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Was Jesus woke? Why this is the wrong question

Was Jesus woke? Why this is the wrong question
First published in Sight Magazine, 16 September 2025

“Woke folk hate us Christians,” my friend insisted. “They hate being judged but they’re hypocrites because they’re the first to brand us as X-phobic.”

So I rhetorically evoked “what would Jesus do?” – a phrase first coined by Rev Charles Sheldon’s 1896 book In His Steps.

This question took me on a journey that kept leading me to a provocative question: ‘was Jesus woke?’

Every time I asked this question of my Christian friends, it was like waving a red rag to a bull!

Imagine the irony if those Christians who had argued most fiercely against Jesus being ‘woke’ were forced to concede the Merriam-Webster dictionary definition of woke – “aware of and actively attentive to important facts and issues (especially issues of racial and social justice)” – was, indeed part of the character of Christ.

My journey took me back to 1938 when black American folk singer Lead Belly coined the phrase ‘stay woke’ in his song Scottsboro Boys about nine black teenagers falsely accused of raping two white women.

But woke has recently been weaponised by the political right as a slur to silence the political left.

I remember the pre-election campaign earlier this year, labelling the Australian Prime Minister as “weak, woke and sending us broke”. It reinforced the stereotype of pathetic empaths who capitulate to noisy minorities.

Beneath the din of name-calling is a serious question that some Christians are wrestling with: if the Gospel stories took place here and now, would Jesus be labelled woke?

For certain Christians, Jesus’ outreach to the marginalised and his compassion for the outcasts (lepers, adulterers, sinners, criminals, poor, Gentiles, blind, crippled) epitomised the inclusivity of wokeness. Jesus rebuked the religious elite for their exclusivity (Matthew 22:23).

Others offer a light-hearted parody of ‘Woke Jesus’, which mocks this revisionist labelling. Jesus was no stranger to false accusations such as blasphemy, sedition, subversion and tax evasion (Luke 23:2).

Then I saw the sign: ‘Wrong way – go back!’ Throughout this curious journey, I was asking the wrong question.

Who are we to act as a jury, handing down a verdict on whether Jesus was woke? Are we daring to put Jesus in a (witness) box, and judge the ultimate judge? Are we reducing the Son of God to fit our temporary political lens?

Are we weaponising selective Scripture, quoted out of context, to peddle our agenda? For example, “whatever you did for one of the least of these…” (Matthew 25:40) is not a rally for a social uprising but a personal calling to see Jesus in each individual encounter. Even Satan could misappropriate quotes from the Bible! (Matthew 4:5-6).

When we think we have awakened a political prism, we fall asleep to the Gospel in its full cultural, historical and spiritual context.

In the Gospels, I cannot see Jesus ever galvanising and mobilising minority groups to mass political movements: #LepersLivesMatter or #TurnTheTables or #PhariseesAreHypocrites.

His messages and miracles were public. But the spiritual journey to the Kingdom of God was always personal: ‘sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven’ (Matthew 19:21). Again, this must not be misconstrued as a social(ist) revolution, but a specific answer to a personal question: ‘what good thing must I do to get eternal life?’

Jesus did not ask His followers to #RiseUp against the Roman oppression or the religious hypocrisy. He asked them to repent from the real enemy: sin.

My journey started with labels of us versus them, which is a futile prism that refracts away from the one true light. Rather than asking whether Jesus is woke, we should remove these spectacles and ask whether we are obeying his new commandment: “Love one another as I have loved you” (John 13:34).

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The immediate forgiveness of Zacchaeus shows Yahweh, not our way

The immediate and scandalous forgiveness of Zacchaeus flips the table on man-made ‘justice’.

Luke’s choice of words is revealing: this chief tax collector “ran ahead and climbed a sycamore-fig tree” to “see who Jesus was”. His short stature may have driven his haste ahead of the ‘Palm Sunday’ procession.

