Prince of Peace

@barabbas.com

As this Sunday morning dawns, the sun lights the sky from the east in brilliant alternating hues of yellow, orange, white, and blue. Its warming rays slice their way through the trees that are our makeshift fence. As the sun enlivens those trees from their dormant winter sleep, there is hope that leaves will soon burst forth.

Nearly two millennia ago, when a woman returned to the tomb of a man she deeply loved and discovered that the stone sealing his resting place had been rolled back, it was not hope that she felt. Mary felt sheer terror and wanted desperately to know where Jesus's body had gone. When asked by a man whom she supposed to be the gardener why she was weeping, Mary said, "Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away." The man, in response, uttered her name, "Mary," and in that instant she knew it was him. It was Rabboni, Jesus himself. The stone sealing shut his tomb had been rightfully rolled back for he had conquered death.

For Christendom, this Sunday morning, Easter is joyously celebrated. It is a day of hope and renewal. It is a celebration of life conquering death. It is honoring the Son of God and His atoning sacrifice. It is remembering the Savior, the Prince of Peace.

I am grateful to be a part of this Easter celebration. I am grateful to know that He has atoned for me, a broken and occasionally rebellious and difficult soul. I am grateful to know that His empty tomb signified that He conquered death. I know that He lives.

He is the Prince of Peace.

I know

The grass in my yard, a muted green, is filling in the spots that didn't survive the winter. Yellow tulips bloom in our planter bed, coming to life as the rays of the sun feed them. The red bellied robins are back, gnoshing on the grubs that called our yard their winter home.  All these are hopeful signs that spring is here. Another most welcome sign of spring? This day - Easter Sunday.

Ages ago, as she peered into an empty tomb, a woman called Mary was wracked with anguish at the sight. A man asked her whom she sought. Without looking at him, she asked where the body had been taken. The man said, "Mary." She knew immediately that it was Him. Jesus had indeed risen.

He lives! All glory to his name!

He lives, my Savior, still the same.

Oh, sweet the joy this sentence gives:

"I know that my Redeemer lives!"

He lives! All glory to his name!

He lives, my Savior, still the same.

Oh, sweet the joy this sentence gives:

"I know that my Redeemer lives!"

- Text by Samuel Medley

His teachings at their core transcend our many differences and are meant to unite us: 

Love one another

May we not forget that.

I know He lives. I know that my Redeemer lives.

Good Friday

Today, Christendom celebrates Good Friday. As a man of faith, the events of the Easter season, Christ's death and resurrection that are so beautifully chronicled in Scripture, are a source of tremendous comfort and peace to me. In a world that is full of tumult right now, that comfort and peace I feel is a tremendous gift. It makes me want to shout, 'Hallelujah!'

Because He lives, I have found peace
Because He lives, I have hope
Because He lives, I am happy

Because He lives, I know there is still good in the world. Good people doing good things for their fellowman.

May we be good to one another, even love one another in spite of our differences, not just today because it's Good Friday, but everyday.

Ce ne est pas une tragédie

It's not a tragedy. It is cold-blooded mass murder.

This past Friday afternoon, as I raced to Philadelphia's 30th Street Station to catch an earlier train back to the 'Stan (which, in a shock to absolutely no one who has ever been subjected to Damntrak, was inexplicably delayed by more than 90 minutes shortly before its scheduled arrival), my Blackberry message light began gyrating like a Kardashian when any one of them catches even the slightest whiff of cash. Clearly, something unpleasant was afoot.

Message after message was pouring in from multiple sources about serious mayhem breaking out in Paris. Within minutes, those messages were followed by internal requests for tracking impacted employees. It was "GO TIME" for me and my team. Of course, being on the train whose wifi service is more of a casual suggestion than an actual functioning thing, I spent the next four and half fours trying to run reports when the wireless felt like working and trying to stay on top of the never ending messages racing through my Blackberry. Dread filled my mind as I thought about my friends who call Paris home. I thought about my last few trips to Paris, which have been some of the best I've had and I was deeply saddened. 'Not again,' is the refrain that kept repeating in my mind.

There was one thought that kept putting itself front and center in my thoughts as it was clear this was an act of cowardice terrorism:

"Ce ne est pas une tragédie."

"This is not a tragedy."

But more than 120 people were murdered senselessly, you say. How can you not call this a tragedy, you ask? By definition, the word tragedy means a lamentable, dreadful or fatal event. The massacre in Paris certainly meets the definition of a tragedy. It was, and is, so much more.

It is an outrageous act of cold-blooded mass murder.

It is cowardice in the name of God.

Can we please call a time out on invoking the name of God to justify, oh I don't know, murder?

It is blasphemy on an epic scale.

Where in the Qu'ran does mass murder get a pass? That would be no where. And this just isn't about the Qu'ran. While I'm no televangelist scriptorian nor do I play one on TV, I know my way, albeit just a little, around the Bible, and the last I checked, no where within its august pages do I find a ringing endorsement for mass murder on any scale.

It is a travesty, a perversion, of all that is still good in this world.

It is an act of war by a decentralized and, arguably, faceless army driven by ideology and it is terrifying. How do you "bomb the s$%#" out of an ideology? Still waiting, waiting, waiting for a cogent answer on that one, Mr. Trump but thanks, Donald, for keeping it classy as you always do. Ahem...

I'm afraid we are in this for the long haul. This will not be an easily won battle. I fear that we will see more of what we experienced this week in Paris and just a few days earlier in the streets of Beirut. We'll have to band together as we did in the days after 9/11 or as we have with the people of Paris in the last 24 hours. This must be our cause, our fight. We are human beings. We are better than this.

