Pour me another cup of coffee Bob. I ordered in a tired voice as I slid my mug across the bar. It was late in downtown Chicago. The city slept except for this cozy little coffee shop on Fairbanks. I shifted on my stool and smiled placidly as I watched the steam spiral upward from the cup placed in front of me. Soft violins and flutes accompanied by a silky female voice flowed from the jukebox in the corner. Though I couldn’t understand the Italian lyrics, the music soothed my aching mind and relaxed the tense muscles in my body. As the song slowly faded to silence the man across the bar sauntered over to the jukebox (boots echoing softly on the wood-grain floor) and placed another dime into the slot like he had done several times before. I thought that if I heard the song just once more I could sing along with it, note for note, even though the Italian lyrics were completely foreign to me.
As the man’s back was turned to me and the lady that was with him stared wistfully at a spot on the table as she cradled her chamomile tea, I glanced down at my notepad resting on my knee under the table at the small handful of words and phrases that I had managed to record from his conversation with the lady. The man’s name was Capone, Al Capone. I am a private eye that freelances for the Chicago Police force. As a private eye I usually get paid to investigate people, but this time I’m not on assignment. Capone is a personal project I’m working on. I’m on my own time. I won’t be able to rest easy until he is behind bars.
Capone is defiantly an elusive opponent. He has the whole city of Chicago in his pocket, from the Mayor to the Chief of Police. His hired guns almost outnumber the police force. He has been charged with racketeering several times but nothing ever sticks to him. He always swaggers out of the courtroom with a smug grin on his face, eyes full of gleeful defiance. It has become my mission in life to wipe that grin off of his face and to see the look of defeat in his eyes through iron bars.
As he turned form the jukebox to walk back to his seat, the light glimmered as it caught the scar across the left side of his face. It started above his cheek and slanted down to the bottom of his jaw. The scar bent into a crescent as his lips curled in a sinister smile. I had seen that same smile many times before as I watched in anger from behind the masses of reporters as he descended the steps of the courthouse. Capone doesn’t realize how far he and I go back.
On a foggy winter night back in 45 i was awakened by gunshots. I ran into the den to see my father riddled with bullets. A dark figure in a trenchcoat was standing over his body with a smoking tommy gun. I caught a glimpse of his face in the moonlight as he escaped out of an open window into the night air, but not before I slashed his cheek with a bowie knife my father kept on his study table.
My father was the cheif of police in chicago at the time and had apparently refused to cover up a smuggling ring ran by Capone. That night, over the corpse of my father, I swore that I would avenge his death.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Tower of Babel
Wandering through this maze of broken down buildings, cracking asphalt and cement, stepping over people lying in the street, smelling the ashes of the burning remains of a once prosperous society, I rounded a corner and there it stood. The Ivory Tower, so beautiful and majestic, reaching up through the clouds, so tall the top is barely visible. I had heard it was the place to be. Many a man had spent his entire lifetime laying the foundation and stones for this tower and never got to see the top. Many a pilgrim had traveled to his holy hill in search of this tower and here I stood now at its base. What lies before me is stairs, lots of stairs. They wind upwards in a spiral to the top. Me, being a man that always reaches for what is beyond his grasp began to climb. I climbed and climbed stopping to catch my breath from time to time, highly anticipating what awaited me at the top. Finally, weeks later, I am hungry tired and thirsty, I reach the top floor. As I step off the last stair, a hallway lies before me with a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling. I walk down the hall and open a door. I walk into the room, dimly lit, a ray of light pouring in from a window. I walk to the window and as I look down at the ghetto I had left and realized that it wasn’t all that far down. Here I was looming high above it all. It looked different but somehow the same.
I turned my head just in time to see a cork flying past me, attached to a line with a lead and a hook baited with a plump night-crawler, squirming in the air. I looked to see where the line came from. Then I noticed I was standing in a bathroom with an old man sitting on the commode fishing out of the bathtub. He stared blankly ahead, mouth slightly ajar. I walked over to the bathtub, full of water with nothing but a few bubbles and a rubber ducky floating around aimlessly; the worm squirms and writhes on the end of the hook, its body secreting an oily residue into the water. I turn my gaze to the old man and ask, “What are you doing?” He seemed puzzled by the question and turned his gaze toward me for just a moment. “I’m fishing.” He said with a shrug and continued to stare ahead blankly.