Zacchaeus may have run for cover because of his reputation: a traitor who betrayed the children of Abraham by collecting taxes for their enemy – the Roman occupiers. It is easy to satirise this chief tax collector as someone who is metaphorically familiar with climbing tall trees. But among the swelling crowd, he may have been trampled on. Zacchaeus was a despised man whose heart sought to see Jesus “passing through”, but not be seen by anyone.

Imagine the scandal when Jesus stops the crowd, looks up and publicly calls this notorious ‘cheat’ by his name: ‘Come down immediately. I must stay at your house today.’

Among all the Jericho followers who would have been honoured if Jesus would ‘pick me!’, why would Jesus choose Zacchaeus to host his last stopover pre-Jerusalem?

The mutterers in the crowd could only see Zacchaeus as a ‘sinner’ – a permanent noun, not a temporary verb. But Jesus may have ‘seen’ the broken heart of a broken man who sought to ‘see’ Jesus.

Rather than hiding deeper within the tree to remain unseen, Zacchaeus felt safe enough to come down ‘at once.’

The supernatural act of grace by Jesus unleashed an act of restitution, with Zacchaeus addressing Jesus “Look, Lord”, rather than Master, Rabbi or Teacher. Now the invisible short man ‘stood up’, seeking to be seen and heard.

Zacchaeus makes amends ‘here and now’, rather than a future pledge.

He could have embarrassed Jesus and vindicated the muttering crowd by stopping short of any repentance. But he vindicated Jesus for this graceful gesture.

When Zacchaeus pledges to ‘pay back four times the amount’ that he had cheated anyone, this is 20 times more than Mosaic law requires: ‘They must make full restitution for the wrong they have done, add a fifth of the value to it and give it all to the person they have wronged’ (Numbers 5:7; Leviticus 5:16).

In response, Jesus continues the theme of immediacy and urgency: “Today salvation has come to this house.” This is prescient of what Jesus later tells the penitent Dismas on the cross: “today you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43).

Next, Jesus promptly redeems and regrafts Zacchaeus to the Jewish family tree as a “son of Abraham”.

Finally, Jesus responds to the muttering about dining with sinners: “For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.” Just as Zacchaeus was seeking Jesus, perhaps the reverse was also true. How can Jesus save the lost if they are not both going out of their way to find each other?

This muttering is nothing new. The Pharisees asked the same question when Jesus first dined at Matthew’s house alongside other “tax collectors and sinners” (Matthew 9:11). On both occasions, Jesus reiterates his misunderstood mission: “I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners” (Matthew 9:13).

So why does Luke’s narrative on Zacchaeus highlight the theme of “immediately…at once…here and now…today…”?

This heavenly grace flies in the face of our earthly notions of justice and restitution. As a contemporary barometer, ‘The Five Languages of Forgiveness’ maps out the five sequential stages that ultimately lead to forgiveness: say sorry, accept responsibility, make restitution, from now on, seek forgiveness. It is a slow, protracted process of healing that sometimes escalates into litigation, compensation, investigation, adjournment, appeals, public shame, psychological assessments and victim impact statements.

This secular ‘solution’ may have been what was sought by the disgruntled brother in The Prodigal Son parable, whose graceful father ran to his disgraceful son with a familiar urgency: ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him’ (Luke 15:22).

Yet the Zacchaeus narrative virtually works in reverse: Jesus immediately shows grace and forgiveness that may not have been earned or requested. The restitution and ‘from now on’ happen later.

Perhaps this Zacchaeus narrative exemplifies the Lord’s prayer, “Your will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven” (Matthew 6:10). Instead of publicly persecuting and prosecuting Zacchaeus, perhaps Jesus could see what we cannot see: this tormented soul persecuting himself, imprisoned in self-hatred. Instead of muttering about his past sins and baying for justice our way, Jesus may have been showing us a new way to the heart of Yahweh, as it is in heaven!

This was foreshadowed in the Old Testament: “as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways” (Isaiah 55:9). Do we still question and mutter about God’s grace?

