Unicorns are mentioned in The Bible nine times:
Job 39:9 “Will the unicorn be willing to serve thee, or abide by thy crib?”
Job 39:10 “Canst thou bind the unicorn with his band in the furrow? or will he harrow the valleys after thee?”
Psalm 22:21 “But my horn shalt thou exalt like the horn of an unicorn: I shall be anointed with fresh oil.”
Psalm 92:10 “But my horn shalt thou exalt like the horn of an unicorn: I shall be anointed with fresh oil.”
Deuteronomy 33:17 “His glory is like the firstling of his bullock, and his horns are like the horns of unicorns: with them he shall push the people together to the ends of the earth: and they are the ten thousands of Ephraim, and they are the thousands of Manasseh.”
Numbers 23:22 “God brought them out of Egypt; he hath as it were the strength of an unicorn.”
Numbers 24:8 “God brought him forth out of Egypt; he hath as it were the strength of an unicorn: he shall eat up the nations his enemies, and shall break their bones, and pierce them through with his arrows.”
Isaiah 34:7 “And the unicorns shall come down with them, and the bullocks with the bulls; and their land shall be soaked with blood, and their dust made fat with fatness.”
Psalm 29:6 “He maketh them also to skip like a calf; Lebanon and Sirion like a young unicorn.”
In my novel, A Lost Gospel, Jesus (Yeshua) has human doubts about being executed. On the eve of his Crucifixion, he escapes into the trees from those sent to arrest him. There he meets Glarus and two unicorns, who had been present at his birth. Symmetry. She shows him that the night is this night.
“We won’t be going further.” Glarus reigned in her horse, and slipped from its back. “There are voices.”
“Is it Yeshua?” Ogma was quickly on the ground.
“He is at hand.” Glarus walked toward the unicorns. “They await me.” She touched Bettine and Sirona. “They take me.”
“They frighten me.” Sirona stepped back.
“Your task is done.” Glarus walked past the women. “Stay here with the others.”
“What of you?” Cowin reached out his hand, although she was not close enough to touch.
“The unicorns lead me to Yeshua.”
“Is this for you alone, Glarus of the Mountains?” Ogma took a step toward her.
“It must be my voice he hears.”
“We’ll remain here.” Belenus put a hand on Ogma’s shoulder. “Do what is necessary, my sister.”
Glarus joined with the unicorns. They walked through the grove, toward the voices which rose and fell on the night breeze. The animals were in front, a pallid moonlight reflecting from their white backs. Glarus paused to listen, and the unicorns stopped instantly, their ears twitching, and their gaze fixed before them. The voices were confused, and yelling at cross-purposes, creating a jumble of noise in the distance.
Glarus touched the haunch of each animal, solid and silent in the dark. She could hear someone moving through the olive grove, much closer than the clamouring voices in the distance. She was surprised, because the person approaching was not making the sounds of someone concerned with pursuers. She had assumed there would be haste, but now realized there was only uncertainty.
Glarus lifted her hands, for the unicorns had become hot to touch. She breathed deeply, and loosened her cloak, closing her eyes as the warmth penetrated. Stillness filled the olive grove, and when she again opened her eyes, the unicorns were gone.
She followed them, her feet seeming to make no noise on the earth. The branches touched her cloak, and the moon revealed the secrets of the night.
Ahead of her, between two thick trees, a man stood before the unicorns. He had his hands outstretched, and brushed his fingers across their manes. They stepped forward, and rested their heads against his legs. They had closed their eyes. The man looked up from them, and gazed into Glarus’ face.
“This is the time.” Glarus spoke softly.
“I know your voice.”
“You may give yourself.” Glarus stepped closer.
“My father takes this cup from me tonight?”‘
“Yes.”
“They won’t kill me in this place?” Yeshua glanced around the olive grove.
“I have but followed the unicorns.” Glarus touched them. “They have led me here to take away your doubt.”
“We’ve met before.”
“A baby in a stable.” Glarus smiled at him. “You have become more than memory.”
“Do you still have spice upon your cloak?” Yeshua turned from her. “Behold. These men and their hatred approach.” He put a hand on each of the ivory shafts. “You must be gone.” Yeshua stepped aside. “Call them.” He smiled. “They are yours again.”
“Haah.”
The unicorns pawed at the ground near Yeshua, then went toward Glarus.
“More than memory.” She looked at him closely. “And more than just a man.”
Glarus put a hand on each unicorn’s back, and together they returned the way they had come.
DE
Christmas is a fake that has taken root like the holly. It survives tenaciously. It has become a goodies grab fest, and helps keep our commercial society stable. Perhaps reason enough to exist.
The wily Christians conquered the outnumbered Celts, and supplanted their winter festival with the birth of their God. The wily pagans live on in the numerous traditions the Christians stole, so perhaps it is a fair trade. And no doubt those wily pagans chuckle over their cups of mead, noting that this celebration of reverence has become a surfeit of greed.
