The Arrival of Celtic Christianity to the Isle of Iona, Part 1

In 563, an Irish monk named Columba sailed in a primitive coracle (like a circular canoe) with twelve companions from Ireland, setting foot on a one by three mile isle of Iona, Scotland. A monastery was established. Eventually, others were built across Scotland, each becoming a learning center. The monks recovered portions of the Bible saved from the raveges of the barbarians. The monks painstakenly made copies painting the colorful calligraphy on their pages

Its east side is located across the Iona Sound from the much larger Isle of Mull, which is ferry ride to the Scottish mainland. The western side faces the Atlantic Ocean. If you cast off from Iona and head west, the next landfall is 2,300 miles away on Newfoundland.

Columba's mission was to bring Christianity to Northern Scotland. His method of evangelization was to build a monastery near a Celtic community. The monks established relationships with the pre-Christians treating them with kindness and respect. They won them over by example, not by the sword and oppresion. They even mingled the some the  customs and ceremonies that were compatible with Christianity. 

Celtic Christians borrowed from the pre-Christians that nature is the divine essence, which is "panentheistic," where everything exists within God, but God is greater. Dualism is a false doctrine. Creation and Spirit are One. The separation between the physical and the spiritual is as close "the thin spaces." There is no heaven nor hell. There is one Creation- spiritual and physical. God isn't "out there." God surrounds us and is within us. 

This prayer is known as "Patrick's Breastplate." Christ within me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right, Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I arise."

Creation is the "second Bible" along with the written one. In other words, the Celts live Genesis 1:27-31 which says that "God created humans in his image, in the image of God he created them.... God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good." That is their baseline for including all humanity and sentient beings as beloved of God. No exceptions. 

 

In the fifth century, St. Augustine coined the phrase, "original sin." He ignored Genesis 1:27. He taught that even children are born in sin. Sex was sinful. Sex for procreation was tolerable. Eve was blamed for bringing sin into the world, because she first ate of the fruit in garden. Her disobedience to God justified that women were considered second class, to be dominated by men. 

Augustine of Canterbury was sent by Pope Gregory the Great in 597 30 years after Columba arrived on Iona. His mission was to establish a Roman mission in Britannia, an outpost of the Roman Empire.  

Roman Christianity was hierarchical consisting of the pope, bishops, and priests, in that order.  The clergy were the authorities in Christian doctrine and theology. To be a Roman Christian meant that you obeyed the clergy. Only the priest could teach and interpret the Bible. The laity were forbidden from having a Bible. 

Obedience to the priest was mandatory under the threat of excommunication or hell. The only way back to the fold was to recant by confessing one's sins. Only the priest could forgive sins by granting absolution, forgiving sin, or otherwise.

Celtic spiritualy, pre-Christian and Christian emerged in Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and Northern England where the Roman Empire had little or no influence. Celtic Christianity did away with the heresies of the Roman church and continued the teachings "of the Way," from the first century house gatherings.

Iona became the center if Celtic Christianity and spread throughut northern Scotland. Iona also became a learning center for missionaries who came even as far as central Europe. Many brought suriving manuscripts that would have been destroyed during the chaos fromthe fall of the Rome empire and conquering barbarians.

Iona and the other monastaries copied recovered books and portions of the Bible. Many had beautiful caligrophy adorning their pages. 

The Vikings first attacked Iona in 795, and continued in 802, 806, and 825. Eventually the Iona community abandoned the island. For almost 400 years, there was no monastic activity.

What Christian presence did remain are two Celtic high crosses, St. John's and St. Martin's installed between the years 750 and 800. St. John's cross recently collapsed and its pieces are reconstructed in the Abbey musuem., along with St. Oran's and St. Matthew's cross. St. Martin's cross keeps vigil on the same spot at the abbey as it has for over 1200 years.

At around 1200, the Benedictines arrived on Iona revived monastic life by constructing an abbey and other structures made of stone. Most survive as ruins today. The Scottish protestant reformation in 1560-1561 caused the Benedictines to abandoned Iona. However pilgrims continued to arrive on Iona, through there was no established community on the island. A partial restoration of the abbey was completed in the late 18th century.

Then Presbyterian pastor and social activist George MacLeod led the movement for the full restoration of the abbey and the founding of the Iona Community. The abbey continues to be the destination of thousands of pilgrims to this day. 

The Iona Community is formed by persons who foster Celtic spirituality with weekly prayer services morning and evenings and eucharist on Sundays. They host youth groups and volunteers who serve in the abbey and are taught by members of the community. The Iona community has a number of communities around the world. Their mission is to pray act for peace and justice, through the teachings of Jesus' sermon on the mount and the parables.

 For learning more about Celtic spirituality and how Christianity was influenced by it, read "Listening from the Heartbeat of God," by John Phillip Newell.

To be continued in Part 2

The Journey to the Isle of Iona, Part 2

 

Last August, I went on a pilgrimage of seven days on the Isle of Iona. This was a rare privilage for me. When I attended the Five Day Academies for Spiritual Formation i n  Florida, I heard some of the attendees talk about Iona as the pinnacle of their spiritual lives. I said, "Some day I will visit Iona. 

My first visit was in October of 2024, but we were only 3 days on the island. Being with a group was a distraction. Since then I said, "I've got to return,  but this time, alone, and for a longer period." 

I made my decision to go in March of this year. I had my doubts. I'm 78 years old. Can I stand the rigors of travel and hiking all over the island? Can I figure out how to get there, especially the complication to get a visa to enter the UK and pulling together the reservations for four changes of transportation and having them coordinate at just the right time?

I made my plane reservations; got my new passport in three weeks; no problem, and my UK visa in a week. My confidence that I was really going to Iona rose.

But figuring out the reservations for ScotRail from Edinburgh to Oban on the Scottish mainland; then the first ferry crossing to Craignure on the Isle of Mull; then the bus ride across Mull to the Fionnphort ferry landing, and finally landing on Iona, was a challenge. Whew!

But getting to Iona was part of the challenge. 

I scheduled led my flights for two days in Edinburgh before Iona and two days after, a wise decision because my outbound flight from Philadelphia to Edinburgh was delayed for 24 hours. 

How all that happened became a synchronistic experience. Carl Jung, the founder of analytical psychology  coined the word, which means, "a meaningful coincidence between two or more events that appear to be connected in significance, even though no direct cause-and-effect relationship can be established." 

When I was waiting line to board the plane, I began chatting with a couple as we entered the plane. After finding my seat, I met a young woman sitting across the aisle. She was going to Scotland to meet her Australian boyfriend, who played the bag pipes. The captain announced that there was a minor mechanical problem that we would be on our way in half an hour. Four hours later we deplaned.

