Our Father
• Small crosses, three per package
• Turquoise colored stones for a Christmas necklace
• Twine to practice knots
• Needles to thread beads
• A plastic case to hold everything

I ask the clerk to get some help for Sandy loading the wheelchair into the trunk. No sweat.

By now it’s noon. We come home to take a break, more meds; have leftovers for lunch. But what leftovers! Yesterday Sandy made a filo pie with chicken, dates, olives, ginger, almonds for our friend Mary Fran’s birthday. There are two slices remaining. It’s one of those dishes whose flavor deepens if you leave it a day or two. We had a side of broccoli and rice, and fresh tomatoes from the ceramic pot on the ramp.

After rest and prayers, we make another run. We start with soft serve ice cream cones and coffee at McD’s. Coffee counteracts the sedative drag of meds.

This time to Ben Franklin’s at Short Pump. It’s a brand new store in the upscale part of town. We expect the store to be more accessible than the old one on Patterson Avenue. But the aisles are cramped. I negotiate the wheelchair like a camel in a needle’s eye.

Sandy’s looking at something, and I set off on my own to find some yarn. Suddenly, I find my way blocked by narrow aisles. I can only go one way. Turning corners I get hung up on wire baskets full of yarn and craft supplies. A display of artificial sun flowers blocks the end of the aisle.

 I can’t move.

I call for Sandy. No answer. She’s several aisles away, looking for me.

We mention the problems I’m having to an employee. She says they tell management, who claim they can’t change anything. Sandy says she’ll complain; “Don’t make a scene,” I say.

At checkout I bitch about how cruddy accessibility is in the store and ask for help loading the wheelchair. The clerk calls for Mr. Somebody. Management, I guess. When he sees what she wants, he tells her to get a kid named Henry to help. Henry’s friendly and eager to assist.

Afterthought: I should have insisted that Mr. Somebody help load the chair. Maybe it would open his eyes. That, or maybe I shoulda pulled down the wire display my wheelchair was hung up on.

One fruit of prayer is…patience. Damn.

We play Selah on the car CD.

Home. We talk about making a rosary after dinner. What a great day it’s been! Feels like a holiday weekend. It’s been a year or more since I’ve ventured out this much.

Sandy organizes all the beads. But after dinner, we both agree to put off making anything until tomorrow.

Thanks, Lord! What a great day You’ve given us together!

A bead is a bead is a bead, a knot is a knot—what counts is the heart!

William Congdon, crucifix 64, 1973.

webpage here. (I didn’t see permissions policy or copyright notice. I’ll be glad to abide by one if copyright holder lets me know.)

I’m learning to pray using the Catholic Rosary as a “method”—the word John Paul II used to describe the Rosary in his encyclical here. The page I refer to as I say the Rosary is here.

This morning I said the Rosary entire, all 20 mysteries, just to see what it’s like. I don’t know if experimentation takes away from the merit of the thing or not. But I don’t much care about merit, to be blunt. All that stuff about the goodies you get for saying the Rosary demeans it, just from my viewpoint.

I figure I’m a sinner and I’m standin’ in the need o’ prayer—any how any where any time. Especially contemplative prayer.

Growing up I heard lots of people pooh pooh Catholics and ritual prayers. But I noticed that often our Baptist prayers were rote. People said the same words over and over again and again. Only we never thought through what we said, never paid any mind to the beauty or cadence of our words. It wasn’t ritual; it was rut.

Well, no sermons.

One, my fingers are sore after sliding paper clips 200 times through thumb and index finger. It’s a cloudy, rainy day. Arthritis likes to come out and play anyway on such days.

Two, it took one hour, 21 minutes. I’m lucky enough to have that much solitude. Most people don’t.

Three, I did announce each Mystery (event in Jesus’ life) and spiritual fruit prayed for three times, not once, so that I’ll learn them. The unfamiliar ones I read through the description of, which is on the website (above).

I like the pictures. But the people are all white. Not a Middle Eastern complexion among them. So they somewhat hindered my reflection. I had to keep reminding myself that Jesus looked like a terrorist is supposed to look like. The same is true for everyone around him.

Do I feel a deep sense of peace, or of God’s presence? Not particularly.

The thing about ritual is, you gotta put it in place, use it until the edges fray a bit. Then, some day when it’s the last thing on your mind, ka zam!

You feel the Holy Spirit. You’re suddenly on Cloud 9.

