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Get your copy of "Messiah: Biblical Retellings" here, or download a free chapter here. (Published under my pen name, C.A. Gray)Today's retelling comes from John 5:1-15.Download the latest episode of Christian Natural Health!This is my retelling, though the podcast also includes the original text and a discussion:

Each day runs into the next without distinction. Day after day, I lay beneath one of the five porticoes at the pool of Bethesda in a spot that has become mine, for thirty-eight years. Bethesda—the "House of Mercy," it’s called in Aramaic—which is why I and my fellow cripples and invalids spend our days and nights lounging by the pool. Tradition holds that every so often, an angel stirs the waters, and the first one in to the pool when the waters are agitated will be healed. But even that hope is thin, both because I’ve never actually seen anyone healed by this method, and also because I’m a cripple. Other invalids lying near the pool have some other infirmity, but are able of body, and always therefore reach the pool when the water ripples long before I do. I have a brother who cares for me, but he must work, and so I have no one to help me into the pool. When I think of it in these terms, which I often do, I realize how pointless it is to spend my days and nights here. Even if the stories are true, I could spend my whole life here and never make it to the pool first. But my only hope is a miracle, so where else am I to go?

Hope. It’s become nothing but a word to me, one that rings hollow and meaningless from empty repetition. The wise King Solomon wrote, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick.” I know very well that is me, but what can I do about it?

I suddenly become aware of a shadow above me. Well, not really a shadow, as I’m under the shadow of my portico already, but a presence, then. I look up, startled and confused to see a man in the garments of a rabbi. In itself, this was not so strange—outside of the pool is the market, where ceremonial animals are bought for sacrifice. Traditionally, before it was a place of healing, the Upper Pool as it was known then was for cleansing the sheep before they were taken in through the sheep gate to the temple. Yet this man has no sheep with him for cleansing. And he looks directly at me, though we’ve never met before.

“Are you really determined to be healed?” he asks me. No introductions. Just that.

It took me a moment to process the question. I didn’t know what he was asking me. Wasn’t my presence at the pool, day and night, evidence enough of the answer? And yet, he didn’t ask me just if I wished to be healed. He asked if I was thelo—determined and committed—to my healing.

“Sir,” I said, and explained the obvious, “I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me.” But as I said all this, I gazed into the rabbi’s eyes, and something within me stirred—something I hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. Hope. I’d never seen this man before, but I had a premonition that something momentous was about to occur. At the same time, stories I’d heard but never fully listened to began to swirl around in my mind—recent stories of a young rabbi about this man’s age who performed miracles. I thought they said his name was Jesus.

No sooner did I think this, then the man before me commanded, “Get up, take your bed, and walk.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

Had anybody else said that to me I’d have laughed, or perhaps rebuked him for his cruelty in telling me to do what I quite obviously could not. But the authority in this man’s words did something on the inside of me. I wanted to obey him, and at the same time, I believed I could obey him.

So I did obey him. First I rose, putting my weight on my arms like I was accustomed to doing. But then I put one twisted foot on the ground, then the other. And as I stood, my bones straightened out and my ankles and legs grew strong! I stooped, surprised that I was not off balance, and grabbed my bed from the ground to take with me. I took a step, and did not fall! I took another step, and another, and another, and soon I was walking and running and leaping and crying for joy and in disbelief. All around me, my fellow invalids had turned to see what the commotion was, though they mostly registered confusion. Those who had known me for decades looked at me as if they’d never seen me before, as if I must be someone else. I turned back to where the rabbi had stood a moment before, but he was gone.

Still delirious with my newfound mobility, amazed at the strength of my legs and unused muscles, I ran out of the porticoes and into the market. I ran! The market was overrun with scribes and Pharisees and teachers of the law, due to the proximity to the temple.

“Hey! You there!” cried one authoritative voice. I turned and saw that it belonged to a Pharisee with a wide phylactery on his forehead. He narrowed his eyes at me. “It is the Sabbath. The Law forbids you to carry your mat.”

I was still grinning, but the brightness of my smile dimmed just a notch. “The man who made me well said to me, ‘Pick up your mat and walk.’” Surely this Pharisee would pick up on the salient point here—I was well!

Another scribe joined him, and a third rabbi, watching me carefully. “Who is this fellow who told you to pick it up and walk?”

I was at a loss. I never got the man’s name, though I did have my suspicions. And he was gone now. “He slipped away afterwards. I do not know who he was.” I bowed my head to them. “Excuse me!” I alternately walked, skipped, and ran into the temple, drawing stares all around me and shouting to all who would listen, “I’m free! I’m healed! Look—I was lame and now I walk!” I proclaimed this all the way into the outer temple court, where I fell on my knees in worship to God for His goodness. I would have thanked the man who healed me, but I truly did not know who he was or how to find him.

Yet when I opened my eyes again, there he was! The very man himself, looking to me now like a holy angel, his hair illuminated in the light of the narrow window behind him. “Lord!” was what came spontaneously to my lips when I saw him. I heard the whispers around us saying his name—Jesus. So this was Jesus of Nazareth!

“You are now restored to health,” Jesus observed to me. “Do not sin any more, or a worse thing may befall you.”

I nodded and grinned at the time. In later years, though, in later years his words would come back to me and I would ponder them in my heart, wondering what precisely he meant. I did not think that my status as an invalid for thirty-eight years had been due to my own personal sin—it had been the result of an accident in my childhood. It was due to the existence of sin and suffering in the world, though, surely. Yet I was not sinless; of this, my brother and his family could certainly attest. In my misery, I had not been a particularly easy houseguest. But what was this ‘worse thing’ that may befall me? What could be worse than lying impotent beside the pool for my entire adult life?

For years afterwards, I would recall Jesus’ words to me whenever I became tempted to grumble and complain. I’d remember how much the Lord had done for me, and give thanks, fearful lest I should fall “short of the mark,” the literal translation of the Hebrew hhatah.

When Jesus again left me, I found one of the Pharisees, the one with the widest phylactery who had found me in the market. I still clutched my bed beneath my arm, as I had found nowhere to lay it since I’d met him the first time.

“It was Jesus!” I declared. “Jesus was the one who made me well!” I meant only to give Jesus the credit for the miracle he had performed, but I knew at once when I saw the darkening countenance of the Pharisee that I had not done the Lord a favor. He conferred with his fellow scribes and Pharisees, and I overheard enough to realize that they intended to find him and persecute him for healing on the Sabbath—something they considered “work,” and was therefore illegal, just as carrying my bed had been. A group of seven of them banded together and searched the temple court for Jesus. When they found him, a small crowd of onlookers gathered to listen to the exchange. I warred with my guilt that after this man had done so much for me, I had occasioned this confrontation—but my curiosity won out, and I joined the crowd.

I was glad I did, as my respect for Jesus only grew. He listened to the accusations with utmost calm, and replied, “My Father works unceasingly, and so do I.”

His Father! The ripples spread throughout the crowd, and his accusers gnashed their teeth, with murder in their eyes. Had this man really called God his Father?

As if to double down and make it worse, Jesus went on, “In most solemn truth I tell you that the Son can do nothing of Himself—He can only do what He sees the Father doing; for whatever He does, that the Son does in like manner.” He went on like this, preaching and gathering more and more listeners, to the shame of the Pharisees who had accused him. Jesus spoke with authority, backing his words with power. The religious leaders obviously hated him only out of jealousy. They wanted to kill him; I could see that plainly. Yet he was completely unafraid, turning their attacks to his advantage.

Who but the Son of God could do all that?

Today's podcast is an interview with Jacquelyn Sheppard.

Jacquelyn Sheppard is an international speaker on learning and behavior as well as mental, emotional and addictive disorders. For the past fifty years, her extensive research, experience, and concepts concerning the body and the brain have enabled many to live better lives. Her book, Silent Takeover: How the Body Hijacks the Mind, exposes the vital connection between the body, mind, and spirit—and offers practical tools to understand the connection between your mind and body and metabolic root causes for such illnesses as depression, addiction, bipolar disorder, OCD, and others. She is convinced that "We need to treat causes – not merely symptoms. When people understand the causes of their symptoms, they can be proactive in correction." 

Click here for Silent Takeover on Amazon, and if interested in her nutraceutical supplementation recommendations, click here. 

Download the latest episode of Christian Natural Health!

Get your copy of "Messiah: Biblical Retellings" here, or download a free chapter here. (Published under my pen name, C.A. Gray)Today's podcast is a meditation on and reimagining of Jesus' first time raising the dead, from Luke 7:11-25.Download the latest episode of Christian Natural Health!This is my retelling, but the podcast includes the original text and a discussion as well.

The whole thing seemed so surreal, as she walked through the streets of Nain behind the bier carrying her son. Her only son. Only a few short years ago, it had been her husband. Now, her townspeople surrounded her in mourning, in torn garments and wailing loudly to comfort her with shared grief. But how could anyone truly share her grief?

She had nothing. Not only was she left with the devastating loss of the two people dearest to her in the world, but she was also destitute. As a widow, she had been dependent upon her eldest son, only a teenager himself, for support. Now, she was entirely at the mercy of her fellow Jews, and of God the Father.

