Barking all up the wrong tree…

Don’t tell me of deception; a lie is a lie,
whether it be a lie to the eye or a lie to the ear.

Samuel Johnson


(a pine in the Agawa Canyon River Park, Ontario, Canada suffering with a massive burl
/ Julie Cook / 2017)

Have you ever seen a tree with a large growth similar to the poor pine in the picture above? The growth is known as a burl, bur, burr, knob or gall.
These burls or galls are actually an overgrowth usually stemming from some sort
of stress, fungus or infestation that the tree has experienced.

And often as in life, what is one man’s, or in this case tree’s, disease,
eyesore or infestation, is another’s treasure….
as in woodworkers, furniture makers and sculptors will seek out trees with burls
as the wood patterns inside and underneath the bark is often unique and quiet lovely.

As in actually prized.

For the fibers of the wood’s growth within a burl is very dense and
overlapping. This creates an extremely thick and hard sort of wood—
one that is prized for making bowls and other decorative pieces
as it is very difficult to split or crack and the patterns
make for a very visually appealing piece.

The notion of some sort of deformity, disease or growth being actually
considered to be of value or something quite lovely has made me think
long and hard about outward appearance verses what remains inside and underneath.

The other day when I wrote about Christianity needing her warriors, the good
pastor in Scotland, David Robertson posted on the very same day an observation
that seemed almost to be an exclamation point to my thoughts and feelings.

Now being raised in an American Episcopal Church, in a church that
was known as a high church,
it may strike some as odd that I enjoy reading and often quoting,
as I greatly appreciate the thinking of Pastor Robertson,
a man who represents the Free Church of Scotland—
And mind you his is mostly an evangelical group…
an evangelical group within the Scottish Presbyterian church that broke away
from the mainstream church body in the mid 1800’s…

There is something in his teachings that this more high church
traditionalist has found to be truthful…
truthful teachings firmly planted, grounded and rooted as there is a welcomed
dose of commonsense as well as common ground in the good pastor’s no
nonsense biblical approach…
an approach that does not try to mince or change God’s Word to suit or appease
today’s wash of secularism that is rapidly invading and seeping into
each and every church body.

For I do enjoy his teachings and points of view.
And granted I have read some things that I don’t necessarily agree with,
for the majority of what the good pastor shares,
I’m usually totally 100% on board.

And maybe this Christian faith of ours is a lot like a tree with a burl….

Our varying denominations be they Catholic, Pentecostal, Evangelical, Orthodox,
mainstream Denominational has each, at times, caused this tree of faith of ours,
to form an out of character growth.

Yet the fibers beneath the outward deformity are still rooted in the
basis of a single principle and property—
that being that Jesus Christ is the risen Lord and is God’s only begotten son…
A son who died on the cross and rose again three days afterwards…
in order to save each of us, those who so choose to accept and follow,
from eternal death and damnation…

It is our weaving of belief that has been woven taut, creating something
difficult to spilt or break no matter what over the decades
we’ve called our particular selves
nor how often we’ve foolishly tried to destroy that very weaving.

And maybe, just maybe, what is needed now in this world turned upside down…
is for those of the Christian faith to stand united in the face
of what is besieging this world of ours….

Yet the frenetic and liberal press, along with the wanton cultural demigods,
of which have been beset upon our Western Civilization, want
nothing more than to silence those who dare to challenge the unrelenting
din of cultural self promotion and death.

The following quote below is one from the good pastor’s column taken
from Monday’s posting as Pastor Robertson in turn quotes Brendan O’Neill,
an Australian journalist…
and a bit of caution mind you as Mr O’Neill does use some rather strong wording
toward the end of the quote when making reference to politicians.

Brendan O’Neill expresses it best:
“The footage coming out of Barcelona is deeply disturbing.
In terms of ideological hatred, violent misanthropy and utter contempt for
the freedom of everyday life,
America’s neo-Nazis don’t even come close to these Islamist sects.”

“They’re still talking about Charlottesville.

Still.

Even as the barbarism in Barcelona raises the number of European citizens
slaughtered by Islamists since 2014 to *461*.

Four-hundred-and-sixty-one people killed in Europe in three years.
Four-hundred-and-sixty-one.

Let that sink in for a minute.

By extremists who loathe liberty,
democracy and mankind far more seriously than those sad neo-Nazis in the US do.

But don’t look back in anger, eh?

We wouldn’t want to create community tensions.
“Don’t make a scene” — that’s always the response to Islamist terror.

The message is so clear now:
the political set will only give a shit about you if you’re killed by a white extremist.”

LED 5 – Barcelona, Charlottesville – Glasgow Pride – Love is Love – Sarah Champion – The Real Modern Slavery – Google’s Tolerance – Endeavour – Is the Church like an Empty Whisky Bottle? – Kris Kristofferson

With evil running rampant, no longer hidden within the shadows but rather
confidently out in the open and totally out of control…
the world’s leaders and politicians are trying their best to throw
diversions to what is actually the truth.

Now is the time that the faithful are being called to stand united as one,
in the name of righteousness, holiness, morality, values, family and yes,
even freedom and liberty…
while the culturally correct media and sea of blind political leaders
wish nothing more than to have us all barking up the wrong tree…

“Do we not all have one father? Has not one God created us?
Why do we deal treacherously each against his brother so as to profane
the covenant of our fathers?

Malachi 2:10

hands

“I take comfort in the fact that somehow,
in the mysterious resources of the human spirit,
even pain can serve a higher end.”

