Someone mentioned recently that she gets flowers every week when she buys groceries. I always notice the floral displays when I shop, but it seemed like a splurge for quickly-fading beauty, so I always resisted them. But today, they had bouquets of roses of every shade at a very small price. I was admiring them and noticed they were further marked down to half off, now that Mother’s Day has passed. I couldn’t resist this time. I bought a half-dozen coral colored beauties with glossy green leaves gathered into a bouquet with a spray of baby’s breath.
They are gorgeous and spirit lifting! I searched around at home and found just the right vase that echoes their lovely hue. It’s like something alive in the room, warm and glowing in the lamp light. Well, with the packet of floral preservative included, they will look that way a little longer. I wondered what was in the stuff, so I did a little reading about it.
The preservative contains sugar, for food, citric acid to facilitate hydration, and an anti-bacterial agent to keep bacteria from clogging up the stem and cutting off the water. The article I read said that the packet usually does not contain enough of the mixture for the amount of water most vases hold, so the solution is weakened, and you might end up having just enough sugar to promote bacterial growth, and not enough anti-bacterial stuff to kill it. In that case you’d be better off with just clear water. Who knew?
Somehow that struck a parallel of spiritual life to me. We are like a flower, one of God’s wonderful creation. We need spiritual food, or the Word, and the hydration of the Holy Spirit for life and beauty. We also need an anti-bacterial agent to keep sin from clogging up our spiritual connection to the Water of Life. This agent is the blood of Jesus, the remission for sins.
I found that water molecules stick together, and as they evaporate, they are pulled upward into the flower petals, keeping them fresh and beautiful. The right amount of acidity makes them stick together even more. Reminds me of the unifying power of the Holy Spirit, and the scripture, “Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together,” Hebrews 10:25.
If the gospel is watered down, like the too-weak solution, it is almost worse than no gospel at all, with just enough sugar to let sin grow, and not enough anti-bacterial power to resist it. Evidently, some manufacturers of floral preservative think consumers don’t know any better, and they get by with providing a too-small packet and too little product to save a few cents. This results in dirty, smelly water and short-lived flowers. A lesson on dead churches and superficial Christianity.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Silver Lining
Now I know how Jonah felt when his vine died! I came home from our trip to find the vines that afforded cool, green, privacy for one end of our screened porch gone! I knew our son had removed a tree for us while we were away, so I asked him about the vines. He had had a helper with him, who busied himself cleaning up leaves and branches, and Greg supposed he started pulling up vines and didn’t quit until my porch was denuded! I have a bamboo matchstick blind there, but it isn’t the same!
Despite our great memories of our vacation, I did come home with one unintended souvenir. No, not bedbugs from a hotel, but sore joints from climbing stairs! It seemed every place we stayed, except a couple of motels, had the bedrooms upstairs. Both daughters’ homes had two flights of stairs, the cabin in the mountains had stairs, and our last motel accommodation had stairs. I realize I’m not in the best of shape, but this is ridiculous! I have evidently strained some ligaments, especially in one knee.
This happened to me a few years ago when we lived upstairs in an apartment, but once I moved to street level again, the discomfort disappeared. I’ve been waiting for this to go away and trying to avoid a doctor visit, but something’s got to give! It’s unaccountably worse at night, so I am also losing sleep. The situation is complicated by the fact that I can’t take anti-inflammatory medicine, being allergic to aspirin as I am.
On the positive side, we had a lovely Mother’s Day picnic yesterday with several family members. Greg and Joanna asked us to meet them at 1:00 o’clock Sunday at Cann Gardens, where we found them at a table spread in the shade of a beautiful oak tree. Granddaughter Allison had prepared most of our lunch, including a chicken salad with apples and walnuts; pasta; and a cherry cheesecake. Greg had cut a ripe pineapple into wedges and placed them in neat rows in a dish, someone else had brought a relish tray, and grandson Adam made lemonade with strawberries floating in the glasses. The warm sun, lush surroundings and comfy quilts on soft grass made for a wonderful time of family camaraderie and conversation.