However—it’s a big however—the Spirit is there as you’re building the house, there during every boring day, just as fully as the day when the air tingles and your feet don’t touch the ground. Those FX are spiritual cotton candy, lots of fun, but not essential. And every carnivore on the midway, including Satan, has a large display of them.

Nobody was praising God for the cotton candy at the cross.

Above is the catalogue picture of the Rosary. I chose the light one from www.latinworksco.com. Jeanene Atkinson at www.RealLivePreacher.com has some beautiful pieces, but I’m not ready to commit when I may burn out in a few days. So I found the least expensive item and one that honors my Mexican grandmother and her ancestors.

This morning I tipped my hat to my Baptist DNA and prayed the alternative Rosary-like prayer using

• the Shema in place of the initial three Hail Marys,
• John 3.16-17 KJV in place of the 10 Hail Marys in each decade,
• verses from Romans 8 in place of Hail Holy Queen,
• the Aaronic blessing, and
• a Pauline doxology to close.

I followed the Sorrowful Mysteries as described on the Dominican website. (See Praying the Rosary 2.)

There’s nothing here to offend Protestants or Radical Reform descendants. And it passed by so fast, I couldn’t believe I was done.

The biggest problem was that my paper clips separate, so I twisted them with plyers.

John 3.16-17 KJV is as close to the Hal Mary as you can get, in terms of its emotional punch. And it’s virtually a prayer for the salvation of the world. I know grammatically, it’s not supplication but it doesn’t take much of a leap of faith to get from “that the world through him might be saved” to a plea for everyone’s salvation.

I also like sticking with scripture, although I list the Prayer of St. Francis as an alternative, and retained the Apostle’s Creed. OK classic Baptists say, “No creed but Christ,” but in these days of anything goes, I doubt if a good simple creed hurts anybody—as long as there’s no inquisitor around stabbing us with each jot or tittle.

Why not change elements from time to time? Micah 6.8 is such a powerful text. And I haven’t read the psalms closely for appropriate supplications, of which there must be many.

I’m going to keep saying the Catholic version as well. I’m finding that it’s getting under my skin. I can’t keep from thinking about it. This is beginner’s infatuation, I guess. But I remain convinced there’s no reason why Catholics have to be the only ones saying the Rosary.

Your thoughts are welcome.

If you Google Protestant or Anglican rosary, you’ll find many good historic efforts to make the Rosary acceptable to non-Catholics. I spent just a few hours and came up with this biblical version. The hymns from Revelation 4 and 5 also serve well. The Mysteries are a wonderful summary of Jesus’ life and teachings, especially the new Luminous Mysteries; I have suggested alternatives for the final two Glorious Mysteries, which deal with the Assumption and Coronation of Mary.

I do not mean any irreverence to the traditional Marian prayer. Personally, I’m going to stick with it for now. The Dominican site www.rosary-center.org  has a great summary with beautiful paintings to illustrate each step of the Marian version.

But this very simple process illustrates that we’re a lot closer to each than we think.

In Place of Hail Mary:

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. John 3:16-17 (KJV)

OR

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me. Do not cast me away from your presence, and do not take your holy spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit. A broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise. (from Ps 51)

OR

What does the LORD require of us
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
     and to walk humbly with our God? Micah 6:8 (NRSV)

In Place of Longer Prayers:

The Prayer of St. Francis OR  23^rd Psalm  OR

When we cry “Abba! Father!” the Spirit bears witness that we are children of God. The Spirit intercedes for us with groans too deep for words. Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. Neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord (Rom 8.)

OR                                                                                                                    

 The LORD is my light and my salvation;
whom shall I fear?
The LORD is the stronghold of my life;
     of whom shall I be afraid? …
One thing I asked of Thee, LORD,
     that will I seek after:
to live in the house of the LORD
     all the days of my life,
to behold thy beauty, LORD,
     and to inquire in thy temple. …
not cast me off, do not forsake me,
     O God of my salvation! …
If my father and mother forsake me,
     do thou, LORD, will take me up.
Teach me thy way, O LORD,
     and lead me on a level path … from Psalms 27:1-14 (NRSV)

According to the riches of his glory, may God grant that we be strengthened in our inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ dwell in our hearts through faith, as we are being rooted and grounded in love. May we have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that we may be filled with all the fullness of God. Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen. from Eph 3:16-21 (NRSV)

