What not to cook...

Two nights ago, Amos and I spent time on the airing porch, bundled up against the cool air.  Now, its back to really, really, really cold air.  It was a bit wild to me to see just how much the deck boards had dried out because the gaps between them are now noticeable (proper, too).  Amos sure does love sticking his nose between the balusters and peering out.  I sure do love the tranquility of watching the night clouds drift by.

Tonight, I tried a recipe Mary mentioned.  Something called Chocolate Scotcheroos, a variant of Rice Krispie treats.  I made them, as I mentioned, but I did not really think about the fact that making Rice Krispies treats is just not in my wheelhouse of culinary skills.  There is a very good reason why I like for folk to make them for me.  

So, no photos.
I ate two anyway.
And I will eat the rest.

Why are Rice Krispie treats so very hard to make??????? 

Since I have been too weary to make sweets of late, when I built the spreadsheet of all my recipes in order to put the calorie count into my Fitbit Flex, I did not calculate any of the sweet recipes.  Tonight, I started that work, beginning with the schotcheroos.  In case you are interested, they are 240 calories a serving.  I thought I would do a few dessert recipes a day until that spreadsheet is filled out.

I was surprised, really, to have the ingredients on hand.  But I did. So, when Mary sent the recipe, I thought I would try it out.  I miss cooking, even though I stink at making Rice Krispie treats.

I actually have spent very, very little in groceries this month, just over $53 and that includes the GREEN hoodie and the milk runs of my neighbor and myself.  I will be fetching prescriptions in a few days and thought to shop then, but it occurred to me that I might could get away with spending only a few dollars more (milk) this budget cycle.  If I keep eating freezer meals and making up little meals from what's on hand, I could accumulate a quarter of the state tax bill I need in one fell swoop.

IF.

If I am not in the donut hole this month.  I've got my proverbial fingers crossed.  I also asked the pharmacist to run the Erythromycin first, and then the Celebrex, just in case I can squeeze out the former before hitting that medication coverage gap.  I sure would like to have a chunk of that tax bill knocked out so soon.

Now, I am on my last block of cheddar cheese, which is very stressful for this ex-Texan.  I do have two more blocks of white cheddar cheese, a bag of sliced swiss cheese, a bag of sliced Havarti cheese, and one unopened sour cream.  So, I am not quite in panic mode.  Normally, I would go fill up my cheese drawer with more extra sharp yellow cheese and more white cheddar cheese and Colby cheese post haste, but I am almost committed to making do with the cheese I have on hand.  Almost.

I wonder if not maintaining a sufficiency of dairy products in my refrigerator would result in losing my status as a Texan.

Amos, who is most clearly not a Texan, is rather giddy at the moment.  The Great Melt of 2015 was actually more of a Great Shrinkage.  With the dip in temperatures, the wet snow crusted over.  So, my fluff ball can trot about the yard as much as he wants without setting foot on grass or having to swim in the snow.  Giddy, I say.

As for me, I have been thinking a lot about something from the Michael Card gospel commentaries, most particularly emphasized in Luke.  Jesus oft goes off into the wilderness for a break ... to rest and to pray.  I have wondered what He found in the wilderness to be peaceful.  And, frankly, I have wondered just what constitutes a wilderness.

Back in the dark ages, when I was a fourth grader, we moved across town so that my Interior Designer mother could be closer to the showrooms.  We moved back the following year because all of her clients were back on the other side of Houston.  No matter where we lived, she was in for a very long commute.  I suppose she decided being closer to clients was more important.

During that year, I lived next to the Goodyear blimp hanger.  Between our townhomes and the hanger was a woods.  I found refuge in those woods.  Had I read the book then (though it was not yet written), I suppose I would have called those woods my Terabithia.

One of the most marvelous parts of the woods were the wild dogwoods that were scattered about.  You would be pushing through the branches and brush and leaves and such and stumble upon this bit of great beauty.  Another most marvelous part was making the Great Trek to the hanger and watch what was happening there.