I had talked with all our six children, receiving thoughtful cards and wishes, plus the picnic and a pot of flowers. Son Jamie said something would arrive in the mail for me on Monday, and it did! Darling photos of their kids, just what I’d hoped for. Anne-Marie, 4, posed winsomely in a summer frock of blue and white stripes, the bodice covered in rows of scallops like waves at the beach. Two-year-old Maddie’s look-alike dress was a bit obscured as she nestled in her mommy’s arms, fingers in mouth for her signature pose, and again with plump knees bent under khaki shorts as she seated herself on a landscaping rock. More photos were included of her birthday party and Anne-Marie’s carefully chronicled first haircut. I have enough to keep me scrap booking for days. That shouldn’t hurt my knees! And my vines will grow back, so how can I pout? I count my blessings!
Despite our great memories of our vacation, I did come home with one unintended souvenir. No, not bedbugs from a hotel, but sore joints from climbing stairs! It seemed every place we stayed, except a couple of motels, had the bedrooms upstairs. Both daughters’ homes had two flights of stairs, the cabin in the mountains had stairs, and our last motel accommodation had stairs. I realize I’m not in the best of shape, but this is ridiculous! I have evidently strained some ligaments, especially in one knee.
This happened to me a few years ago when we lived upstairs in an apartment, but once I moved to street level again, the discomfort disappeared. I’ve been waiting for this to go away and trying to avoid a doctor visit, but something’s got to give! It’s unaccountably worse at night, so I am also losing sleep. The situation is complicated by the fact that I can’t take anti-inflammatory medicine, being allergic to aspirin as I am.
On the positive side, we had a lovely Mother’s Day picnic yesterday with several family members. Greg and Joanna asked us to meet them at 1:00 o’clock Sunday at Cann Gardens, where we found them at a table spread in the shade of a beautiful oak tree. Granddaughter Allison had prepared most of our lunch, including a chicken salad with apples and walnuts; pasta; and a cherry cheesecake. Greg had cut a ripe pineapple into wedges and placed them in neat rows in a dish, someone else had brought a relish tray, and grandson Adam made lemonade with strawberries floating in the glasses. The warm sun, lush surroundings and comfy quilts on soft grass made for a wonderful time of family camaraderie and conversation.
I had talked with all our six children, receiving thoughtful cards and wishes, plus the picnic and a pot of flowers. Son Jamie said something would arrive in the mail for me on Monday, and it did! Darling photos of their kids, just what I’d hoped for. Anne-Marie, 4, posed winsomely in a summer frock of blue and white stripes, the bodice covered in rows of scallops like waves at the beach. Two-year-old Maddie’s look-alike dress was a bit obscured as she nestled in her mommy’s arms, fingers in mouth for her signature pose, and again with plump knees bent under khaki shorts as she seated herself on a landscaping rock. More photos were included of her birthday party and Anne-Marie’s carefully chronicled first haircut. I have enough to keep me scrap booking for days. That shouldn’t hurt my knees! And my vines will grow back, so how can I pout? I count my blessings!
Angels and Demons
The pastor preached on angels this morning. It made me think of a conversation I had with the young mother of our first great-grandchild the other day in Tennessee. She had brought the baby by for his Mimi (my daughter) to watch while she went to a work meeting. She is a C.N.A. and works at a nursing home. I asked if she liked working with the elderly, and she said she enjoyed it.
“Is it sad when they pass away?” I asked her, thinking of our experiences ministering at nursing homes and how we missed some of the faces we had grown used to as they passed on.
“What is sad, is that many of them have no one who comes to see them,” Shelby replied. She told me of one patient whose passing was imminent, and she asked Shelby to hold her hand. “I held her hand for a long time,” she reflected, “then she smiled, and was gone.”
“Have any of them seen angels?” I questioned, to which she exclaimed, “Oh, yes! Just before she died, one lady kept pointing to the corner of the room and asking me if I saw the angels.”
“I had one man, though,” she continued soberly, “that kept saying, ‘I’m hot! I’m hot!’ Then he started yelling, ‘I’m burning! I’m burning! I’m going to Hell!’ Then he died!”