As she walked, she rehearsed the promises she still had to cling to, though memories of her son’s last moments intruded on her thoughts with convulsions of weeping. God said in the Psalms through David that He is the ‘Father of the fatherless and protector of widows,’ and that he ‘upholds the widow and the fatherless,’ she told herself. Through Jeremiah, He said, ‘Let your widows trust in me.’ The Mosaic law commands reapers to leave the edges of the fields for the fatherless and widows to glean. She tried to picture herself among those gleaning the edges of the fields, and another lump rose to her throat. She was grateful that God had given landowners this command for those who could not otherwise support themselves—and yet she had always pitied those reduced to this. Now she would be among them. The Law prevents anyone taking my garments in pledge, should I find myself indebted. King Solomon wrote that He will ‘maintain the widow’s boundaries,’ so my land is secure. Isaiah writes that He will ‘plead the widow’s cause’…

As she rehearsed these promises in her mind, weeping all the while, she saw a commotion up ahead. A group of men had come to the city gates, just as their funeral procession was leaving it. By the looks of them, it was a rabbi and his disciples. Then she looked again at the face of the man in the center, even as he moved toward her with a look of compassion.

Could this be the one they’re all talking about? she wondered. Could this be Jesus of Nazareth?

“Do not weep,” the man said to her. And, wonder of wonders, she obeyed. Because despite all the devastation that had happened to her, this was Jesus. She’d heard the stories. He was a miracle worker! She’d never heard of him raising the dead before like Elisha did over eight centuries earlier in Shunem, just over the hill from where they were now—but if Elisha could do it, and this Jesus was who he was rumored to be, then surely… surely…

She was almost afraid to hope. But she did hope, all the same.

The widow watched as Jesus turned away from her, and walked toward the bier bearing her son’s body. It lay there without a casket, as the widow could not afford one. His stiff, cold body was there for all to see, his skin like wax. The bearers had stopped too, watching to see what Jesus would do. And to everyone’s astonishment, Jesus lay his hand on her son’s body. The rabbi touched a dead body, deliberately, making him ceremonially unclean! But just as the ripples of shock spread through the crowd at this, Jesus spoke.

“Young man, I say to you, arise.”

The widow did not breathe, even as her son… did! He sucked in a ragged gasp at first, stirred, blinked, and sat up. The startled bearers put the bier down, even as the boy’s feet sought the ground. She began to cry afresh, but this time with joy!

“Mother?” he croaked. His voice was thick with disuse, and he looked around, disoriented. He looked at Jesus first, who smiled at him gently. The boy smiled back, and though his mother clung to him and wept, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Jesus.

The whispers of the crowd began to reach the widow’s ears, their voices filled with awe and terror. “A great prophet has arisen among us!” they were saying. “God has visited his people!”

Jesus turned to the widow. “Woman, receive your son.”

She gasped out her thanks, releasing her son long enough to fall at his feet. Jesus remained for a moment with his disciples. At last, Jesus and his followers moved on, though the funeral procession remained stopped in its tracks, their fear giving way to joy. Those who had been mourners now surrounded mother and son, eager to hear about the son’s experience.

“I was in Abraham’s bosom!” he said to the many awe-filled questions. “Yes, yes, it was as beautiful as they say. It was up to me whether or not to come back, and I would have liked to stay, but I knew I had to come back and take care of my mother.” He lay a hand on hers, no longer cold, but warm with life and vitality. Then his eyes tracked to the receding figure of Jesus. Everyone else turned to follow his gaze. “I have met the Master,” he whispered.

“Master of what?” the widow choked out, though she already knew the answer.

“Of all,” the boy replied simply.

Get your copy of "Messiah: Biblical Retellings" here, or download a free chapter here. (Published under my pen name, C.A. Gray)Today's podcast comes from John 11, a meditation on Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead.Download the latest episode of Christian Natural Health!This is my retelling, though I read the text and discuss at the beginning.

Jesus and his disciples were in Bethabara, the place where John the Baptist first baptized the Jews into repentance. It was twenty miles east of Jerusalem, and he was making his slow, last journey to Jerusalem. But he’d stopped there for awhile, and the people came to him for healing and to hear him teach. Many came to believe in him as the Messiah.

While he was teaching and ministering, a messenger reached him from Bethany, two miles outside of Jerusalem, from his friends Mary and Martha.

“Lord, he whom you love is ill,” the messenger reported. Jesus knew this meant their brother, Lazarus. He also was a dear friend to Jesus, and Jesus knew that the sisters emphasized this as a means of gentle manipulation. You love him, they implied, so drop what you’re doing and prioritize him over these strangers! The messenger pressed Jesus, “May I tell them you are on your way?”

But Jesus knew what the messenger did not—in the time since the messenger had left Bethany, nearly a day ago on foot, Lazarus had already died. Even now, they were preparing his body for burial. Knowing this, and knowing that when the messenger returned to Bethany he would find Lazarus already in the grave, Jesus looked at the messenger and replied, “This illness does not lead to death. It is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.”

The messenger blinked, looking a little uncertain. “Very well,” he replied, “I will... relay your response to Mary and Martha.”

When he had turned to go, John asked him, “So, are we planning to go then?”

“Soon,” was Jesus’ reply.

Every moment, the disciples expected him to send the people away and start on the journey, yet every moment they were surprised. Silently they exchanged looks with one another, wondering what Jesus was about. They knew very well how dear Lazarus and Mary and Martha were to the Lord; so why wouldn’t he have set out the moment he received the sisters’ message? Among themselves, they wondered if the reason might have been because the last time he was in Judea, the Jews had sought to stone him. He had evaded them deftly enough and without the slightest hint of alarm, and it didn’t seem like Jesus to make decisions based upon fear for his personal safety. But as Jesus lingered in Bethabara for two more days, they finally concluded that this must be the cause of his delay.

Yet after the second day, Jesus announced, “Let us go to Judea again.” Not Bethany; Judea. Exactly the place they thought he was trying to avoid. But Bethany of course was on the way. This perplexed the disciples, and Thomas finally voiced what they were all wondering: “Rabbi, the Jews were just now seeking to stone you, and are you going there again?”

Jesus replied, “Are there not twelve hours in the day? If anyone walks in the day, he does not stumble, because he sees the light of this world. But if anyone walks in the night, he stumbles, because the light is not in him.” And with that enigmatic response, he set out on their journey, leaving the disciples to follow.

The disciples looked at each other, trying to puzzle out the meaning of his metaphor. They whispered among themselves, none of them wanting to ask Jesus directly and thus admit that they hadn’t understood him. Somehow Jesus thought this was an answer to Thomas’s question regarding his danger in Judea; that was the first clue. Light and darkness were common metaphors for good and evil, so much so that light often represented God himself, and David wrote in the Psalms that scripture was a “lamp to my feet and a light to my path". Scripture made known the will of God. So perhaps Jesus was saying that if he walked in the known will of God, "in the light," the Jews couldn’t touch him, though they sought to stone him? That would make sense, wouldn’t it, considering the number of times Jesus had made statements such as “my time has not yet come”? He seemed to have a very clear idea of what was supposed to happen and when.

“And yet,” Andrew hissed, “remember when he said ‘I lay my life down that I may take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority—“

“—to lay it down, and I have authority to take it up again,” chorused Peter and James with him, recalling Jesus’ recent words with a frown.

“What is that about?” Andrew asked. “He keeps talking about being killed, and being raised, and I don’t know what he means. I’m sure it’s a metaphor too, but--of what? Why won’t he tell us?”

Up ahead of them, Jesus overheard this conversation, and sighed. Then, to clarify his purpose, he called out behind him, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I go to awaken him.”

The disciples hurried to close the slight gap that had fallen between them and the Lord to better converse with him, but John said, confused, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep he will recover.”

They misunderstood again. Jesus meant to choose faith-filled words to illustrate the temporary nature of Lazarus’s condition, but the disciples thought he meant natural sleep. So he told them plainly, “Lazarus has died, and for your sake I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” He turned and continued on his way. The disciples hesitated, though. They had seen Jesus raise the dead before, but they were daunted by the prospect of the murderous Jews in Judea.

It was Thomas who at last rallied them. "Let us also go, that we may die with him.” Not particularly comforting, but it is what they all feared. Jesus was walking right into danger, and if he was stoned, wouldn’t the disciples be stoned along with him?

Eighteen miles on foot gave them the better part of a day to ponder what awaited them ahead. When they approached the village of Bethany, Jesus could tell by the way the villagers stared and then ran back in excitement that he’d been recognized. Of course he’d be recognized—by now, everyone had heard his name, and of his great deeds. Some villagers came out to see them.

“Rabbi, I suppose you have come to see Martha and Mary?” asked one young man who had seen him there before, eating at the sisters’ home.

“I have. What news of Lazarus?” Jesus replied.

The young man’s countenance fell. “He has been in the tomb these four days.”

The disciples behind Jesus began to whisper. Four days? That changed things, didn’t it? When Jesus had raised Jairus’s daughter or the widow of Nain’s son, they had only just died. The Jewish belief was that the spirit of the dead lingered near the body of the deceased for up to three days before departing for Abraham’s bosom, seeking an opportunity to reenter. But it had been four days. Wasn’t Lazarus’s spirit already long gone, then? Not only that, but his body would already have begun to decompose.

Jesus looked beyond the young man who had delivered the news to see a young woman hurrying out of the village to where he stood with his disciples. She broke into a run, desperate to get to Jesus. But he stayed where he was, until Martha had reached him.

Without greeting, Martha burst out, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” It was an accusation. Even Martha, ever in emotional control, had a hard time disguising her hurt. Jesus noticed that Mary was not with her, though surely they had been together. Could it be that Mary was so wounded by his presumed neglect that she did not even wish to come to him? That would be like Mary. Far more likely to indulge her feelings than her more practical sister Martha.

Martha was not finished, though. “But even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you." Her words were probing, with an unmistakeable tinge of hope.

Several of the disciples’ eyebrows shot up at this, and they exchanged looks amongst themselves. Wow, the looks said. She thinks after four days, Jesus can still raise Lazarus? But Martha’s faith made them start to wonder as well. He could calm the storm, couldn’t he? The very elements obeyed him. He could walk on water. They had never yet seen Jesus attempt a miracle that he could not perform. So, why not?

