The John the Baptist Diet

Mark 1:4-8 (NIV)
And so John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. [5] The whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to him. Confessing their sins, they were baptized by him in the Jordan River. [6] John wore clothing made of camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. [7] And this was his message: “After me comes the one more powerful than I, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie. [8] I baptize you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

So we Christians struggle with waistlines and our answers over the years have been biblical diets– the Daniel diet, the Eden diet…we scour the pages of the Good Book looking for guidelines for weight loss. But I have yet to see rise of the “John the Baptist” diet. I am pretty sure he was rail thin and that I would be too if it was all foraging in the desert for bugs and honey!

The wilderness, the loneliness, the uncomfortable crunchiness of exoskeleton. The meaningfulness of the way John lived is impossible to ignore. He was passionately sold out. He held nothing back.

People don’t cotton to the voices of prophets. They are often lonely folk. They do not tell us what we want to hear, they tell us the truth. The truth can drive a man to lonely places.

The truth is we are broken, messed up sheep. We are communal insects. We have laid our world bare to death, sin, and pain. The prophet shouts these things unsparingly in the loneliest of places.

Then God walks in…

Honey B and the narrator

Honey likes memes with cats, puppies, and rude phrases which stretch the patience of the narrator, who generally perches over her shoulder quietly tsk-ing.

The narrator is concerned about the way caustic emotion seems to erode Honey’s traction on life and grammar.

Honey writes about her predicament:

Tore up? Wat ya mean tore up? I din tore nuthin’!!!!
It was you that tore stuff you bleeping bleep.
Your the one who tares stuff!

Honey, your spelling and grammar are abysmal, chastens the narrator.

Honey looks dumbstruck, not because she doesn’t want to tear into the narrator but because for some reason she can’t .

Weird.

She blinks at the narrator. Why can’t I cuss you out? She asks glumly.

Well, it is my magic powers of narration. A gift from the author, who, incidentally finds your mad swings at communication tragi-comic. Would it kill you to write “you’re for you are?”

Story telling

J is a good story teller. He reads books without always sticking to the script.

Sometimes this means funny voices and sometimes it means meticulously adding extra drawings of a 4 year old’s favorite character.

Tonight he transposed “dizzy” to “benign positional vertigo”

He makes me laugh, but may also help the kid with his MCATs

Imagine an ordinary dragon

Had a human child
She would hide herself
With clever disguises
A colorful kerchief
Or floral apron

She would
Measure her breathing
Careful always
To hide the wisps
Of steam and smoke
Rising from her armored chest

But you would know
You could tell
The little things
She could not hide

Her bloodshot eyeballs
And cerulean scales
The wrinkles of a thousand years of waiting
For the child she held
So dear

The Sombrero Galaxy

I say

God:  Space Artist

and you respond:

“Heh.

The Universe +

gravitation=

collisions

and mergers

of galaxies.”

Nice

is another word for weightless

ephemeral

and sombrero

comes for the ancient

word for shadows

and sorrow.

I see splendor in

the arc of the living

God.

you shake your head

and I am inclined to ask whether

you genuinely believe

the Pieta

is just a big rock

worn down by friction?

canst thee see Jesus?

canst thee see the creator?

Michaelangelo amidst the stars.