This is It - Episode 9: Mysteries and Metaphors

Next day, Yeshua withdrew toward the lake. Followed by throngs as he was, he went out onto the water in a small boat, and from there answered questions and taught them in metaphors.

Once, a man went out to sow seed in his field. Some seed fell in the road, and the birds came and at it up. Some seed fell in a rocky ground, where there was little soil; the seeds germinated and the plants came up quickly, but had no roots, so they were scorched by the sun and withered away. Some seed fell into a patch of thorns, where the plants were choked off. Some fell in good soil, grew to maturity and yielded a good crop. Hear what I say!

A student asked, Why do you speak in metaphors?

Some people hear and understand; others do not. I want you to hear and understand.

Another student asked: So what does this metaphor mean?

And he said, The seed that fell in the road is the word about the realm the holy one that was heard but the person was robbed of the opportunity to understand. The seed that fell in the rocky ground, whose plants have no deep roots, that represents to person who hears and understands the word, but cannot stand up to the challenge of other people’s persuasion, and so they abandon their understanding. The seed that fell in the patch of thorns hears and understands the word, but then tries to scheme how to have one foot in the realm and the other in this world; the plants from that seed can never bear fruit. The seeds that fell in good soil represent the person who hears and understands the word; that person has deep roots and bears good fruit.

Before another question could be asked, he went on.

The realm of the holy one is like a man who sowed good seed in his field, but in the night, someone sowed weeds where the good seed was. The good and bad seeds sprouted and grew together. The man’s servants asked, ‘Do you want us to pull out the weeds?’ But he said, ‘No, because the good plants might also be uprooted. Let all grow together, then at harvest time, we’ll pull the weeds and bundle them into the fire, then collect the wheat into silo.’

He went on, so as not to be interrupted, The realm of the holy one is like the seed of the mustard plant. Though the smallest of all seeds, it grows into a bush large enough for birds to nest in.

And he said, further, The realm is like the yeast that a woman mixed in with three bags of flour, until it all doubled.

After that, he to dismissed them, returned to the shore, and headed back to his house. But they wanted to hear more.

Here are some short ones about the realm of the holy one. It is like a treasure hidden in a field, is found and by a person and reburied. That person then joyfully sells all he has to buy the field.

The realm is like the merchant in search of quality pearls. He finds the single most precious one, and sells all that he has in order to purchase it.

Or this one, the realm is like the fishermen who throw out their net and drag it in when it’s full. They sort the good fish into their creels, and the bad fish they throw back. This is how it will be at the end, the just will be culled and the unjust will be cast away. Do you understand?

They said, Yes.

© 2020 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen and songsofasouljourney.blogspot.com

A brief note about my literary exploration of the ministry of Jesus of Nazareth: I have undertaken this exercise having read, sung (in several languages), meditated and prayed on the contents of the Synoptic Gospels (as well as the Non-Synoptic Gospels) for at least 45 years. In that time, I’ve accumulated a bit of a library (which comes as no surprise to those who know me), and I try to follow modern scholarship. Here is a partial list of the authors and books that come to mind as I write these episodes:

Ballentine, Debra Scoggins, The Conflict Myth & the Biblical Tradition; Oxford University Press 2015

Erdman, Bart, various titles

Gaus, Andy, The Unvarnished New Testament; Phanes Press, 1991

Herzog, William R., Parables as Subversive Speech; Westminster John Knox Press, 1991

Louden, Bruce, Greek Myth and the Bible; Routledge, 2019

Tatian, Diatesseron; www.earlychristianwritings.com/diatessaron.html

Wajdenbaum, Philippe, Argonauts of the Desert, Routledge, 2011

Ward, Keith, The Philosopher and the Gospels, Lion Hudson, 2011

Yosef ben Maityahu (Titus Flavius Josephus), various writings

Good Neighbors: 2. Tuesday

They say you’re blessed when forgiven,
but I gotta say it:
Though I done my time,

            it seems like none forgave me.

