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The Jevlir Caravansary

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  • Which Is the Patriot?

    This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters, places, or events to anything in the real world is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2012, Henry E. Neufeld

    Jeremiah, known just as Jer for short took in the scene in an instant. He was a sheriff’s deputy, and a good one. He could write the story in a moment. He instantly also regretted not calling for backup before he got out of his patrol car and walked into this field. But he had recognized his friend Billy amongst the young men in the field, and he had been certain he could handle whatever Billy got into. Billy got into little trouble, not big.

    Had been certain. Not now. The body lying on the ground didn’t look good. He thought he’d seen movement in the moment he had to take in the scene. He didn’t have his gun out. He didn’t see any guns on the young men there, but he was certain there was one under Billy’s jacket.

    Before he could say anything, Billy spoke up. “It’s not what it looks like,” he said. “He’s a terrorist, … a Muslim terrorist. We caught him and he attacked us.” Jer considered the half a dozen young men and the slight figure on the ground. The scenario was unlikely.

    “You’re going to have to come with me,” he said, looking at Billy, but taking in the group.

    “Listen, Jer,” said Billy. “You don’t have to do this. You’re the first on the scene. Let the others go, then I’ll claim self defense. He is a terrorist. We heard him talking about Allah and all that and how bad things would happen to this country. He was going to blow things up!”

    “Yeah,” said another of the young men. “We’re patriots! We’re defending our country!”

    Jer could see Billy watching him, hoping he’d be distracted. But even though he’d managed to get himself into this bad situation—why hadn’t he called it in!—he knew how to handle himself.

    “No, you’re not,” said Jer. “You’re breaking the law.”

    “I can’t believe you’d get soft on these terrorists,” said Billy, looking shocked. “I always thought you were a patriotic American!”

    Jer saw the slight movement of Billy’s right hand. Billy thought himself fast. He thought himself quite a marksman. But his expertise was largely in his own mind. Before his hand was halfway to the open flap of his jacket, Jer had his gun in his hand.

    “Don’t go there!” he said firmly.

    “You wouldn’t shoot your old friend Billy, would you?”

    “Put your hands on your head, or you’ll find out,” said Jer. His look and tone took in all the young men. A couple of them moved as if to run. “Don’t even think about it! Get down on the ground!” he said firmly, and just loud enough to make everyone hear.

    With everyone on the ground he made that call for backup.

    As Billy was being placed in the back of one of the cruisers, he called Jer over. “You’ll see! He’s a terrorist.”

    “No, Billy,” said Jer. “He’s just a student with some opinions you don’t like. He was walking home. He lives just a block from here. Luckily for you, he’s going to live.”

    “But he hates America,” said Billy. “Some time soon he’ll blow up one of our schools, and then you’ll be sorry you stopped us! I’m a patriot!”

    Jer just turned away. Someday he might just have to stop a terrorist. He figured it could happen. Or it might be one of his colleagues. But he was pretty sure it would be someone like him who did it, not someone like Billy.

    Which of us is the real patriot? he thought.

  • July 4 Christian Carnival Posted

    … at Thinking in Christ.

  • Can Either of You Recommend a Church?

    “So how have you enjoyed our church?” asked Pastor Fred. He was the evangelism pastor for First Community Church, and he was out following up with recent visitors.

    “It was interesting,” said Ed noncommittally. Ed had taken his family to First Community Church two out of the last four weeks, and had said that any Saturday afternoon would do for a visit when he filled out the visitor form.

    “We were delighted that you chose to come back and visit us a second time,” said Fred.

    “I like to get acquainted when I’m considering any major purchase, whether it’s a new car, a club, or in this case a church.”

    This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of any characters, events, or places to those in the real world is strictly coincidental. Copyright © 2012, Henry E. Neufeld.

    There was an pause as Fred tried to absorb this. He knew people shopped for churches. He just wasn’t used to having anyone put it quite that bluntly. Just as the pause was becoming awkward, the doorbell rang. Ed got up and soon returned with Pastor George, the associate minister at First Fellowship Church. Fred and George were friendly rivals. Both churches were large and growing. This was the first time they’d ended up visiting a prospective member at the same time.

