Tag Archives: narrative

The story to the bone

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Mark 1:16-20 (NIV)
As Jesus walked beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. [17] “Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will make you fishers of men.” [18] At once they left their nets and followed him. [19] When he had gone a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John in a boat, preparing their nets. [20] Without delay he called them, and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men and followed him.

Let me just put the modernist paraphrase on this–an itinerate carpenter sees some dudes with legit jobs and tells them to quit them for an unvarnished Ponzi scheme.

I once got in trouble for trying to rid a church of a Ponzi scheme…those were good times.

Today this sentence popped into my head–kindness is it’s own reward.. I thought, not really…. Avarice, power-mongering and Viagra are their own rewards.

Kindness is a discipline practiced with one eye trained on eternity.

Same with this story. Take 12 grown men with decent jobs and make them penniless outlaws for a quack story about Resurrection? That is bad economics.

That is Jesus. What He calls us to leave is as important as what He calls us to pursue.

He says–

leave your life to gain it

and

take up your cross and follow me…

If he is wrong we are fools. If he is right….
Run to Him.

Honey B and the narrator

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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?”