May the same mind be in us that was in Christ Jesus,
who, though he was in the form of God,
     did not regard equality with God
     as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself,
     taking the form of a slave,
     being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
he humbled himself
     and became obedient to the point of death–
     even death on a cross.
Therefore God also highly exalted him
     and gave him the name
     that is above every name,
so that at the name of Jesus
    our knee and every knee should bend,
     in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and our tongue and every tongue confess
     that Jesus Christ is Lord,
     to the glory of God the Father. from Phil 2:5-11 (NRSV)

May we be filled with the knowledge of God’s will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so that we may lead lives worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him, as we bear fruit in every good work and as we grow in the knowledge of God. May we be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may we be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has enabled we to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light.  from Col 1:9-12 (NRSV)

Some of my friends and colleagues in ministry will be sure I’ve gone off the deep end! Though I doubt many will notice, fewer will care.

I said my first Rosary today.

Yesterday I ordered from San Antonio a Mexican Rosary, simple wood beads. By the time I paid shipping it was $20.00. Mexican, in honor of my grandmother Dolores Mercado and aunt Margaret Dickson.

I found several sites where you can make your own Rosary. That strikes me as totally cool. I can imagine, if this impulse lasts, that I’ll make a Rosary and put into it all the devotion and love I can. I don’t have any desire for one of the expensive, jeweled pieces of which there are many.

First, what was it like?

I hooked ten paper clips together and added five loose ones, one for each decade. Following a chart, I recited the prayers, and announced the Joyful mysteries, milestones in Jesus’ early life. You’re supposed to focus on these, rather than the words you’re saying. But I did well enough to say the right words in the right order.

I’m amazed the paper clip chain worked fine. I hope to know how to say the Rosary by heart when my Mexican Rosary comes in the mail.

It was a very mechanical process: how to hold the paper clip so I didn’t get mixed up as to which one I was counting, which prayer to say, etc. There are some differences in how different Catholics say their Rosary. I just want the standard version.

I was surprised at the welcome and peace I felt. I instantly understood why Catholics hang on to the veneration of Mary. There is a softness, a sweetness, about her that deeply blesses.

Whoa! You’re a Baptist, a son of the Radical Reformation, not even a protestant. And you’re saying prayers to the BVM Blessed Virgin Mary???

Frankly, I’m intentionally not thinking theologically at the moment, turning off the analytical mind and welcoming God as Catholics do. The Feminine of God my tradition has totally ignored and shut down; I’m interested in exploring Her (whatever).

It’s also time for the walls between our traditions to come down, for us to welcome one another to one table, where one Lord presides.

Interesting nuggets:

• an Old English word for prayer is “bede” related to “bid.” So the beads of the Rosary themselves remind us of prayer.
• the Rosary was probably the response of the poor to the monks’ weekly recitation of the 150 psalms in Latin. The poor didn’t know Latin, so they substituted 150 repetitions of the prayer they knew: “Hail Mary…”

This kind of prayer helps to quiet the “monkey tree,” the mind that chatters right through times of silence. I’m hoping to learn a lot about prayer.

If future experiences with the Rosary turn out to be as helpful as my first, it will become a permanent part of my prayer life.

I welcome hearing about any experience you have with saying the Rosary, or other prayers.

What good does it do to meditate on atrocity? (The short answer is: None, except…)

Last week I meditated, for the first time I can remember, on the Stations of the Cross, as found in Celtic Daily Prayer. Like the book as a whole, this meditation is beautiful, poetic.

What I’m thinking of as meditation on atrocity involves dwelling on Christ’s being whipped, his flesh being torn, his shoulders being wrenched, and so on.

It led me to wonder about such meditations on the cross as Mel Gibson’s The Passion. I understand that many people regard that film as almost sacred. I respect their viewpoint.

Focusing on torment can become unhealthy.

The cross is about denying self, loving your enemies, doing the Father’s will not your own. Psychological meanings demand as much of us today as the physical suffering, and are more likely for the average person than dying a horrific death. We may get carried away with the “glamour” of the thing, and forget the boring cross of everyday life.

Suffering is real. Ask military veterans, people living with chronic illness, survivors of abuse and real torture. You don’t need to make it up. Just be thankful that God hasn’t led you there yet.

However, the cross was officially sanctioned torture.

For the first time in American history, our country allows torture. I know the verbal dance our officials do, and I don’t buy it. Torture is torture. The US has turned to Guantanamo and some of the new democracies in the former Soviet bloc to find territory outside the media glare where it can torture people.