    “I didn’t mean to intrude,” said George. “I can come back another time when you’re not occupied.”

    “I don’t see why I can’t talk to both of you at once.” Ed looked puzzled that anyone could see a problem with this. “I’ve visited each of your churches twice. I didn’t plan to get you here at the same time, though I suppose it was always possible considering I put Saturday afternoon as the best time to visit.”

    Fred and George looked at one another and then shrugged. “I guess it’s OK,” said Fred with a slightly forced smile. In fact, he was thinking that he would have to watch some of the things he usually said about First Fellowship. George might take exception!

    “Where’s the rest of your family?” asked George.

    “It’s hard to get this family in one place. My son’s at a school fundraising project, and my wife and daughter are at swimming class. Don’t worry, they’ll have their input. I’ll tell them what you had to say.”

    Fred saw his opening. “One of the reasons I felt that your family would fit well at First Community is his community involvement. His Sunday School teacher mentioned to me that he knew many of our young people from various activities.”

    “Yes,” said Ed, “he did mention how many of the young people he knew. My wife and I knew many people in our class as well. We would certainly see plenty of people we already know if we join First Community.”

    “We like to encourage networking through the church. Many of our people make the church the center of their social and business life. We like to think we’re a church for all your family’s needs.”

    George thought he saw an opening. It was his chief objection to his friendly rival’s church. What about spiritual needs? In fact, since both churches claimed to be Christian, what about Christ? He was about to open his mouth to say this, despite how confrontational it sounded, when Ed spoke again.

    “But what about our spiritual needs? Our Sunday School class discussed building a house for Habitat. That’s a good thing, but I’m already involved. My son’s class talked about toleration and how to get along with others at school and at work. Your senior pastor’s sermon had to do with facing life’s problems, but I heard something like it at a sales motivational meeting I attended recently.”

    George was feeling pretty good. It was what he wanted to say, but much more direct and complete with details.

    “We definitely believe in Jesus as our Savior at First Community,” said Fred, “but we think it’s important to be active in living out God’s kingdom in the world. We’re about action and the way that real people live their lives. We try to have messages that will help you make it through the next week.”

    George couldn’t leave this alone. “At First Fellowship,” he said passionately, “We are interested in messages that will help you live for eternity. We think that if you make Jesus Christ first in your life, these other things will come along quite well.”

    “But they don’t happen by themselves,” said Fred. “You have to be active. Just saying that Jesus died for our sins over and over every week doesn’t tell people how they’re going to deal with being laid off, finding a new job, raising their kids, or helping their neighbors.” He knew he should keep calm and be gracious, but he felt that he was under attack, and quite unfair attack.

    “Actually I’m quite satisfied that both your churches are very involved in the community. I did my research before I took my family to visit. I know you’re both involved in missions. You both do local service projects. Members of both churches are very much involved in the community.” He paused a moment.

    “But what good is all of this if we don’t preach Christ?” George regretted this as soon as he had said it. He’d say something like this to Fred over lunch, where he’d joke about Christianity Lite, but this was not a debate to have with a prospective member, especially one who didn’t seem to have any solid theological commitment.

    “That’s my question about your church,” said Ed, looking at George. There was stunned silence. Nobody questioned that Christ was preached at First Fellowship. They might complain about a certain doctrinal narrowness, and perhaps even a bit of evangelistic shrillness, but they wouldn’t say Christ wasn’t preached.

    “I don’t understand,” said George.

    “Well, the first time we visited was just before the ruling on the Affordable Care Act was announced. Our Sunday School class was supposed to be studying Romans 6, but instead we discussed the health care bill.” Fred was happy to note that Ed called it the Affordable Care Act. George was worried that he hadn’t called it Obamacare. “We didn’t really get around to discussing Romans 6 at all.”