I had heard of this before. Some pastors we knew in Mississippi told this story that had happened to them: One night the pastor’s wife (a preacher herself) woke her husband up with the urgent impression to make a call away out in the country at the house of someone they knew of who had been ill. There was no phone, and, reluctant to get out in the middle of a cold winter night and knowing how hard it was to start their car, he said, “I’ll go only if the car starts right away.” To his amazement, it cranked right up. Then he said, “If their gate is not unlocked, I’m not going in.” The gate, which was habitually locked, was open. He added one more condition: “If the light’s not on, I’m not going up on that porch.” They saw a dim light. Then another caveat: "We're not going in unless someone comes out on the porch."
As their car lights illuminated the porch, the front door flew open and a man rushed out. “Come quick!” he yelled, “Mama is dying and she says she’s burning! She's been calling for you, but I couldn't leave to go get you!” They went in to find that in her agony she had pulled out most of her hair. And sure enough, she was screaming, “My feet! They’re burning! Help me!” She had refused the Lord before, but as the pastor couple prayed for her, she gave her heart to Him. Not only that, she recovered and, if I remember right, became a strong church worker and maybe even went into the ministry. Angels and demons. Something to be taken seriously.
“Is it sad when they pass away?” I asked her, thinking of our experiences ministering at nursing homes and how we missed some of the faces we had grown used to as they passed on.
“What is sad, is that many of them have no one who comes to see them,” Shelby replied. She told me of one patient whose passing was imminent, and she asked Shelby to hold her hand. “I held her hand for a long time,” she reflected, “then she smiled, and was gone.”
“Have any of them seen angels?” I questioned, to which she exclaimed, “Oh, yes! Just before she died, one lady kept pointing to the corner of the room and asking me if I saw the angels.”
“I had one man, though,” she continued soberly, “that kept saying, ‘I’m hot! I’m hot!’ Then he started yelling, ‘I’m burning! I’m burning! I’m going to Hell!’ Then he died!”
I had heard of this before. Some pastors we knew in Mississippi told this story that had happened to them: One night the pastor’s wife (a preacher herself) woke her husband up with the urgent impression to make a call away out in the country at the house of someone they knew of who had been ill. There was no phone, and, reluctant to get out in the middle of a cold winter night and knowing how hard it was to start their car, he said, “I’ll go only if the car starts right away.” To his amazement, it cranked right up. Then he said, “If their gate is not unlocked, I’m not going in.” The gate, which was habitually locked, was open. He added one more condition: “If the light’s not on, I’m not going up on that porch.” They saw a dim light. Then another caveat: "We're not going in unless someone comes out on the porch."
As their car lights illuminated the porch, the front door flew open and a man rushed out. “Come quick!” he yelled, “Mama is dying and she says she’s burning! She's been calling for you, but I couldn't leave to go get you!” They went in to find that in her agony she had pulled out most of her hair. And sure enough, she was screaming, “My feet! They’re burning! Help me!” She had refused the Lord before, but as the pastor couple prayed for her, she gave her heart to Him. Not only that, she recovered and, if I remember right, became a strong church worker and maybe even went into the ministry. Angels and demons. Something to be taken seriously.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Thy Word
As soon as breakfast was over, I decided to try out my table décor for the book festival exhibit next Saturday. We were required to cover a card table with a tablecloth, have a theme for our display and be as creative as possible in luring the book browsers to our table. This had been in the back of my mind all during our trip, and I had picked up some trinkets and a cloth along the way. I had selected things with a heart theme in mind as a complement to my book, “Heartthoughts”.
Heading to the bedroom where we had a table of similar size, I spread everything out and eyed it with a critical eye. Hmm. A few changes here and there and it would probably do, especially since the table I would use that day would be slightly bigger. Still a little doubtful, I joined my husband on the screened porch where he was having his Bible study.