I have been no fan of Christmas for decades, but its mixed legacy encourages me not to abandon it. My Christian background enhances my enjoyment of the music and traditions. Most commercial intrusions can be muted or turned off. I do have some personal traditions I follow religiously.
I do not even rail against Santa Claus. I heard his sleigh bells one Christmas Eve, when I was four. I saw his sleigh runner tracks in the snow a couple of years later.
I have even been mistaken for Santa Claus a couple of times.
Once, in the line-up in a bank near Christmas, a two-year old pointed at me. Unfortunately, my presence terrified him, and he started to scream and cry. I was wise enough not to go Ho Ho Ho.
Another time – but this happened in early fall – a family approached me as I walked in a park. A boy, who looked to be six or seven, stopped in his tracks, then ran back to his parents. “Santa Claus!” He pointed. Happily he did not cry. They walked past me in silence.
Also, for decades, I lived close to a residence where one of the very first recitations of ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas happened. The author of that stirring piece, Clement Moore, who wrote it in 1822, sent a copy to his godfather, the Rev Johnathan O’Dell, of New Brunswick. However, the poem was not published until 1837.
And, most recently, I heeded the whims of Christmas Present, who snicked me up the side of the head in a grocery store. I went looking for milk, as the in-store sound system blared “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”. When I took out my container of 2% partially skimmed milk, and looked at the best by date, it said December 24. Christmas Eve. Still magical after all these years.
I hummed along about Mommy and Santa and then purchased a personal Christmas treat, which I would normally get a week before the day. Italian Panettone Classico, a fruit cake chock-a-block full of raisins, candied orange peel, eggs and sourdough and (they tell me) natural flavour. I have already had a generous slice.
Why wait for Christmas?
To show I am not a total Scrooge, I have written some Christmas tales. Here is a wee segment from The Elephant Talks To God:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I want to see you,” said the elephant, and the words raced from his mouth. “I don’t have to see you, you know that. I’ve believed even before you talked to me. But I want to see you, it would mean so much. I wasn’t around for the Baby, but cows and sheep and things got to see Him. I can’t explain but it would … “
“Go home,” said the cloud.
“You’re not angry with me?” said the elephant.
“No.” The cloud started moving away. “It’s an honest request.” The rain stopped falling. “Thank you for coming.”
“You’re welcome,” said the elephant.
“Sing some carols,” the voice was distant. “I like them.”
The elephant turned and started through the woods. He ignored the tasty leaves within easy reach and the tall grass near the brook. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible so he could join the singing he knew was happening later in the evening.
He turned along the trail, snapping a branch here and there in his haste, when he noticed the stillness, the hush which had overtaken the forest. He slowed down and then stopped in his tracks. He turned his head, his small eyes squinting into the brush. There was movement coming toward him, and when the trees parted, he went to his knees with a gasp. Tears rolled from his eyes, and a golden trunk gently wiped them away.
DE
I walked around a few residential streets to look at Christmas lights. There is quite an array, as the 25th comes closer.
However, the one I would have given first prize to, (if I were doing such a thing) was an interior display in the front room of a modest single house.
There were two fir trees, fully alight, with strings of coloured lights. Between the two, up on the wall, was a big television screen with a crackling fireplace dancing away.
That is pizzazz.
It has been my odd experience to have twice lived across the street from a huge, lighted Cross.
The first appeared to be the height of three men standing on each others shoulders. It was across a wide field and a road, from where I used to house-sit a number of occasions over the years..It was in the yard of a private dwelling, and was (so I was told) a memorial to a relative who had died in a mine disaster.
When the sun went down, it came on. Whether someone in the house turned it on, or light sensors on the edifice gauged the amount of darkness, I do not know. The street was a dead end street, so there was not a lot of traffic. However, if I so chose, I could get the full benefit of it. It shone brightly for hours onto the front of the house. And into the house if one was in one of the front rooms or bedrooms. It had a blue hue, and an unrelenting vibrancy that made one eventually think of neon. I didn’t so much think of spirituality or practicality, but did wonder at the waste.of money and resources for – let’s be honest – so little effect. I also (somewhat uncharitably) assumed that the cross did not shine forth from both sides, and the folk in the house behind it were not affected.
Then, years later, I found myself in another house, across another street, from a giant cross left alight all night. This cross did not shine directly into the house, but slanted more along the street, and not across it. It is affixed by mighty metal stanchions and stays atop a huge Evangelical church. When darkness comes, its emblazoned light can be seen across a whole city and, by my reckoning, into the hills beyond. I am not certain, but I also imagine it can be seen by ships at sea.
But, both crosses bestow upon me the light of the Lord, and I’ll happily take whatever blessings might be granted.
Shine on me.
(image) https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41r6ETelb8L.jpg
The Coronavirus makes strange bedfellows. Or – maybe not. World wide doom, and destruction, and Jesus perhaps go hand-in-hand. The One is there to cancel out the other.