It was about 11:00 PM when we disembarked. The young woman took off ahead of me. Then I ran with the friendly couple.

 The staff  dumped us, saying we were to make our own hotel reservations and the airline would reimburse us for the hotel. 

After several calls we realized that all the hotels in the area were booked... except for Travel Lodge with two rooms. As we walked towards the exit, I saw the young woman sitting on a bench looking dejected. I motioned to her to join us. "We have two rooms," I said. We became a foursome. Together we would make it through.

We arrived at a Travel Lodge. It was a dump, but we had no choice. The Mrs. with the young woman in one room and the Mr. and me in the other. At least the sheets were clean.

The next morning at the terminal we were told that our flight was a special one carrying the stranded passengers.

There would be many more synchronistic experiences when I got to Iona. 

It was great to back in Edinburgh. Being out of my country for ten days was like taking an ideological vacation- away from the anger, hate and dictatorial diatribes from the top.

It was refreshing to be surrounded by an old culture- the buildings, the parks, the traditions, and the Scottish accent (much I didn't understand, no matter), and Tennent lager beer.

I stayed at "the Hostel" hostel, right across the Haymarket train station. That too was an adventure. Most of the guests were young adults from all over the world. The beds were three tier bunks. I got the lowest one. I kept hitting my head on the frame.

About 18 people shared a room, men and women. Everyone was cordial and kept their belongings on their beds with no concern of being robbed. There was a communal bathroom and showers with doors with locks. A sitting room brought people together. And communal kitchen. I was given a code to enter the hostel and the room. I felt very safe. 

The next day I ventured out on my self-tour of Edinburgh taking the train from Haymarket to the Waverley station (my street at home is Waverly). Haymaket got its name in the late 18th century because of the buying and selling hay for the animals, and the name stuck.

First I had to figure out how to buy the train tickets. People noticed that I was an American and helped me out getting my tickets. 

From the Waverley station I walked a few blocks to the Royal Mile. It is a mile long stone paved pedestrian street. All along the Royal Mile there are dozens of shops and pubs.  The mile rises towards the Edinburgh Castle, a massive stone structure that protected Edinburgh from invasions. Now it houses a series of military museums.

In October 2024, Trudy and I visited Iona with a group. During our last visit in 2024, our flight home was delayed for a day. Another serendipity, because if we had left earlier, we would have missed the highlight of my visit to Scotland. A friend called telling us about the Waverley bar. It served over 100 varieties of Scottish whiskey. At long table Scots men and women sang old Gaelic songs- woeful ballads of love won and lost. Musicians accompanied the singers, including a small bag pipe that could be played indoors.

The Two Pilgrimages to Iona, Part 3

You go on two pilgrimages to the Isle of Iona: one is spiritual and the other is physical. 

The spiritual journey begins when you walk off the plank of the ferry. You feel a presence that is hard to describe, but it is there.`I'm trying not to be Woo Woo about it, but you feel it. Many others who have been on the island experience the same thing.

What follows in my narrative of my journey, I can't begin to fully describe what I experienced, felt, and saw. One must go to Iona to have their experiences. However, I will try.

The focus of the spiritual journey is the abbey. But there is more. As you walk along the road, you pass about five ruins that used to be a nunnery. It its prime, the nunnery had wealthy residents that provided the resources for an active nunnery. 

You continue on the road, and the abbey comes into view; a cruciform structure wth a square bell tower. You arrive at an ancient cemetery which is alongside of St.Oran's chapel. 

Most of inscriptions on the tombstones are ilegible. The cemetary's residents include medieval Scottish, Norse, and Danish kings. It is said that two of its residents made famous from Shakespeare's MacBeth are the real Kings MacBeth and Duncan I. Shakespeare writes that his character, King Duncan was taken to Colmekill (Iona) to be buried.

St. Oran's chapel is the only structure on the island that has survived, built by the Benedictines at around 1200. Legend says that St Oran was a companion of Columba, who requested that he be buried alive, so that the walls of the chapel would not collapse. 

Finally, you arrive at the abbey. You enter through the main door, and the first thing you see is a four sided courtyard or cloister. This is where the monks would pray as they entered the sanctuary. There is no conference center, no gift shop (that is located along the road). You turn right, then turn left at the corner and you enter the sanctuary through two wooden,double doors. The first thing you see is a massive square batismal font.

You turn left and behold, you see the nave and the chancel with stone arches on eather side. The chancel is divided by a large arch. Then you see at the other end, the altar with a table made from a single block of Iona quarried green marble. When the abbey was restored in the 1930's the stone mason built upon the ruins. If you look carefully, you can see where the old and the new stone merge.

The most important place where I spent alot of time on my spiritual journey was on the choir seat, mid-point in the sanctuiary. The choir consists of a series of wooden chairs, connected in rows, facing each other across the aisle. This arrangment is common in medieval churches and cathedrals to this day. The choir is where the monks sit and chant during worship.

When I first attended the evening prayer in the abbey, members of the Iona community led the service, while the worhippers sat in the choir and in chairs located towards the narthex. Youth read the scriptures. Two women sang the theme song from the TV series, the "Outlander." 

Thats when I experienced my first epipahny. I was surrounded by the Celtic, Christian spirituality. The language of the liturgy and the prayers expressed the love of nature and humankind. The music had a Celtic ring. I was smitten.

For the rest of week, I kept coming back to the abbey. Early before the morning prayers, and before the evening prayers. Most often, I was the only person in the abbey. The abbey never closes. It is a place of silence, prayer, and meditation. It was suffused with Spirit. I inhaled and drank it in. 

Why Are the Poor, Poor?

“While he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at the table, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment of nard, and she broke open the jar and poured the ointment on his head. 4 But some were there who said to one another in anger, “Why was the ointment wasted in this way? 5 For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor.” And they scolded her. 6 But Jesus said, “Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service for me. 7 For you always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish, but you will not always have me. 8 She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial. 9 Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.” Mark 14:3-9

Simon the Leper, a wealthy man invited Jesus to his table. Simon is rich because he could afford to invite his rich friends to eat with him- and only those he knew who were of the same class as him. No woman were present. 

An unknown and an accompanied woman “crashes” the party where Jesus was, carrying an alabaster jar filled with a year’s worth of nard, an ointment.

It was apparent that she bought with all the money she had. She gave everything she had as a devotion to Jesus, as a preparation of Jesus' body for burial.

She was scolded for wasting the nard. Instead she should have sold it and donated the to money to the poor. 