I turned my head just in time to see a cork flying past me, attached to a line with a lead and a hook baited with a plump night-crawler, squirming in the air. I looked to see where the line came from. Then I noticed I was standing in a bathroom with an old man sitting on the commode fishing out of the bathtub. He stared blankly ahead, mouth slightly ajar. I walked over to the bathtub, full of water with nothing but a few bubbles and a rubber ducky floating around aimlessly; the worm squirms and writhes on the end of the hook, its body secreting an oily residue into the water. I turn my gaze to the old man and ask, “What are you doing?” He seemed puzzled by the question and turned his gaze toward me for just a moment. “I’m fishing.” He said with a shrug and continued to stare ahead blankly.
Grandma Smith
I was twelve and I hated penny loafers and I hated church. I don’t know what I hated more; church itself or the fact that my mom made me wear those stupid penny loafers when I went. I hated sitting there for hours on a wooden pew, listening to my dad behind the pulpit talk about things that didn’t make any sense to me. I hated the solemn hymns, the organ accompaniment, the constant business of standing up and sitting down and bowing my head, the long pious prayers, the superficial conversations before and after the service, the impossible expectations of perfection imposed upon me by my parents and the church people, (and God himself apparently), the stigma I lived with at school, and the fact that I was not allowed to go places and do things that other kids my age participated in, but I especially hated the penny-loafers.
She was ninety-two when I first met her. My dad was the new pastor at wood-haven church of god in Hammond, Louisiana and I was the new student in her Sunday school class. I’ll never forget opening the door and walking into her classroom for the first time, and seeing her sitting there, ancient and mystical, glowing from the inside out accentuated by the rays of morning sunshine through the golden, stained glass panes of the window behind her. It was as if I’d walked through an invisible doorway into another dimension. She sat regally behind the table like an angelic mother hen with a cluster of my peers around her with a warm, calm, peaceful smile permanently etched on her countenance. I left my bitterness and pride at the door and reverently took a seat at the table with the other kids. After the introductions and some small talk, a hush fell over the room as she removed a small cylindrical package from her oversized black purse, we all paused in meditation as she one, by one rolled a spearmint cert across the table to each of us with her wrinkled arthritis ridden hands, a weekly communion we observed religiously before she opened the class with a prayer.
She always said that all prayer was, is talking to God, and that’s exactly what she did. She didn’t quote scripture or speak in old English; she simply talked to Jesus as if he was right there. In fact… I think he was. I remember that first Sunday, I looked behind me as she was praying half expecting to see him walking thru the door and pulling up a chair at the table waiting anxiously for his cert. I sensed the presence of God like I had never felt before, like a welcome and honored guest that had come from afar.
Almost two years later I stood by her death-bed, listening to her pray, this time in a language that I did not understand. She lie there flat on her back, unblinking eyes fixated as if staring intently at a spot on the ceiling, mumbling unintelligibly pausing to inhale slowly. She seemed oblivious to my presence as I stood there silently thinking about certs rolling across the table, the smell of the old spice cologne she always wore, and her big tattered bible she always carried, loose pages stained with age, with passages underlined and notes scrawled in the margins. She paused momentarily and after a brief silence, without detouring her heavenward gaze, she whispered my name. “Yes, Grandma Smith?” I answered. “I’ll see you in heaven.” She finally spoke before returning to her prayer. “I’ll be there, Grandma Smith. I’ll be there.” I said. The next morning she went home to be with Jesus.
She was ninety-two when I first met her. My dad was the new pastor at wood-haven church of god in Hammond, Louisiana and I was the new student in her Sunday school class. I’ll never forget opening the door and walking into her classroom for the first time, and seeing her sitting there, ancient and mystical, glowing from the inside out accentuated by the rays of morning sunshine through the golden, stained glass panes of the window behind her. It was as if I’d walked through an invisible doorway into another dimension. She sat regally behind the table like an angelic mother hen with a cluster of my peers around her with a warm, calm, peaceful smile permanently etched on her countenance. I left my bitterness and pride at the door and reverently took a seat at the table with the other kids. After the introductions and some small talk, a hush fell over the room as she removed a small cylindrical package from her oversized black purse, we all paused in meditation as she one, by one rolled a spearmint cert across the table to each of us with her wrinkled arthritis ridden hands, a weekly communion we observed religiously before she opened the class with a prayer.