Jesus replied to Martha, “Your brother will rise again.”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Martha’s face, and she said cautiously, as if being tested, “I... know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day…” Her original statement had meant, You can raise Lazarus now. But Jesus’ reply did not specify a timeline. It could have been a theological platitude, rather than an immediate promise. Martha was asking, When, Lord?

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?”

Even this reply could have been taken many ways, but Martha’s face flooded with hope. She chose to believe he meant now. Her next words burst out of her: “Yes, Lord; I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world!” Then she held up a finger as if to say, wait right there! and hurried back into the village.

“She is calling her sister, I’ll bet,” the disciples whispered amongst themselves. Sure enough, Martha returned with Mary, behind whom trailed a small procession of Jews from Jerusalem who must have come for the funeral and to mourn with them. Mary daubed at her face as she went, clearly still weeping. She broke away from Martha when she was close enough to Jesus, and ran to him, falling at his feet. Behind her, though, Martha’s face still shone with expectation.

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!” she cried out, just like her sister had done. Then she dissolved into sobs, burying her face in her hands. She was not expecting a happy ending today. Behind her, many of the Jews who had followed her out of the house were also weeping, perhaps moved by Mary’s tears. Even Martha’s eyes sparkled, and she pursed her lips together tightly, as if to keep her emotions at bay. Jesus observed all this, and groaned in unintelligible words. The disciples had asked him about this before, and he’d called it “groaning in the Spirit”—the Holy Spirit was helping him to pray to the Father, he said. They’d noticed that this happened not when he had to perform a monumental miracle, but when confronted with human opposition. Their eyes scanned the crowd of the Jews. It was a likely a mixed bunch—some who believed in him as Mary and Martha did, but others who would love to help the Pharisees bring him down. Jesus had remained outside of the village of Bethany to avoid a crowd, yet he had one anyway.

“Where have you laid him?” Jesus asked.

Mary stood, wiping her face, but could not speak for tears. So the Jews said for her, “Lord, come and see.”

They led the way, and Jesus and the disciples followed behind. As he went, several of the Jews who had come with Mary kept glancing back at Jesus, astonished. That was when the disciples realized that Jesus was weeping too. The Jews whispered among themselves. “See how he loved him!” But others replied, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man also have kept this man from dying?”

The disciples too exchanged confused looks at Jesus’ response. He’d said that Lazarus’s illness would not end in death. They had a pretty good idea what was about to happen, as did Martha, it seemed. So why weep?

The unintelligible groan came from Jesus again, as he walked among these mourners. What he could not explain to any of them was the way this one up close and personal tragedy struck him as a stark representation of all the evil that the Enemy had wrought upon the earth. He had ravaged humanity, stealing, killing, and destroying—but this was not the way it was supposed to be from the beginning. Yes, he knew that this day would turn ashes into a crown of beauty, mourning to the oil of joy, and the spirit of despair into a garment of praise, as the prophet Isaiah had written. But this was one among millions, billions of such stories played out from the beginning of time until the end. He wept not for Lazarus, not for Mary and Martha and the Jews, but for all of creation--for how far the mighty had fallen.

They came to the tomb of a wealthy man: it was a cave, with a large stone blocking its entrance.

“Take away the stone,” Jesus commanded.

Nobody moved at first. They looked to Martha, as the authoritative sister of the dead man. At last Martha said, a bit hesitant, “Lord, by this time there will be an odor, for he has been dead four days.”

Jesus turned to Martha, his gaze penetrating. “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?”

The disciples tried to recall when they had heard him say this to Martha, since they had been with him the whole time. “The message,” whispered James. “From the messenger, remember? The Master told him to report, ‘this illness does not lead to death. It is for the glory of God’.”

“Oh yes!” whispered the others, nodding. They turned back to Martha, to see if she would agree and believe.

Martha’s expression cleared, apparently remembering this too. She looked at a few of the young men who had come with them, nodding her consent to roll away the stone. When they had done so, there was indeed an odor that made everybody wince. A few of the Jews waved their hands in front of their noses.

Jesus, though, looked up to heaven and prayed aloud. “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this on account of the people standing around, that they may believe that you sent me.” Then he turned to the tomb, and cried in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”

Nothing happened for a few seconds. Everyone waited, holding their breaths. Then, from inside the tomb came a shuffling sound. The shuffling grew louder, until at last a man emerged from the depths of the cave, unable to walk properly because his hands and feet were still bound with linen strips. Gasps rippled around the crowd, and Mary and Martha let out cries of joy. Yet nobody moved toward Lazarus, as if unwilling to trust their eyes.

“Unbind him, and let him go,” Jesus commanded. His word mobilized the sisters, who ran toward their brother, first to obey. Many of the Jews who had come with them remained stupefied, grinning and staring at the reunion of the siblings before them, then turning back to gaze upon Jesus in awe. But the disciples noticed the darkening countenances of some of the others before they turned to leave, not bothering to hide their displeasure. They actually seemed offended.

“They are going to the Pharisees to tell what they have seen,” Jesus explained as the disciples whispered about this among themselves.

Peter grew alarmed at this. “Rabbi, they will try to put you to death! The Pharisees are already concerned that so many of the Jews are coming to believe in you.”

Jesus nodded his agreement, though he looked neither surprised nor concerned. “My time is growing short, but it has not yet come,” he said. “Let us leave this place for Ephraim until the preparation for the Passover. Then we will return for the last time.”

Get your copy of "Messiah: Biblical Retellings" here, or download a free chapter here. (Published under my pen name, C.A. Gray)Today's special podcast is a meditation on the Christmas story as told in the books of Matthew and Luke, and a reimagining of the story from Mary's perspective. Merry Christmas!Download the latest episode of Christian Natural Health!This is the transcript of my retelling, but the meditation also includes a discussion and original texts.

Mary had always thought of herself as ‘dutiful,’ as that was the word her father primarily had used to describe her. She was his ‘dutiful daughter,’ he’d always said, and she’d swelled with pride, striving to live up to his words. From a very young age, she’d helped her mother and sisters with household duties. She was meek, selfless, and never complained—a perfect example of the woman Solomon had described in the Proverbs, the kind every young man should wish for in a wife. So though her family was poor, when Mary came of age at twelve years old, the fathers in Nazareth with sons of marriageable age took notice. “Who can find a virtuous and capable wife?” they quoted. “She is more precious than rubies.”

So the fathers of the town were slightly disgruntled when Mary caught the eye of a carpenter named Joseph from the City of David. The house of David is generally meant as the family of David. He was in his early twenties--an older man by the marriage standards of the day. But Joseph first heard the people of Nazareth sing Mary’s praises as a devout and diligent young woman, and then made a point of running into her on her daily errands on more than one occasion. She’d been so charming, demurely casting down her eyes, and he fell in love with her at once. For her part, Mary developed feelings for the older carpenter too, but she was far too modest to believe he could view her as anything but a child—until he called upon her family home one day and brought the bridal gift to her father. It had been like a dream; she could hardly believe it was happening. The two men spoke together for what felt like a very long time before her father had called Mary in to obtain her consent. This was merely a matter of course, and had Joseph been any of the other young men of Nazareth, she would have been expected to consent with grace. But as it was Joseph, she could hardly look at him as she nodded and breathlessly spoke the expected words. Her burning face gave away her feelings, which seemed to please her father greatly. Once the betrothal was sealed, Joseph took his bride by the hand and led her outside her family home. They talked under the stars that night for hours. For Mary, it was the most surreal, magical night of her life.

She fell into bed that night sighing and humming softly to herself long after her family was asleep. But no sooner had she climbed in bed, a bright light suddenly filled the room--so bright that Mary had to squint and look away. When she looked a second time, there stood a man at the foot of her bed! Only he was like no man she had ever seen before. He must have been six cubits tall if he was a span. He wore robes as gleaming white as himself, but even despite them, Mary could see that he was powerfully muscled like a warrior. She knew at once that the brilliance surrounding him was the glory of the Lord.

“Greetings, O favored one, the Lord is with you!” he boomed.

Mary just stared at him. She was too terrified to move, let alone speak.

As if reading her thoughts, or at least her expression, the angel said, “Do not be afraid Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”

Mary’s mind at first went blank—this was too surreal to be happening, and yet she knew without a doubt that it was happening. Her subconscious mind was not creative enough to conjure such a thing in a dream. She then thought several things at once: of the various examples of angels appearing to the patriarchs. Abraham. Moses. Daniel. Elijah. And now…her? Who was she? At the same time, she scrambled to make sense of his words. Among the things she and Joseph had discussed were their plans to wed only once he could prepare a place for her. That would be months, at least. Until then, they would not come together as man and wife—so how could she conceive?

She swallowed and found courage. Hadn’t this warrior angel told her not to be afraid? He would not have said that if it were impossible for her to obey. She managed, “How will this be, since I am a virgin?”

The angel did not seem to be put out by the question. He replied, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be called holy — the Son of God. And behold, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son, and this is the sixth month with her who was called barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.”

Mary caught her breath, as understanding clicked in her brain. All her life she had been raised on the prophecies of the Messiah, foretold throughout the scriptures. Daniel’s prophecies had indicated that the time was near. Yet she, like the other Israelites, had always believed that the Messiah would come with fanfare and glory. Not born as a baby, to an obscure child like her! Yet even as she thought this, the words of the prophet Isaiah returned to her: "Behold, a virgin will be with child and bear a son, and she will call His name Immanuel.” How had she not realized this would be literal?

Again, Mary found her tongue. She bowed her head, and said, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.”