Jesus praised the woman for sacrifice. “For you always have the poor with you, and you can be kind whenever you wish, but you will not always have me.”

Jesus confronts the hypocrisy of the angry men. If they really cared for the poor, they would have many opportunities to show kindness to them, but there will be fewer opportunities to show kindness to Jesus, as this woman has done. Mark places this event in chapter 14, when Jesus’ fate will soon be settled on the Cross, (Mark 15:21). Jesus knew what was about to happen to him. And apparently so did the woman. We don't know her name. "Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her” Mark 14:9.

Jesus teaches that poor people aren’t poor because they have sinned or because they deserve it, or that it is God’s will (John 9:1-3). The poor are often considered poor because they lack mental and physical capacities. Many prosperous people consider themselves "good” because God has blessed them with wealth; and because they have "pulled themselves up by their own boot straps." 

Much of my ministry has been among the poor in Latin America. I know by experience that the poor are struggling to have a roof over their heads, food, health, and an education. They are motivated to do so, but the cards are against them. The economic systems and the powerful “ keep them in their place.” However given the opportunity, they grasp it and move upward. They don’t want charity, they just want to be given the chance to get ahead.

Case in point: the Redlands Christian Migrant Association's Mulberry Community Academy in Mulberry, Florida, educates children of migrant agricultural workers who eventuality acquire the skills to lift up their families to a higher quality of life.

Playing Between the Notes

A letter to Miss Hailey, my English Teacher at Lakeland Senior High School

 Fall, 1995

 I hope that this letter finds you healthy and full of energy. Please do not assume that, just because I’m in college, I punctuate every sentences correctly, and that all my sentences have direction.  Give me a few more years of college to become an eloquent writer.

 UF is fabulous!  I’m learning so much in so little time.  This past summer I was a camp counselor at the Methodist camp in Leesburg and since then, I have done a lot of soul-searching.  College is a wonderful place to get to know yourself better.  It has been a time for me, to set up my own personal schedule.  I have found that I work constantly.  I wake up an hour and a half before my first class to practice.  Then I practice between classes.  I eat only two meals a day and I sleep seven hours a night.  I work on book homework late into the night and then relax for about an hour in front of the TV before I go to sleep.  My body has become extremely efficient because I love all that I am doing.  

 I’m taking English 1101 here at Gainesville.  I was blessed again with a wonderful teacher.  I love a lot of the things about his teaching, but one thing in particular is that he does not limit our expression of words.  For example, if we feel inclined to emphasize a point, we are told to use any word necessary to prove that point, whether it be a cuss word or whatever.  He is a fiction writer, and he has interesting, legitimate opinions on things.  We just finished reading Slaugtherhouse 5 by Kurt Vonnegut, and I loved it.  The aspect of time did not play a role in the book at all.  Everything was relatively told in little sections, so that by the end, the reader would see the whole picture in its entirety.  The structure of the novel was different, and it was interesting to find the repeated words throughout the novel.  At the beginning of the semester, we were asked to write a journal entry and mine was mainly about my soul searching this past summer.  This soul-searching was not particularly linked to religion, politics, or even self.  It was directly linked to my music-making.  At this summer camp, I was unable to practice much, but every night I would play hymn music in chapel for prayer time.  This prayer time for the congregation quickly turned into a devotion time for me.  I had memorized all the hymns that I was playing and put them all in C major so that it would be easy to go from one hymn to the other.  Having them memorized, appeared, oddly enough, like I was playing music inspired by God or something.  This really hit home with me because I felt like this is how all the music that I played should be like.  All the traditional Bach suites, concertos, sonatas, etc., I felt should feel the same way.  

 Let me insert part of my journal entry here because I think I explained it pretty well. I promise not to write much more.

 “…. Here, at camp, I found a sort of peace with my cello playing that I had never experienced before.  When I played in chapel, it was about my own personal prayer and bible devotion.  I felt the spiritual side of music and when I returned to my classical music practice time, I saw the music so much more differently.  I think I finally saw the music apart from the notes.  This is hard for me to explain, but I knew something was totally different.  When I discovered this other side, I quickly picked up my cello and began to play Bach’s 2nd cello suite, something that I had played over and over again, but this time it sounded a little different.  Yes, it sounded a little differently than all the other times that I had played it before, but then suddenly as I was playing it I felt something.  Not something from the outside but something from the inside.  I felt something inside of me that I had never felt before.  As I was playing these notes that I had studied many times, I felt an understanding of not just the notes one by one, but the musical line or lines as a whole.  As I was playing I began to make these lines come together and intertwine with each other to produce something as a one whole unit.  When I finished the prelude, I sat back and let the distant sounds echo in my mind.  As I was experiencing this feeling of completeness, I remembered how it felt to be playing the phrases and experiencing the notes not from diligent practice but from my own interpretation of the music.  I quickly started the Allemande, the next movement, and I experienced the feeling once again.  After playing the whole second suite, I realized that music was not the notes.  Music is the stuff in which is in between the notes.  I was just blown away by this sense of understanding that I immediately wanted to share my discovery with someone else. …”

November 30th, I fly with my mother to Indiana for my audition into the school of music at Indiana University.  I am practicing a lot for my audition because I really need to transfer to Indiana University.  I cannot see myself here at the University of Florida for four years.  

 I am glad that I feel that I can write you and I’ll be sure to come to school to see you some time. 

 Love, 

Corry A. Rankin

“Can I Have some Ice Cream?”

When I was six or seven, Pinson School in Camagüey, Cuba opened a one room school for the American, English speaking students in a house across the street from the campus.  The school hired Mrs. Martha Tucker as the teacher in a multi-grade classroom.  Each grade sat in clusters working on their lessons, while Mrs. Tucker moved about offering encouragement and correction.  At noon, we ate our lunches, while Mrs. Tucker read to us from the great books, such as Robert Lewis Stevenson’s “Treasure Island.”  Not too long after that, we could hear the jingle of the ice cream man coming down the street, on his three wheeled tri-cycle with an ice box on the front, with the Guarina brand ice cream on the side.  He had vanilla and chocolate on popsicle sticks, and my favorite, coco glassé, coconut ice cream in a real coconut shell.  I sat right in front of Mrs. Tucker, and I would look her in the eye as she read, and in best sheepish voice, I would whine, “Can I have some ice cream?” She would look up, having been interrupted in her reading, and would stare back at me with her gruff gaze. Than she would smile, as we all filed out of the classroom for an ice cream break.  To this day that is why I love ice cream.