She always said that all prayer was, is talking to God, and that’s exactly what she did. She didn’t quote scripture or speak in old English; she simply talked to Jesus as if he was right there. In fact… I think he was. I remember that first Sunday, I looked behind me as she was praying half expecting to see him walking thru the door and pulling up a chair at the table waiting anxiously for his cert. I sensed the presence of God like I had never felt before, like a welcome and honored guest that had come from afar.
Almost two years later I stood by her death-bed, listening to her pray, this time in a language that I did not understand. She lie there flat on her back, unblinking eyes fixated as if staring intently at a spot on the ceiling, mumbling unintelligibly pausing to inhale slowly. She seemed oblivious to my presence as I stood there silently thinking about certs rolling across the table, the smell of the old spice cologne she always wore, and her big tattered bible she always carried, loose pages stained with age, with passages underlined and notes scrawled in the margins. She paused momentarily and after a brief silence, without detouring her heavenward gaze, she whispered my name. “Yes, Grandma Smith?” I answered. “I’ll see you in heaven.” She finally spoke before returning to her prayer. “I’ll be there, Grandma Smith. I’ll be there.” I said. The next morning she went home to be with Jesus.
Wilderness Sactuary
With reverent awe I pull back the curtains and slip into this sacred sanctuary. I soak in the beauty that surrounds me and a great wave of peace washes over me as the curtains close behind me shutting out the world. I am finally home, in the presence of my heavenly father, I remove my shoes for I stand on holy ground and proceed into this vast holy sanctuary via a trail in the pine straw and oak leaf blanketed forest floor that I have traversed many times before. The sun shines thru the branches illuminating my path. I pause for a moment to soak in its warmth and then proceed in silence for a word spoke in my tongue would be a foreign language. The terrain is rugged, wild and beautiful, the forest a virgin, unscathed by the hands of sinful man, it is pure and un-violated. It speaks in a language I have forgotten. The language of my heart. I lose myself in the thickness of the forest in which the four walls of my chambers could not even attempt to hint at the measure of blissful solitude the shade of the oaks provide for me. And as the sun sets I watch the accent of the moon as I lie on the ground next to my crackling fire, shifting my gaze from its dancing flames to the flickering stars above me, winking at the man in the moon watching over me as my fleeting thoughts ebb away into the night air, dispersed into nothingness like a plume of smoke from my fire.
The other side of the fence
The grass really does look greener on the other side of the fence, they say it’s really not but at least there’s a lot more of it. I gaze across the vast plains thru strands of barbed wire at the huge fireball in the sky; I watch it as it slowly disappears behind the horizon. I wonder where it goes. How I long to gallop across this lush green sea of grass, how I long to see where the sun beds down for the night. But here I am trapped inside this fence. Sometimes I dream of getting a running start and jumping over the western fence and galloping into the sunset, but I always stutter step just short of jumping. What if I trip? Besides I have grass to eat here and an old bathtub full of water to drink, and an old Guernsey named Betsey to keep me company and every Friday Farmer Joe dumps a bale of hay over the fence with the forks on his tractor for me and Betsey. I have everything I need here and I am comfortable. Oops I stepped in Betsey’s’ crap again.
Good-Bye
I said good-bye to my sorrows, I said good-bye to my fears, nothing but a song bouncing round between my ears. I said good-bye to my worries, I said good-bye to my pain, I said good-bye to you girl cuz you were driving me insane. But I want you to know I’ll always love you so, but a traveler always knows when it’s time to go. I got no money in my pockets nothing but time on my hands…don’t owe nobody nothing and I ain’t making no demands, I got the sun on my shoulders, my guitar on my back. And everything I own fits into my backpack…you say time is money but I think it’s so much more…my bag is always packed and never too far from the door…my yoke is easy and my burden is light I’ve got one life to live and I’m gonna live it right. I’ve got nothing but love and I’m gonna give it all away. I’m not counting on tomorrow, I’m just living for today.