    “The second time we visited,” he continued, “we were supposed to be on Romans 8. I can only imagine they just continued moving through the book even though we hadn’t discussed it. But now the Supreme Court had ruled, and we discussed the ruling. I had done my reading and I wanted someone to explain how Romans 8 related to Romans 7. Instead I got a critique of Justice Roberts’ logic in the decision. I didn’t say anything, because I gathered that someone who thought the ACA was a good idea wouldn’t really be welcome.

    “In the youth class they talked about homosexuality and how wrong it was. It was not done too badly. They spoke out against bullying and told the youth to treat their gay friends well, pray for them, and hope to save them. I’m not sure what was up in my daughter’s class. They did an art project relating to the name ‘Jesus’, but she couldn’t tell me what she had learned.

    “Then there was the sermon, which was supposed to be from John 15, but quickly go derailed onto politics. I quit counting the number of times the pastor said he wasn’t telling us who to vote for, but he clearly didn’t mean it, because we could definitely tell we were not to vote for President Obama’s re-election.”

    “I’ve frequently pointed out that First Fellowship tends to be politically narrow,” said Fred. “If you don’t accept the politics of the church you won’t be welcome, even if you agree with the theology.”

    George wanted to be angry, but he realized it was no more pointed than what he had said about First Community.

    But Ed wasn’t nearly as kind, apparently. “I wouldn’t put it that way,” he said. “Even though we didn’t discuss the ACA in class, someone brought it up in the hall and when I mentioned a question I had about the constitutionality of the individual mandate, several people turned away and didn’t want to talk to me any more. At my work place we debate this kind of thing all the time and we stay friends. Couldn’t we do the same thing at church?”

    “We really should,” said Fred. “But people are people.”

    “But why are they more tense at church then they are in the workplace?” asked Ed.

    “I don’t know,” said George. “But you do have a point.”

    “My problem,” said Ed, “is that I’d like a place where my children could learn about what Christianity is about without either having it rammed down their throats or having it ignored. I’d like a Sunday School class where I could find out just what Paul was up to moving from Romans 6 to 7 to 8. It doesn’t quite make sense, and I’d like to figure it out. Romans 8 sounds exciting!

    “I’d like to find a church that was involved in the community, but that didn’t expect my whole life to center around what the church was doing. My whole family gets involved in community service. The church doesn’t have to own everything. I’d like to be able to talk about ethics and spiritual things and how they would impact my vote without having people condemn me if I end up voting differently than they do.

    “Can either of you recommend a church to me that will meet those needs?”

     

  • I Want Them to be Jubilant

    It was a long way to the capital where the king lived, so Baron Jubal was pretty much the law in all his lands. Recent decades had not been nice to his neighbors, so he was, for practical purposes, lord of all he surveyed. He was feared. He was obeyed.

    But he was not loved.

    This really bothered Jubal. He thought he was a good baron. He took an interest in all aspects of his people’s lives. He was not merciful or kind, he knew, but he considered himself just. It didn’t matter who you were. If you stole something a second time, you were beheaded. He regarded this as only just. But he thought he deserved to be loved.

    This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters, places, or events to anything in the real world is coincidental. Copyright © 2012, Henry E. Neufeld

    Each year on the anniversary of his accession to his holdings he held a celebration with a parade. He would appear to his subjects and speak to them. He would wave and accept their applause. Otherwise he did not appear in public. He didn’t think people needed to see him. He had subordinates to take care of such things. It was unfortunate for him that the day of his accession was the same as the day his father died. His father had been much beloved.

    After the first year, Jubal was very dissatisfied. He called in the man who had been in charge of the celebration.

    “I am much dissatisfied with the response to my appearance before the people,” he said.

    “What would you like to see,” asked the manager.

    “I would like the people to be happy to see me.”

    “I think the people were happy. They are not very demonstrative people.” The manager said this, not because it was true, but because he was searching for any excuse that would work. The people had indeed been very cool toward their ruler.

    “It’s not enough. I want them to be jubilant.”

    “Yes, my lord.”