Dr. Paul Brand

“I don’t pray that you may be delivered from your troubles.
Instead, I pray that God will give you the strength and
patience to bear them.”

Brother Lawrence

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(the hands of Mother Teresa / A Photographic Record by Michael Collopy)

The other evening a visitor to my blog made a comment on a post that I had actually
written 3 years ago…

It was a post about feet.

And the feet in question were not just any pair of feet,
but rather the tired and worn feet of a relentless saint of a woman.

A woman, mind you, Pope Francis most recently declared a saint.

(https://cookiecrumbstoliveby.wordpress.com/2013/03/27/these-feet-were-made-for-love/)

For some, especially my high school students…at the time I had originally shared the photograph,
the image of her feet were hard to look at…
for the image was that of a pair of feet that had not lived a pampered life
but rather a life of back breaking labor, toil and work….

And we are each the better for those feet.

In the commentary of the post, a dear friend of mine lovingly and sweetly reminisced
about the rough and worn hands of her grandmother.
Recalling the vivid details that had been etched on her young heart.

The new visitor added to that very train of thought with her own poignant memories of the rough and worn hands of her aunt…and of the very touching response from her uncle to her aunt’s weary anguish over her “ugly worn out hands”…

There is a post unto itself in her very touching words…

And it was today that I read the most beautiful tale of hands that I thought most appropriate to share with this most current thought of hands…

“What practical effect does Christ’s identification have on the person who actually suffers?
A dramatic example of the effect of this truth was seen in
the ministry of Dr Paul Brand while he was working among leprosy patients in Vellore, India.
There he preached a sermon, one of his best known and best loved.
At the time, Brand and his workers were among the few in the area who would
touch or closely approach a person with Hansen’s disease—townspeople quarantined them.
Brand slipped in late to a patients’ gathering,
sitting on the mat at the edge of an open courtyard.
The air was heavy with combined odors of crowding bodies,
poverty, stale spices, treated bandages.

The patients insisted on a few words from Dr Brand,
and he reluctantly agreed.
He stood for a moment, empty of ideas, looking at the patients before him.
His eyes were drawn to their hands, dozens of them,
most pulled inward in the familiar “leprosy claw-hand,” some with no fingers,
some with a few stumps.
Many patients sat on their hands or otherwise hid them from view.

“I am a hand surgeon,” he began and waited for the translation into Tamil and Hindi.
“So when I meet people, I can’t help looking at their hands.
The palmist claims he can tell you your future by looking at your hands.
I can tell your past.
For instance I can tell what your trade has been by the position of the
calluses and the condition of the nails.
I can tell a lot about your character,
I love hands.”

He paused and looked at the eager faces.
“How I would love to have had the chance to meet Christ and study his hands!
But knowing what he was like, I can almost picture them, feel them.”

He paused again,
then wondered aloud what it would have been like to meet Christ and study his hands.
He traced the hands of Christ,
beginning with infancy when his hands were small, helpless, futilely grasping.
Then came the hands of the boy Jesus, clumsily holding a brush or stylus,
trying to form letters of the alphabet.
Then the hands of Christ the carpenter—
rough, gnarled, with broken fingernails and bruises from working with saw and hammer.

Then there were the hands of Christ the physician, the healer.
Compassion and sensitivity seemed to radiate from them,
so much so that when he touched people they could feel
something of the divine spirit coming through.
Christ touched the blind, the diseased, the needy.

“Then,” continued Dr. Brand,
“there were his crucified hands.
It hurts me to think of a nail being driven through the center of my hand,
because I know what goes on there,
the tremendous complex of tendons, and nerves and blood vessels and muscles.
It’s impossible to drive a spike through its center without crippling it.
The thought of those healing hands being crippled reminds me
of what Christ was prepared to endure.
In that act he identified himself with all the deformed and crippled
human beings in the world.
Not only was he able to endure poverty with the poor,
weariness with the tired,
but–clawed hands with the cripple.”

The effect on the listening patients,
all social outcasts,
was electrifying.
Jesus—a cripple,
with claw hand like theirs?

Brand continued.
“And then there were his resurrected hands.
One of the things I find most astounding is that though we think of the
future life as something perfected,
when Christ appeared to his disciples he said,
“Come look at my hands,’ and he invited Thomas to put his finger into the print of the nail.
Why did he want to keep the wounds of his humanity?
Wasn’t it because he wanted to carry back with him an eternal reminder
of the sufferings of those on earth?
He carried the marks of suffering so he could continue to understand the needs
of this suffering.
He wanted to be forever on with us.”

As he finished, Paul Brand was again conscious of the hands as they were lifted,
all over the courtyard,
palm to palm in the Indian gesture of respect, namaste.
The hands were the same stumps, the same missing fingers and crooked arches.
Yet no one tried to hide them.
They were held high, close to the face, in respect for Brand,
but also with new pride and dignity.
God’s own response to suffering made theirs easier.

T.S. Elliot wrote in one of his Four Quartets:
The wounded surgeon plies the steel
the questions the distempered part;
Beneath the bleeding hands we feel
The sharp compassion of the healer’s art
Resolving the enigma of the fever chart

The surgery of life hurts. It helps me, though, to know
that the Surgeon himself, the Wounded Surgeon,
has felt every stab of pain and every sorrow.

Philip Yancey
Jesus’ Reminders

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https://cookiecrumbstoliveby.wordpress.com/2013/03/27/these-feet-were-made-for-love/