Questions & Answers
It's a parable, a short, simple story to teach lessons: What real neighbors are and aren't; Showing the right way to live through good deeds; Hinting the way to eternal Life through spiritual affection and Awareness of man's true nature as God's child, Far from self-satisfaction, pride, and show. Might it also be a parable about the traveler? Not just an innocent man mercilessly mugged, abandoned.
Like the prophets Of old I will say of the Lord: He is my heritage Of freedom Everywhere My dominion Over error And every bit Of material sense That would prevent me From seeing God All that is real And the glories Of His Gentle making And My eternal Selfhood.
Attracted by Love, not human goodness, they come. Taught by Principle, not personality, they stay.
If, at this date in life, I can, with some semblance of grace, Throw light upon the path Of fellow travelers, Or bring the balm of healing To some aching hearts or limbs; If only I may assuage some grief, Revive some dying dream— Dear God, that's all I ask. You know no time or limitation, No lessening of the animus divine, No dimming sight or faintness of perception, No coldness, hardness, dulling the sublime.
The crying women saw a cross And on it, all their love and loss. They saw their Lord in empty cave, No tomb of Life but death's own grave.
Christ Jesus rose from the tomb. This is no empty story, remote and far away.
Act I: church service Time: Sunday morning He wrote the script Gave each his/her part To perform at Mind's direction. These, who act with unselfed love, Convey the message from above.
"Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you.
Once, looking for God, I saw little else but my own confusions: How could I bring my many petty trials Before Truth's healing omnipresence? Were not my own strivings At best a form of compromise? No wonder both body and sense ached For more than I could deliver! I modified this so-called view of "self" With what I could see with increasing clarity Of Love's tenderest expression. At first, I carefully penned A step-by-step plan for furthering good.
Who says the strident voice cannot be turned, hostile heart not changed? Is human thought set in everlasting stone? There was a man named Saul— Who are these wretches, he wondered, who follow that strange man who had such peculiar ideas? Didn't we dispose of him over on that hill? We know what we believe and do not care to change. If a man be sick, little can we do.