Monthly Archives: February 2016

Our society still likes the idea of couples and citizens.  We are not always so happy with immigrants and singles.

Marriage laws abound, with varied types of regulation, but the overall principle is that one is the loneliest number, so more than one is an acceptable state in which to live – and the more the merrier – you can add to that family biologically or adoptively. 

Immigration is practiced with vigilance as citizens attempt to monitor who will join them in celebrating their nation.  Laws emphasize the deep gulf between who we like and who we don’t like.

A nation often needs to examine the realm of citizenship.  All societies are exclusive.  The problem is that additional exclusion clauses, added over the decades, sometimes violate the original intent.

About 700 years BCE, a Jewish prophet, Isaiah (Chapter 56 in his book), strongly criticizes the Jewish nation for abandoning an inclusive approach.  They were excluding, as true citizens, two classes of people.  A eunuch was someone who could not have children, a man who had been rendered unable to provide life-giving semen.  A foreigner was someone who was not a natural progeny of the nation’s fathers and mothers. 

The Jews of that era were not always the most accepting of “these people” – the foreigner and the eunuch.  Nor were “these people” expecting that they would be accepted, by the people or by God. 

Isaiah challenges this perspective. 

Parents might say their name was carried on through their children – that their legacy was guaranteed by blood.  As long as the bloodline lasted.  The eunuch was guaranteed a legacy because in God’s house a plaque of remembrance (a name plate that was constantly before God’s open eyes) was permanently attached to the wall.

Citizens might say their practices and rituals provided them with a window of access to God.  But their hearts, God’s conversation organ with the human, could be deaf to God.  Foreigners who committed to God and would follow in obedience, were guaranteed a place by God in God’s talking room.  The house of prayer (where divine discussion happened with mortals) was for all nations.

For us today, the most unlikely candidate for citizenship may be the poster child of the true heart of a nation.

Arising on sunlit mornings brings joy to the heart.

The sun shines brightly to start a day.  A little earlier than last week.  A little later than next week.  Unless clouds have slept the night and awakened with the sun to their back.  Then light and heat are diminished.

The sun has been a symbol of awakening for centuries.  Cultures and religions extol the virtues of sunny days and sunny rays.  Sesame street tunes ring in our ear.  Ancient scribe pen tunes of thanksgiving.

Our bodies enjoy the nourishment of vitamins and the emotional lift of a sunlit day.  Neighbours talk to each other, BBQ season is enhanced by the setting of the sun.

We cannot look directly without some protection.  We cannot tame the heat, but merely contain the heat.  The sun light examines dark corners sweeping them with bold colours.

Sun worship is understandable. 

Worship of the sun’s creator . . .

I wonder if we realize what we mean when we say we forgive someone.

For most of us, that is a way of tolerating the current situation.  Things will not change so we will “let go” of bitterness and that gut wrenching offence that keeps us in chains.  We call that forgiveness.

For some of us, this involves an active thrust towards reintegrating the offender into our world.  We overlook the offense.  We attempt to find ways to paint our lives in bright colors with the offender standing hand in hand with us.  We call that forgiveness.

For a very few of us, the offender actively seeks us out and sincerely atones for the wrong they have done.  We are drawn into their world.  We see the perspective that has led to this heart change.  We are released.  We call this forgiveness.

But one thing remains. 

The offense.

Never removed, never erased, always present.

What if the greatest offenses committed could be removed, erased and forgotten?

What if the smallest offense, pictured in our memories, could be removed, erased, forgotten?

What if God could forget?

Our visit to Vegas included a stop at the Valley of Fire.

The park mirrors the beauty of nature. 

• Variations of color. 
• Undulations of rock and sand. 
• Vegetation suited to the surroundings.

Our winter adventure in the park meant the temperatures were merely in the 20 degree Celsius range. 

Of particular note in this park?

The direct sunlight in summer months necessitates the closing of the marked pathways.  As the temperatures rise, the rocks begin to heat.  This parcel of land becomes a literal oven as the mid-day sun shines down.

Where the sun’s rays are direct and scorching, the rocks begin to cook.  Scanning the horizon you see blackened rock.  Small clusters of gravel have been turned the colour of charcoal briquettes.  The soles of you feet would be no match for the burning floor.

A dream destination and a danger trove all wrapped in one.