Dumbfounded

After Luke 2:41-52 

His parents stare, almost

in shock. Their 12-year-old

son, their young son, this boy,

is teaching the teachers,

astonishing the teachers

in the temple of the most

high God. Searching for

this boy for three days,

fearing the worst, anxiety

almost out of control,

his parents are almost 

in shock. They say what

any parents would say:

“Where were you? We

looked everywhere! We

though the worst, we

feared the worst. How 

could you do this to us?”

The boy looks calmly

at them, as if surprised. 

“Why were you looking

for me? Didn’t you know

where I was, the only place

I could be and would be,

here, where I belong,

in my father’s house? Why

would I be anywhere else?"

 

Photograph by Toa Heftiba via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

Hildegard of Bingen: A Sonnet – Malcolm Guite.

 

Even as the Soul Prospers – Kyle Borg at Gentle Reformation.

 

Missionary, Your Life Makes Sense – Seth Porch at Desiring God.

 

A Theology of Music – Griffin Gooch at Reality Theology.

 

Canada’s MAiD Regime: How We Became a World Leader in Assisted Death: And How Christians Should Respond – Ray Pennings at The Gospel Coalition Canada.

Found

After Luke 2:41-52 

The boy they’d lost,

the boy they feared

was dead, is found,

and found in the most

unlikely of places,

the temple of God;

doing the most unlikely

of things, teaching

the teachers, questioning

the teachers of the law,

amazing the teachers

with his understanding

and his answers. Who is

this 12-year-old from

Nazareth; can any good

come from that place?

And a boy, astonishing

the teachers, the old men,

the wise men, the sages,

with his understanding

and insight of God’s word.

 

Photograph by Jean Valjean via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Friday Readings

 

“All Bright Things,” poem by Steven Peterson – D.S. Martin at Kingdom Poets.

 

Defending the Faith Like the Apostle Paul – J.V. Fesko at Mere Orthodoxy.

 

Britain just proved that assisted suicide is not inevitable – Jonathon Van Maren at The Bridgehead.

Three days

After Luke 2:41-52 

The travel group is large,

men and women, old

and young, children and

the elderly, parents and

grandparents, many

related, all known

to each other, all knowing

they’d watch out for each

other and the children.

They travel a day before

the couple realize their

son, their oldest, is not

with the group, Panic

seizes their hearts;

they hurry back to the city,

to Jerusalem. They look

everywhere, searching,

asking everyone if they’d

seen the boy, panic rising

in their hearts as they visit

and revisit every place

they’d seen and visited and 

rested. After three days, 

three days of imagining

the worst, three days 

of panic and anxiety, 

three days of growing

fear and despondency,

three days of looking

everywhere except,

perhaps, the least and

the most obvious,

the temple, the house 

of God. Three days, 

and the boy they feared

was dead, was found,

as if he’d risen again

in their hearts.

 

Photograph by Cole Keister via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

The Face We All Look For – Ami Wickiser at Gospel-Centered Discipleship.

 

Delicious Life – Elizabeth Stice at Mere Orthodoxy.

 

A Shepherd’s Heart: Honest Conversations when Members Leave Upset – Dan Reiland.

Annual visit

After Luke 2:41-52 

It was something they did

every year, a journey

from Nazareth to Jerusalem,

to celebrate the Passover,

the remembrance of God’s

salvation of the people,

deliverance from Egypt,

deliverance from slavery,

the passing over the houses

marked with the blood

of the lamb over the doorway,

protected from the angel

of death. Jerusalem was

crowded, as it always was

at Passover, people crowding

into the city, packed throngs

around the temple, noise and

chaos and the bleating of lambs

to be sacrificed, food vendors

shouting, confusing to those

who did it every year. This year,

the couple from Nazareth brought 

their oldest, a 12-year-old boy,

a boy coming to visit

his father’s house.

 

Photograph by Toa Heftiba via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Friday Readings

 

“The Wish to Be Generous,” poem by Wendell Berry – D.S. Martin at Kingdom Poets.

 

“Lord of A Hopefulness,” poem by Joyce Anstruther – Anthony Esolen at Word & Song.

 

The Illustration – poem by Seth Lewis.

Left behind

After Luke 2:41-47

The annual trip

to the big city,

the annual feast

of Passover,

a custom observed

every year, a ritual

of faith, a ritual

of observance,

a ritual of family,

a loud, noisy, large

group of relatives

traveling, worshipping

together. Amidst

the noise and chaos

of leaving, no one sees

the boy isn’t there,

the boy is left behind,

Frantic parents

return and search,

search for three days,

and on the third day

they find him,

find him in the most

unexpected place,

the temple,

find him among

the teachers,

listening, asking

questions, questions

so profound that 

the boy has amazed

the teachers and

drawn a crowd, 

people there simply

to hear his questions.

 

Photograph by Jaikishan Patel via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Take good notes

After John 7:14-24 

He speaks; they hear,

they do not listen.

In simple words, he

outlines his authority,

explaining the difference

between Father and self.

He focuses on their intent

to eliminate any perceived

threats. He points out

their hypocrisy, duplicity,

their enslavement 

to appearances, favoring

perception over reality, 

perception over the true.

One might think they would

take good notes; they do,

but the wrong kind:

the notes of condemnation

and destruction.

 

Photograph by Antoine Julien via Unsplash. Used with permission.

They marvel

After John 7:14-24

They marvel, with grumble

implied, at the man who

teaches without learning,

without credential, who

hasn’t studied with experts

but only with those who

fashion wood for a living.