At any rate, yesterday I was in search of a mailbox. To mail an actual letter. It is possible it was the first *actual* letter of the year. And a bit time sensitive. There was no going to the Post Office, it being Sunday and a Pandemic to boot. So I went searching for a local mail box.
I imagine at the best of times I’m not fully aware of the closest mail box. There used to be one at the closest gas station, but that had been totally renovated and the mail box removed. The next closest was at the local Mall, but walking there revealed the Mall was closed, since everything inside was closed. So a search began.
It made sense that any area where there was a grouping of buildings might have a mail box. Passing a Donut Shop (open to take-out only) and a Library (closed) and a bar (closed) yielded nowhere to mail a letter. However – in the distance – down the hill and across the road, there seemed to be a stark red box. It was in front of a large Seniors Complex. Perhaps Seniors mail more letters. Investigation eventually showed it was a Mail Box, and into its maw went my tiny envelope. To be picked up next day. So I hope that has now happened.
On the way back, after a well-deserved sit on a bench in a small park (more than two meters / six feet away from anyone else), upon coming closer to home, music filled the air. Guitars and drums and female voices singing (at the first encounter) what sounded like Joan Baez songs.
However, upon entering a new street, it was apparent that the large church, with its commanding view of the city, was having an outside church service in their expansive parking lot. Cars parked a safe distance apart, with men wearing orange safety vests making sure the rules were enforced. The musicians and singers were under a portico at the front of the church, and they were belting out hymns aplenty. Heard, I am sure, across much of the city..
I’m sure Jesus was clapping along.
I don’t know the cause, but this blog from last year is getting a lot of views. Perhaps The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are on the move.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~ Was it in vain?
~ What?
~ That you took My name.
~ They crucify me like there’s no tomorrow.
~ There is no tomorrow.
~That’s OK for You to say.
~ I know.
~ But, down here, I don’t get a break.
~ Don’t you think there’s a reason for that?
~ You mean because they don’t understand me?
~ Perhaps more because they do.
~ Hey, I’m looking after Your country.
~ You have other sheep to tend to.
~ But I’m King of the World.
~ You have a big fall in front of you.
~ Oh, I’m protected. I have more money than God(haha).
~ The eye of the needle is narrow indeed.
~ I’m no fool. I’ll get off and walk.
~ There is no one other to walk in your shoes.
~ You know, we even look alike.
The Elephant was not oblivious to the
Christmas season, and wanted to pay his
respects. He travelled to the special clearing
where a cloud waited for him.
“It’s your Son’s birthday and I want to congratulate him.”
“Thank you.” The cloud descended further.
“It is a grand time.”
“I’d like to …” the elephant hesitated.
“Yes.”
“You sent your son for us to see, so we
would believe.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I want to …”
“Spit it out,” said God. “You’re fired up.”
“I want to see you.” The elephant spoke
quickly. “I don’t have to see you, you know
that. I believed even before you talked to
me. But I want to see you; it would mean so
much. I wasn’t around for the Baby, but
cows and sheep and things got to see Him. I
can’t explain, but …”
“Go home,” said the cloud.
“You’re not angry with me?” said the
elephant.
“No.” The cloud started moving away. “It’s
an honest request.”
“Thank you for coming to see me,” said the
elephant.
“Sing some carols.” The voice was distant. “I
like them.”
The elephant turned and started through
the woods. He ignored the tasty leaves
within easy reach, and the rich grass near
the brook. He wanted to get home as quickly
as possible, so he could join the singing at
the Mission he knew was happening later in
the evening.
He trotted along the trail, snapping a branch
here and there in his haste, when he noted
the stillness, the hush which had overtaken
the forest. He slowed down and then
stopped in his tracks.
He turned his head, his small eyes squinting
into the brush. There was movement
coming toward him, and when the trees
parted, he went to his knees with a gasp.
Tears rolled from his eyes, and the golden
trunk touched his own, and gently
wiped them away.
(Image) 3.bp. blogspot.com/-Cu2l0Z3a5RY/UNX-AVe2xcI/AAAAAAAABfo/xse8jdvJsLo/s1600/creche%2B1.png
~ Was it in vain?
~ What?
~ That you took My name.
~ They crucify me like there’s no tomorrow.
~ There is no tomorrow.
~That’s OK for You to say.
~ I know.
~ But, down here, I don’t get a break.
~ Don’t you think there’s a reason for that?
~ You mean because they don’t understand me?
~ Perhaps more because they do.
~ Hey, I’m looking after Your country.
~ You have other sheep to tend to.
~ But I’m King of the World.
~ You have a big fall in front of you.
~ Oh, I’m protected. I have (haha) more money than God.
~ The eye of the needle is narrow indeed.
~ I’m no fool. I’ll get off and walk.
~ There is no one other to walk in your shoes.
~ You know, we even look alike.
[Image] media.washtimes.com.s3.amazonaws.com/media/image/2016/01/25/1_252016_b1-dela-trump-halo-8201.jpg
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