"Terrorism is contempt for human dignity." ~ Kjell Magne Bondevik

Me on the streets of Paris

Aujourd'hui, je suis français 

Today I am French

Je suis pour la paix

I am for peace

Coming Home

If you've been following the adventures of our son, TMFKATB, of late in his missionary service, you'll know that his gastrointestinal system has gone into full angry rebellion. That's never a good thing and things have escalated quickly.

When your key operating systems/defenses go into rebellion, what do you do? You pull out the big guns and throw all your resources at it to quell the insurgence. At least that's what you do according to the "Hunger Games" and "Divergent" series, right, Katniss and Tris? To that end, our missionary son will be returning home tomorrow so that the big guns, AKA GI docs and their ilk, can get a full picture of what's going on, quell the insurgence and get him better.

This coming home is an extremely difficult thing for him. He does not want to come home. He wants nothing more than to stay among the people he has grown to love in their country. He has the presence of mind though to understand that whatever is afflicting him is not going to relent if he stays where he is, so he knows that a change in plans is what is best at this time. He wants nothing more than to get better and serve once again, even if that means he can't return to Mexico. In the last couple of days, his mission president told him, "You were called by God to serve and that's what matters; where you serve is the assignment, not the calling." That counsel will no doubt serve him well in the coming days.

Since this escalated so quickly over the last 48 hours or so, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML and I have been fraught with a slew of emotions. We are so proud of our son. We are hurting for his ongoing physical challenges and for the pain of having to leave his mission and the people he has grown to love in the time that he has been there.  We are humbled by the love shown us by our Church family. Our bishop (local lay clergy leader) stood before our congregation this morning and with genuine care and concern, announced our son's impending return and solicited the prayers of our church family on his behalf. It was a beautiful moment, marred by the muffled sobs of some ugly crier in one of the pews. Oh, wait, that ugly crier was me. Well played, sir, well played.

While we can't be certain what the coming days will bring, we are confident in the knowledge that it is all a part of the greater plan God has for our son and us. Truth be told, a 'sneak preview' of what's in store as far as that plan is concerned would be nice. In saying that though, I know it's not going to happen. Instead, we'll take comfort in the peace we felt as we talked to our boy yesterday. We'll take comfort in the peace we felt with our church family today.

We know this will all work out in the end.

A gift given a day early

So this just happened...

For the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML, Mothers Day came a day early. We just got off a joyous Skype session with our daughters, our grandson, our nearly twerking son-in-law, and TMFKATB, our missionary son! As he is currently in the mission office, Sunday is pretty much a work day, so he was able to call his Mom and family today. It was, in a word, sweet.

Delighted to report that he is still The Boy. He, along with four other missionaries, kicked the call off serenading his mother in Spanish with a song dedicated to moms. One of them was even playing a guitar. I can assure you that they will not be replacing One Direction or their ilk any time soon, but they were number one in the heart of TMFKATB's mom. She loved it. His spirits are good as is his attitude and outlook. He had us laughing with his singsongy accented English and his inability to remember certain English phrases. His Spanish is quite good. He has declared my Spanish, well, bad. Apparently, my Cuban Spanish and its delightful dropping of certain consonants with abandon is an offense to his Mexican-infused ears. I see a language showdown in our future.

Suffice to say, it was so good to have us all on and able to see and hear him. He is at peace. He said that time and again. We needed to know that more than words can express right now. Knowing that he is at peace, he has given his mother the best Mothers Day gift and he doesn't even realize it. It's one of those tender mercies that we are sometimes given unexpectedly. I'm going to cherish it.

Where I Find Peace

@examiner.com

Rays of long-absent sunshine pour through the windows of our family room this quiet morning. The trees that form our natural fence filter the precious sunlight and drink it in. You can almost see the buds on those trees, eager to become leaves, starting to form. The wind, which howled throughout the day yesterday, has gone still. It is a peaceful morning. It is Easter.

A millenia ago, sunlight poured into a tomb and a woman, looking inside, wept, because he who had been entombed there three days earlier was gone. At that moment, there was no peace for her. Her soul ached and she sobbed. She then heard a man asking her, "Woman, why weepest thou? whom seekest thou?" Not recognizing His voice, she asked him if knew where the body had been taken. He then uttered her name, "Mary," and she knew. It was Him. Peace filled her soul. He was risen.

He is risen. In those three words, I find peace. On this Easter morning, I am grateful for those three words. More importantly, I am grateful for Him and the comfort that I feel in knowing what I do of Him. The words of the third verse of the hymn "Where Can I Turn for Peace" are particularly meaningful to me:

He answers privately

Reaches my reaching

In my Gethsemane, Savior and Friend

Gentle the peace he finds for my beseeching.

Constant he is and kind,

Love without end.

- Text by Emma Lou Thayne

His message isn't complicated and it doesn't have to be divisive.

Peace. (Be) Kind. Love (One Another). We'd have a whole lot more of the first if we did a whole lot more of the second and third, wouldn't we?

On This Good Friday

It is Good Friday, one of the holiest days in Christendom. The events of this day more than a millenia ago ushered in a demonstration of pure love that is unmatched to this day. As a man of faith, I take great comfort in the events of the Easter season - Christ's death and resurrection - the victories over sin and death.

Because He lives, I have peace.
Because He lives, I learn from those around me each day.
Because He lives, I have hope.

No matter what you believe, it's a good time to take pause and reflect on that which is good in the world. There is still good out there. Plenty of it.



Remember to be good to one another, not just on this day, Good Friday, but every day.