 Years later, Martha Tucker and her husband, Ted, retired in West Palm Beach.  As a young pastor, I visited her several times.  As I was leaving, she always reminded me, “Now remember, Larry, I want you to do my funeral.” “I will, Martha, but you have to give a date, so that I can put it on my schedule.”  We always had a big laugh over that.  My dad, I had the distinct honor to co-celebrate Mrs. Tucker’s homecoming as she wished.

 Before and after the Spanish American War, (the war for Cuban Independence) in 1898, many Americans owned small farms in Cuba.  Small American colonies sprang up.  Two of them were located northwest of Camaguey: Sola and La Gloria.  The farmers needed an English teacher to teach their children, so they hired a young Martha to come from the United States and organize a school.  Not too long after that, she met and married, citrus farmer, Ted Tucker. They raised their children on the farm, until Martha was hired as the teacher for the American students at Pinson School. 

 

In those days, La Gloria and Sola, were large enough to support a Methodist church, which held English language services.  Now a part of the Camagüey district of the Methodist Church in Cuba, the church is still active to this day.  In the ‘50’s the La Gloria church held services in both languages.  Electricity had not arrived in the communities yet, so the night services were lip up with several Coleman lanterns held up by long hooks hanging from the rafters.  I still remember the hissing sound they made as my dad preached, as I lulled myself to sleep on my mother’s lap. 

I Set My Eyes on that Pretty, Tall Girl Across the Room

In the fall of my sophomore year at Emory, Bob Stroud, a Methodist missionary met with me and invited me to take a mission team from the US down to southern Argentina where he and his wife, Betty Lou were pioneering a new ministry in the Patagonia city of Neuquen.  

    That would be a life changing experience for me at several levels. I had experienced a lonely year on campus. I set my sights to meeting the team in June, 1967.  The year went by quickly as anticipation of the meeting built.  I hoped that perhaps these young people would become life long friends, my community.  Perhaps I would meet a special someone. 

    I flew to Miami from Atlanta and arrived at a Miami Beach hotel where the team was gathering for orientation with veteran missionaries, Lloyd and Edith Knox. They were from South Dakota, Texas, Georgia, Florida, and North Carolina.  I remember entering the hotel, inquiring as to where they were meeting. 

    I entered a room where the team was getting acquainted. I looked across it. Then I set my eyes on a pretty, tall, brown haired young woman with a gorgeous smile.  Her name was Trudy, and she was with the South Dakota group, from Watertown. I was smitten. I knew right then and there that I would marry her some day. It was June 8, 1967. 

It Was the Most Terrible Year; It Was the Most Hopeful Year

In the year 1968, my 20th year, was the worst year in US policy and politics (except now) that I can ever remember.  It started when the Viet Cong launched the Tet Offensive in January. Even with the numbers of US troops bloated at a half a million, the US nearly lost Vietnam.  In April, Dr. Martin Luther King is assassinated by a lone assassin with a rifle in Memphis, Tennessee.  King’s death sparks violent and destructive riots in a number of cities across the country, with the exception of Atlanta, King’s hometown.  In June, while running for President, Bobby Kennedy is shot while moving through a hotel in California.

I witnessed the public memorial for Dr. King.  I was a junior at Emory College.  Dr. King was the pastor at the Ebenezer Baptist Church on Auburn Street in the heart of the Atlanta black community.  His father, retired had been his predecessor.  His mother was the organist and choir leader.  Early on April 9, 1968, my friend and I put on dark suits and walked to Ebenezer Baptist Church on Auburn Street.  This was the private service, so we watched from a knoll across Auburn Street as dignitaries arrived.  Some we recognized.  Harry Belafonte, Hubert Humphrey, US Vice-President, Sammy Davis, Jr., among others. We could hear the organ rumble, and the singing of the congregation.  We knew that there would be a march of the congregation and those waiting outside the church to Morehouse College, Dr. King’s alma mater in the West End.  We walked ahead of the march.  

The streets were deserted.  Racist, Axe handled, backwards cyclist Georgia Governor Lester Maddox refused to allow the lowering of the flag at half staff because he declared that Dr. King was “an enemy of the state.”  He surrounded the state capital with Georgia troopers assuming that there would be riots.  Atlanta did not go up in flames because of the wisdom of the last white mayor of Atlanta, Ivan Allen.  He had the foresight to be available to the formidable black leadership by meeting with them weekly over lunch to discuss issues and concerns of the community.  Allen was respected.  So when news came down from Memphis that Dr. King had been assassinated, some of the young toughs were shouting “burn baby burn.”  There’s a famous picture of Allen in the heart of the black community climbing up on a car and telling anyone who would hear to go home, “l

Let us not dishonor Dr. King’s memory by destroying his hometown.”  Everyone went home.  All was quiet without a national guard presence, and not even the state troopers.  

We walked block after block towards the Westside, with nary a person to be seen. It was peaceful.  We arrived at the quadrangle of Moorehouse college.  A low, brick fence paralleled the length of one side of the quad.  The sky was clear and weather was cool, but not for long.  

Few people were on the quad at the time.  Each of us picked out a tree to climb for a better view. 

shortly after, security called us down.  We look for another tree.  I found one at the side of a path that meandered midway down the side of the quad.  Little did I realize how strategic that spot was and how it would change my life an hour later.  Up I went.  It was as if I wrapped Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak on.  I never was discovered and there remained until the memorial was over.  Time passed, and it was getting warmer.  From my perch I could see the quad filling up with mourners.  The open stage was filling up with the Morehouse Men’s Glee club. I could feel the tension growing as more people from the march began to move into the quad.  Soon, there was nary an open space on the ground.  And it was getting warmer as tstood and sat on the grass. Finally the mule drawn farm wood wagon arrived with Dr. King’s casket in the back. Immediately behind walking were Coretta King, her children, and family and leaders of the civil rights movement.  Closely behind were Hubert Humphrey, and the Kennedy brothers, Ted, Bobby and other Kennedy family members. Even Richard Nixon was there.  

The casket was lifted from wagon, and carried up the steps into the quad and down the path right where my perch was.  Coretta, the children and all the dignitaries walked behind the casket.  You can imagine my emotion how I was just a few feet above this assembly and how I wasn’t discovered, how I held my breath.  The Moorehouse Glee Club was singing in crescendo, and the crowd pivoted like filings to a magent, all turned towards the casket and the family, as it slowing moved just below me.  I remember the color of the casket, a dark mahogany shining in the noon sun.  Coretta’s black, veiled hat, the children in black, slowing walking, wending their way to the front of the dais. 