I see other people who think they are better,
that they are outside of the rules
that hold me,
but they aren’t that upstanding;
it’s a bad joke.

When I was a young fool,
I struggled and I raged and I stole;
like I said: I’m not proud of what I done,
but I done the time for my crime.

What I seen in there,
it changed me:
it made me old,
it made me quiet;

Like an invisible hand on my shoulder,
it scared all the piss and bile right out of me.

You hear that?

I come out and I’m not afraid to tell what I done,
I am a different person, now,
and I want to be recognized,
to be known as new.

Do you hear that?

In the eyes of the law,
I know I am good, now—
they called it even and sprung me
—but no person will hire me.

That Power that changed me,
show Yourself, and give me hope;
that hope is where I hide my heart.
—protect me,
keep me out of trouble;
I don’t want to go back
to that other place, no more.

Hear me!
Hear me and preserve me!
Tell me, teach me, guide me
to a goal, a job, home;
help me to be useful,
and heal my soul
with true forgiveness!

© 2015 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

This poem is part of a cycle based on the so-called seven Penitential Psalms. The subtitle of the cycle is “Psalms from the Streets”. This entry is based on Psalm 32, and could be subtitled, “The Ex-Convict.”

Transcriptions

A cacophony of voices rises,

along with the noises of Life;
the shrieks, crashes and throbs
of man, machine and beast—
a polyphony of distractions.

There is no substitute for listening,
even among the best thought partners,
and doubly true that is for the transcriptionist
who must gather a single thread,
from among the knotty ribbons of fire,
that will allow Theseus to quit the labyrinth.

Loudness and speed or lowness and length
are symptomatic of a need for supremacy.

On the one hand, those windows of silence,
that would bring necessary context,
are lost in the wall of loud, louder, loudest.

On the other hand, many words run too fluidly
to make out with any certainty whatsoever.

And so the peace and understanding
of all the world hangs on the ears
of the lone and earnest stenographer,
to accurately record life, libation, living and love
as a single strand of thought, a manifesto.

The wings and winds of distraction
whip at curtains of indecision and disillusion,
not to say disinclination,
to forge something real from delusions,
something that will last beyond a convenient now,
something that will cancel the end game.

But, there comes an end to all our talking—
we must breathe to speak, and so we stop;
all is futile, futile, utterly futile,
even while the earth glows with Life—
we are mostly deaf to Life’s music;
it plays beyond our petty cravings,
beyond our ignoble dominions and wars.

Silence comes only because we must stop,
and welling, as from within an eruption of silence,
a truer answer finds voice and flight,
one that only the transcriber can hear.

The answer is heard by one,
but goes unrecorded;
truth often lies outside
the contractual agreement.

© 2011 by Elisabeth Eliassen

Hearing the Universe Speak

The universe opens itself to

questions and answers.

Listen,
Listen, so that you can hear:
the answers to your questions
are carried on the air;
you need only gather
the many strands,
like flowers,
into a nosegay

—your mind will blossom.

The universe speaks,
singing the answers
to all our questions;
a musical coherence.

Who are the listeners?

They are the ones who
need never ask a question;
they listen to the wind,
the ground, the ocean;
they hear the answers,
and then respond
with appropriate gratitude: 

the silence of knowing.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Hearing

Listen, listen to the sounds of life,
As they roll through your ears
And into your being,
Vibrating as the music of life;
Listen, and be at peace,
Knowing that you are alive within that music,
That your own being is part of life's vibration.

Listen, listen, but don't think too hard;
The ears hear, the mind thinks,
But do not hear within the mind,
Hear within the heart;
Listen, and be at peace,
Knowing that you live by the heart, the heart alone,
And that your heart is the pulse by which life beats.

Listen, listen to life pulse,
Let life sound in your temples,
Life reverberates through your being,
Vibrating as a single tone of unity;
Listen, and be at peace,
Knowing that the next breath you take
Is conscious of all the possibilities of Being.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen