WHY THE BIble seems confusing

 

• Hello Timothy,

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Have you ever started reading the Bible with good intentions, only to find yourself confused a few weeks later? Maybe you were doing great in Genesis, but somewhere along the way you lost the thread and weren’t sure how the pieces fit together. I’ve had to help many people work through that struggle, and most of the time the problem isn’t a lack of devotion. It’s a lack of understanding of the story God is telling.

  
  

  So let me hand you a few things to hold onto.

  1. You’re reading one story, not sixty-six separate books. From Genesis to Revelation, the Bible tells one unified story with one Author and one Hero. Once you begin reading with that perspective, passages that felt disconnected start finding their place.

  2. You’re meant to read Scripture in context. A verse carries more weight when you understand where it sits in the larger story. That’s why knowing the storyline of Scripture changes the way you approach every chapter you read.

  3. You’re not reading as an outsider. If you’ve put your faith in Jesus, you’ve been brought into God’s story. The same God who worked through Abraham, David, and the early church is still at work in your life today.

  
  

  Read the full blog here to learn the six-part storyline that ties the entire Bible together and helps Scripture make sense from beginning to end.

  Blessings,

  Vlad 

  P.S.  If you’re in Southern California, I’d love to see you at The Way World Outreach in San Bernardino on June 25. I’ll be sharing a message for their 22nd anniversary celebration.

My Life Is a Sentence” by T.A.D. November 17, 2017

 My Life Is a Sentence” by T.A.D. November 17, 2017

I had a short dream this morning. It was of a huge warrior man, kind of scruffy with black facial hair, shaved head, strong-featured face and stony eyes. I can only recall a tiny bit of the dream: someone was holding him captive and was going to give him his “sentence” for something he had supposedly done wrong. The gigantic “soldier” replied (his stone eyes sparking):

“Life is my Sentence”.

I woke up wondering where did that come from? Who was that man?

It wasn’t the man so much that captivated my thought. It was what he said: “Life is my sentence.”

Most of us think of life sentence as time done in prison for crimes committed. What if our actual life is a life sentence? A punishment from the Universe for some interstellar crime we’ve committed.

Sentenced to Life on Earth, to be born just to get a death sentence, none of us get out alive. The pains we must endure, the lessons we either learn or don’t, even though the opportunities to learn are there. The relationships we build and either neglect or nurture, the trials and tribulations, all part of our punishment.

Life, a big mind game. We think the longer you live the better. Putting our bodies through torture trying to stay young, to rid the body of sickness and pain; only extending our sentence. Think of all those out there prolonging their agony with chemo, radiation, all the drugs the pharmaceuticals can come up with to “cure whatever ails you”. All the while those drugs are adversely affecting some other part of your body that will be a problem a little later down the road. All of those putting themselves through dialysis, suffering daily. For what? A longer life sentence? The ones that die young are the fortunate ones; they’ve served their sentences in no time, while others just pray for this day to be their last.

Observe other’s live: the hurts, pains, bad luck stories, suffering, and the torture they put themselves through not even realizing. Then others seemingly float through life without much problem at all. Oh, yes, we all have issues of one kind or another periodically. How you deal with the adversity may affect the length of your stay here on Prison Earth. And the comforts that it has to offer, just like a prison. With good behavior prisoners can have a pretty lax life. Or maybe the crime committed was not so bad, so you’re given a pretty good life, as far as lives go.

Perhaps we should be shouting praises of celebration each time we lose a loved one; their sentence is over. They get to go back home, out of prison Earth - back to being a celestial being.

We would view death in a whole new light if Life were a Sentence.

Reminder: Two Rabbi’s who said “(Gulp) … I guess that’s me!”