The second memorial began with the singing of the choirs and prayers.  Two iconic speakers came forward.  Dr. Benjamin E Mays gave the eulogy. He waas an early civil rights leader, educator and speaker at the March on Washington at the Lincoln Memorial where Dr. King gave his iconic “I Have a Dream Speech.” Rabbi Abraham Heschel, a close friend and spiritual advisor, entoned the kaddesh, the prayer for the dead of the Hebrew people.

I weep every time I hear the powerful voice of Dr. King many years later, as he concludes his mighty speech at the Lincoln Memorial, August 28, 1963:

“And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

The weeping is an acknowledgement that not only the dream has yet to become reality, it seems that even as there are advances in diversity, there are fallbacks to the old racism.

Then and there, I decided to be an activist rather than react to historical events.  I also returned to Christianity by responding to an invitation from a friend, to worship at Trinity United Methodist Church, in Atlanta GA, on the corner of Trinity and Washington Streets in the Atlanta inner city. Several blocks away is Capitol Homes, a large public housing project, where the church owned a parish house.  Trinity was declining with a white membership, with a history for mission across the world. The church was ingrown and on the defensive.  So when Charlie Spencer, an African-American teen-ager showed up at worship one Sunday, and pastor Ken Jones welcomed him, half of the remaining white membership left and took their money with them.

“We are Finally “Free!”

I woke up early as usual on January 1, 1959, got dressed and went out the side door into the driveway and across the small field and street to my friend’s house.  The house was the humble “bohío” with a thatched roof.  Nobody was up.  I crouched under the open window and listened to the morning radio show, “Radio Reloj.”  Two reporters take turns reporting the news, while a loud ticking comes through marking each minute.  At the top of the minute, the time is announced, and the news continues.  

 As I listened, the news was interrupted by martial music,“The Stars and Stripes Forever.” How ironic that at the birth of the Cuban revolution, American marching music was played.  This went on for several minutes, then an excited voice came on the air with a bulletin: “Fulgencio Batista has left the island!! The 26 of July Rebels are victorious!! Cuba is free from tyranny!! Long Live the 26 of July movement!!  The bulletin was followed by the rebel hymn of the 26 of July.  

 I was overwhelmed.  What so many of us had been waiting for, had finally happened.  Now Cuba could experience real democracy under the democratic leadership of the Movement and guided by Comandante en Jefe Fidel Castro.  

 I ran home to tell my family what had just happened.  Little did know then that the jubilation of the moment would to ashes ten months later.1959 Two days later, I followed with my brother and his friends downtown to find out more about the rebel victory. I remember watching men taking out gaming tables and roulette wheels out on the street, pouring gasoline on them and burning them. They were expressing their hatred for Batista’s corruption.  Other men with baseball bats were smashing parking meters to shake loose the cash, also part of the corruption.

“Visit to Urabá, Colombia Chapter 1”

I was travelling as a promoter for Alfalit Latino Americano to San Pedro de Urabá, close to the Panamanian border on the Caribbean side of Colombia.  I arrived at Monteía which is the starting point for travelers entering the Darién Gap, a region in the jungles in northern Colombia. Thousands of desperate immigrants were trying to get through Panamá to the US border. Darién is a dangerous place filled with violent criminals and animals. Rushing streams have been swept down rivers.

 I waited in the parking area, as my truck filled with passengers.  The driver would leave when his truck was full.  The roof of the truck was covered with a thick canvas from the sun.Three wide benches were set one in front of each other behind the driver. The sides were open. The air was sticky with humidity. There was no breeze. Standing still my shirt was soaked with sweat.

 I sat in the back bench with my back at the opening of the canvas.  At least I could get a breeze.  Yet, dust came in while we were moving on the road. We left at around 10:00 PM.  I found out later that we would arrive at San Pedro at around 5:00 PM. Time is indefinite and flexible under these circumstances.  

 The average speed on the muddy rutted path (it wasn’t a road) was about 20 MPH.  No need to fret when we would arrive to San Pedro. My José Navaja, Alalit promoter, knew that and would find out I had arrived when he heard the roar of the big, diesel engine.

 During the middle of the journey, I arrived at a small thatch-roof road stand.  It offered some sodas and deep fried empanadas (chicken or beef).  I passed. Long ago I learned to avoid anything that was boiled or cooked and prepared with boiled water. I had a few crackers and water on me.  But I had to go to the bathroom.  There were many choices out in jungle. I got out of the truck and went into the bush.  Once I was finished, the truck was filled with the passengers and I was the last to get on.  The truck had a spare tire bolted on the back.  I was tired of swallowing dust, so I decided to stand on the tire, while grasping the metal frame of the roof.  It was much better, as the breeze passed through my face.  It had rained and the air was cooler.

 Eventually I got back in, into the back, and began to visit with the passengers.  Everyone was friendly with me.  Of course, they knew I was a gringo.  How can a blond blue eyed, 6 – 1 man wearing Levi Strauss bluejeans hide his identity surrounded by black and brown skin, short people. 

 I spoke to a friendly young man riding with me in the truck. I would be greeted with a big surprise later due to this “chance” encounter.

 José Navajaia is a lay pastor of the Presbyterian Church of Columbia.  He preaches at the small church nearby, and conducts literacy classes for the students in San Pedro. That evening oriented me with the challenges he faces with his literacy work. 

 The province of Uraba is lightly populated, mostly farmers with a few scattered villages. Most of the people eke out living from subsistence farming is the primary economy. They live on the margins without the bare necessities: few clinics, food insecurity, lack of schools, has been the way of life for centuries. 

Jorge told me that the National Army of Liberation (ELN) is active in the area, fighting the Colombian Army and attacking police stations in the villages. The ELN sabotages the electric lines and the recently a paved road, being constructed by the government. Perhaps the central government is making its presence known to win the hearts and minds of the local population.

 Then it dawned on me that this was the first time that I was in the middle of a war zone - an area where the Colombian army engages the ELN in counter-insurgency warfare. A bit anxious, I wondered how the ELN would respond if they knew that was a “gringo,” in there in their midst. Would they take kindly of me if they found out? I represented the country engaged in the over 40 years “containing communism,” often supporting violent regimes, with little regard to human rights, engaging a “scorched earth policy” with high “collateral damage." 

 In my second trip to Uraba, I would realize how true this was, but that belongs in chapter 2.    

 The next day we walked through the magnificent, primordial bush. There were several layers of in canopies forest, verdant, untouched and pristine. I wonder what remains after 34 years.