It was beautiful out here in the cool, clear morning air. My irises had not greeted me as I hoped when we came home, having spent their blooms in our absence, but our knock-out roses had blossomed and were brilliant against the white of the house. I picked up my Bible and it fell open to Psalms 45. I began to read and couldn’t help but feel a kinship with the words, and that God was letting me read them right now when I needed them:
“My heart is overflowing with a good theme;” it read. “I recite my composition concerning the King; My tongue is the pen of a ready writer,” verse 1 concludes. I could probably recite everyone of my compositions by heart, and I always tried to magnify the Lord in them, though I didn’t always succeed as well as I hoped. The whole chapter is likely a description of Christ and the church, but as I read, it spoke to me even further.
“Listen, O daughter,” it says in verse 10, “Consider and incline your ear; Forget your own people also, and your father’s house.” I admit I spend a lot of time longing for those of my own family who live far away, and I spent many poignant years missing my parents and siblings when I lived and raised my family separated from them. But I think it is drawing a contrast between the love of family and the depth of our love for the Lord, for the following verse says, “So the King will greatly desire your beauty; Because He is your Lord, worship Him.”
Even if my table doesn’t win the “Best of Show” award, I hope it will reflect the spirit of the book that agrees with the ultimate goal of verse 17 which says, “I will make Your name to be remembered in all generations, Therefore the people shall praise You forever and ever.”
Heading to the bedroom where we had a table of similar size, I spread everything out and eyed it with a critical eye. Hmm. A few changes here and there and it would probably do, especially since the table I would use that day would be slightly bigger. Still a little doubtful, I joined my husband on the screened porch where he was having his Bible study.
It was beautiful out here in the cool, clear morning air. My irises had not greeted me as I hoped when we came home, having spent their blooms in our absence, but our knock-out roses had blossomed and were brilliant against the white of the house. I picked up my Bible and it fell open to Psalms 45. I began to read and couldn’t help but feel a kinship with the words, and that God was letting me read them right now when I needed them:
“My heart is overflowing with a good theme;” it read. “I recite my composition concerning the King; My tongue is the pen of a ready writer,” verse 1 concludes. I could probably recite everyone of my compositions by heart, and I always tried to magnify the Lord in them, though I didn’t always succeed as well as I hoped. The whole chapter is likely a description of Christ and the church, but as I read, it spoke to me even further.
“Listen, O daughter,” it says in verse 10, “Consider and incline your ear; Forget your own people also, and your father’s house.” I admit I spend a lot of time longing for those of my own family who live far away, and I spent many poignant years missing my parents and siblings when I lived and raised my family separated from them. But I think it is drawing a contrast between the love of family and the depth of our love for the Lord, for the following verse says, “So the King will greatly desire your beauty; Because He is your Lord, worship Him.”
Even if my table doesn’t win the “Best of Show” award, I hope it will reflect the spirit of the book that agrees with the ultimate goal of verse 17 which says, “I will make Your name to be remembered in all generations, Therefore the people shall praise You forever and ever.”
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Traveling Mercies
“How much farther shall we go?” Howard and I questioned each other as we were nearing our regular overnight stop on our journey home. The sun was still high in the sky, and we had gained an hour when we came back into Central Time Zone, so it made no sense to stop for the night yet. Besides we really weren’t tired. “Let’s go on to Little Rock,” he suggested. That would be more than halfway and give us a shorter day of travel tomorrow.
“What lake is that?” I asked after we had crossed the Mississippi River at Memphis. Then, as the water extended farther, I realized it not a lake but the flooding of the river. I was used to seeing rice fields flooded entering into Arkansas, but this was worse. Soon, we noticed houses marooned and surrounded by water. I had heard Arkansas received a lot of rain, but we had been out of touch with weather reports except as concerned us on our trip.
Shortly after leaving our daughter’s in Georgia, we noticed a lighted sign over the highway with the message that the upcoming Ringgold exit was closed due to massive debris on the roadway. What could that mean, I wondered? Why didn’t they clear it off? My question was answered a little later when I saw another sign that said there was no access to the town. Looking out the window, I saw an incredible sight. Pulverized houses were crumbled and dropped on to the interstate exit and the approach to the city. Not trailers or flimsy houses, but the brick and concrete of substantial homes and businesses buried the highway. One of the tornadoes that narrowly missed Shannon and Amy’s home had hit here!