Back then, it was not so scandalous for children to play in the woods for hours on end.  And it was also not so unusual for a youth to sneak into the hanger.  Life was different.

To me, those woods were peaceful.
They were my refuge.
What made the wilderness Jesus' refuge?

Here, in Fort Wayne, I have no woods.  But when I am out on the back porch or the airing porch at night and the train whistle blows, I feel such ... stillness.  I disremember ever living near a train.  I know that when I was very little and my parents were still married, our street was a dead-end before woods.  So, playing in the woods was something I did from a young age, though not much after fourth grade.  I think that's why, decades later, I loved walking about Huntley Meadows in Alexandria so much, that it reminded me of a refuge that I could not actually remember.  Just the stillness ... the peace.  Thinking of that, I wonder what it is about the train whistle that comforts me so to hear.  Why do I savor the sound and the moment so very much?

What I am also savoring is how much I am enjoying Michael Card's commentary on Luke.  Because so much is familiar, having read Mark and Matthew, I can better appreciate the differences, to celebrate them.  It is intriguing to hold in my mind that Luke is creating a collection testimony from eyewitnesses.  To ponder, then, the whys and wherefores of what Luke includes and the order in which he presents it.

Plus, Luke has such ... gentle ... detail.  A word or phrase.  A sentence.  A whole story.  Luke includes the broken and the marginalized, the ill and the grieving.  Because of this addition detail, the commentary includes interesting tidbits, such as the history of the Roman Centurion who desired healing for his slave.

When He had concluded all his sayings in the hearing of the people, He entered Capernaum.  A centurion's slave, who was highly valued by him, was sick and about to die.  When he centurion heard about Jesus, he sent some Jewish elders to Him, requesting Him to come and save the life of his slave.  When they reached Jesus, they pleaded with Him earnestly, saying, "He is worthy for You to grant this, because he loves our nation and has built us a synagogue."  Jesus went with them, and when He was not far from the house, the centurion sent friends to tell Him, "Lord, don't trouble Yourself, since I am not worthy to have You come under my roof.  That is why I didn't even consider myself worthy to come to You.  But say the word, and my servant will be cured.  For I too am a man placed under authority, having soldiers under my command. I say to this one, "Go! and he goes; and to another, "Come!" and he comes; and to my slave, "Do this!" and he does it.

Jesus heard this and was amazed at him, turning to the crowd following Him, He said, "I tell you, I have not found so great a faith even in Israel!"  When those who have been sent returned to the house, they found the slave in good health. ~Luke 7: 1-10.

The nameless soldier has heard of the healings Jesus did earlier in his hometown.  Now one of the centurion's slaves is gravely ill, and he cares enough to send for Jesus.  Romans were notorious as the cruelest slave owners in history.  Though laws concerning slaves became gradually more and more protective, the life of a slave in the first century could be unimaginable.  Slaves were branded, mutilated, sexually abused and, worst of all, crucified.  They had no rights to speak of and were at the mercy of their owners.  (One Roman matron had her female slave killed because she did not like the way she had fixed her hair!)

None of this seems to be true of this centurion, for one single reason:  he has come under the influence of the God of the Jews who, though they still owned slaves, were the kindest slave owners in history.  Perhaps it is not correct to say that they themselves were kind, but rather it was their God whose grace extended even to the lowliest slave.  We see it again and again in the laws protecting slaves in Deuteronomy and Leviticus.

The centurion is a "God-fearer": that is, a Gentile who worshiped the God of Israel but would not submit to ritual circumcision.  He kept the regular times of prayer and worshiped through his gifts to the poor.  According to the Jews who have come on his behalf, this man loves them and has even donated a synagogue.  The basis of their appeal is found in the idea that the centurion deserves it.  This is where the vast difference between the soldier and those Jewish men lies.

