Archive for November, 2009

My brethren, let us be about our Father’s work

Posted in Religion with tags , , on November 13, 2009 by bradellison

This is CrossRoads, a church in Phoenix, Arizona.  They’re in the habit of serving a Saturday pancake breakfast for the homeless in the area, feeding the hungry as our Lord Christ commanded us to do.  Some of their neighbors, it seems would prefer that if the homeless be fed, it should be somewhere else, where they don’t have to see or hear of it.

This is not a thing Jesus was ever vague or unclear about.  When you feed a hungry man, you’re feeding Him.  When you deny a hungry man food, you’re starving Christ.

Those of you who are my brothers and sisters in the Way, I would call upon you now to do what you can for this church, even if it’s only to write them a note of encouragement, and to remember them in your prayers.  If you should happen to be in the neighborhood of Phoenix, well, they could probably use some volunteers.  And if you’re not, I think it behooves us to look to their fine example, and ask ourselves what else we might be doing to feed the hungry, nurse the sick, clothe the naked, and comfort the prisoner.

Actually, I think all that goes for all my brothers and sisters who are not Christian, as well.  One need not worship Christ to feed the hungry.


In remembrance

Posted in Religion with tags on November 3, 2009 by bradellison

In the metaphysical equivalent to a grizzled mountain man coming down to the trading post after a year of trapping, I interrupted my term of solitary contemplation and pursuit of the Way and visited an actual church for the first time in rather a while.  And if it took an invitation from a pretty woman to get me there, well, God moves in mysterious ways.

It is good, we are taught, to fellowship with each other, to commune with each other.  And it was good to stand among many and sing the songs of Zion once more.

And as it happens, on this particular Sunday the sacrament of Communion was observed, which I had not taken in quite some time.  This ritual, this magic cannibalism of sorts, where we take into ourselves the flesh broken for us and the blood for our sakes spilt, is the sacred Mystery at the bloody beating heart of our faith.  Out of death, life.  Out of spirit, flesh.  Out of symbol, reality.  We gather together as one, and our togetherness is holy.  We partake once more of the Last Supper, that final meal that extends through infinity.  And again we shed, continuously until the world is reborn, the holy blood.  A bit of saltine and grape juice becomes, for a moment, the substance of divine matter.  The simple act of eating bread and drinking wine becomes a labyrinthine alchemy that encapsulates all that is.  This is the Deep Magic, from before the dawn of time.