 I heard a loud squawking and chattering.  Looking across a clearing to the trees, I an amazing and rare sight.  A pair of replendesant macaws, male and female, flying side by side, along edge of the jungle. Their red, blue, green, and yellow feathers stood out against the green background of the forest.  Their tails streamed behind them. I am certain that I will never see macaws in the wild again – a cherished memory seared in m.y brain

 We arrived at a clearing where a humble a homestead stood. We were welcomed by a young woman who looked to be in her 40’s, but looked like she was in her 60's. A couple of children were played on the dirt floor.  A sleeping infant lay on a small hammock, as its mother rocked the child, while cooking on an open, wood stove, as  smoke exited through on palm frond roof.  The mother was one of Jose’s literacy students.. There are more illiterate women than men in the marginal areas of Colombia, and the of Latin America.

The next morning, we set out walking and arrived at a settlement.  There were two saddled horses waiting.  José said, “the next stop is a bit longer, so the farmer has leant us his horses.” I saw mine, and my first thought was that there was no way this scrawny nag would carry me through the jungle.  I’m 6’1” weighing 180 pounds.  Settled in the saddle, my feet nearly touched the ground.  What a site.  Jorge was lean and much shorter than me.  He laughed watching me on this small horse.  But off we went, slowly – surrounded by this wild forest interrupted by clear cut areas..  

 After we left another homestead, I noticed the thunder clouds gathering.  The rain, more like a monsoon.  The area was clear cut ill by poachers selling the irreplaceable, rare hardwood at high prices for export.  We came to a small hill.  I urged the horse up, but its small hooves sank into the mud. It pitched back as I slid off his back. as the horse kept coming over me. Next thing I knew, I was beside it, unscathed.   The soil had no anchor to stop the erosion. I could see large patches of top soil slide down the hill as water streaming underneath.  I witnessed what the environmentalists have been warning for years, when hills are clear cut- rapid erosion.

 We walked the rest of the way in pitched darkness, with the brilliant stars above until we arrived at our destination. We hardly could see our feet in front of us.  The darkness was almost total with the brilliant star filling skies, guiding us on our way. 

The accommodations  were primitive but adequate.  The frame of the bed that Jorge slept on had a rope mesh to hold a mattress filled with straw.  I slept in a hammock, like a baby. There is a way to sleep in a hammock.  Bend one leg to open it. Touch a fixed object nearby, like a wall or a table, and move the hammock slowly.  You will be dreaming in five minutes.

 We returned to San Pedro at the end of the second day. We missed all the excitement, because while we were away, there was a gun battle between the ELN when they attacked the San Pedro police station, casualties unknown – a typical day in the neighborhood.

 The following evening Jorge and I attended a worship service at the Presbyterian chapel. As I entered, I recognized the young man I greeted while travelling on the SUV three days earlier.  When he saw me, he started to laugh.  As we talked, he told me that he is World Vision International, a community  development community, doing relief work in the area. Then he told me what happened after I left the SUV at the refreshment stand to go to the bathroom in the bushes.

 The passengers began to ask each other, “Who is this gringo? What is he doing here? They found my bag where I left it on the seat and searched it.  Not finding anything suspicious, they left the bag where it was. When I returned, no one said anything.

 The World Vision guy then said, “You’d better be careful as a North American traveling alone around here.  There are two kinds of North Americans here. Either they are missionaries or they are part of the the drug cartel.  Some of them don’t get to go home,” He said.

 Young literacy and Alfalit community organizers like others are on the front lines all over Latin America. They risk their lives to bring transformation and liberation with the peace of Jesus Christ.

Visit to Urabá, Colombia, Chapter 2

The following year, I returned to San Pedro de Urabá. I travelled the same route riding on the large Soviet SUV.  A pastor of the local Presbyterian church met me.  I rode on this motorcycle for a few kilometers to his home.   

 While on the way, he told me some things, not to be overheard by the guerrillas. He turned aside his face and told me that the ELN guerrillas knew that I was coming. I was dumbfounded. “How could they know?” “He said. "They know who is coming and going in their territory. "

 The pastor explained.  “A couple of nights ago, a young man came to may house in the middle of the night and informed me that they knew a North American was coming to San Pedro. ‘Why is he coming and what is here doing here?" he asked.

 I told him that he was invited by my church and Alfalit Colombiano to lead a workshop about community development. Alfalit was known to them as a humanitarian organization that helped the people. The ELN was familiar with Alfalit’s activities, teaching adults literacy and community development. That is why they didn't interfere with Alfalit and the Presbyterian church.  

 Then the young man said, “We will be at the workshop. You won’t know who we are, but we will pay close attention to what he says.”  

 As the pastor shared this with me, I wondered about the last part about “close attention,” was it a threat and if they didn’t like what I said, what would happen to me? 

 The next day, I led the seminar with no incidents. I never asked the pastor if he saw an unfamiliar face in the group.  We will never know anyway, because I am here to tell the tale. 

My Dad, the Rotarian

I arrived in Cuba in 1951 with my missionary parents at the tender age of two. We lived in Camagüey in the middle of the island for 10 years until the Castro regime forced us to leave. My Dad, Victor Rankin, was the pastor of the local Methodist church. My mother, Katherine Rankin, was the high school English teacher at the Methodist school, next door.

It didn’t take long before my dad became acquainted with the community beyond the church, among them business men, bankers, lawyers, and doctors. A number were Rotarians at the local Camagüey club. 

Dad was sponsored and became a member. About all the members were Catholics. Dad was the only Protestant and a minister. At that time, Protestants and Catholics didn’t mix. 

Soon Dad’s fellow members recognized Dad’s openness and his genuine acceptance and his desire to be in relationship with them. He was elected as the club’s chaplain. His invocations were ecumenical, non-sectarian, and inclusive. 

Rotary members represented the Cuban middle class, the largest in Latin America at that time. They were the backbone of the Cuban economy. But the communist regime changed all that. All businesses were expropriated. Business owners fled Cuba with their families with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Many settled in Florida and became successful business men and women and professionals. 

Rotary clubs as well as all private institutions in Cuba were banned. Camagüey’s club was no more. 

We were forced to leave too. We were only allowed each a suitcase. We were lucky. We had tickets and passports. We were going back home. Tucked away in my Dad’s suitcase, was this Rotary club banner from the Camagüey club. 

This banner has been with me for 66 years. Now it is time to give it a new home- the Lakeland Rotary club. 

This banner symbolizes the Rotary clubs and its members who today around the world are threatened by oppressive regimes like in Ukraine, Sudan, and South Sudan. “Service Above Self” brings hope over despair where ever needed. Rotary lives on.

Change Reflecting 250 Independence

 As we near our 250th year of independence, we all have the opportunity to reflect on what makes our country exceptional over other nations in the world. Being exceptional doesn’t mean that we are better than other countries. Being exceptional shouldn’t be misunderstood as being dominant over countries. We have the ability to expand our democracy, as “we become a more perfect union.”