No sooner had she said this, the angel vanished. All was still and dark again in her bedchamber, except for the pounding of her heart. She thought of where she was in her monthly cycle—she knew little about childbirth, unmarried as she was, but she did know that her monthly flow was an indication that conception had not occurred, and that it could occur at specified times only—typically halfway between one monthly flow and the next. She did the math and realized that this was approximately the right time. Her hand flew to her abdomen at the thought.

And then another thought occurred to her.She was unmarried. Yes, she was betrothed as of tonight, but everyone knew that she would not come together with her husband until after the wedding. If she was found to be with child before that, according to the Mosaic law, Joseph could have her stoned as an adulteress!

For a split second, terror struck her, but she told herself,No. That won’t happen. Obviously that won’t happen: this is God’s son I’m carrying! He will not let anything befall me at least until I give birth.Not only that; but she knew after tonight better than ever before that Joseph was a kind and just man. Perhaps he might refuse to marry her after all, but he would not have her killed.

Yet the thought that he might refuse to marry her after all brought with it a wave of sorrow, but again, Mary checked it. One problem at a time, she told herself, I can’t worry about that now. Perhaps… oh, perhaps he’ll believe me and marry me anyway! Surely if the Lord saw fit to choose her as His son’s mother, He would have chosen his earthly father just as carefully?

Her turbulent thoughts returned then to the last thing that the angel had said to her: “Behold, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son, and this is the sixth month with her who was called barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.” Elizabeth! Mary had always liked her great aunt Elizabeth. She was a wise, gracious woman. While Mary always felt that she had to work hard and earn her keep at home, Elizabeth’s peace made Mary feel as though she could just be. Mary had always thought it a great tragedy that Elizabeth, who would have been a terrific mother, had never had children. There was no greater sadness for a woman in Israel than to be barren—and according to the Abrahamic covenant, children were promised, provided the Israelites remained on the right side of the covenant and believed God. After all, it was written, “There shall not be male or female barren among you.” And now, at very long last, Elizabeth’s many years of prayers were to be answered in a birth every bit as miraculous as the birth of Isaac to Sarah and Abraham!

Mary was seized with a sudden desire to go to Elizabeth. If anyone could understand what she was going through now, if anyone could encourage her and give her advice on how to walk the uncharted road before her, Elizabeth could. The angel had said she was in her sixth month, so she was showing now--but in the early days of her pregnancy when she was not showing, who would possibly have believed her?

The next morning, Mary was up before either of her parents, her chores completed and her bag packed for the journey to the hill country to Aunt Elizabeth’s home in Judah. She knew her eyes were bright, almost feverish, as she announced her intention to her parents. They were, predictably, taken aback—why, only last night she had been betrothed! They wanted to spread the news to their neighbors and friends! Mary said, “Yes, and I wish Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Zechariah to be among the first to hear the news.” This was true; it just wasn’t the whole truth. “And also—Aunt Elizabeth is going to have a baby. She needs my help.” She wasn’t sure what made her add this.

Her parents were struck dumb at first, and then they both began to laugh. Her mother became serious again first, and fixed Mary with a stern, reproving gaze. “Mary! You should be ashamed of yourself. What a cruel joke. You know very well that Elizabeth would have loved to have had a baby.”

“It’s not a joke, it’s true! She is in her sixth month. Write and ask her, if you don’t believe me.”

Her parents exchanged a skeptical look, and her father spoke to her as if she were simple. “Mary, how shall I put this delicately? The ‘way of women’ has ceased to be with Elizabeth…”

“Yes, I know that, but nothing is impossible with God!” Mary said impatiently, earning her mother’s reproving gaze for speaking sharply to her father. For his part, he looked taken aback. Mary lowered her eyelashes demurely. “Forgive my sharpness, Father. But I do mean what I say, and you will hear by and by that they shall have a son.”

“And just how do you know even the gender of the child, when she can’t possibly know that herself?” her mother demanded.

Mary sighed, by now thoroughly convinced that she must not stay under her parents’ roof, and must go to be with Elizabeth. If her parents could not comprehend how Elizabeth could be pregnant, they would never, never believe her. In fact, the only person who could be expected to believe her was Elizabeth. She chose not to answer her mother’s question, as she would not lie, but neither could she tell the truth.

“How long will you be gone?” her father asked, frowning.

“Three months,” Mary said without thinking. But as soon as it was out of her mouth, she knew it was the right answer. Three months would be long enough to witness the birth of Elizabeth’s miracle baby, long enough to fortify her own faith in the angel’s words under Elizabeth’s protective roof. Long enough to formulate a plan of what to tell Joseph, and her family, when she returned and her condition became obvious.

“Three months!” gasped her mother, “but what will Joseph think? He asks for your hand and immediately you depart for the hill country for an extended visit to an elderly aunt?”

Mary felt her chin quiver involuntarily at the thought of Joseph’s potential rejection when she returned. But again, she pushed it from her mind. That was at least three months down the line, and she wouldn’t worry about it now. “Please tell him that Aunt Elizabeth needs my help in her condition, and I will return once my cousin is born. He will understand.”

Her mother balked at using a highly questionable circumstance as an excuse. But Mary, not waiting for her parents’ approval for perhaps the first time in her life, took her leave. Her father did, at least, grudgingly lend her a camel for the journey.

When Mary at last arrived at Zechariah and Elizabeth’s home, Zechariah himself answered the door. She greeted him with joy, but he only gestured in reply. She blinked at him, confused, and it took her a few attempts to speak to him before she gathered that he had no voice. But it this wasn’t the sort of hoarse whisper that usually followed an upper respiratory infection—Zechariah was behaving as if he were born mute! Mary had a suspicion that somehow this was related to Elizabeth’s condition, though it did not appear to be related at all.

“May I please see—“ Mary tried again.

“Mary!” came Elizabeth’s voice from the vestibule. She ventured out to greet her grand-niece, revealing her full figure in all its glory, her white head notwithstanding. The sight of her round belly made Mary want to cry with joy. Elizabeth extended her hands to Mary and exclaimed with ringing authority, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me? For when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.”

At this, Mary’s eyes widened, and tears slipped onto her cheeks. How good of the Lord! She didn’t even have to tell Aunt Elizabeth anything at all; He told her himself. Moreover, Elizabeth’s words confirmed everything the angel had said to her, as did Elizabeth’s own pregnancy. Mary hadn’t realized that some part of her had been gritting her teeth, trying to believe against all odds and against all evidence, until this moment. The angel had known she needed to be here, to bolster her floundering faith. Caught up in the spirit of rejoicing, Mary cried, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant. For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed”—and she knew it was so, even as the words tumbled out of her mouth. “For he who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name.” How great, for the Lord Almighty to choose her! “And his mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts; he has brought down the mighty from their thrones and exalted those of humble estate; he has filled the hungry with good things and the rich he has sent away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, as he spoke to our fathers, to Abraham and his offspring forever.”

Three months passed, and Elizabeth’s time drew very near. Mary no longer harbored any doubts of her own condition, and the ceasing of her monthly flow had confirmed it months ago. But Elizabeth pressed Mary to return to Nazareth.

“You are ready, my dear,” she told her. “You must tell Joseph sometime, and at this point he’s liable to see it before you can tell him a thing!” Mary looked down with chagrin—she wore loose garments, but she was a slight creature, and even now her pregnancy had begun to show.

“Which is exactly how you handled it,” Mary teased her aunt, who had confessed to her that she had remained in seclusion for the first five months of her own pregnancy. After all, she’d struggled with her faith enough, without also contending with the scoffing of her friends and neighbors. She waited to come out of seclusion until not even the staunchest skeptic could deny it!

Mary had intended to remain until the birth of her cousin, but Elizabeth insisted she return--and the truth was, Mary was eager get it over with, too. What would happen, would happen, and delaying the inevitable only made her more anxious. On the return journey, she decided she would go to Joseph before her parents. After all, if her parents turned her out, he might marry her quickly and take her in. And if he rejected her too… well, that was the Lord’s problem, wasn’t it? She whispered a prayer as she neared the home of her betrothed, dismounting from her camel. His workshop was around the back of the house, and she knew that was where he would be at this time of day.

“Mary!” he exclaimed when he saw her, startled. “Have you only just returned from—“ He stopped, his eyes tracking to the slight bulge at her abdomen, and his words seemed to die away. He looked at her again, a question and hurt in his eyes.Tell me that isn’t what it looks like, they pleaded.

“Joseph,” Mary took a few rapid steps toward him, and held out her hands. He did not take them.

“I see you’ve been busy while you were away,” he said, a bitter smile twisting the corners of his mouth. “I certainly never would have thought you the type.”

Tears sprang to Mary’s eyes, but how could she possibly explain? She was a very straightforward girl, and it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him everything, whether he would believe her or not. But something told her not to. She only whispered emphatically, “I have not been unfaithful to you, Joseph.”

He averted his eyes from her. “I will divorce you quietly. What you and your child do after that is your own business.”

Mary was crying now, from a combination of gratitude and heartbreak. Even in the first shock of discovering what he believed to be her infidelity, Joseph did not seek retribution. He was protecting her even now, which told her more clearly than anything she had yet learned of him what a good man she was losing. Yet something inside her seemed to whisper,Leave it to me.

She caressed her belly for comfort as she left the man she loved behind her, she thought for the last time, feeling all alone in the world. But she straightened her shoulders, dried her eyes, and rode home to face her parents. Her father was not an observant man, but her mother would know the truth of her condition at once. She clung to the words in her mind:Leave it to me.

Well, she would. What choice did she have?

