Saturday, August 9, 2014
So yesterday whilst rooting around amongst ancient Roman deceased I found my metaphorical feet skipping down a particularly winding rabbit trail. I’ve been fascinated by British mythology ever since I saw the movie Camelot as a young ‘un (No I was not actually present prior to the Crusades, thankyouverymuch) I’ll even admit to a girly crush on Nigel Terry in the lead role of Excalibur. There I was, ferreting out the lineage of minor Roman prefects to Boudica and suddenly I stumble across Jesus. Whodathunkit? Apparently He’s my uncle. Laugh all you want. I’m on a tangent here.
For the few years I’ve been studying genealogy and its happy companion history I’ve seen that bent we humans share wherein we align ourselves with those of our species we find appealing. Amongst the farmers and shopkeepers and sets of first cousins who married and produced questionable offspring we stud our family trees with presidents and kings and queens and call it grand. I however had a much more mundane goal when I started filling out the bare branches of my tree. I simply wanted to validate my own little existence. In short, I wanted some measurable identification of who I really was. I wanted my dad and I thought I had a fifty fifty shot of proving who he was by flipping those shaky green genealogical coins. Unfortunately, my potential DNA donors all seem to come from one tiny band on the map and as I rode the pedigree train back through the centuries, my mom, my dads and even my boss all share common ancestry. There is no paternal “Lucy” definitive of my identity and so I have learned to enjoy the journey – the mythologies and the histories especially at the points where they meld. And that’s just where I was yesterday – rambling about where Roman History subducts with the mythos of the Druids. Enter Joseph of Arimathea and an entire lineage wound around British nobility, Jesus and the grail protectors. Fascinating stuff. And then I actually paused to think about what I was looking at on my screen. Jesus is my blood relative.
Enter the tangent. Why do we 2000 years removed from the birth of the Christian church find it plausible that Lincoln and Lee are our uncles, that 25% of us white folk are William the Conqueror’s manytimesover great grand pups yet mention the lineage of Jesus and even a born and bred Christian like my dear husband will roll his eyes and flash a smile centered somewhere between “My wife is crazy” and “we’re seriously only spiritual brothers and sisters, don’t you know your theology?” I get it. Jesus, unless you really buy into the Mary Magdelene bent that she and JC were a thing (and there is a dancing plethora of supposition out there to support that excluding of course Biblical text) didn’t have flesh and blood offspring – but he DID have a brother. So it is entirely plausible – at least as acceptable to me that He could be an uncle as it is that Rollo the Viking straddles a fork in my sprawling tree. But now its going to get personal so those of you naysayers and fence riders, you can look away while the rest of us Cheesy Christian types revel in the thing I’m about to drop here on my page.
You see, God is a lot of things to us Bible bangers, us Jesus Freaks, us worshipping types and one of the things God is that speaks the loudest to me is “Father to the Fatherless” When your own parental units are questionable, either because of birth or behavior – God will adopt you. I know I am Captain Obvious for those of you who have always had a relationship with the Big Guy but many of us – we didn’t get it right away. In fact some days when our flesh screams louder than that small voice – we still aren’t sure. But God is. And He will do everything He can (which is everything we can’t) to pursue us, to prove that He is who He is and He is our Father. Even if we have to stumble across it on a pedigree chart and see it in black and white (or green and beige) Our lineage is not only physical but divine. He is the desire of my heart – a part of my family. My daddy. And I am His descendant.
You can dismiss it and that’s your choice. God is a gentleman and He won’t send a lightning bolt to fry you extra crispy in your tracks for thinking this chick is a half bubble off plumb but remember, I wasn’t looking for Jesus on my tree. I was looking for ME. Validation of who I was and what I was worth. And what I am is a leaf on the tree of life – a child of the living God. Hear my heart in this. That little moment yesterday, that was a hug, a “hey kid. I love You. I’m here in the middle of your day and your dreams. I know who you are and what matters to you. I reside in the infinite and in the simple seconds ticking through what you think is too small for me to consider. That’s what it was for me. God meets you where you are.
Rest assured I’ll be geeking out about this for the rest of my life. Pray for my family therefore – they only partially tolerate the history lessons and they find this Holy link seriously suspect. Peace.