“We hold these truths to be self evident that all men are created equal… that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

However, this was not the case on July 4, 1776 for the 500,000 enslaved people at that time; nor for landless men, nor for women. The right to vote was limited to only wealthy landowner white males.

However, our founders intentionally included this radical statement in our Declaration as a means for change so that liberty eventually could be expanded to include all Americans.  

The Constitution was designed by the founders to change with amendments, responding to excluded persons demanding justice and inclusion so that they too could be accepted as full citizens.

The first 10 amendments protect us from tyranny. The 14th amendment granted all persons born or naturalized the right to citizenship. The 15th amendment gave the right to vote to all citizens. The 19th amendment gave women the right to vote. Eventually all American citizens were given the right to vote.

This willingness to change and strengthen our democracy is why the US Constitution has been revered and adopted by more nations in the world than any other document. 

This is why we Americans are exceptional and the envy of the world. Happy 250th Birthday United States of  America.

Mi Buenos Aires Querido, Cuando te Volveré a Ver?

 My Dear Buenos Aires, when will I See You again? Carlos Gardel

My parents were assigned to Buenos Aires, Argentina.  David was heading to Florida Southern College in Lakeland, Florida. I got caught up in the excitement of adventure with some anticipation.  In late 1963, the family split up again, and this time I was going with my parents.  We flew to Montevideo, to a South America missionary gathering at the exotic camp grounds in Punta Arenas.  I met with other “misskids” while our parents discussed issues relating to the region and mission opportunities.  Dad was appointed to an English speaking congregation which met at the historic Primera Iglesia Evangelica Metodista of Buenos Aires.  At the time it provided services for the “expat” English speaking communities, including British and American.  The sanctuary had been built in the mid-19th century in a neo-gothic style.  It was the home of Argentine Methodism, brought by a Methodist layman, English captain.  The Catholic church permitted foreign Protestants to meet and preach in their language.  Once the ban was lifted, Methodism grew out towards the Argentine people.  

Dad later told me that this Argentine sojourn of seven years was the highlight of his ministry.  The church members, were intelligent, self-motivated.  They were highly skilled executives appointed to represent their international companies in Argentina.  Argentina had a healthy heavy industry, including American and European assembly plants that churned out Fords, Chevys, Renaults, and Peugeots.  They even made the people’s car the two cylinder Citroen that bobbed up and down on the cobblestone streets.  

We arrived  at our new home on 640 Güiraldes Street in the Acassuso in the San Isidro District of Buenos Aires, outside of the Gen La Paz beltway.  The house was a roomy duplex, with a long backyard, and a built in brick grill.  

Argentina is famous for its cheap, range fed beef steaks and $0.50 a bottle red wines.  I was assigned to cook the steaks at least three times a week. Life was good.

I started the second semester at the American Community “Lincoln” School on the shore of the Río de la Plata in La Lucila.  I took the city train several stops south from the Acassuso station to La Lucila and walked to school.  

I soon realized that I wasn’t the only new kid at school.  I made friends quickly.  Some of those friendships continue to this day, thanks to Facebook.  I was in the later half of ninth grade.  There were three influential teachers.  I remember with great appreciation my teachers who guided and inspired me for the rest of my life.  Donato “Profe” Laurita, the athletic director.  Herminia Granito, girls athletic director, Joseph Czarnick, mathematics, Donald Hannon, political science and history, Walter Leibling, music and ensembles director, and Naum Mittelman, physics and chemistry.

I discovered that I had entered a wonderful, global world.  The students, mostly Americans were savvy in global ways, having already lived in a number of places around the world before they arrived in Buenos Aires—quite a sophisticated group.  I was most impressed and stimulated by hanging out with these folks. 

 

 

The Deeper Meaning of "Aloha"

While visiting the Big Island in Hawaii, I learned that “Aloha” means a lot more than a greeting. Curby Rule gives us “For those who follow the path of Huna, or are fortunate enough to live in Hawai'i, it is common for us to use the word Aloha. We use it in greetings and farewells and in expressing love. But the word means even more, it is a way of life. 

Besides these common meanings, the word Aloha holds within itself all one needs to know to interact rightfully in the natural world. These insights describe an attitude or way of life sometimes called "The Aloha Spirit" or "The Way of Aloha."

The spirit of Aloha was an important lesson taught to the children of the past because it was about the world of which they were a part. One early teaching goes like this: 

Aloha is being a part of all, and all being a part of me. When there is pain - it is my pain. When there is joy - it is also mine. I respect all that is as part of the Creator and part of me. I will not willfully harm anyone or anything. When food is needed I will take only my need and explain why it is being taken. The earth, the sky, the sea are mine to care for, to cherish and to protect. 

 This is Hawaiian - this is “Aloha!”

 

A Sermon: Jesus the Provoker Mark 1:14-15

Mark 1:14-15

Introduction

In order to understand the life and ministry of Jesus we must know the context in which he lived in. It was a time when powerful political and religious forces abused the people of Israel, especially the poor and defenseless. Jesus came to free them from their oppression by announcing the presence of the Kingdom of God on earth as it is in heaven. His Kingdom was for all humanity, not just a few chosen ones. 

His Kingdom was a direct challenge to the Roman Empire and the Temple authorities because the Kingdom of God would vanquish their kingdoms. 

Jesus’ message was liberating, but its practice was risky. 

 “Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee proclaiming the good news of God and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.” Mark 1:14-15 

His Kingdom offered eternal and earthly salvation to all who received it. You could suffer and be killed for following it.

“I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” John 10:10

“If any wish to come after me, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. Matthew 16:24-25

Jesus’ message was such a threat to the powerful that eventually he was executed on a Roman cross. He gave his life to vanquish the powers and save humanity. Death was not the victor. He chose to die and live again with all humanity.

I remember in Sunday school, the teacher held a poster with the image of a white European man carrying a rescued lamb. That image gave the impression that Jesus was sweet, mild, and impotent. He only came to save us from our personal sins. 

More than likely, Jesus' image was that of a thirty year old man with brown skin, black hair, dark eyes, and an Arabic nose. True, Jesus' demeanor was that of a loving compassionate man, but was stern, even angry with those who would take advantage of the marginalized. He was courageous, provoking his adversaries, knowing that his presence and actions would take him to the Cross. 

Jesus had a plan action to provoke the powerful, while defending the  poor the marginalized, the ignored, and the invisible. His provoking wasn't political but intentional. But his adversaries interpreted his words and acts as political and subversive. 

