My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
At One With the Desert
John, in Mark's gospel, appears in the desert. He does not go there as Moses had. Nor is he driven there as Jesus would be. Instead, he appears as though sprouting up from it, nurtured by its barrenness. It is where he belongs. He is one with the desert, not a visitor or its captive. For John it is not penance or preparation. It is his fulfillment, and he would never fit where others might flourish.
Labels:
home,
Jesus,
John the Baptist,
mindfulness,
scripture
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