Easter - Mary Magdalene

It was very early as Mary Magdalene set out for the tomb. The gathering halo of dawn was providing just enough light to reveal the stones in her path. The birds were sounding the first notes of a song of rejuvenation as the world began to draw a new breath. A breath of life. Mary hardly noticed this stir of life, overpowered by her own burden of grief that she hoped to, at least partially unload at Jesus’ tomb. She had set out early, hoping to spend a little time there alone before the others met her to perform the final task of anointing his body with spices. She knew it was only his body now in that tomb, but maybe she would feel some stirring of life, some lifting of this oppressive fog of sorrow if she could just be close to him. Mary had barely slept the last couple of interminable nights, but it wasn’t sleeplessness that brought her out so early. It was the burden of unspoken words. The events of Friday had happened so quickly that she hadn’t been given the chance to talk to him one last time, to make sure that he knew the depth of her gratitude, the immensity of her affection, and the purity of her love. Now she was drawn to be close to him to say those words even though he couldn’t hear them. She needed to be relieved of some of this burden before it crushed the fragment of life left in her after the death blow of the crucifixion.
Along the way Mary Magdalene reflected with loathing on the sneering Pharisees she had seen at the cross. Jealous and fearful men who had stolen Jesus from her. The type of men who had stolen much from her over the years. Their cynicism looked so foolishly arrogant in the presence of Jesus’ love. Jealousy looked so pitifully self-serving in the presence of Jesus’ love. Unbelief and apathy seemed impossible in the presence of Jesus’ love. How could you not respond to this kind of love? Mary was familiar with love that whispered in the night, but was silent in the light of day. She had known the rough embrace of lust, but from Jesus she had experienced the pure embrace of love in her soul. She had thirsted for this kind of love and received only the cheap, bitter wine of unfaithfulness and disappointment. But, you could lose yourself in the intoxication of Jesus’ love. This was love that found you wandering alone, cold and frightened and brought you home. This was love that looked through the hardened layers of shame and saw something worthy of restoring. Mary Magdalene had needed that restoration, for Mary’s life had become a ramshackled palace. Once a place of beauty and hope and promise, but too many visitors invited in had abused the structure. Too many wild parties thrown within these walls. Too many broken parts that were never repaired. She could dress it up with fresh paint, but it was an unconvincing facade. That was before Jesus. He had come through like a one man wrecking crew. Knocking down walls, letting light into dark corners, scraping away layers of grime, restoring everything touched by decay. And most incredibly He had thrown out the abusive tenants and invited in the royal presence of God. How could you not respond to this kind of love? This was an exotic love, from another world. The centurion who oversaw the crucifixion had said it simply and yet eloquently; “indeed this was the son of God”.

Mary Magdalene gasped and a coldness suddenly raced through her. She was standing at the entrance of an open, empty tomb. How could they have done this? They took his life and now they had taken even his body. They robbed her of Jesus, and now in this final indignity they had robbed her of the chance to come near and speak her words of overwhelming gratitude. Oh, if only! If only He hadn’t come to Jerusalem, If only he hadn’t angered the Pharisees, If only he had crept away in night - - if only - if only - if only He were here now, everything would be right ---

and then He called her name -
and He called my name -
do you hear Him calling you?

CHRISTMAS ......... "I AM"

The darkness of evening was settling down over the land of Egypt, ending another day of hard labor for the Israelites. The groaning of body turned to groaning of spirit:

"Are you listening God?"
"Are you ever going to answer?"
"Are you ever going to deliver your people from this bondage?"

......and God answered from a burning bush: "I AM"


The darkness of evening was settling down over the land of Judea, ending a long weary day of travel. Just another dark night in the long dark silence from God. The groaning of weariness reflected the weariness of spirit.

"God, we need to hear your voice again."
"Are you ever going to speak?"
"Are you going to deliver?"
"Are you still faithful to your promises?"

......and the answering cry of God was the cry of a baby: "I AM"


We have put up the decorations and lit the candles initiating another Christmas season. We will think of Peace, talk of Hope and sing of Joy.

"God, this year as we re-read the story, what is
the one thing you want us to see?"

......and Jesus whispers: "I AM"

random photos with Italian song

These are some of my random photos that don't have a common theme, so I put them with an Italian song so that most of us wouldn't notice that the words don't fit the pictures.....so just watch and enjoy.