    “Since this was the first year, I will allow you to keep your job and your head.” One of the least endearing features of the baron was that he could say something like this as though he truly believed he was being generous. It wasn’t even dark humor. He really meant it. “See that things go better next year.”

    The next year the manager talked to as many people as he could. He told them that the baron expected a more positive response, applause and shouts of joy, when he appeared. He suggested that the baron might be very angry if these were not forthcoming.

    Unfortunately for him the people didn’t really believe the baron could do that much to everyone who was attending the parade, and they didn’t feel very thankful for having to go through checks by the barons guards, then standing in the sun for hours, and finally seeing the not very beloved face of their ruler. So they clapped and said “hoorah!” in an ordinary tone of voice. It was worse than silence.

    The baron called the manager in and had him beheaded. Then he appointed another manager. The new manager was very motivated. He was aware of the fate of his predecessor.

    When he gathered people for the event he told them that if there was not an adequate response when the baron made his appearance, he would see that one in every ten of them was beheaded. He added that he would have spies in the audience who would see who was not cheering and would make sure the quiet ones were first to lose their heads.

    When the celebration came and the baron made his appearance, there was indeed a loud shout. There was cheering. People waved. At first Jubal was very happy, but then he noticed that people were not smiling. He was certain they were faking it.

    He called in the manager.

    “How did you get the people to cheer?” he asked.

    At first the manager tried to lie, but soon the king got the tale.

    “If you hadn’t tried to fake the response,” he said, “I would have mercy on you. But since you have tried to deceive me, you will die. And he had the new manager beheaded as well.

    The rest of the baron’s servants avoided him for some time, but finally he set his sights on one of his guards and appointed him to manage the next year’s celebration. The guard tried to claim he was indispensable in his current position, but Jubal was having none of it. And again he presented his desire. “I want them to be jubilant,” he said.

    The guard thought and thought as days turned into weeks. He couldn’t think of a way to make the crowd jubilant. But then he had an idea. At first he dismissed it. Could he carry it off? Would the people actually be that stupid? Yes, he thought they would be. In fact, if he did it right, they might not even have to be very stupid.

    The day of the celebration came. It had been a hard year. Besides all of the normal hardships, there had been a crime wave. Instead of just the normal thefts by the hungry or the marginalized, there was a new factor. A criminal who killed and tortured as well as robbing and vandalizing. He was known only as “the murderer.” One or two of his supposed cronies had been caught and executed, but the man himself was elusive. There was a pretty good description of him. He liked to leave people alive to spread the terror. But nobody could lay hands on him. Three guard captains had lost their heads during the year because they had failed to catch this criminal.

    What the people didn’t know when they arrived at the celebration was that “the murderer” had been caught by the baron himself. The manager of the celebration arranged a dramatic introduction of the baron, explaining how he had finally had to personally take over the search, and that it was only through is action that the murder had been caught. The people were so afraid of the bandits and of the murderer himself that they were prepared to believe anything as long as they could think that the attacks would cease. Their fear of the murderer overcame their coolness toward their ruler.

    When the baron appeared, the crowds were truly jubilant. They were also jubilant when the man presented as “the murderer” was beheaded. He fit the description so well that nobody questioned that he was the right person.

    The manager had correctly assessed the intelligence and observation skills of the people, but he had failed to consider the baron. So he nearly fainted at the look the baron gave him. It was a knowing smile.

    “A very good plan,” said the baron. “The people were truly jubilant. I think some of them even love me.”

    There was a long pause.

    “But I think their memories are short. What are you going to do for next year?”

    (This story was written for and submitted to the One Word at a Time blog carnival, on the word “jubilant.”)

  • I Am Justice

    “But I am Justice!”

    “I think you misunderstood. I came to this town looking for justice. A rich man in my village robbed me, and I came here for justice.” The woman looked bewildered. Justice—for that was indeed his name—just looked stubborn.

    “I’m Justice. People hear you wantin’ Justice, they call me. I’m Justice. What you want I do?”

    Copyright © 2012 Henry E. Neufeld
    This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters, places or events to anything in the real world is strictly coincidental.