But Mary, mercifully, did not have to explain to her parents that day. Her father was working, and her mother away tending to sick neighbors. When they were home and preparing supper, she made an excuse that she was tired from her journey and retired to bed early. She slept little that night, though, and rose well before daylight, when it became obvious that she would sleep no more.

The first streaks of dawn the next morning brought a visitor to their door. Mary’s bedchamber was close enough that she heard the approaching footsteps and the knock first, though it was her father who answered the door.

“Joseph, my boy!” came his surprised, booming voice.

Heart in her throat, Mary hurried to greet him, hoping against hope that he wasn’t here to begin the divorce proceedings. That was certainly not the way she’d wanted her father to find out. But the moment her eyes met Joseph’s and she saw his expression—awed, hesitant, hopeful—she promptly burst into tears.

“Mary!” chided her father, looking from her to Joseph, “what is all this?”

Mary hardly heard Joseph’s murmured explanations to her father. The next thing she knew, he’d guided her outside, under the eucalyptus tree where they had spoken well into the night on the evening of their betrothal. Gently he took her hands from her eyes, tilting her chin up to his so that he could see her face.

“Dry your eyes,” he whispered. “Would you like to know why I am here?” She nodded, unable to speak, and he went on, “An angel of the Lord spoke to me in a dream last night. He said to me, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for that which is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you shall call his name—’"

“Jesus,” she finished with him, and Joseph sucked in a breath. Mary nodded, and said, “He came to me too, though for me it wasn’t a dream.”

The awed look returned to Joseph’s face, and he quoted from Isaiah, “‘Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel.’”

Mary swallowed, nodded, and managed with a tiny shrug, “I guess that’s me.”

Joseph let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You know, if you had told me, I’d never have believed you.”

“Of course not, why would you?” Mary looked at him seriously. “And you realize, no one else will believe me either. It will be a dreadful scandal.”

“Believe us,” he corrected, gently wiping a tear from her cheek. “We’re in this together now.”

Of course, Mary was right. Her mother saw at once that she was pregnant when she really looked at her, and was too horrified to upbraid her, though her father alternately ranted and cried. She tried to tell them that it was all right, that Joseph would marry her anyway and would not even divorce her, let alone stone her.

“And why should he do that?” her father demanded. Mary explained about her vision and Joseph’s dream. Her father laughed her to scorn, but her mother did not laugh. She did not believe either, but she considered. After all, they knew their daughter as pious and dutiful. Was it easier to believe that she had committed fornication with a stranger than to believe the Lord had chosen her?

Joseph was true to his word, and within a week of her return, he had taken her as his bride. They dispensed with the traditional several day wedding feast that Mary’s father dearly wished for her to have, because most of the people of Nazareth would not have attended anyway, in silent disapproval. By now the story of Mary’s supposedly ‘immaculate’ conception was all over town. Old women who had always had a smile for her now averted their eyes when she passed them on the streets, and old men who had seen her grow up from childhood now shot murderous glances her way, as if they’d have liked nothing more than to enact the full punishment of the Levitical law upon her.

Six months later, when Mary’s time had nearly come, a decree went out from the Roman emperor Caesar Augustus. There was to be a census. Not only did this mean that everyone would be registered as a citizen for purposes of taxation, but each of the Jews must return to his ancestral home to do so. Joseph broke the news of this to his wife—this meant that they had to return to Bethlehem, the City of David. It was a three day journey from Nazareth at the best of times, and with Mary in her present condition, assuming lots of stops to rest, it could be up to a week. Mary did not complain, though.What good would it do?she thought. It would change nothing.

Mary had thought the scorn of her townsfolk was bad, but the journey, sitting sidesaddle on a camel at nine months pregnant, was awful. Joseph did what he could for her comfort, but that wasn’t much. They made the journey in four days because Mary did not insist upon stopping as often as she might have liked to have done. She just wanted to get there. She was grateful she’d pressed on ahead, too, because just outside of Bethlehem, the birth pains began. She clutched her swollen abdomen and looked up at Joseph with wide, terrified eyes, and he understood at once.

“I will find us a room!” he announced.

But they went to three inns without success. Due to the census, many other Israelites who did not live in Bethlehem had poured into the city, and every inn he tried was full to capacity. Joseph grew desperate, as each time he returned to Mary, waiting with the camels, her birth pains had grown closer together. Her face was clammy with sweat, and her breathing came in short gasps.

The innkeeper, moved with pity, followed Joseph outside and lay a hand on his shoulder. “I know of a place you might go, a place that is ceremonially clean and designed for birth, though not exactly of this kind,” he murmured, and pointed. Joseph’s gaze followed where the man pointed, and his brow knit in consternation. The innkeeper had indicated the field of Migdal Eder--the place where Jacob’s wife Rachel was buried, and which was now a meadow where the shepherds raised sheep for Temple sacrifice. At the top of the hill of Migdal Eder was the Tower of the Flock, a good vantage point for the shepherds to view their flocks all at once. The ground floor of the Tower was where the shepherds would take the sheep to give birth to the sacred little lambs, protected from the elements. After all, these lambs must be perfect, if they were to be offered to the Lord.

Mary, between contractions and seeing also where the innkeeper pointed, could see that Joseph was about to refuse.

“Yes!” she gasped, “Anywhere. Please!”

So he took her, reluctantly, the 1000 paces or so from Bethlehem to the Tower of the Flock. She lay upon the ground and pushed until she heard the little mewling cries that made her laugh and cry at the same time, delirious with exhaustion. Joseph bathed and wrapped the child in the swaddling cloths intended for the newborn Temple lambs, and laid him in the manger intended for the sheep to feed.

Mary had no idea how long she lay there, alternately cradling her son and dozing off, when the shepherds from the field suddenly crowded into her birthing chamber. They told her husband an incredible story, of yet another angel who had appeared to them in the fields. “Unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord!” was what they said the angel told them. “And this will be a sign to you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” The Temple shepherds cut one another off in their haste to tell the story. Another one said, “And then suddenly there was not just one, but legions of angels in the heavens, crying out, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom He is pleased!”

Mary gazed at the baby in the manger, treasuring the words of the shepherds and pondering them in her heart. What a place for the birth of a king, of the King! Such an idea almost defied belief. And he certainly looked like an ordinary child, though to her eyes he was perfect.Yet so every mother always says, she thought. How good of the Lord to confirm for her, again and again, that this was no ordinary child, despite everything her senses told her. She could stand against all the gossip and slander, and this poor child, her little Jesus, would have to do the same. The rumors of his illegitimacy would follow him all his life, she feared. But it didn’t matter. Joseph believed her. Elizabeth and Zechariah believed her. These Temple shepherds believed her. She knew that the Lord would continue to send her encouragement when she needed it, words she could treasure and ponder as fortification against the sneers of the rest of the world.

The angel had said to Joseph in his dream, “he will save his people from their sins.” The lambs, usually delivered in this room, wrapped in this cloth, and laid in this manger, were merely a type and shadow of the forgiveness of sins. This child was to be the real thing. But what could that mean?

She tried to imagine what this precious child would grow up to become. But how could she imagine? Such a thing had never happened before in the history of the world.

Today's podcast comes from this blog post, Chronic Infections Suppress Vitamin D Receptor Function. 

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Today's podcast is a meditation on the healing of the blind men (including Bartimaeus) from Matt 20:30-34, Mark 10:46-52, and Luke 18:35-43.Download the latest episode of Christian Natural Health!This is my retelling, though the podcast also includes the original texts that a discussion.

Jesus has known for years that his journey will end in Jerusalem. He has purposely avoided going there until now, knowing that his time had not yet come. But now, three years later, it’s time. He will reach Jerusalem in just a few days.

He has tried repeatedly to explain this to his disciples, but they refused to understand, even though he spoke to them plainly. No parables; no figures of speech. He tried to tell Peter, James, and John on the way down the mountain that he would suffer at the hands of the Jews, just as his cousin had done, and then he would rise from the dead. He tried again just days ago, before they entered the old Jericho, with all twelve of the disciples. He said, “See, we are going up to Jerusalem. And the Son of Man will be delivered over to the chief priests and scribes, and they will condemn him to death and deliver him over to the Gentiles to be mocked and flogged and crucified, and he will be raised on the third day.” He couldn’t say it any plainer than that. And what was their response? The Sons of Zebedee wanted to know if they could sit on his right and his left in his kingdom. After all this time, they still thought he would be crowned in Jerusalem, as an earthly king in the line of David. They saw and heard only what they expected to see and hear, and were blind and deaf to all else.

The route to Jerusalem winds through both the old and the new Jericho—the old, the one Joshua conquered by commanding the Israelite army to march around it seven times and blow the trumpets until the walls fell, is largely abandoned by this time. But it's not completely abandoned, and everyone in Israel has heard of Jesus by this point. So most of the remaining inhabitants drop what they’re doing and follow him as he passes by, wending his way through the city and down south to the new Jericho built by Herod. He knows the fickleness of the crowds, though. They adore him now; but give them a week and a half, when they’ll be stirred up by the religious leaders. Their love can turn to hate on a dime.

The climate is tropical; the air is balmy, and the palm trees for which Jericho is famous blow softly in the wind. Beggars line the road between the two cities, hoping to receive alms from traveling strangers. It was for this reason that Jesus set his Parable of the Good Samaritan on this very road. Now as he passes by, the dull roar of the crowd behind him, a few voices rise above the din.

“Lord, have mercy on us, Son of David!”

At first they are soft, but Jesus hears the crowd try to shush the voices, and they respond by shouting all the louder.

“Lord, have mercy on us, Son of David!”

It's their persistence that brings a smile to Jesus’ lips. That, and the title they gave him. Son of David. These beggars know their scripture. They are acknowledging him as their Messiah, and they don't care who knows it. He stops walking.