Some lines you don’t cross as a civilized society. It took hundreds, thousands, of years to get to the legal ban on self-incrimination and the ban on cruel and unusual punishment in the US Constitution—and only a day 9-11-2001 to knock it down.

When we meditate on the cross, we should see there all tortured people, including those since 9-11. Our reflections should lead us to resolve never to allow torture, or anything that even comes close to it, not only for the sake of victims (which in itself should be sufficient), but for our own sake.

Studies at Stanford showed that the average person is likely to obey instructions from a perceived authority to administer electric shock to subjects of scientific experiments. In another study college students placed in a “concentration camp” social structure began to abuse the “inferior” social group.

People who torture violate minimal standards of human conduct. Do they become less than human? They certainly are not behaving as God wants us to behave.

What an irony that a president who thinks of himself as a “Christian” (assuming others weren’t as good Christians as he) should be in office when we begin torturing people. That way of treating enemies must be in some part of the Sermon on the Mount I haven’t read yet.

Growing up Southern Baptist in El Paso, Texas, in the 1950s and -60s, my father converted from Catholicism, I was imbrued with dislike, suspicion, even hatred of all things Catholic. In seminary taking a class on the classics of Christian devotion, I discovered that the ancient churches of Rome and Byzantium held vast riches of devotion and spiritual formation next to which Baptists had few.

There was Pilgrim’s Progress, of course. Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners. That I didn’t find until grad school. Streams in the Desert, My Utmost for His Highest. Other than that, flat modern stuff from the denomination.

The Imitation of Christ, published by Moody Press, despite its publisher, was too medieval and sacramental for me. Now I can’t get enough of it.

Then, in seminary I took Classics of Christian Devotion with Glenn Hinson. Hinson has been hounded by fundamentalists as a heretic. May we have many, many more heretics. He wrote among many others a book called Seekers After A Mature Faith, which surveyed resources on spirituality. In the course I accepted the assignment of presenting Augustine’s Confessions.

The pastorate is not especially conducive to spiritual growth or depth. So now in exile, I’m playing catch up, reading, learning, praying.

Today, I think for the first time, I prayed the Stations of the Cross. I was perched on a stool in the kitchen, Celtic Daily Prayer, pp. 251-264, opened on the stove top, a cup of coffee in hand, beside a sink full of dishes to be washed.

I’m not much for devotion that lingers with masochistic delight over the torture Christ endured. I didn’t see Mel Gibson’s The Passion. That’s not based on the Gospels. An Aramaic original doesn’t exist. To create one is to claim more for the product than is merited, in my opinion.

As I read aloud the sections, I tried to slow down, let the reality sink in as much as possible. I broke up as I read:

Lord, you were stripped of the robes  You wore,
but You were the same—it didn’t change You.

I waited a moment until I could read more.

Crucifixion is so alien to us; we can’t fathom that kind of death. So celebrities pose in mockery. A chocolatier creates the crucifixion chocolate for Easter. We get our daughters fine gold crosses on gold chains.

I recall on my Emmaus Walk, they asked me to drive a nail into a cross. I couldn’t do it, I wouldn’t do it. I was the last. Several men huddled around, explaining, encouraging. Finally, I caved to the social pressure. But I’ve always regretted that. For me.

The cross is unimaginable.

Think of the PTSD someone would experience who actually saw a human being nailed to a board, hanged, left to die a lingering death from exposure, suffocation.

What good does it do, to meditate on atrocity? What good does it do?

(more…)

Part 2

What light does Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra shine on infidelity? As I wrote Part 1, news broke of John Edwards’ affair.

Grief

I’m finding this piece more difficult to write than I thought. I guess because I’m grieving.

• Grieving for America. Right now we need all the good ideas and the best people we can find. We can’t afford the loss of any, especially people like John and Elizabeth Edwards who inspired us and who were lifting up the needs of the poor.
• Grieving for the Edwards family. She has cancer to deal with. Now this. “Anguish” is the word one news blog used. And for Edwards himself; the blog quoted one democratic insider who said, “He’s finished.”

The prophet Jeremiah wrote in the same mood:

O that my head were a spring of water,
and my eyes a fountain of tears,
so that I might weep day and night
     for the slain of my poor people! …
For they are all adulterers,
     a band of traitors.