We had prayed as we were caught in a weather front in the mountainous area between Chattanooga and Nashville. The rain, fog, and steep grades made for dangerous conditions. We stopped at a restaurant for a long lunch, waiting it out, and the sky was lighter when we came out. Now we were enjoying beautiful sunshine and began looking for somewhere to stay as we came to Little Rock. Spotting a Cracker Barrel, we checked on lodging close by, but nothing suited. Unsavory-looking characters were hanging about smoking or lounging over balconies on some. Other motels were too expensive or filled up. After looking at 4 or 5, we followed up on one last recommendation.
“We got our room!” Howard said triumphantly as he came out of the office. It was moderately priced and turned out to be a jewel box of a room. It was small, but immaculate and tastefully decorated with elegant touches of black diamond inserts in bathroom tile, angled sink mirrors, crisp white pillows on the pair of turned-down beds, the sheet snugly folded in a tight fit over the coverlet halfway down the comfy mattress.
We relaxed and thanked God for his blessings, and again the next day when we heard that I-40 in Arkansas had been closed due to flooding, apparently not long after we had passed through. “When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee, and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee,” Isaiah 43:2. We had gone about 2,000 miles on this trip, but He was with us on everyone of them.
“What lake is that?” I asked after we had crossed the Mississippi River at Memphis. Then, as the water extended farther, I realized it not a lake but the flooding of the river. I was used to seeing rice fields flooded entering into Arkansas, but this was worse. Soon, we noticed houses marooned and surrounded by water. I had heard Arkansas received a lot of rain, but we had been out of touch with weather reports except as concerned us on our trip.
Shortly after leaving our daughter’s in Georgia, we noticed a lighted sign over the highway with the message that the upcoming Ringgold exit was closed due to massive debris on the roadway. What could that mean, I wondered? Why didn’t they clear it off? My question was answered a little later when I saw another sign that said there was no access to the town. Looking out the window, I saw an incredible sight. Pulverized houses were crumbled and dropped on to the interstate exit and the approach to the city. Not trailers or flimsy houses, but the brick and concrete of substantial homes and businesses buried the highway. One of the tornadoes that narrowly missed Shannon and Amy’s home had hit here!
We had prayed as we were caught in a weather front in the mountainous area between Chattanooga and Nashville. The rain, fog, and steep grades made for dangerous conditions. We stopped at a restaurant for a long lunch, waiting it out, and the sky was lighter when we came out. Now we were enjoying beautiful sunshine and began looking for somewhere to stay as we came to Little Rock. Spotting a Cracker Barrel, we checked on lodging close by, but nothing suited. Unsavory-looking characters were hanging about smoking or lounging over balconies on some. Other motels were too expensive or filled up. After looking at 4 or 5, we followed up on one last recommendation.
“We got our room!” Howard said triumphantly as he came out of the office. It was moderately priced and turned out to be a jewel box of a room. It was small, but immaculate and tastefully decorated with elegant touches of black diamond inserts in bathroom tile, angled sink mirrors, crisp white pillows on the pair of turned-down beds, the sheet snugly folded in a tight fit over the coverlet halfway down the comfy mattress.
We relaxed and thanked God for his blessings, and again the next day when we heard that I-40 in Arkansas had been closed due to flooding, apparently not long after we had passed through. “When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee, and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee,” Isaiah 43:2. We had gone about 2,000 miles on this trip, but He was with us on everyone of them.
Grand Finale
“Mom, what are you going to do when you get home?” our son, Mark, asked on the phone as we talked to him during our trip home after being gone nearly three weeks.
“I don’t know,” I said, “when I think about it, it’s just a big blank.” We’d had such a good time visiting with several of our kids and grandchildren while we were away that home seemed dull in comparison. Besides all the fun we’d had in Tennessee and North Carolina, we spent two more days stopping back by Amy’s in Georgia. Not only had we gotten to attend services with her at their beloved church near Atlanta in Marietta, just hanging out with them and seeing a slice of their everyday lives warmed my heart.
