I am not a collector of histories
They do not wedge in my mind
The way gills catch in a net
What would I tell you ten years from now
About what I saw today?
What can I tell you now?
Jesus cast a demon out of a mute
And the man regained his tongue
Of that much I am fairly certain
But the specifics of one healing
The variations of the Master’s aphorisms
Blend one into another and I lose them
A week from now could I tell you
If this man (or another) was also blind
Or if he was healed at noon or dusk?
Could I tell you if we were in Judea
Or by a lakeshore somewhere in Galilee?
Did Jesus use the word “Beelzebul” or “Satan”?
Why does it matter so to you
You damned idolator of words?
The devil is in the details, they say—and are right
If a story falls in the forest
But I do not describe its arc accurately
Does that mean it never happened?
Woe to you who file facts away in boxes
Pressed and dried like faded blossoms
Or stuck with pins like moths and beetles
Woe to you who think more
Of mastering the details of a story
Than yielding your soul to the Master
Woe to you who’d rather know if Jesus said
He who is not with me or he who is not against us
Than look to see where your own feet stand
Let those who have eyes read
My journal is not the good news
My words will never save anyone
Here I let Peter speak forward into my own life. As I dwell on the events of Luke 11, I struggle with the “historicity” of events that seem to duplicate those recorded in Matthew 6 and 7… events which supposedly happened a year or two earlier. But why the dead-on similarities? Why the distinct differences? Who got it “wrong”: Matthew, or Luke? Maybe neither?
A close examination of Scripture can be disturbing — but also highly worthwhile. You may be forced to contend with yourself: why you want to know certain things, and what that says about you.