Chicken buses piled high trundle up the mountain pass

Worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness; let the whole earth tremble before him. Psalm 96:9

One aspect of holiness is that of set apartness. With no entanglements. Without a divided heart.

Jesus taught us, saying: ‘No one who prefers father or mother to me is worthy of me. No one who prefers son or daughter to me is worthy of me. Anyone who does not take his cross and follow in my footsteps is not worthy of me. Anyone who finds his life will lose it; anyone who loses his life for my sake will find it. Matthew 10:37–39

It is kind of eerie that just this moment, as I was considering the whisper of Quetzaltenango, well, protesting the whisper with images of momma and Heather and Everette and maybe even Andrea that this would be my lectio divina verse. And as I searched Facebook for glimpses of those blond curls, I noticed a story in my little Camino blog that I sometimes read about a Jewish pagan with dreadlocks who had happened into a mass along the road. Near the end of mass the nuns announced they made a token for the pilgrims to be passed out at the blessing. The main priest invited each of us and laid hands on out foreheads and gave a blessing. As I moved to the right the nuns gave me the handmade gift. It was a paper Star of David. What a Mitzvah.

How unsearchable His judgments, and His paths beyond tracing out.

And Xela is a mixture of roses twisted around unfinished cement block walls. There is some pounding eurotechno racket in the background just as the cloudy skies are starting to brighten with the early dawn. The brightly wrapped Mayans make me feel positively Entish wandering the streets under the smoking volcanoes. Motorcycles roar down the ever so narrow cobbled stones.

Is this a continuation of that path? As I scan over the many voices who have spoken to me this month, there is a pattern, a pattern language, forming under the speckled swaying light.

And I opened up Letters to Malcolm where the folded up paper marked my spot: Intercourse between God and man occurs at particular moments for the man, but not for God. If there is–as the very concept of prayer presupposes–an adaption between the free actions of men in prayer and the course of events, this adaption is from the beginning inherent in the great single creative act.

Glory in His holy Name; let the hearts of those who seek the LORD rejoice. Psalm 105:3

Free at Last! Free at Last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

O sing unto the Lord a new song: sing unto the Lord, all the earth. Sing unto the Lord, bless His name; shew forth His salvation from day to day. Psalm 96:1-2

On many levels, I think that Nicole and I had a come-to-Jesus moment last night, tucked away on couches with her tattooed-covered and sing-and-dance-with-joy-at-the-top-of-your-lungs church.

H A L L E L U J A H ! Amazing, amazing, grace, for each and every one. let mercy & compassion flow as we rest in perfect love, beloved.  –Nicole’s Facebook

So this skinny Scottish guy with skinny jeans got up and exposited Romans for two and a half hours. And I had to leave early because I had amazing homemade Venetian pizza waiting for me.  And waiting for me.  

But one thing was perfectly clear.  That I was in the presence of a man of God who rightly divided Scriptures.  Because the Holy Spirit, the love, joy, peace, goodness, meekness, temperance, faith Holy Spirit rose up around him like a white dove.  

And sometimes joy and Bible aren’t so often associated together in the same breath, because a lot of the time we hear Romans 3:23,  For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God, but most of the time, we don’t memorize the rest of the sentence, in spite of the fact that we all know the verse numbers were added in the mid-sixteenth century: being justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus.  Grace makes some people nervous.  Justified freely?  It’s not about me? At all.  

I remember the first time that “joy” and “Bible” came together for me, at Joy Bible Camp at Big Bear Lake in Southern California.  I was at the height of my dumpy dorkiness, and I know the exact week it was, the week of July 21, 1969, because the rest of the world were glued to their black and white televisions watching Neil Armstrong take his first steps on the moon, which was a pretty big deal.  And my dad was at Cape Canaveral because this was his baby.  My dad was a rocket scientist. 

But I didn’t care.  I was being Miss Wet Sponge soaking up Scripture like nobody’s business.  First of all, what ten-year-old thinks that memorizing II Timothy is fun?  I did.  I still know it.  In King James English.  And I beat every single one of the several hundred other little Baptist kids at the Bible Sword Drill, even though I was like the youngest kid there.  I was good.  And I remember the song that we sang, with a big fat pause after the phrase “yoke of” before we sang “bondage,” which until last night remained a bit of a mystery: 

Stand fast therefore in the liberty 

wherewith Christ hath made us free, 

and be not entangled again with the yoke of 

bondage.

For, brethren, 

ye have been called unto liberty; 

only use not liberty for an occasion to the flesh, 

but by love serve one another.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, 

longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance

against such there is no law.

Stand fast therefore in the liberty 

wherewith Christ hath made us free, 

and be not entangled again with the yoke of 

bondage.

It is finished.