“Call them,” he says to those nearest him, turning to face the beggars, but not approaching them himself. He wants to see how they respond to this. It's clear they are blind by the way they move even before they are close enough for Jesus to see their eyes. Both of them rise to approach him, but one, he notices, springs up with enthusiasm, throwing off his outer garment-- the one that identifies him as a beggar. Jesus’ mouth twitches, pleased. This man knows he is about to get healed. That simple act shows that he is anticipating it.

The crowd quiets down, parting for the blind beggars to make their way to Jesus. When they reach him, Jesus asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” He knows the answer, at least for the one whom he’d heard the crowds call Bartimaeus, the one who cast his garment aside. But not every blind beggar wants healing, he knew. It would mean everything in their lives would change. They would have to learn a trade, provide for themselves--create a whole new identity.

Yet both of the men answer the same way. “Rabbi, let us recover our sight.”

The request is so plaintive, carrying with it the years of struggle and heartache. Moved with compassion, Jesus reaches out to touch their eyes.

“Go your way; your faith has made you well,” he says.

Bartimaeus and his friend blink and squint in the sunlight. They look first at Jesus, who is smiling at them. Then they look at each other, at the crowd, at the road and the palm trees where they have spent so much of their lives. Bartimaeus falls to his knees before Jesus in worship, and his friend follows suit. They laugh. They embrace. The crowd even celebrates with them, amused by the way they turn this way and that, drinking in the sights as if they cannot get enough. The beggars fall in with the crowd then, following Jesus on his way.

As for Jesus, he leads the way, moving toward New Jericho. Toward Jerusalem. Toward the cross.

This week's podcast comes from this blog post: Gut Dysbiosis and Bile Acids

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Today's meditation comes from Matthew 17:14-21, Mark 9:14-29, and Luke 9:37-43.Download the latest episode of Christian Natural Health!

This is my retelling, but the meditation includes the original text and discussion.

I hardly saw where I was stepping. I couldn’t stop replaying what James, John and I had just seen. Jesus, our Teacher and Master, was—glowing, so white we could scarcely look at him. His face changed too. I don’t know how to describe it, except to say he became a perfected version of himself, and yet so altered that he looked like someone else altogether. Two other men stood with him and talked with them, men who hadn’t walked up the mountain with us. I’d never seen them before, but by what they said to him, I recognized them as as Moses and Elijah. I’d felt like we were eavesdropping on a conversation we couldn’t understand. They said Jesus was going to Jerusalem, and then he would be leaving. Leaving where? I wondered. What were they talking about?

I started babbling something to the Master about building tents for him, Elijah, and Moses, but I didn’t know what I was saying. Sometimes when I’m on emotional overload, I just talk for the sake of talking. As I spoke, a cloud descended on us. There were clouds all around us, of course--the mountain was high. But this cloud spoke. I might have fallen on my face when I heard it, but I’m not sure. Even now, the memory of that voice from the clouds still makes me weak in the knees. It sounded like thunder, but I didn’t register what it said until I thought about it afterwards. At the time I was too overwhelmed. What it said was, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.”

James and John weren’t speaking either as we made our way down the mountain. They seemed just as rattled as I was. Jesus too was quiet, but his silence seemed different from ours. He was lost in thought, presumably contemplating what he had heard from the Voice, and what Elijah and Moses had said to him.

The Son of God. I was still wrapping my mind around that one. How exactly did I get here, one of not only his disciples, but in his intimate inner circle? Who was I? Just a simple fisherman… I wasn’t even educated.

Presently as we descended, Jesus said, “Tell no one the vision, until the Son of Man is raised from the dead.”

None of us replied right away; I assumed James and John were trying to riddle out what he meant by this, as I was. Jesus always spoke in metaphor and parable. Son of Man was him, I got that much; but what was this “raised from the dead?” What did that represent? I didn’t want to ask, for fear of rebuke.

John spared me, and asked instead, “Then why do the scribes say that first Elijah must come?”

Good save, I thought. Way to divert the question. He was referring not to the vision of Elijah that the three of us just saw in that radiant white light, but to what the prophet Malachi had written, that the prophet Elijah would return to make the way for the Lord. We had wondered about that too: everyone had more or less expected that he would return to earth as he had gone, in a chariot of fire and a whirlwind from heaven, so that there would be no question as to who he was or where he had come from.

“Elijah does come,” Jesus replied, “and he will restore all things. But I tell you that Elijah has already come, and they did not recognize him, but did to him whatever they pleased. So also the Son of Man will certainly suffer at their hands.”

As he spoke, it clicked. He was talking about his cousin, John the Baptist. The guy Herod had beheaded in prison. He was Elijah? Well, no wonder he could appear on the mountaintop then—he’d lately been freed from his body. A little while later, I replayed the rest of what Jesus had said in my mind though. So also the Son of Man will certainly suffer at their hands. In the same way John the Baptist had? Surely not.

At the foot of the mountain, there was a crowd waiting for us. There was always a crowd following Jesus these days; we had to climb a very high mountain to get some peace and quiet. But as we drew near, we saw that it wasn’t just any crowd. There were some of the usual onlookers, but front and center were the scribes, surrounding the other nine disciples whom we’d left behind. My heart sank. The scribes were always trying to question Jesus, but he was too clever for them. So like wolves attacking the sheep while the shepherd is away, they had descended on the disciples. We could see from their antagonistic postures and my brothers’ distraught expressions that it wasn’t going well.

Jesus asked the scribes, “What are you arguing about with them?”

No one answered at first. The scribes looked triumphant, and the disciples abashed. At last, a man broke ranks and ran to Jesus, kneeling at his feet. He looked harried, and babbled, “Lord, have mercy on my son, for he has a spirit that makes him mute. He is an epileptic and he suffers terribly. He foams and grinds his teeth and becomes rigid. And I brought him to your disciples, and they could not heal him.”

Beyond the father kneeling before Jesus, the nine whom we’d left at the bottom of the mountain pressed past the scribes and onlookers to the front of the crowd. I caught Bartholomew’s and Matthew’s eyes. They both looked sheepish. We had a pretty good idea how Jesus would react to this. The longer we’d been with him, the more frustrated he seemed to become when we failed to imitate him. Sure enough, Jesus’ brow darkened, and he said to no one in particular, “O faithless and twisted generation, how long am I to be with you? How long am I to bear with you? Bring him here to me.”

The crowd parted as the boy’s father went to obey, and returned holding a boy of about ten or twelve by both shoulders. The boy stumbled along, not looking ahead of him, as if he could not see where his father was steering him. Then all at once, as soon as the crowd fell away and they could not help but see us standing before them, the boy’s eyes locked on Jesus. They widened, rolled back in his head, and the boy convulsed so violently that his father could no longer hold him. He thrashed on the ground before Jesus, foaming at the mouth.

I expected Jesus to simply command the spirit to come out of him, but first he looked calmly at the boy’s father. “How long has this been happening to him?” he asked.

Odd question, I thought. Why does it matter? But it distracted the father from his anguish, at least long enough for him to reply.

“From childhood,” the father replied. “And it has often cast him into fire and into water, to destroy him.” Indeed, when I looked I could see burn scars on the boy’s face and legs even as he thrashed. “But if you can do anything,” the father pleaded, "have compassion on us and help us.”

Jesus fixed the father of the boy with a penetrating gaze. “If you can,” he said pointedly. “All things are possible for one who believes.”

“I believe!” the father cried at once, falling to his knees again. “Help my unbelief!”

Now I understood. Jesus wasn’t asking the father how long the boy had been possessed because it made a material difference to him. But it did make a difference to the father’s ability to believe for his healing. After many years of daily torture, this father was heartsick. He’d clearly had some faith, because he’d heard about Jesus and brought his son to Jesus’ disciples. But when even they could not cast out the demon, the doubts took over. Presumably the disciples’ withering under the questioning of the scribes had only made it worse. That was what Jesus had been trying to elicit—he wanted to bring the father’s faith back to the forefront, however mixed it might be.

Jesus glanced up at the crowd, which had begun to converge upon us again. The onlookers were filled with unbelief after the disciples’ failed attempts and the poisoning of the scribes, and a spirit of unbelief was catching. This father couldn’t handle any more of it; the admission he’d given was the best he could do. So before they could reach us, Jesus rebuked the demon sternly.

“You mute and deaf spirit, I command you, come out of him and never enter him again.”

He said it not a moment too soon; the crowd had just reached us when the demon responded to this by seizing the boy violently. Then he lay still. A hush fell over the crowd. Fear even seized my own heart; the boy truly looked like a corpse. Had Jesus killed him?

“He is dead,” I heard the whispers all around us. The onlookers were distraught or even grief-stricken, but the scribes sounded almost smug. They had been looking to discredit Jesus, and here, at last, was their chance. A wave of dread rolled over me. How would Jesus save face after this? Word would spread all throughout the region, all of his followers would leave, he’d be mocked as a fraud and a charlatan, if not a murderer…

But Jesus, ever in control, interrupted my terrible thoughts by reaching down and taking the boy by the hand. The muscles in the boy’s hand engaged, and the crowd’s whispers quieted. Jesus pulled him to his feet. The boy blinked, focused on Jesus’ face, and smiled. Jesus smiled back. His father started crying loudly, and pulled the boy to him in a violent hug. Where murmurs had been a moment before, there was a smattering of uncertain applause. The scribes grumbled, barely hiding their disappointment.

Jesus turned to go without another word. As he did, I caught just a glimpse of his expression. He looked troubled—which seemed strange, considering he’d succeeded. The boy was healed; the scribes silenced. Yet Jesus wasn’t rejoicing. James, John and I followed closely behind him, as did the other nine. None of us dared to walk beside him, let alone question him.