Jesus Confronted Four Adversaries

The Political Authorities 

The Roman Empire 

The Roman Empire was the most powerful and ruthless military and political system in the ancient world.  There was no democracy, no civil rights, and no courts. Dissent was crushed. 90% of the population was the labor force and did all the work by enriching the wealthy 10%. Many were slaves for life. Others were indentured servants and tenant farmers. 90% paid exorbitant taxes while the 10%  paid none. To get ahead, corrupt officials bought titles and paid bribes for status and power. 

The Herodians

The Herodians were a Jewish political faction who supported the Herodian dynasty, favoring collaboration with Rome for political stability and power. They opposed Jesus, viewing him as a threat to their interests, and twice conspired with the Pharisees to kill him. They followed the legacy of Herod the Great who tried to kill Jesus in Bethlehem but instead slaughtered the innocents. Herod Antipas, whom Jesus called him the "Fox, " was Herod Great's son. He beheaded John the Baptist, and he handed Jesus over to Pilate to be executed. 

The religious authorities

Pharisees

The Pharisees were an influential Jewish religious sect during the time of Jesus known for their strict adherence to the Torah, (the first five books of the Hebrew scriptures) and its many moral and pious restrictions. They separated themselves from other Jews for spiritual purity. The Pharisees expected the people to fulfill 704 laws. When they failed, they were sinners, never to be accepted by God. To win God’s favor, they had to atone for their sins at the Temple by purchasing sacrificial animals at high prices, in order to get right with God. The Pharisees ran the animal markets and managed the funds, which the often stole from.

Jesus said: "They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others, but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them. Matthew 23:4 

Instead, Jesus reduced the 614 laws of Pharisees into two laws.

‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.” Matthew 22:37-40

And to answer those who accused him for abolishing the laws,

“Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill."

"One Sabbath he was going through the grain fields, and as they made their way his disciples began to pluck heads of grain. 24 The Pharisees said to him, “Look, why are they doing what is not lawful on the Sabbath?”…Then he said to them, “The Sabbath was made for humankind and not humankind for the Sabbath, so the Son of Man is lord even of the Sabbath.” Mark 3:23-27 

Jesus’ claim that he was Lord of the Sabbath made it clear that he was to overthrow the powers and usher in his Kingdom.. 

Sadducees

The Sadducees were an aristocratic priestly sect who controlled the Temple in Jerusalem. They also skimmed the money collected from the purchases of sacrificial animals. They were politically influential with the Romans.

The political and religious authorities maintained their status quo for power. 

Jesus’ very existence was a threat to the powerful.

It was they who made Jesus into a political figure, because this was the only way that they understood his teachings, miracles, and healings. 

Mary, proclaimed that her son would turn the world up ide down for justice and righteousness.

“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,… He has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty..  Luke 1:46-53

Jesus was born, grew up, and lived under the oppression of the Roman empire and corrupt kings. His life was always in danger if he challenged them.

For example, Josepth and Mary were forced to travel from Nazareth to Bethlehem to pay exorbitant taxes by the order Caesar Augustus.

King Herod the Great feared this child would steal his throne. When Herod didn’t find Jesus, he slaughtered the innocents. 

The Holy family, fled for their lives and became a political,  undocumented and impoverished refugees, living with uncertainty.

King Herod Antipas beheaded John the Baptist and sent Jesus to the Roman governor to be condemned and crucified. 

Jesus was on a Dangerous Mission

The Kingdom of God’s aim was to offer the people to turn around (Gk metanoia) and believe the Good News. God's Reign was more powerful than the kingdoms of this world. That is why  Jesus was such a threat to them.

To the religious authorities

“Again he entered the synagogue, and a man was there who had a withered hand. They were watching him to see whether he would cure him on the Sabbath, so that they might accuse him. 3 And he said to the man who had the withered hand, “Come forward.” 4 Then he said to them, “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the Sabbath, to save life or to kill?” 6 The Pharisees went out and immediately conspired with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him.” Mark 3:1-4,6

Jesus is tested for his loyalty to the empire

Some Pharisees and Herodians tried to trick him to commit treason against the empire.

"Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar or not? 15 Should we pay them, or should we not?” But knowing their hypocrisy, he said to them, “Why are you putting me to the test? Bring me a denarius and let me see it.” And they brought one. Then he said to them, “Whose head is this and whose title?” They answered, “Caesar’s.” 17 Jesus said to them, “Give to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s.” And they were utterly amazed at him. Mark 12:14-17

Jesus did say that all the coins of the empire, including this one belonged to Ceasar.  What he didn't say openly was that God owned all empires, including Ceasar's. Those present who knew the psalms remembered Psalm 24:1, "The earth is the LORD’s and all that is in it,

On the way to Jerusalem he said to his disciples 

“that the Son of Man must under go great suffering and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes and be killed and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things."Mark 8:31-33

But the disciples didn’t get it until Jesus was resurrected. Peter implored  him not to go. Angrily, Jesus rebukes Peter for blocking him like Satan, to complete his mission on earth. l

His death sentence

Then they came to Jerusalem. And he entered the temple and began to drive out those who were selling and those who were buying in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money changers and the seats of those who sold doves... “Is it not written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations’? But you have made it a den of robbers. “and when the chief priests and the scribes…kept looking for a way to kill him, for they were afraid of him because the whole crowd was spellbound by his teaching. Mark 11:15-18

Jesus is captured, tried, and sentenced to death

So Pilate, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released Barabbas for them, and after flogging Jesus he handed him over to be crucified. Mark 15:15

He Arose

The greatest motivation for the early Christians to risk their lives and follow Jesus and face death was because of Christ’s resurrection. His resurrection is available for all. Christian discipleship has its price. “If any wish to come after me, let them deny themselves and  take up their cross and follow me" Mark 8:34

Two young men knew what was at stake when they decided to follow Jesus. They were Sermon  on the Mount Christians, who lived by it. They paid the ultimate price for challenging the powers.                  

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German theologian and pastor lost his life for conspiring to kill Hitler. He said, “When Christ calls a man, He bids him to die.” Discipleship

Martin Luther King preached on that night before he was slain: 

“Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will." 

There are many ways that we can die as martyrs (witnesses) with Jesus while not paying the ultimate price. We can die to personal sin. We can speak truth to power. We can do the works of justice with those in the margins of society. 

Provoke the kingdoms of this world! Stir up the pot! Muddy the waters! Make good trouble! (John Lewis) Get angry! Speak truth to power! Be risky!, Walk the walk!, Stand up, don’t sit down! March! Take risks! Live the Sermon on the Mount, not just give it lip service to it! 

Join Jesus and transform  the world!