A special treat for me was tagging along shopping and helping granddaughter Corrin pick out a dress for the 8th grade Formal. Amy had asked me if I would check out some stores for possibilities while she was at work that day, and that evening we were doing follow up. Corrin at first selected a demure, flowered confection that looked very cute on her, but of course, we couldn’t stop with the first thing she saw. It was like dressing a Barbie doll as we sat in the dressing room while she modeled one irresistible fashion after another, from a polka-dot with a flouncy skirt to a star-wars grey sateen with angular straps. Naturally she would decide on a dramatic black and white that made her look like a movie starlet. Watch out, Mom and Dad!
On the way home we picked up 16-year-old Reid from Life Guard classes he was taking for a hoped-for summer job. He’d been getting sunburned and sore from the training; tonight was a written test and he wouldn’t know the results immediately. He piled into the back seat with his friend, another hopeful, while 12-year-old Rachel made room by climbing into the rear of the SUV with poster-board and supplies for a school project to do when we got home.
Shortly after I had talked to Mark, the phone rang again. “Mom, we want to take you to dinner tonight when you get home if you’re not too tired,” Joanna, our daughter-in-law announced. She said it was complicated, but Allison had a large credit on her food tab at college that would be lost if it were not used by Saturday. She was inviting us to go with them to an upscale hotel on campus that served pricey gourmet food by chefs-in-training.
The place was spectacular! The Ranchers’ Club looked like a rich cattleman’s club complete with a glassed-in display of cowboy hats and the names of their local ranch owners in the foyer. Deep leather chairs lined up around a table like Dallas’s South Fork set with gleaming white linen, china, crystal and silver awaited us. A four-course meal was served, with new place settings for each course (these kids were doing it right!) and fabulous food with exotic touches (edible art, they called it) adorning our plates. After respective desserts of mousse, chocolate torte, and apple/cranberry crustattas, we decided it was good to be home! Like my husband is fond of saying, “Daily He loads us with benefits.”
“I don’t know,” I said, “when I think about it, it’s just a big blank.” We’d had such a good time visiting with several of our kids and grandchildren while we were away that home seemed dull in comparison. Besides all the fun we’d had in Tennessee and North Carolina, we spent two more days stopping back by Amy’s in Georgia. Not only had we gotten to attend services with her at their beloved church near Atlanta in Marietta, just hanging out with them and seeing a slice of their everyday lives warmed my heart.
A special treat for me was tagging along shopping and helping granddaughter Corrin pick out a dress for the 8th grade Formal. Amy had asked me if I would check out some stores for possibilities while she was at work that day, and that evening we were doing follow up. Corrin at first selected a demure, flowered confection that looked very cute on her, but of course, we couldn’t stop with the first thing she saw. It was like dressing a Barbie doll as we sat in the dressing room while she modeled one irresistible fashion after another, from a polka-dot with a flouncy skirt to a star-wars grey sateen with angular straps. Naturally she would decide on a dramatic black and white that made her look like a movie starlet. Watch out, Mom and Dad!
On the way home we picked up 16-year-old Reid from Life Guard classes he was taking for a hoped-for summer job. He’d been getting sunburned and sore from the training; tonight was a written test and he wouldn’t know the results immediately. He piled into the back seat with his friend, another hopeful, while 12-year-old Rachel made room by climbing into the rear of the SUV with poster-board and supplies for a school project to do when we got home.
Shortly after I had talked to Mark, the phone rang again. “Mom, we want to take you to dinner tonight when you get home if you’re not too tired,” Joanna, our daughter-in-law announced. She said it was complicated, but Allison had a large credit on her food tab at college that would be lost if it were not used by Saturday. She was inviting us to go with them to an upscale hotel on campus that served pricey gourmet food by chefs-in-training.
The place was spectacular! The Ranchers’ Club looked like a rich cattleman’s club complete with a glassed-in display of cowboy hats and the names of their local ranch owners in the foyer. Deep leather chairs lined up around a table like Dallas’s South Fork set with gleaming white linen, china, crystal and silver awaited us. A four-course meal was served, with new place settings for each course (these kids were doing it right!) and fabulous food with exotic touches (edible art, they called it) adorning our plates. After respective desserts of mousse, chocolate torte, and apple/cranberry crustattas, we decided it was good to be home! Like my husband is fond of saying, “Daily He loads us with benefits.”