When we came to the house where we were staying and were alone, I heard Bartholomew ask him at last, “Jesus, why could we not cast it out?”

Brave Bartholomew. I know all the rest of them wanted to ask too, but they were afraid to risk his ire. But Jesus did not rebuke him; he merely sounded tired. “Because of your little faith. For truly I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.”

“But Teacher, we had faith,” Bartholomew insisted. “You’d given it to us, and we knew that! We had already cast out demons and seen them submit to us! Why was this one different?”

“This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer and fasting,” Jesus replied, and walked away.

The twelve of us looked at each other, puzzling out what he meant by this. Fasting? The disciples hadn’t been eating at the time, surely. Were they to stop and pray, to ask God to drive out the demon? He couldn’t mean that either: after all, Jesus himself merely commanded it to leave and it obeyed, and he taught us to do the same. We were to speak directly to the problem in the authority he had given us, not speak to God about our problem. Jesus always spoke in riddles like this, leaving us to make sense of what he had said.

But I saw in the other disciples’ faces the moment that several of them understood what he had meant. 'This kind' did not refer to the demon; it referred to our doubts. That was why he’d said it right after saying our faith was the problem. It was why he’d told the father that he needed to believe. It was why he’d driven out the demon before the crowd, and especially the scribes, could converge upon us again. This kind of doubt—the kind that comes from focusing on what we perceive with our senses, rather than what we know in our heads to be true—can only be driven out by focusing so intently upon the spiritual realm that it becomes more real to us than what we see, taste, hear, smell, and feel.

That was why he was frustrated with the other disciples—and with me too, if I’m to be honest: that after three years with him, we are still more swayed by what we see than by what we know to be true. Here he’s talking about “leaving”, about being “raised from the dead” and “suffering” in the same way as his martyred cousin—which I still don’t understand, and don’t want to think about—yet we’re still nowhere near his level. If Jesus left, we’d fall apart. We’re nothing without him.

I want to go to Jesus and make bold promises. I want to tell him that even if everyone else fails him, I won’t fail him. I will believe, even if all the others doubt. He can count on me!

But deep down, I know it’s a lie. Jesus knows it too, and would say so. Jesus has no peer. For the last three years he’s been trying to make the twelve of us into peers, yet still, he has none. It suddenly occurs to me how lonely that must make him. No wonder he spends so much time alone in prayer. God the Father is his only peer, the Holy Spirit his comforter. The only way any human could ever hope to compare is if somehow God the Father put on us the same Spirit that He put on Jesus. But that’s impossible… we’re sinful men. God’s Spirit would kill us, just as Uzzah fell dead when he accidentally touched the Ark of the Covenant, and Moses had to rope off Mount Sinai when God descended upon it in fire so that the Israelites would not touch it on accident and die. We've borrowed Jesus' power for awhile, but that’s all.

Yet, didn’t Joel prophesy exactly that? I recite it in my mind: "I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions. Even on my servants, both men and women, I will pour out my Spirit in those days.”

I contemplate these things in my heart as I drift off to sleep that night. The Son of Man suffering. Jesus… leaving. Raised from the dead? This kind of unbelief cannot be driven out by anything but prayer and fasting. God’s spirit poured out... on all people. What did it all mean?

This week's podcast comes from this blog post, Microneedling with PRP by Dr Mariah Mosley. 

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Today's meditation explores the symmetry between the Feast of Weeks of the Old Testament, and Pentecost. We jump around a lot: 

• Moses goes to Sinai and God descends on it in fire (Ex 19:18.) This represents the birth of the nation of Israel as a theocracy: the giving of the Law. 
• This was the first Feast of Weeks at Mt Sinai, 50 days after passover (Ex 19:1.) 
  • Later "official" Feasts of Weeks: Lev 23:15. 
• That day, 3000 Israelites died in rebellion (because Aaron made them a golden calf to worship at the foot of the mountain: Ex 32:28). 
• Joel prophesied that when the Holy Spirit fell there would be prophecy, visions, and dreams (Joel 2:28-29).
• John the Baptist prophesied the Holy Spirit would come with fire (Matt 3:11)
• The New Covenant fulfillment of the Feast of Weeks: Pentecost. The Holy Spirit falls as tongues of fire (Acts 2:1-12) and Peter quotes Joel (Acts 2:14-21).
• That day, 3000 new believers were added (Acts 2:41). Symmetry!
  • Paul says the law kills but the spirit gives life later (Romans 7:10, 2 Cor 3:6)

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Today's podcast comes from this blog post, Lithium as a Neuroprotectant. 

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Today's meditation is on the story of the Centurian's servant, from Matt 8:5-13 and Luke 7:1-10.Download the latest episode of Christian Natural Health!This is the transcript of my retelling. The podcast includes the original text and discussion as well.

The Centurian is at home, and in one of the fanciest homes in Capernaum—if he had the money to build a synagogue that still stands thousands of years later at least in part, he was a wealthy guy. His home is large, made of stone like the synagogue, and as a commander of thousands, he’s used to not only commanding his legionaries, but he also has a number of servants.

The one who is sick was very dear to him. Probably he had been his servant from childhood, so at this point he was more like family than a servant. Matthew’s account says that he was paralyzed, but Luke’s says he was “sick to the point of death,” so this probably wasn’t a result of an injury. Perhaps this was an elderly servant who had had a stroke. It must have been a severe stroke, to leave him paralyzed—and if he was at the point of death, perhaps he was also unconscious. Maybe he never regained consciousness after the stroke. But the Centurian was very distraught, and knew well that none of the physicians could help. At that time in history, there was nothing that could really be done for stroke victims; they either recovered on their own or they didn’t, and with Luke’s account, this one was going in the wrong direction. The Centurian was used to taking charge. When a problem arose, he dealt with it. He solved problems. The feeling of helplessness to affect any positive change for this servant whom he loved so dearly was awful.

But he didn’t feel helpless for long—as usual, a solution occurred to him, though it was admittedly outside the box. The Centurian lived in Capernaum, the home base for Jesus’ ministry. He’d heard about the carpenter’s son who somehow knew the scriptures inside an out, and who had turned water into wine at a wedding there many months earlier. Since then, the rumors were that he went about healing the blind, the lame, the dumb, and the sick of Israel. He’d heard the rumors among the Jews that he might even be the Messiah that they had been waiting for for centuries.

There was a problem, though: the Centurian was Roman, not Jewish. Even though he’d built the Jews’ synagogue It seemed horribly presumptuous of him to approach the Jewish celebrity and ask him to come to his home and heal his servant. Why would he do it? Jesus’ time was precious—the Centurian appreciated this full well, as his own time was precious, too. His legionaries did not approach him lightly with small matters of their own. They knew he expected them to work out their problems on their own, and only approach him if absolutely necessary. They respected his time, his authority, and his position. He could not approach Jesus with any less respect.

But then he remembered a story he’d heard that had taken place in this very city, only some months earlier—and to a Gentile, no less! A nobleman, an official in Capernaum’s son had taken ill and was dying. The official had made bold to approach Jesus directly, and begged him to come and heal his boy. Jesus didn’t go with him—but he healed him anyway. At his word, from a distance! What was it he’d said? “Go; your son will live.” The official believed him, headed home, and was intercepted by servants along the way who told him that his son had begun to recover at the exact hour that Jesus had spoken those words.

That was his solution, the Centurian realized. Of course! He could ask Jesus’ help with minimal inconvenience to himself, if he didn’t ask him to come to his home—he could simply request that he speak a word. That was good enough for the nobleman’s son; why would it not be good enough for his servant? He dared not even approach Jesus directly himself, because he was a Gentile. Jesus focused on the Jews. He thought his appeal might be better received coming from the Jews. He had a relationship with them, having built their synagogue—so he summoned some of the Jewish elders and told them his plight.

“I ask a great favor,” he said, “and if I had another choice I would not. But my servant is very dear to me, and his only hope is a miracle. Jesus of Nazareth can heal him, but I have no basis upon which to appeal to him to do so. Would you approach him on my behalf?”

So the elders went to Jesus. These were not scribes and Pharisees, but elderly faithful Jewish men among those who followed Jesus and hung on his words. They approached him, told him about the Centurian’s servant, and then made the case for him: “He is worthy to have you do this for him, for he loves our nation, and he is the one who built us our synagogue.” Jesus did not protest; he agreed to go with the elders to the home of the Centurian to heal the servant.

The Centurian saw Jesus and the elders approaching his home when they were not far away, a crowd following along behind Jesus. The emotion to immediately seize him was less relief than shame. This had not been his intention, to pull this important man away from his ministry! He did not deserve such deference, especially as a Gentile. His friends were gathered at his home to support him through the apparent death of his dear servant, so he hurriedly sent some of them on ahead.

“Please tell the Lord not to trouble himself any further!” he expostulated, “I am not worthy to have him come under my roof! Therefore I did not presume to come to you. But say the word, and let my servant be healed. For I too am a man set under authority, with soldiers under me; and I say to one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes, and to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.”

His friends hurried off to intercept Jesus, and the Centurian watched anxiously from a distance. He was close enough that he could see Jesus stop and absorb what his friends said on his behalf, before he turned to say something to the crowd behind him. Then after another moment’s delay, Jesus turned and moved away again, the crowd clinging to his every move. The Centurian’s friends set out back to his home, just when another servant rushed up to the Centurian.

“Your dear one has recovered!” he gasped, out of breath. “He awoke again and sat up, and is asking for you!”