Jer 9:1-2 (NRSV)

Here the adultery is both literal and figurative, representing the people’s unfaithfulness to God.

The grief in the play is nowhere clearer than when Antony sees his friends after abandoning his fleet and pursuing Cleopatra from the battle (Act 3, Scene 11). “I have lost my way forever,” he says. When Cleopatra shows up, he cries, “No, no, no, no, no.” Nothing will ever be the same.

Sin

I almost hate to use the term, because it’s a favorite of politicians who point fingers at others while secretly carrying on affairs of their own. But no other word will do.

We see here the deceitfulness of sin. While Mark Antony acknowledges he must leave Cleopatra because  the affair is causing “ten thousand harms more than I know,” he continues it. He seeks death like a bridegroom leaping into his lover’s arms. His servant’s name, ironically, is Eros, the word for self-gratifying love; he repeatedly calls “Eros!” in his final scenes.

Most teens believe they’re invulnerable, contrary to all evidence; politicians who have affairs believe they’re the exception, the one who won’t be caught. We also teach our politicians they’re special. Their every need is catered to, in the bubble of privilege they live in. So why shouldn’t they gratify sexual impulses?

Meanwhile, sin continues its silent certain destruction of life. Antony compares himself to the shape of a bear or lion in the clouds, that vanishes in a moment: “Here I am Antony: yet cannot hold this visible shape” (4.14.)

Sin leads us to violate our own best nature, to participate in self-destruction.

John Edwards, like Mark Antony and all of us, is responsible for his sins. But there is a communal aspect here as well. For, all of us are responsible for the kind of society we live in. We’re responsible for the sex-drenched advertizing, television, and movies that consume us.

The modesty my Mother believed in strikes us as comical, quaint, maybe puritanical. Perhaps a little. But our sexual openness has gone way too far.

Spiritually, sex is like fire, one of the primal energies. In the hearth it provides warmth. In the stove it cooks our food. But fire, out of such bounds, burns down the house. The Commandment “Thou shalt not commit adultery” interpreted by Jesus’ emphasis on the lustful look and heart shows us where the boundary is. When we find sex outside the boundaries of marriage and monogamous lifelong relationships, we don’t have to wonder, analyze.

The song says, “It can’t be wrong, when it feels so right.” But it is wrong, no matter how it feels; it’s destroying us and all that we love.

Is this the Felix Culpa?

The corny words of scripture turn out to be right on the money: “the wages of sin is death” Romans 6.23.

And the verse goes on: “But the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” My hope is that this is a personal turning point for John Edwards, the felix culpa, the sin which God uses to redeem. Though he may never be the presidential hopeful he was, God still has plans for him.

And for the rest of us sinners, too.

Part 1

It’s been awhile since I spent serious time with Shakespeare, which I find cleansing, rigorous—aerobic exercise for mind and spirit. So I recently tackled Antony and Cleopatra, reading and re-reading.

Then I hear the newsbyte that John Edwards has had an affair. Damn! He was talking about the poor, like no other presidential candidate.

Is this getting old, or what? Maybe if we can find a public official who hasn’t had an affair, he or she should get the headline.

Having read John 8, I’m not one to throw stones. But I’d like to understand what’s going on here. That’s why we read classics like Shakespeare, isn’t it, to understand the human condition?

So we begin. Married to Fulvia, later to Octavia, Mark Antony is having the time of his life—with Cleopatra. He says to her:

There’s not a minute of our lives should stretch / Without some pleasure now. 1.1.46-47

Sounds like a guy planning his retirement, doesn’t he?

At the same time, he recognizes that the affair is doing damage:

I must from this enchanting queen break off:
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
My idleness doth hatch. 1.2.127-129

Of course, he doesn’t do it.

During the decisive battle at Actium, Cleopatra flees and, abandoning his forces, Antony follows her. His soldier Scarus says:

We’ve kiss’d away / Kingdoms 3.10.7-8

I never saw an action of such shame;
Experience, manhood, honour, ne’er before
Did violate so itself. 3.10.22-24

Antony confesses,

…  I / Have lost my way forever. 3.11.3-4

He dismisses his soldiers, rejecting their arguments that they should stay with him. Realizing he has reduced himself to a thing, he says:

 Let that be left / Which leaves itself. 3.11.19-20 

He confronts Cleopatra with her total control over him:

 O’er my spirit
Thy full supremacy thou knew’st, and that
Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods
Command me. 3.11.59-61 

Just as a cloud “that’s dragonish, / a vapour sometime like a bear or lion,” vanishes before his eyes, he is disappearing:

Even with a thought
The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct
As water is in water. 4.14.11-13

Next, he calls on his servant Eros to kill him. Instead, Eros himself suicides. Antony fumbles, wounding himself but remaining alive for yet one more love scene with Cleopatra. Rather than being taken to Rome as a prisoner, Cleopatra has servants bring in vipers to bite her to death.