    “I want Justice!” she yelled. Then before Justice could frame his reply (he had been about to say “I am Justice” again) she got back on her donkey and started to ride toward home. She was nearly out of money. She couldn’t go any further. What’s more she was so disgusted with this joke that the townspeople had played on her, doubtless taking her for a rustic stranger, that she didn’t want to go further.

    Justice wasn’t used to being left behind. Ever since he had started to grow into the muscular young man he was, he had been called to help with various problems. His mind wasn’t quick, though he wasn’t as stupid as he sometimes looked and acted. People joked about him. As the strongest man in town he was often in demand. “You want justice?” people would ask. “Just call him!”

    So when this very troubled woman headed off down the road into the hills, Justice decided that he couldn’t leave things as they were. When people called him he was always able to help. It was like a law of nature in his mind. It never occurred to him that the reason he could always help was that people always called him to do things that required strength, like moving their furniture.

    Nobody even noticed when Justice grabbed a bag, filled it with clothes, a few tools, and a little bit of food, and headed off down the road. They assumed he would be back sooner or later. He was a fact of life.

    Five days later, Justice showed up in the tiny village of Marani. He settled himself in at the local inn and ordered ale. It was hard to miss Justice. In a room full of people he stood out. People were afraid of him. Not that he looked angry or made any threatening moves. It was just that he looked like he might carry off some of the furniture without noticing he’d done it, sort of like other people might pick up a coin.

    It wasn’t long until someone asked him who he was and what he was doing there. “I’m Justice,” he said, “I here to help da lady.”

    “What lady?” they asked. But Justice just kept his silence. The people thought he was being enigmatic, but the problem was that he didn’t know the lady’s name, nor did he know who it was who had robbed her.

    By the next day the lady heard that Justice was in town. She didn’t go to see for herself. She didn’t want the Lord Mayor, as he styled himself, to realize she had asked for someone to come to town. Especially since she hadn’t.

    By evening, however, the Lord Mayor got word that Justice had arrived in town. Justice, said his agents, was very large and muscular, and could doubtless carry away the inn on his shoulders should he choose to do so.

    “Perhaps his presence here is just a coincidence,” said the steward.

    “But he says he’s here to help the lady,” said one of the agents.

    “It could be some other lady,” said the steward.

    The Lord Mayor just looked at the steward, but his eyes said, “You idiot!” That was what he was thinking, because there really wasn’t any other lady that Justice could be here to help.

    “If he wasn’t named Justice,” said another agent, “it might look different.”

    “Yes, but he is,” said the Lord Mayor.

    The next afternoon the Lord Mayor stopped in to see Justice. Justice seemed uninterested in the problems of ladies at the time, and just wondered if the Lord Mayor needed anything moved. The Lord Mayor concluded that Justice was very enigmatic, and was playing with him. The fact was that Justice was smart enough to realize he would need money if he was going to stay in the inn, and had already made quite a bit by moving large things for various people.

    Next the Lord Mayor went to the lady and asked her, quite belligerently, whether she had asked Justice to come to town. She told him the truth, that the people in the town had sent her Justice when she asked for justice, and now that the young man had followed her here. The Lord Mayor laughed and laughed.

    But when he got home he heard about Manny the pickpocket, and how Justice had broken his arm when he found it in someone else’s pocket. People were starting to say that justice had been done. By Justice.

    Justice had no such plan. He just didn’t like to see people robbed or hurt. He hadn’t actually intended to break the man’s arm, but Manny had struggled so hard while failing to let go of the stolen purse, and Justice being as strong as he was, he accidentally broke Manny’s arm.

    Perhaps there was more to this than he supposed, thought the Lord Mayor. So he told one of his agents to kill Justice. Maybe he was just a strong young man, but maybe not. Might as well be safe.

    The agent spent all that evening looking for a chance to slip a knife into Justice, but he never really got a chance. Every time he got close enough he was somehow blocked. He was perfectly willing to do the deed in public. The Lord Mayor (as he styled himself, of course) would protect him. But he could never quite get into position. Justice was always turning to face him at just the wrong moment.