They marvel, with sarcasm

implied, suggesting he’s

a trickster, a charlatan,

a heretic of sleight of hand.

His answer pierces and

punctures, claiming

authority they themselves

desire but dare not claim,

holding up a mirror

to their accusations, seeing 

their real intent poisoning

their hearts, their desire

for worldly acclaim,

their fears for worldly status,

their anger at anything,

anyone,

threatening their station,

threatening their self-perception.

 

Photograph by Saravaswa Tandon via Unsplash. Used with Permission

Festival teaching

After John 7:14-24 

Festival time:

the festival of remembrance,

the time to live in shelters

of lives, remembrance

of wanderings past,

of wilderness past,

forty years of purification.

He waits.

he doesn’t go at first,

avoiding the crowds;

the time is not yet.

When he goes, it’s not

to the festival but 

to the temple, to teach.

When he speaks, 

this uneducated man,

even the learned marvel.

He speaks, and he teaches,

in the midst of wilderness

remembrance, a wilderness

of its own kind.

 

Photograph by Winston Chen via Unsplash. Used with permission.

A surprise

After Luke 2:25-25 and 2 Corinthians 5:20

The parents watched

the child raised 

in the air by

the old man,

standing in front

of them, radiant,

surrounded by

a fire without 

flame and heat,

a sound without

noise. 

The parents watched.

The parents saw.

The parents marveled.

Photograph by Caleb Jones via Unsplash. Used with permission.

"The Brief" by Simon Michael

I’ve been looking for another good British detective, and, by golly, I found one. 

Meet Charles Holborne, originally born as Charles Horowitz. It’s 1960s London, and Holborne is a member of chambers in the Temple. Much to the dismay of his fellow attorneys, he practices criminal law almost exclusively. In that line of work, you meet a lot of villains. And you come to discover that not all villains are hoodlum types. Some of them, in fact, have university degrees. And law degrees.

Holborne was born in the East End of London, the one of a furrier. His family is observant Jewish. He was disowned when he married a non-Jewish girl, Henrietta, the daughter of a viscount he met at Cambridge. He hasn’t seen his family in more than a decade. He still loves his wife, but their marriage is unraveling. She’s having affairs, including with some of Holborne’s colleagues in chambers.  He’s been faithful, but he’s concluding a divorce may be in the offing.

And then his wife is found murdered, her throat slit. And Charles has been fitted up as the No. 1 suspect, with enough evidence to be overwhelming.

Simon Michael

The Brief by British author Simon Michael is the first of the Charles Holborne mysteries. And it’s a gem. The pages crackle with action, surprises, twists, and turns. Holborne is an attorney who knows the criminal scene so well that he knows exactly what he has to do to achieve justice – this time for himself. He;s also not adverse to using his fists when he has to.

Simon is the author of five novels in the Charles Holborne Legal Thriller Series, of which The Brief is the first. He studied law at Kings College, London University and was called to the Bar in 1978. He worked primarily in the field of criminal law until the late 1990s, when he focused his practice on clinical negligence. He began writing in the 1980s and resumed it when he retired from legal practice.

The Brief is a great read and a fully enjoyable and satisfying mystery. And there are four more ready to read.

The words of Anna

After Luke 2:22-38

The old woman, revered

and often feared for the words

which would tumble, rumble

from within, the words anticipating 

what was to come, this old woman

sees the child,

just another child,

just another ceremony,

another ritual,

and she knows Jerusalem

is redeemed, that Israel

is saved, that the ceremony

if purification is turned on its head,

as the child purifies the temple,

purified the priests, purifies the people.

And the old woman,

the prophetess,

is silenced.

Photograph by Paolo Bendandi via Unsplash. Used with permission.

To see the child

After Luke 2:22-38

To see the child, this child,

to see the tiny life like

all tiny lives, yet unlike,

to see the one, this child,

the one promised,

the one revealed,

the one anticipated

like the water quenching

the thirst of the desert,

the one expected since

the biting of the fruit,

this is what I was born for,

to know, to see the child,

this child, this revelation.

We all bear the name

of Simeon.

Photograph by Kelly Sikkema via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The mark of Simeon

After Luke 2:22-38

Aged, and aging still,

each day I feel the creak

and rub and grind of bones, 

infirmities of growing old,

but not yet old enough, hair

fading and gray, back

beginning to arc into stooping,

but not yet old enough,

not yet ready to be embraced

and wrapped by the shroud,

not yet, not until I see

the one, the king, not

just another baby or child,

but the One.

It was promised.

Photograph by Omar Lopez via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The place we gather

After Psalm 122

We walk the stones of the streets

of this city, the houses of rock

packed together, a closeness

compacting the hearts and emotions

and thoughts and all that we are

together.

And those who come up for a time

walk the stones of the streets,

words of praise on their lips

as they walk to the thrones

the thrones of house,

the thrones of the house 

of David.

Within these walls,

these stones under our feet,

these rocks has aping houses

and palaces and citadels and temple,

we seek peace,

we seek security

we seek blessing

and find all three.

Photograph by Simon Matzinger via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The fig tree

After Mark 11:1-14

Hungry, he spies a tree,

a fig tree in full leaf,

suggestive of branches

hanging heavy with fruit.

He searches, but the tree

offers nothing, yields nothing

but leaves, an appearance only,

an invitation without substance,

a mirage, a fraud

and so the curse.

From the cursed fig

to the temple, with its appearance

of wealth and wisdom and worship

but nothing but appearance, a fraud,

a mirage,

and so it joins its brother,

the fig tree.

Photograph by Lynn Greyling via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.