Meteora Greece

These are pictures that I took of Meteora, in February '06 and March of 2010. An exotic place where many monastaries are perched on huge monoliths. ....the music, of course - Josh Groban.

red chairs

Embossed in red and issued in triplicate -
an invitation to tranquility.
"come, sit, take your deserved rest.
Bask in the protected warmth of this courtyard. Let the scented morning air embrace you in
a cocoon of contentment."
Why would one resist the enticing call of the red chairs?
Pause and ponder -
Rest and reflect -
Settle and be satisfied...
But, I hear the faint wisper of my name in the breath
that swirls through the archway and I wonder what
awaits along its' path...

Valentine

...sounds like a bad country music song: "I shot my valentine on Siltcoos lake."

Love's Unwritten Page

I wrote this poem a few years ago and recently added my video and photography. The music is arranged and performed by a friend: Randy Trummer

Kent's kritters

This is a slideshow of photos that I've taken of bugs and other critters which I put to music.

Turtle movie #2

The long awaited and much anticipated: TURTLE 2 - the sequel

Turtle Movie #1

I shot this movie on the hill near our apartment.

Motorcyling Through Athens

This is a movie I shot from the back of my friend Themis' motorcycle. Yes, it's true, there are are no rules.

decietfulness of Sin - poem & photo by Kent

THE WEB

She dances on a dew bejeweled land
Where light and silk, walk hand in silvered hand,
Weaving crystal threads with lucent strands - -
- Those few bedazzled visitors who stray
To watch the seductive prisms' proud display,
Can never seem to tear themselves away.

Ask the fly, who stopped to admire this sparkling spectacle, why he came. "The experience was irresistibly seductive", he might say. He might add, with philosophical contempt: "Could anything this radiant be ruinous? Anything this brilliant be base? Could such shimmering bring suffering?" Then, he might end with a profound proverbial quip;
"Only a fool would be frightened
of something so enlightened."

"Has the experience made you feel more alive?" we ask. But, strangely there is no reply. Perhaps he is completely wrapped up in the pure pleasure of the moment.

It is no accident that scripture uses the term "deceitful" to describe the nature of sin. If we could have seen the piranhas we would never have taken that refreshing dip in the river. God has told us that there is no real worth in wealth, no lasting love in lust, no pot of gold at the end of prides' proud display. He has tried to open our eyes to see the decaying carcasses in the corners of sins' web, wrapped in inescapable bonds of dissatisfaction, heartache, misery and regret.
The sin, that so easily entangles, is weaving crystal threads with lucent strands, yet it almost seems, as we are pondering whether or not God really knows what He is talking about, that something is sucking the very life right out of us!

Written as a message to churches / by Kent

BIRDS ON A WIRE

Their country of birth was in such chaos that the main roads were freeways to death and every side street was an avenue of destruction. Only one narrow and perilous path provided an escape and so they embarked on this journey toward life. Refugees, foreigners, temporary dwellers in a land steeped in strangeness. Birds perched for a moment on a wire, searching the horizon for a safe spot to build a nest. This is reality for millions among us, those, just around the corner of the globe, just across the border. Jesus calls them our neighbors.
We are grateful to be your arms of caring and your message of hope to these battered brothers and sisters. Sons and daughters estranged from a father who waits expectantly and watches intently to see who might be coming down the road toward home.

Admittedly we are all grateful that their plight is not ours. Yet, their vagrant condition ought to be a picture of our own spiritual standing and practice in whatever culture we reside. Peter, remembering the words that Jesus spoke to him: “you do not belong to this world, but I have chosen you out of the world”, reminds us that we also are aliens and strangers in our own world. We are the foreign nomads in our familiar neighborhoods – strangers just passing through. Nesting for a season, precariously perched, watching the horizon, destined to fly home.

Perhaps the analogy ends here. The goal of most refugees is to find a place where they can feel at home. To find a place to blend in and have a normal life like those around them. To perhaps one day become citizens, to belong, to feel settled. Whereas, scripture reminds us pointedly and often that entangling ourselves in the ways of the world mandates untangling ourselves from our Father’s embrace. “Friendship with the world is hostility toward God.” In order to cozy up to the world we must distance ourselves from God. Our goal should never be to feel at home in a place where the things that God calls worthless are valued as priceless.

As those called out, let us come out, move out, and let us embrace our refugee status. Our refuge is not a where but, a whom. We are not in pursuit of a flag but, a cross. We are wanderers. Not hopeless wanderers but, wanderers whose hope is secure. Not homeless wanderers but, wanderers whose homes are being prepared. So pack lightly, too much stuff is just going to weigh you down on this journey down the refugee highway.

Perch lightly, always ready to fly.

Greek Crosses with Music

I took these pictures of crosses in Greece and put them to music -