    Now the Lord Mayor was really concerned. Could it be that this was an expert agent of the Baron, or perhaps even the Duke or the King? He needed to think of some way to do something about it, but what could he do? If the King, heaven forbid, was aware of his activities way out here in the wilderness, what else might he know?

    He tried twice more to have Justice stabbed in the back. The second guy actually managed to swing his knife at Justice’s back, and cut him, but he just threw the attacker against the wall (a couple of broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder), and went about his business.

    By this time the Lord Mayor was so worked up, he was convinced that an agent of the King was playing with him, and that it was only a matter of time until he was arrested, taken to the capital (so far away he wasn’t sure where it was), and doubtless beheaded.

    After another quite day or two (ominously quiet, thought the Lord Mayor), he decided that his only option was to flee the town before he was taken. So he loaded most of his riches on a mule, and got on his best horse, and headed out of town early in the morning. What he didn’t realize was that Justice also went out for walks in the hills early in the morning. So as the Lord Mayor left town, there was Justice standing at the edge of the road, looking out over a valley.

    Justice was just enjoying the view, but the Lord Mayor was certain that Justice was there waiting for him. He had one chance, he thought, and that was to push Justice over the endge of the cliff. The drop off wasn’t very high, but it would be high enough. He spurred his horse forward, intending to turn just as he hit Justice, and thus be rid of his problem.

    But hearing a horse behind him, Justice stepped aside. The horse managed to stop right at the edge, but the Lord Mayor flew out into the air and with a scream fell to his death below.

    Justice verified that the Lord Mayor was dead, then took his body, his horse, and the mule containing most of his riches back into town. The townspeople gathered around, and called the lady. She took the horse and the mule, and its load, and claimed the Lord Mayor’s house. It had all been stolen from her in the first place.

    She made sure to reward Justice as well. “When they sent you to me, I thought they were playing a joke. But now I see they were right. You are justice.”

    Yes, I am Justice,” said Justice. But he looked puzzled. He still had no idea what the lady wanted him to do.

    (This story was written for and has been submitted to the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival.)

     

  • Are You Sure You Don’t Want More?

    Ferod stood in shock in front of the shrine. He’d distinctly heard the words.

    “Are you sure you don’t want more?”

    He didn’t really believe in the old gods. Nobody even seemed to remember the names of whatever god or gods this shrine might be dedicated to. But he had run out of money to pay for seed grain, and if he had no seed grain there would be no planting, then, of course, no harvest, and therefore no seed grain for next year either. So he came to the shrine and asked the gods, whoever they might be, for money to buy seed grain.

    “No,” he said, inwardly cursing himself for responding to the imaginary voice. “I just want money for seed grain.”

    He said this because he didn’t believe in the gods and didn’t suppose they were going to give him even that much. So why ask for more?

    On his way home he tripped over a rock and fell into the ditch beside the path. As he was scrambling back out of the ditch he felt something smooth and hard. When he got back to the path he brushed the object off and found that it was a large silver coin, worth precisely the amount he needed to buy seed grain.

    Stupid gods, he thought, making me fall in the ditch in order to find this pitiful coin. But at least it will buy me that seed grain.

    Ferod’s farm went reasonably well for the next few years. He didn’t get rich, but he always had enough to feed his family, with seed grain left over for the next year.

    Then his wife got sick. The village shaman performed rituals over her, but she didn’t get better. He applied all the folk remedies he could remember from his mother, but she only continued to get worse.

    Then he remembered the shrine. He hadn’t been there since his prayer for the seed grain. He really didn’t believe the gods had provided the silver coin. Clearly it was just a coincidence. But it could hardly be less effective than rubbing his wife’s body with that noxious smelling green mixture he had simmering in a pot on the stove.

    So he went back to the shrine. “I would like my wife to live longer,” he said.

    “How much longer would you like her to live?” he thought he heard. What an imagination I have! he thought. Here I am holding a conversation with a pile of rocks.