Monday, May 2, 2011
Change of Plans
“Mimi, we can’t go to Carter Family Fold tonight after all,” my granddaughter Bethany, told me over the phone. She and her husband, Jesse, had planned to take us out to dinner this last evening of our visit in Jonesborough, and were excited to treat us to an evening of music at the original home site of June Carter and the Carter family. “They aren’t open on Friday night after all,” she explained. Then she said, “Would it be alright to go out to eat and then go to the Lamp Light Theatre?” I remembered the Christian Playhouse, but had never been there. Of course it was alright!
After a wonderful meal at an upscale casual café named Cheddar’s, we followed the winding roads through the countryside to arrive at the theatre, nestled into a wooded glen and occupying a long, low-slung building. “FRIEND OF SINNERS”, the name of the production, was prominently displayed on a wooden sign out front. Bethany thought the play was kind of a Passion play, but it was so much more.
We had arrived with only minutes to spare before the lights went down to illuminate a panoramic set with marble steps and plaza, used, according to the scene, as the temple, Pilate’s hall, and the Sanhedrin. Tucked into room-like displays in corners and spotlighted appropriately, were Zebedee’s house, the home of Mary of Bethany, the upper room and scene of the Last Supper. A door to the tomb seemed carved into the brickwork at the lower level.
I was enthralled with the “up-close-and-personal”, three-dimensional look into the activities of depicted life in Jerusalem. Homes had pots, baskets, bedrolls, shelves and other authentic-looking details. Beggars begged, dancers danced, children frolicked, families argued, and Jesus taught. In everyday language and with local accents, believable dialogue and acting presented a clear picture and wonderfully human aspect of Jesus and his teachings. It felt as if we were transported back in time.
Before we knew it, three hours had passed and Jesus was being caught up into the rafters and disappearing from sight. As an anti-climax, a powerful candle-lit display of white-robed choirs, singing Midnight Cry, reinforced the altar call given, and at the end, Jesus returned in triumphant robes, a resplendent crown and holding a sceptre as King of Kings and Lord of Lords. We were quiet on the way home until our grandson-in-law broke the silence and lightened the mood when he said, “I went to high school with Jesus,” referring to the young actor who gave such a brilliant portrayal of our Lord. I had no doubt that Jesus had also gone to high school with them.
After a wonderful meal at an upscale casual café named Cheddar’s, we followed the winding roads through the countryside to arrive at the theatre, nestled into a wooded glen and occupying a long, low-slung building. “FRIEND OF SINNERS”, the name of the production, was prominently displayed on a wooden sign out front. Bethany thought the play was kind of a Passion play, but it was so much more.
We had arrived with only minutes to spare before the lights went down to illuminate a panoramic set with marble steps and plaza, used, according to the scene, as the temple, Pilate’s hall, and the Sanhedrin. Tucked into room-like displays in corners and spotlighted appropriately, were Zebedee’s house, the home of Mary of Bethany, the upper room and scene of the Last Supper. A door to the tomb seemed carved into the brickwork at the lower level.
I was enthralled with the “up-close-and-personal”, three-dimensional look into the activities of depicted life in Jerusalem. Homes had pots, baskets, bedrolls, shelves and other authentic-looking details. Beggars begged, dancers danced, children frolicked, families argued, and Jesus taught. In everyday language and with local accents, believable dialogue and acting presented a clear picture and wonderfully human aspect of Jesus and his teachings. It felt as if we were transported back in time.
Before we knew it, three hours had passed and Jesus was being caught up into the rafters and disappearing from sight. As an anti-climax, a powerful candle-lit display of white-robed choirs, singing Midnight Cry, reinforced the altar call given, and at the end, Jesus returned in triumphant robes, a resplendent crown and holding a sceptre as King of Kings and Lord of Lords. We were quiet on the way home until our grandson-in-law broke the silence and lightened the mood when he said, “I went to high school with Jesus,” referring to the young actor who gave such a brilliant portrayal of our Lord. I had no doubt that Jesus had also gone to high school with them.
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