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| The Wise Virgins - Blake, Tate Gallery, London |
To the frivolous Christianity is certainly not glad tidings,
for it wishes first of all to makes them serious. Søren Kierkegaard, Journal, 1847
Great point Kierkegaard - whose name in Danish means graveyard. Who is interested in the superficial, temporary, partial and unconsummated? This is like the Christian festivals which have been softened into a mush. What about having the courage to look life square in the face. This is not the opium- the tranquilliser. This is freedom from fear. An ablity to ask any question knowing that the answer is secondary to the reality of feeling the firm rock of the Creator under your feet. What about when you can not feel this? It doesn't stop it being there.
The account of Jesus Life according to John - Chapter Four
I work in a cafe in a Palestinian town called Nablus. Although our premises is near the religious
site called Jacob’s Well, we are not really for the adventurous American and
Korean tourists who are willing to contend with check points and security to
see their beloved Biblical sites. Ours is more for 'local women and their
children', a get-away or oasis in the sunny prison of the West Bank.
It was the hottest part of the day when a young, smart Jewish
man slipped in and sat down at a lone table.
The cafe was empty; our lot tend to head off for a snooze by now. I was on my own, clearing up from the
morning. I hesitated for a few minutes
before approaching his table.
"Some mineral water please," he requested
politely. And he looked me straight in
the eye. That's disconcerting; we don't
normally do that in our religion. It's
quite a taboo. I gave him a funny look,
but he went on.
“If only you knew the water I can give to you..."
I said, "Looks like you have nothing with
you." And under my breath," you'd
better have money.” We are used to Jews taking liberties round here. "The very best water comes from Jacob's
well," I offer, something of topical interest. We are all united in the greatness of our
forefather Jacob. We're not that
different really. The man again looks at
me.
“Jacob's well is special, but it will never satisfy you for
long,” he says. “The water I have to offer is for eternal life."
Wow - blow me away - you don't hear that said in this old
joint every day.
"Hey man,” say I. "You are truly deep. I like your drift."
"Why don't I talk with your husband?” he says. (I guess
he knows we can't be seen talking like this.)
Thank heavens no one's come in so far.
"I've got no husband," I protest, presenting a
provocative smile.
"Yes" he says, "I know. Your boyfriend has only just moved in with
you. You deserve better than those five
guys who use you and let you down."
My blood ran cold. That was very
close to the bone.
"You are a strange man" I say, "a clairvoyant
or a mystic?" (We get lot of religious cranks round here.) "So our prophet says worship on a Friday,
but you lot choose Saturday. Why's that?"
The man turns.
"The time is coming when days of the week won't matter a
jot. We will all worship the Creator,
face to face." My whole being is
trembling. I feel surges of emotion; I
can't tell you how alive I feel.
"We both believe that someone is coming to show us the
face of the Creator," I say.
“I've come to you today to do just that."
He picked up his ice-chilled bottle, dropped two shekels on
the table, and I never saw him again. I
rushed out after him in a daze. My
sister saw me and came over quite concerned.
"I've just met a man who knew everything about me,"
I said. My sister stroked my cheek. "There, there sis,” she says. She knows my problem with men. I notice her darting look up to the hot sun.
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