    But he answered just the same. “I’d like  her to live five more years,” he said. By then the children would be old enough to work in the fields, and she would be older than many women he could name. Yes, five years would do.

    “Are you sure you don’t want more?”

    He didn’t bother to answer. He felt too foolish. And besides, he didn’t believe the gods would do anything in any case.

    But when he returned home, his wife had taken a turn for the better, and had thrown out the noxious smelling green stuff he had been cooking on the stove. So things got much better.

    Better, that is, until five years later his wife fell from a ladder, broke her neck, and died. Ferod was too grieved and angry to notice that it was five years to the day from his visit to the shrine.

    Still, the children were older, and were able to work in the fields, so life went on. It was lonelier. Much of the life went out of the farm. But they kept on living.

    Then came the great drought. Not only was Ferod’s farm dry and unproductive, but so were all the farms around. The river was nearly dry. There came a day when Ferod knew that if they didn’t get rain immediately, they were all going to starve.

    So once again Ferod went to the shrine. He didn’t really believe it would help, but he went anyhow, as had been his habit when he was desperate. The shrine was covered with vines now so that the rocks could hardly be seen.

    “I need enough rain to water the crops,” he said.

    “Are you sure you don’t want more?” he thought he heard again.

    “Why do you always ask that?” he shouted. “OK! I want more! I want lots of rain! I want it to rain and rain.”

    He said this because he didn’t believe the gods would do anything. Besides, the question made him angry because he felt foolish.

    But before he was halfway home clouds were gathering and the rains began. It rained all the rest of that day. It rained all night. Then it rained the next day. In fact, it kept raining for two weeks. The river rose ominously, but it hadn’t overflowed its banks.

    Nobody considered that it was raining in the mountains as well. But then there came a day when a rocky barrier was swept aside in the mountains and a wall of water swept through the village. It took away houses. It washed away the crops and most of the soil in which they grew. When it was done there was nothing left of Ferod’s village.

    Ferod managed to survive, clinging to a large tree on top of a hill that wasn’t quite completely submerged. When the water receded he went to find the shrine.

    There were only a few stones left scattered where the shrine had been. He raised his fists and yelled at the gods. “Why did you do this to me?” he asked.

    “We only did what you asked,” said the voice. It might have been in his head. It might have been carried on the wind. He wasn’t sure.

    The voice seemed to mock him. “Are you sure you don’t want more?”

    (This post was written for the one word at a time blog carnival, on the word “more.”)

  • Reading Fiction and Good Fiction

    I found the post Reading Fiction: Russell Moore by Scot McKnight to be interesting. So many Christians act as if reading fiction was a waste of time that could better be spent doing “useful” things. I think that misunderstands how our minds work.

    Of course, in the comments we encounter the usual question of what is “good” fiction. That one’s harder to answer. Moore refers to a number of works that would be considered “good” or “great” by literature professors. I tend to be more eclectic. I wrote about that here, not to mention my post On Reading Bad Books and What They Are.

  • March 28 Christian Carnival Posted

    … at the Christian Carnival blog. Thanks to Maryann for posting it.

  • Christian Carnival Archives

    Rey at Bible Archive has been keeping these for some time. There is now a tab at the Christian Carnival blog linking to the archives.

  • Christian Carnival March 14, 2012

    There were only a few submissions for the carnival this week, and since I’m busy with several forthcoming book releases, I didn’t come up with a wonderful theme. This is, of course, to assume that if I had the time I would come up with a wonderful theme! The same state of busyness leaves me with no post of my own, even from three blogs, to include.

    I have still scattered a few random awards around, and I added a section titled “More!” to bring links to some posts that weren’t submitted, but that showed up in my reader feeds this week.

    Next week’s host is Bible Archive, and you can submit your posts via the Christian Carnival submission form.