Jesus does not hesitate for a moment but follows the Jewish leaders in the direction of the soldier's home. But the centurion, sensitive to the fact that no Jewish person can enter the home of an "unclean" Gentile, sends a message to Jesus.  He acknowledges that he is not worthy of a visit from the rabbi from Nazareth.  He is a soldier acquainted with the horrors of ancient warfare.  As a Roman soldier, he would have been prepared to fall upon his own sword at the command of his superior officer.  He understands authority, and he recognizes that Jesus possess a vast authority.

Jesus utters not a single word of healing.  He marvels at the faith of the Gentile God-fearer.  Without even being present in the home that is "not worthy" for him to enter, and without a single word, Jesus heals the servant.

Behind the unmiraculous miracle of the silent, long-distant healing, there lies another miracle, miraculous to amaze even Jesus himself.  Hidden within the story is the miracle of the faith of the centurion.

Luke is the Gospel of amazement.  Thus far Zechariah's neighbors, those who heard the shepherds, Joseph and Mary, those who heard the boy Jesus in the temple, those who heard the adult Jesus in the synagogues at both Nazareth and Capernaum, Peter and his partners, and finally those who witnessed the healing of the paralytic have all been described as being "amazed."  Eventually you begin to ask yourself, When is Jesus going to be amazed?  This is that moment at last.

So what is that amazes Jesus in this passage?  Is it the fact that the Gentile, who isn't one of his followers, has already begun to live out Jesus' unorthodox command to love his enemies, the Jews?  Is it that this powerful man attributes to Jesus a greater power and authority?  Or is Jesus amazed that the soldier possesses a faith that still do not exist anywhere in Israel?  He asks for what he doesn't deserve and faithfully expects to get it anyway!  He asks for hesed.  He seem to intuitively understand that although he has a right to expect nothing from Jesus, still Jesus is willing to give him everything.


I think this segment shows how informative it can be to better understand the history of the time.  Even that little bit about the soldier coming out so that Jesus the Jew would not have to enter an unclean Gentile home.  Some of the historical fiction and fantasy books I have read of late really highlight the chain of command and what a society is like where authority is, essentially, the law.  Really, it is both a way of life and life, itself.

In a series I am re-reading at the moment, the main character has to explain the law and authority is many and various ways.  I'm on the 7th book and, being ensconced in the Luke commentary, I find myself thinking about Kaylin's struggle to explain her choice to place herself under the authority of the emperor and why she works in the halls of the law whenever she is asked about why she does what she does.  The law created by the emperor as he established the empire now circumscribes all life within the empire.  Just as how the Law given to Moses circumscribed life for God's people.

Now, life is circumscribed by the Gospel.  Only, well, all throughout Jesus' ministry, as well as the church today, folk keep falling back on living life circumscribed by the law.  They find comfort in the law and look to it for guidance and reassurances.  Yet the Law does not save, does not give life.

I find it interesting both that the centurion recognized Jesus' authority to the point where his faith knew Jesus' ability to heal worked through the spoken word.  Say it and it is so.  Also, the centurion, as a Gentile and a Roman, understood authority in a way that even the Pharisees did not.  So versed they were in the law, but not in authority.  Perhaps you could say that it was because they essentially took the authority of God and replaced it with the authority of their exposition on the Commandments, on all the little laws that were created to uphold the Law of God.

One of the things that Kaylin sometimes rails against is her desire to apply the law to the emperor, to proscribe him from doing something she doesn't want to happen, when the truth is that the emperor is the law.  What he does is lawful simply because he does it.

That makes me think about how unorthodox folk found Jesus to be when, by His nature, He was (is) orthodox.

Michael Card's commentary points out something that I missed.  So much, really, that I miss.  But, here, specifically, he points out that whilst the centurion sends word to Jesus that all He needs to do is speak to heal his slave, Jesus doesn't actually speak the words.  Words were not needed, command was not needed, because faith was present.  Faith healed.