From the Temple to the Vine.
It is interesting how the mode of worship goes from stationary and vertical to fluid and horizontal between the Old Testament and the new. The Jewish patriarchal hierarchy, the religio-political system of the Old Testament, with its priests, temples, rituals and laws was considered by Paul and the New Testament believers as a tutor and model for the coming messiah, Jesus. The law was not the end but a speedily exhaustible means to an end. The sacrifice of Christ redeemed the Jews from their oppressive and legalistic religion that required blood for the remission of sins. He became the final sacrifice. He was the final sacrifice, the fulfillment of the law. He allowed himself to be swallowed by the religious machine and crushed in the teeth of the gears in order to stop the wheels from turning. He destroyed the temple, ripped the curtain in two and put the priest-hood out of work, and established a new kingdom…a kingdom not of this world.
The “kingdom” of heaven is quite different from our worldly concept of kings and kingdoms. Jesus’ thoughts on leadership include statements such as “whoever wishes to be first among you must become the least.” “The first shall be last and the last shall be first.” He turned the paradigm of hierarchy upside down with visions such as: “the lion (lion of Judah) shall lie down with the lamb and a little child shall lead them.” In fact being born again and becoming like a little child was a pre-requisite for being a part of his heavenly kingdom. “Let the little children come unto me and forbid them not for such is the kingdom of heaven.” “If you do not become as a little child you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” In the parable of the rich young man he spoke of the renunciation of material possessions and even said that it was easier for a camel to go through the “eye of a needle” than a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. He made a clear distinction in Matthew chapter 6 between the kingdom of the world and the kingdom of heaven “you cannot serve two masters…you cannot serve both God and Money.” He commanded his disciples to not carry extra clothes, or staff (used as a weapon against thieves), or Money when he sent them out in two’s to spread the gospel of the kingdom of heaven.
In any kingdom of man, laws are instituted to protect persons and their property from the hands of selfish and greedy people; mechanical mechanisms to discourage crime. A hierarchy must be established to enforce these laws. Jesus’ remedy to this dilemma was simple: “Do not store up for yourselves treasure on earth where moth and rust destroy and thieves break in and steal…” “Observe the birds of the air, they neither sow or reap or gather into barns, but your heavenly father feeds them.”
To the converts from Judaism, the coming of the Messiah marked the end of God’s vertical, hierarchical, second hand relationship with his people and the beginning of an intimate, personal, first-hand relationship. “The time has come and now is when the true worshippers shall worship God in Spirit and in Truth. He was the fulfillment of the prophesies of Jeremiah, Isaiah, and Hosea… Jesus brought God to the people by calling him Father rather than Lord. He included humanity in the Godhead when he said I am the vine and you are the branches… He put himself on an equal plane with his followers when he said “who is my mother and brother and sister? Those who do the will of my Father.” The apostle Paul said: “We are the body of Christ…”“we are no longer slaves but friends.” All of the revolutionaries in the history of Judaism spoke of someone coming after them that was greater, from Moses to John the Baptist who said, ‘ I am not even worthy to unloose his sandal straps.’ Jesus as well prophesied off the coming of the Holy Spirit. Pentecost was a step closer to people experiencing God on a horizontal plane and resulted in the egalitarian model of the first church before it’s corruption in the book of Acts.
God is Spirit. The idea of a stationary God in another realm is a conceptual misnomer. The idea of Omni-presence implied in the bible suggests that God is everywhere at once, thru all and in all, that he inhabits and yet transcends his creation. The personification of God is merely a metaphor. The feeling of the absence of God’s presence is nothing more than a lack of perception and the overwhelming experience of ecstatic and intrancsive worship is a revelation, a heightened sense of awareness of the presence of God.