• Two Rabbi’s who said “(Gulp) … ... I guess that’s me!” y … A statement can be very wrong, and very right, at the same time. For example, "Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them." Shakespeare, of course, in his Twelfth Night. It’s spoken by the pompous fool Malvolio, who is so full of himself, he’s easily duped into thinking his noble employer (Olivia) is madly in love with him. What he said wasn’t wrong. It was just wrong when he applied it to himself.  Some people really do have greatness thrust upon them. (And usually tragedy and pain are linked with it.) Case in point? Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon. Also known either as Maimonides, or the Rambam (RMBM - the acronym of his name). Born 1135 CE in then-Muslim-ruled Spain, he flees for his life (and faith) when Jews are given a choice between death, conversion to Islam, or exile. Not an ideal start. He winds up in Morocco, then Israel, then Eqypt. But he’s maddeningly smart, and well schooled in Torah by his rabbi father. He’s also successful in business, as well-Torah-schooled Jews often are. It would be easy to be wildly jealous of him if he wasn’t also so likeable. Then tragedy hits again. The family decides to concentrate their wealth in Moshe’s brother David, who goes on a big investment trip, but drowns at sea. Moshe loses savings and cherished brother in one fell swoop. Grief-stricken, he’s barely able to function for a year. But he hasn’t stopped being maddeningly smart. Unlike many of his rabbinical peers, he’s not afraid to learn from ancient Greek (e.g. Aristotle) and then-modern Islamic thinkers (this was the golden age of Islamic intellectualism). He applies their thought principles to Torah and Talmud, and quickly pivots to becoming a physician. Successfully treats a number of common ailments (pneumonia, asthma, diabetes).  Not keeping his knowledge to himself, he publishes his learning and methods. Word gets around. Before long, he’s appointed physician to the Sultan’s secretary, then the Sultan himself.  When he finally leaves the palace every day, he’s besieged by the ill, Jew and Gentile alike, and he treats them all. And somewhere in all this … he finds time to think, and write. Prolifically. Works on law, philosophy, logic, medicine … If you’ve ever studied law to any extent, you’ve probably heard this line: “Better a thousand guilty people acquitted than one innocent person convicted.” That’s the Rambam. And he gets frustrated trying to decide legal matters. The Talmud exists, but it’s not organised around specific problems. And it’s been over a millennium since the Mishna was penned. He realises … somebody’s got to pull all this stuff together and make it accessible.  Who’s going to do that? (Gulp) I guess that’s me. (Rabbi Steinsaltz would have recognised that feeling.) Which is why today we have the Mishneh Torah. One Jew’s attempt to pull together all the previous works … … (and by all, I mean all of halakha, not only the laws that apply today, but also Temple service, kingship, purity, sacrifices, agriculture, courts, Shabbat, prayer, ethics, repentance, Torah study, forbidden foods, marriage, and society) … … and make it easy for the average then-everyday Jew to make decisions. Now fast forward eight centuries, and those then-everyday Jews are long gone (as is the language they used). We’ve got 21st-Century-everyday Jews now, with 21st Century problems, experiences, habits, etc. Who’s going to pull the Rambam’s stuff together for them? Gulp. I guess that’s me, thought Rabbi Steinsaltz. And it’s all done now, as Rabbi Steinsaltz’ grandson explains in this video. The Rambam translated into modern English, with the Rav’s commentary on it.  And it’s all in the Steinsaltz Daily Study App, downloadable for free. -    Rabbi Meni Even-Israel P.S. Already downloaded the Steinsaltz Daily Study App? And would like to stop receiving emails about it? Click here. (The App page will reopen, but take no action. Your address will automatically be added to our list of our app users, and you'll stop receiving emails about it.

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The Dance of Death To Ernest Christophe

 The Dance of Death

To Ernest Christophe

Proud as a living person of her noble stature,
With her big bouquet, her handkerchief and gloves,
She has the nonchalance and easy manner
Of a slender coquette with bizarre ways.

Did one ever see a slimmer waist at a ball?
Her ostentatious dress in its queenly fullness
Falls in ample folds over thin feet, tightly pressed
Into slippers with pompons pretty as flowers.

The swarm of bees that plays along her collar-bones
Like a lecherous brook that rubs against the rocks
Modestly protects from cat-calls and jeers
The funereal charms that she's anxious to hide.

Her deep eye-sockets are empty and dark,
And her skull, skillfully adorned with flowers,
Oscillates gently on her fragile vertebrae.
Charm of a non-existent thing, madly arrayed!

Some, lovers drunken with flesh, will call you
A caricature; they don't understand
The marvelous elegance of the human frame.
You satisfy my fondest taste, tall skeleton!

Do you come to trouble with your potent grimace
The festival of Life? Or does some old desire
Still goading your living carcass
Urge you on, credulous one, toward Pleasure's sabbath?