Shakespeare paints a fascinating, indepth portrait of persons who are poisonous for each other.

In Part 2, I’ll share my own reflections.

I guess you could say this is about the guys who keep the light and power on.

When people are reading the Bible through, I tell them, “Don’t be surprised if you bog down about Exodus 21 through Leviticus to Numbers 8 or so.” This is the most mind numbing material I can imagine, instructions for building the tabernacle in the wilderness and for carrying it about from place to place. There are detailed descriptions of items in the tabernacle and long lists of offerings.

My advice: skim it or skip it until later.

It baffles me to read in my study Bible notes that Jewish children are often introduced to their faith beginning with Leviticus.

Today, for example, my read through passage was Numbers 1-8: the census, the order of march, the Levites broken down into the Kohathites, the Gershonites, and the Merarites.

YAWN

If you’re Moses or Aaron, you get good parts in the play:

The sons of Kohath: Amram, Izhar, Hebron, and Uzziel, four. The sons of Amram: Aaron and Moses. Aaron was set apart to consecrate the most holy things, so that he and his sons forever should make offerings before the LORD, and minister to him and pronounce blessings in his name forever.

1 Chron 23:12-13 (NRSV)

The Aaronites pack up every item: the altar, the firepans, the snuffers, the bowls, and so on, placing everything in its covering of fine leather. Then the Levites get to carry it.

But here’s where it gets dicey: if they happen to look at it or touch it, ZAP! They’re dead meat.

Most of Raiders of the Lost Ark is Hollywood CGI. But in depicting the holy (that which is contained within the ark) as more deadly than an A bomb, the movie is true to the Old Testament.

The ark is properly transported by poles run through rings at its corners. When David brought the ark to Jerusalem, however, he brought it on a cart. The result:

When they came to the threshing floor of Nacon, Uzzah reached out his hand to the ark of God and took hold of it, for the oxen shook it. The anger of the LORD was kindled against Uzzah; and God struck him there because he reached out his hand to the ark; and he died there beside the ark of God.

2 Sam 6:6-7 (NRSV)

So, here you are, roaming the desert, listening to stories of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob, Leah, Rachel and their brood. Your job in the salvation history of your people?

Carry some leather packets around on poles. But never touch or look at what’s inside or die instantly.

BORING DANGEROUS

How’d you like your resume to read: I carried a leather packet around the desert for 20 years, period.

But, in fact, they saw it differently.

Those packets, carried about on poles, represented for the people the presence of God, leading the march.

[God] said, “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.” And [Moses] said to him, “If your presence will not go, do not carry us up from here. For how shall it be known that I have found favor in your sight, I and your people, unless you go with us? In this way, we shall be distinct, I and your people, from every people on the face of the earth.”

Ex 33:14-16 (NRSV)

Psalm 16 is often considered the testimony of the Levites, who had no land in Israel; the Lord was their inheritance:

5 The LORD is my chosen portion and my cup;
     you hold my lot.
6 The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
     I have a goodly heritage.
7 I bless the LORD who gives me counsel;
     in the night also my heart instructs me.
8 I keep the LORD always before me;
     because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.
9 Therefore my heart is glad, and my soul rejoices;
     my body also rests secure.
10 For you do not give me up to Sheol,
     or let your faithful one see the Pit.
11 You show me the path of life.
     In your presence there is fullness of joy;
     in your right hand are pleasures forevermore.

Psalms 16:5-11 (NRSV)

I’m a full decade past the retirement age of the Levite (Num 4.47). I gave my working life to the church. And I can tell you, there is no place on earth more haunted by demons. It collects stinkers and hum dingers by the bushel.

So I’ve done a bit of reframing. I did my time in the church. It often felt like Leviticus reads, lugging people’s baggage around the wilderness.

But I gave my heart to the Lord and to the good souls I always found here and there, inside and just as often outside the camp.

Let me tell you: it’s enough, way more than enough.