The Centurian swallowed the lump of gratitude in his throat, looking out over the hills at the retreating figure of the Lord. He was not an Israelite, and was not worthy—and yet the master deigned to come to his home to grant his request. He wiped his eyes just as his friends who had spoken to Jesus on his behalf returned. They were beaming.

“What did he say?” The Centurian managed, on his feet already to go and see his servant.

“He was impressed,” his friend grinned back. “When we told him what you’d said, he turned to the crowd and said, ‘I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith.”

The Centurian’s heart swelled. He, a Gentile, had impressed Jesus. For a moment, the Centurian wished that he himself was a Jew, so that he could join that crowd and follow the Master. But instead, he went to his servant’s bedside. He found him sitting up, drinking a mug of water, and looking better than the Centurian had seen him look in years.

“Thank you,” the Centurian whispered. And even though he never had and never would meet Jesus face to face, he somehow knew he’d heard.

Today's podcast comes from this blog post: Spotlight On: Cinnamon. 

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Today's podcast meditation comes from the three accounts of the friends lowering the paralytic through the roof to Jesus to receive his healing:Matt 9:2-8/Mark 2:1-12/Luke 5:17-26Download the latest episode of Christian Natural Health!Imagine being that paralytic—he never goes anywhere, he just lies at home all day and friends take care of him. He’s clearly either got a big family or is very well loved, because otherwise he wouldn’t have so many people to drop what they’re doing, band together, and take him to Jesus. And they really go to a lot of trouble too—they try to get him through, but the crowds are spilling out of the house where Jesus is teaching and into the streets! And here they have this bulky stretcher, and nobody will let them through. So these enterprising four friends think, we’ve come this far, and our friend/brother WILL get his healing today. So they climb on the roof, and probably hoist up his mat on a pulley system. How hard must that have been? How long did it take them to get him up there?And whose idea was cutting a hole in the roof anyway? Did they even think of how angry the home owner would be? Probably not; they were laser-focused on getting their friend to Jesus. Once they cut the hole, they all collectively had to lower him by ropes when they saw where Jesus was teaching. The audacity! But would Jesus be mad? If they thought this was a possibility, they didn’t care. They really loved this friend.And what of the friend himself? He must have had some really good qualities to inspire such loyalty in those around him, so maybe he was one of those people who bears adversity with a smile, or finds a way to see the good and the things to be grateful for. We at least know that he had faith to be healed when he heard about Jesus. Was it his idea or theirs to go to all this trouble to get him to Jesus? Either way, he was definitely on board, because “Jesus saw their faith,” which includes his. I imagine he heard rumors about this young man—much younger than the teachers of the law, only early thirties—who was stirring up the leaders. They all hated him, but the people flocked to him wherever he went, because not only did he teach with authority unlike the Pharisees and Sadducees, but he backed up what he said with power! Typically he heals ALL the sick, the lame, the maimed, the blind, and the dumb who come to him! Can you imagine?The paralytic heard all this, and it stirred a spark of hope in him. Can it be true? Well it has to be, doesn’t it? He’d heard the story from so many different people. Can ALL those people be wrong?Clearly he can’t travel anywhere, but he just happens to live in Capernaum, the headquarters for most of Jesus’ ministry. So he had only to wait until Jesus came back. The problem is, because this is the headquarters for his ministry, EVERYBODY flocks to him. Even though his friends volunteer to take him to Jesus, they can’t even get close. It would be one thing if the paralytic could push through the crowd himself, but he can’t ask his friends to do all that for him. His heart sinks. His healing is right there, inside that house, and he can’t even get there…But wait! His friends confer amongst themselves. They’re going to… what? Seriously? One of them turns to him and says, pointing at the roof and a length of rope he’s procured, “You okay with that?”The paralytic blinks. “Y-yes!” he stammers. “Let’s do it!” Hope returns. He’s wondering what on earth they plan to do when they get to the roof, but he’s distracted by the discomfort and occasional pain of the uneven hoisting process. One leg gets trapped, one shoulder yanked, the mat swings and hits the side of the house, smashing his ear into his head. At one point the mat tips and nearly drops him all the way back to the ground! But they succeed in the end. And then he sees—“You’re cutting a hole in the roof?” the paralytic laughs. His friend looks up at him mischievously and says, “Today’s your day, my friend. YOU are GETTING to see Jesus.”They saw. And saw. Chunks of the ceiling surely rain down on the crowd beneath during the process, so they have to know exactly what’s happening long before they see the culprits. They have to pull away sections at a time, so before the hole is big enough to lower him, the paralytic can look down and see the crowd with white dust in their hair, the scowling home owner, and… Jesus. He’s smiling! He actually looks amused! The paralytic meets his eyes, and can’t look away, until his friends have to position him for the descent.“Okay, ready?” One friend, the ringleader, cries to the others. “One, two, three!”With coordinated efforts, they lower him down in a much more synchronized fashion than that by which they’d raised him to the roof in the first place. Within seconds, the paralytic is looking up into the face of Jesus. He’d know him anywhere, even though he’s never seen him before and didn’t previously know what he looked like. Objectively he looks like a normal man, but there is something about him. How can the paralytic know all this at first glance? But he does. It’s peace, confidence, authority, power… something he can’t quite put his finger on. But it’s compelling. Jesus looks up to the friends on the roof and smiles at them too—beaming his approval. At last, he looks at the paralytic, and speaks.“Take heart, my son; your sins are forgiven.”So many things about that statement ought to seem strange, but don’t. “Son,” first of all — this man speaks as if he’s one of the elders, but he can’t be much older than the paralytic’s own age. Second, his sins are forgiven? The paralytic hears the ripples of unrest among the crowd nearest him, who heard this. Jesus spoke the words with such quiet confidence, that the paralytic has no doubt he’s able to remit sins. But if that’s true, then doesn’t that make him…“…blasphemy!” he overhears in whispers from some of the teachers of the law and the scribes nearest him.Jesus turns to them, and his previously approving and cheerful expression turns to stone. “Why do you think evil in your hearts?” he demands of the scribes. The paralytic’s heart races at the confrontation. “For which is easier, to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say ‘Rise and walk’?” He lets this question hang in the air, as if waiting for an answer. Nobody does answer, though—he seems to speak in riddles. Jesus goes on, still in a booming tone to the crowd, “But that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins—“ he turns back to the paralytic, “Rise, pick up your bed and go home.”It takes a moment for the paralytic to register this. But when he does, there's no hesitation: this was what he was waiting for. He’d expected more of a demonstration than this: a touch of healing, perhaps. But he has no doubt that this man’s word carries all the authority he needs. He leaps up to his feet, and as he does so, his bones and joints straighten out and become strong! The gasps ripple throughout the crowd, and a few—not the scribes and teachers—start to clap and cheer. Then he realizes that the cheers are coming from his friends on the roof—they had expected this all along. One sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles. But the paralytic hardly notices. Tears stream down his face, and he laughs and cries for joy. He wants to hug Jesus, but that seems wildly inappropriate—especially since Jesus's attention is now focused on the scribes and teachers. He stares them down like a challenge. So instead, the paralytic—former paralytic!—does as he was bid: he picks up the mat upon which he’d lay for decades, tucks it under his now strong and well-formed arm, holds his head up high, and marches right through the thick crowds that had blocked his entrance. They part for him in astonishment, and even fear. Most of them had known him all his life. They knew what kind of miracle had just taken place.What’s more, before he’d done it, Jesus had forgiven his sins. They all knew what this meant. He was proclaiming himself to be God.As for the former paralytic, he doesn't doubt it for a second.

This week's podcast comes from this article, Methylation and Neurotransmitters. 

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Today's meditation comes from Mark 6:41. 

• Jesus "looked up" = anablepo, also translated "receive sight" or "recover lost sight" elsewhere. 
• Isaiah 26:3: "yetser" = "mind", also translated conception or imagination.
• Numbers 13-14: 10 spies in the Promised Land, and 8 of them had an evil report

This is the Living Commentary software I referenced that is super awesome! https://www.awmi.net/lc/

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Today's podcast comes from this blog post, Why Does Your Period Cause Insomnia? 

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Today's podcast is a meditation on Psalm 69:30. We jump around to a few more verses:

1.  Psalms 69:30 says that thanksgiving magnifies God (gadal: same word as a child growing up physically). To make great, to lift up
2. The leper who came back to thank Jesus glorified Him (Luke 17:16-18). 
3. Romans 4:19-21: Abraham "was strong in faith, giving glory to God" (before the promise was fulfilled)
4. Psalm 103:2: "Forget not all his benefits".
5. 2 Cor 10:5: Take your thoughts captive
6. Ephesians 4:18: your spiritual sight can be darkened; versus Eph 4:23: be renewed in the spirit of your minds (like Romans 12:2)
7. "to be spiritually minded is life and peace" (Romans 8:6). 

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Today's podcast comes from this blog post, Supplements to Assist with Sauna Detoxification.

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Today's podcast is a meditation on Habakkuk 2:3-4.

We also jump to Romans 1:17, Galatians 3:11, and Hebrews 10:38.

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Today's podcast comes from this article, How Taurine Affects Anxiety and Adrenaline. 

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Today's meditation comes from 2 Corinthians 1:20-22

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Today's podcast comes from this blog post, PQQ and Mitochondria. 

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Today's meditation is on Galatians 6:9. 

We also jump around to:

Galatians 6:7-9

2 Cor 9:6

Mark 4:26-29

Heb 10:23, and 10:35-36

Background music courtesy of Ben Sound at www.bensound.com

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Today's podcast comes from this blog post, Hormonal Causes of Low Libido. 

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Today's meditation is on Ephesians 3:14-21

Background music courtesy of Ben Sound at www.bensound.com

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