Temples don’t grow and evolve but bodies and vines never stop. A tree will never grow to the capacity it was designed to reach if it is transplanted and confined to a pot. Its roots will either break thru the structure that contains it or its growth will be stunted and it will eventually shrivel and die. God is alive and cannot be contained. He cannot inhabit man-made structures without ripping the curtain in two and demolishing it completely not leaving one stone on top of another. King Solomon said, “The heavens, even the highest heavens cannot contain you oh, lord how much less this temple I have built with my own hands.” Just as the tree cannot be contained in the pot, or God in the Temple, or Christ in the Tomb; neither can the Church (The Body of Christ) be contained within a religeo-political hierarchical structure. Truth is alive. It transcends scientific and mathematical formulas. It is not known by him who claims to have found the end…it is known by him who wonders…and wanders, perusing it to the end…of himself.
The “kingdom” of heaven is quite different from our worldly concept of kings and kingdoms. Jesus’ thoughts on leadership include statements such as “whoever wishes to be first among you must become the least.” “The first shall be last and the last shall be first.” He turned the paradigm of hierarchy upside down with visions such as: “the lion (lion of Judah) shall lie down with the lamb and a little child shall lead them.” In fact being born again and becoming like a little child was a pre-requisite for being a part of his heavenly kingdom. “Let the little children come unto me and forbid them not for such is the kingdom of heaven.” “If you do not become as a little child you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” In the parable of the rich young man he spoke of the renunciation of material possessions and even said that it was easier for a camel to go through the “eye of a needle” than a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. He made a clear distinction in Matthew chapter 6 between the kingdom of the world and the kingdom of heaven “you cannot serve two masters…you cannot serve both God and Money.” He commanded his disciples to not carry extra clothes, or staff (used as a weapon against thieves), or Money when he sent them out in two’s to spread the gospel of the kingdom of heaven.
In any kingdom of man, laws are instituted to protect persons and their property from the hands of selfish and greedy people; mechanical mechanisms to discourage crime. A hierarchy must be established to enforce these laws. Jesus’ remedy to this dilemma was simple: “Do not store up for yourselves treasure on earth where moth and rust destroy and thieves break in and steal…” “Observe the birds of the air, they neither sow or reap or gather into barns, but your heavenly father feeds them.”
To the converts from Judaism, the coming of the Messiah marked the end of God’s vertical, hierarchical, second hand relationship with his people and the beginning of an intimate, personal, first-hand relationship. “The time has come and now is when the true worshippers shall worship God in Spirit and in Truth. He was the fulfillment of the prophesies of Jeremiah, Isaiah, and Hosea… Jesus brought God to the people by calling him Father rather than Lord. He included humanity in the Godhead when he said I am the vine and you are the branches… He put himself on an equal plane with his followers when he said “who is my mother and brother and sister? Those who do the will of my Father.” The apostle Paul said: “We are the body of Christ…”“we are no longer slaves but friends.” All of the revolutionaries in the history of Judaism spoke of someone coming after them that was greater, from Moses to John the Baptist who said, ‘ I am not even worthy to unloose his sandal straps.’ Jesus as well prophesied off the coming of the Holy Spirit. Pentecost was a step closer to people experiencing God on a horizontal plane and resulted in the egalitarian model of the first church before it’s corruption in the book of Acts.
God is Spirit. The idea of a stationary God in another realm is a conceptual misnomer. The idea of Omni-presence implied in the bible suggests that God is everywhere at once, thru all and in all, that he inhabits and yet transcends his creation. The personification of God is merely a metaphor. The feeling of the absence of God’s presence is nothing more than a lack of perception and the overwhelming experience of ecstatic and intrancsive worship is a revelation, a heightened sense of awareness of the presence of God.
Temples don’t grow and evolve but bodies and vines never stop. A tree will never grow to the capacity it was designed to reach if it is transplanted and confined to a pot. Its roots will either break thru the structure that contains it or its growth will be stunted and it will eventually shrivel and die. God is alive and cannot be contained. He cannot inhabit man-made structures without ripping the curtain in two and demolishing it completely not leaving one stone on top of another. King Solomon said, “The heavens, even the highest heavens cannot contain you oh, lord how much less this temple I have built with my own hands.” Just as the tree cannot be contained in the pot, or God in the Temple, or Christ in the Tomb; neither can the Church (The Body of Christ) be contained within a religeo-political hierarchical structure. Truth is alive. It transcends scientific and mathematical formulas. It is not known by him who claims to have found the end…it is known by him who wonders…and wanders, perusing it to the end…of himself.
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