With the flames of candles, with songs of violins,
Do you hope to chase away your mocking nightmare,
And do you come to ask of the flood of orgies
To cool the hell set ablaze in your heart?

Inexhaustible well of folly and of sins!
Eternal alembic of ancient suffering!
Through the curved trellis of your ribs
I see, still wandering, the insatiable asp.

To tell the truth, I fear your coquetry
Will not find a reward worthy of its efforts;
Which of these mortal hearts understands raillery?
The charms of horror enrapture only the strong!

The abyss of your eyes, full of horrible thoughts,
Exhales vertigo, and discreet dancers
Cannot look without bitter nausea
At the eternal smile of your thirty-two teeth.

Yet who has not clasped a skeleton in his arms,
Who has not fed upon what belongs to the grave?
What matters the perfume, the costume or the dress?
He who shows disgust believes that he is handsome.

Noseless dancer, irresistible whore,
Tell those dancing couples who act so offended:
"Proud darlings, despite the art of make-up
You all smell of death! Skeletons perfumed with musk,

Withered Antinoi, dandies with smooth faces,
Varnished corpses, hoary-haired Lovclaces,
The universal swing of the danse macabre
Sweeps you along into places unknown!

From the Seine's cold quays to the Ganges' burning shores,
The human troupe skips and swoons with delight, sees not
In a hole in the ceiling the Angel's trumpet
Gaping ominously like a black blunderbuss.

In all climes, under every sun, Death admires you
At your antics, ridiculous Humanity,
And frequently, like you, scenting herself with myrrh,
Mingles her irony with your insanity!"

— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)

 

Morning in the Burned House

Margaret Atwood

1939 –

In the burned house I am eating breakfast.
You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast,
yet here I am.

The spoon which was melted scrapes against 
the bowl which was melted also.
No one else is around.

Where have they gone to, brother and sister,
mother and father? Off along the shore,
perhaps. Their clothes are still on the hangers,

their dishes piled beside the sink,
which is beside the woodstove
with its grate and sooty kettle,

every detail clear,
tin cup and rippled mirror.
The day is bright and songless,

the lake is blue, the forest watchful.
In the east a bank of cloud 
rises up silently like dark bread.

I can see the swirls in the oilcloth,
I can see the flaws in the glass,
those flares where the sun hits them.

I can’t see my own arms and legs
or know if this is a trap or blessing,
finding myself back here, where everything

in this house has long been over,
kettle and mirror, spoon and bowl,
including my own body,

including the body I had then,
including the body I have now
as I sit at this morning table, alone and happy,

bare child’s feet on the scorched floorboards
(I can almost see)
in my burning clothes, the thin green shorts

and grubby yellow T-shirt
holding my cindery, non-existent,
radiant flesh. Incandescent.

How female foetuses destroy the pro-choice position

 Abortion claims to be all about advancing women, by empowering them to be in control of their own lives, of their own bodies, but what if the foetus is female? What do you do then? O God! What do you do then? You can't Abort! That would be against women's rights, but if you don't, hasn't the masculine won? You don't want the masculine to win!

Do moral truths exist?

Do moral truths exist? if they don’t, what is to keep society from failing? If they don’t what is to keep up from our worst ambitions, our worst desires, our worst greed? Our desires need to be kept in check, or else mankind is lost. Our worst desires, our worst fancies! O God! Our inner horrors! What is to save the innocent, unless there is a such thing as morality, unless at least something keeps away our greed?!

Anti-tyrrany

 We need to bring an end to toxic masculinity! We need to end it forever! Masculinity is just so controlling! We need to end the stranglehold of the male! We need to end such! The patriarchy is so strong! The patriarchy is too strong! Males must not glory in others' pain!

There are no races!

 There are no races! A race is an imaginary system of classification of human beings into groups to alienize them, to see them as being different from self! This is used to support self centered greed. One naturally sees themselves as good and everyone else as evil! We get this from our self centered hatred of others! We see outsiders as evil and less than us. We refuse to put them in the same group as ourselves, because that would somehow diminish our view of ourselves! We call these classifications races, and we imagine that our group is a cause somehow! This is based on our self centered hatred of others. 

Toxic, toxic toxic

 

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