    Apologetics

    The Goodness Of Man And Animals from A Christian Worldview of Fiction by Rebecca LuElla Miller. A comparison of Mankind with animals at the level of morality undermines common beliefs about who Mankind is. Excerpt: Our culture increasingly says openly, Man is good. Hence, we should simply give in to our instincts — as long as we do no harm to others. How interesting that the animals have no such exception clause. They can do harm to others with impunity.

    Apologetics Daily from the Christian Apologetics Alliance via Maryann Spikes. This is a new page containing feeds from Christian Apologetics Alliance blogs. The most recent post from each blog is displayed in a list as an on-line magazine, updated as often as the bloggers post.

    For example, one post linked when I checked the page discusses animal death and makes a theological argument for young earth creationism. There’s a need for more discussion of the theological implications of each position on the origins question.

    Other

    Modesty-Your Spiritual Act of Worship Part 3 from INSPIKS by Fadi. In Christianity, sin is not a line that we cross, or an edge we fall off. The Bible says that adultery is not only an action but an attitude of the mind, ie: lust. Long and thorough post award.

    Theology

    Monergism, Synergism, and God’s Image, 2 of 2 from Theological Pursuit by Carl Ayers. Are we saved or justified on account of faith alone? Is there any sense in which we are saved or justified on account of works? What does being created in God’s Image have to do with it? I answer “Yes” to the first two questions and explain the third.

    This one gets the “digging into theology” award!

    How to Pray to God from Prayers for Special Help by Cindy Brandon. Many people ask about how to best pray to God. There is no correct answer of course, but we can use the Lord’s prayer as a great template for those new to prayer. 🙂

    And to this, the “keeping it simple” award!

    Poetry

    Fellowship from Windows to the Woman’s Soul by Kaleb. Two ships out to sea by the will of their Maker
    One just a novice, one a skilled traveler
    Cross paths to dock on common ground
    An odd pair, yet fellowship each found…

    This one’s supposed to be for women, but I give it the “do some more of this” award. I’d love to see more poetry submissions.

    Devotional

    How do I discern God’s will for my life? Step one: Shut up. from Zowada Blog by Matt Zowada. So many times we ask God about His will, without first seeking the book where He disclosed it. Yep – practical stuff!

    21 Great Mother Teresa Quotes from What Christians Want To Know by Pam submitted by Josh. Many times Mother Teresa said just a few words, but whatever she said, you can believe it was a very thoughtful saying.

    Grasshopper Minds from Ridge’s Blogby Ridge Burns submitted by Shannon Christman. If there’s a discipline that oftentimes we lack in our whole lives, it’s to really, seriously concentrate and really, seriously humble ourselves in the presence of God.

    “Have You Seen My David?” from InFaith’s Mission Blog by John Hoover. Moving through the nursing home today, I ran into Herb. He’s a tall eighty-something former engineer with no hair, a ball cap, and a booming voice. All throughout my visiting time today, he kept wheeling up and down the hallways saying, ‘Have you seen my David? Have you seen my David?’

    Clearly deserves the “most haunting question” award, and another one for making a deep point with very few words.

    More!

    I Am Different by my wife Jody Neufeld from her Devotional blog. How much does Christ shine from your life. How much of you is there?

    I saw camels dancing on Satan’s grave from the misnamed Phil’s Boring Blog. Some of the language, the humor, and the references may offend you, but I confess I haven’t enjoyed reading something this much in a long time. Hint: Be sure you follow the link before you get upset about God not existing.

    Allan Bevere has some random thoughts starting with the number of people who will miss worship because they arrive late afterward. What does he think we should do about it? Read and see!

    How could you miss a post titled Luther, Erasmus and Bondage? It’s by Joel Watts on his Unsettled Christianity Blog.

    Bob Cornwall reflects on the murder of 16 civilians in Afghanistan.

    From Science and Religion: A View from an Evolutionary Creationist we learn that the American Scientific Affiliation has started a new magazine titled God and Nature Magazine.

    Roger Olson responds to John Piper on God and tornadoes.

    Alan Knox thinks there’s more “togetherness” in the gospel than many of us realize.

    Arthur Sido discusses Unity as a Witness. Or Not!