I also really enjoyed learning about what a God-fearer was.  Fascinating stuff.

One of Luke's "onlys" in chapter 7 is the story of the widow of Nain.  Luke includes the marginalized and the outcaste.  Luke includes women.  Only Luke tells about Anna, the prophet.  And in the beginning of Chapter 8 we learn about Susanna, who is mentioned nowhere else in the New Testament.

It is an interesting parallel, for Kaylin, the main character, is known for her willingness and commitment to protecting those who cannot protect themselves when those in higher authority would find it more expedient to not be worried about each and every individual.  So, in her spare time, she works with the midwives and with the foundlings hall (orphanage).  She walks in several worlds (castes) and struggles to fight for the weak even as she acknowledges that her work is at the purview of her superior officer and his commander and ultimately the emperor.

Anyway, in chapter 8, Jesus uses a woman who is offensive, being a sinner, to teach Simon the Pharisee.  But His teaching is not harsh.

"Simon, I have something to say to you."
"Teacher," he said, "say it."

Read chapter 8 and notice the women, notice how Jesus interacts with those around him, and notice just what follows when He has his teachable moment with Simon.

Fascinating.
Beautiful.
Gospel.

Here's just a smidgeon of exploring that bit of Scripture, the tale end of its study, really:

Before this incident, Simon failed to really see anything at all; he saw neither Jesus nor the woman.  He was blind to her act of repentance and love, and saw instead a serious sin.  Jesus, who loves stubborn Simon as much as he loves the woman, longs for him to really see her—not as a category, not as a "sinner," but simply as a person who, above all, needs to be loved and forgiven.

When I was a boy, I was drawn to a particular picture of the crucifixion of Jesus.  It seemed more realistic than any of the others I had ever seen.  The expression on Jesus' face spoke not of pain but of the agonizing anticipation of pain.  The painting was shrouded in shadows, with the only beam of light focused direction on Jesus.  It always puzzled me that the principal person in the picture, besides Jesus, was a peculiar, non-Roman character wearing a beret cocked to one side and lifting the heavy cross into place.  Later I learned the painting was by Rembrandt.  He gave it the title The Erection of the Cross, and the solitary person struggling to raise the cross, bathed in the same spotlight with Jesus, was, in fact, himself—a self-portrait.  The painting in and of itself is extremely powerful.  It is Rembrandt's contrite confession of his own complicity in the crucifixion of Christ.  It is more than a painting; it is a parable.

Jesus' brilliant parable is only two verses long, yet it can stand alone as a work of literary art. But when we see it in the frame Luke alone provides, it leaps to another quantum level.  His story provides a place for all of them:  the woman as the great debtor, and Simon as the one who owed less.  Luke means to ask you and me to take our places in the parable.  In the same instant, he invites us to find our place at Simon's banquet.  Will we sit beside Jesus and acknowledge only a small debt, or will we fall down at his feet and, in tears, beg for the forgiveness we do not deserve?

This parable is a means for a miracle:  the opening of Simon's blind eyes.  At precisely this point in Matthew's narrative, Jesus heals the eyes of two blind men (Mt 9:27-31).  Luke, a companion to another Pharisee, Paul, chooses at this point to tell the story of another kind of healing miracle.  We cannot say for certain whether Simon, like so many other Pharisees, eventually become a disciple of Jesus.  What we can say for certain is that his blind eyes start to see, which is no less a miracle.

Part of the bottomless miracle of this simple, two-verse parable is that as he listens, Simon discovers that he is hearing the story of his life.  The gentleness of Jesus' story leads the Pharisee, like a lost sheep, to a place of understanding he could never have reached otherwise.  how could he have known that a simple exchange that began with the words, "I have something to tell you," would end with the promise of new life?  The parable reveals that Simon has the answer in his head.  The parable also makes it possible for the answer to move to his heart.