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Why have some ‘gone to the dogs’ for love?

Why have some ‘gone to the dogs’ for love?
First published in Sight Magazine, 22 August 2025

“She fills a hole in my heart,” said the lady on the bench, as she kissed the super-cute Cavoodle on her lap.

The lady later explained that she lives alone in her beachside mansion, which she inherited. There was a feud and a fallout in the family. Apparently, they don’t visit her and she now treats her dog as family.

‘Hug mummy!’ she mollycoddles her baby.

A faithful companion. PICTURE: Sergii Gnatiuk/iStockphoto

This reminded me of something my mother used to say when she forgot a neighbour’s name: ‘Mother of (insert dog’s name).’

But this is no laughing matter.

Dogs have been associated with depression and loneliness. ‘Black dog’ was coined by Samuel Johnson in 1776 and later popularised by Winston Churchill to describe a dark depression that keeps following you. Hence, Australia’s Black Dog Institute.

The benefits of a canine companion on our mental health are well established. When dogs encourage their owners to go for walks, they become conversation-starters with strangers. Petting a dog releases oxytocin (the love hormone) and lowers cortisol levels (the stress hormone).

Dogs appear to be hard-wired for unconditional love, forgiveness and loyalty that may surpass human temperaments. They are content to lay their head on our feet, as if worshipping at an altar.

A 2023 Groundswell Foundation Report found that more than 25 per cent of Australians are impacted by loneliness. This report recommends that we follow the lead of UK (2018) and Japan (2021) to create a Minister for Loneliness.

In 2025, Australia has the third-highest dog ownership rate in the world after Brazil and USA.

So what’s wrong with this mutual love with a furry friend?

My alarm bells rang while reading expert statements about the function of dogs in our lives:
• “…meet our attachment needs. They can be an ear to talk to, a shoulder to cry on.”
• “…fulfil so many functions for us from family members, empty nester replacement ‘kids’, preventing loneliness…they can be that trusted friend…the reason to stay alive and get out of bed in the morning.”
• “…unwavering love and loyalty…always ready to offer comfort during tough times…if you don’t have a human life-partner.”

This rhetoric of replacement and filling of an emptiness circles back to the lady on the beach bench. Maybe she was honest about the hole in her heart. Maybe she gave up on humans to fill that hole.

This begs the metaphoric question: what is the shape of the hole in the heart today?

It evokes what St Augustine famously wrote: “Our hearts are restless until they rest in you”. When he elaborates on this hole in his heart, he uses language that is now adopted by pet experts: forget my woes, embrace, love, ears, compassion.

Have dogs become the new ‘go-to’ for these Godly attributes?

Indeed, Jesus contrasts the compassion of dogs with the Rich Man in the parable: “At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered with sores and longing to eat what fell from the rich man’s table. Even the dogs came and licked his sores” (Luke 16:20-21).

This compassion reappears in the legend of St Roch (c1295-1327), patron saint of dogs. After this Franciscan pilgrim was miraculously curing villagers from the black plague, he contracted it in his leg. But God sent him a hunting dog that brought him food daily and licked his wounds.

Perhaps it is no coincidence that G-O-D is D-O-G spelt backwards. Perhaps this ‘semordnilap’ reminds us that the hole in our heart is the shape of God, but the unconditional love of dogs points us back to the source of Love.

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How the penny dropped on the Parable of the Lost Coin

How the penny dropped on the Parable of the Lost Coin

First published in Sight Magazine, 6 August 2025

This Life: How the penny dropped on the Parable of the Lost Coin

“Or suppose a woman has 10 silver coins and loses one. Doesn’t she light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it? And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbours together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.’ In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” – Luke 15:8-10 (NIV)

I always thought that treasure hunters who scan the beach with metal detectors are cruel. While I understand the childhood idiom ‘finders keepers, losers weepers’, what if it was their mum who accidentally dropped her precious jewellery in the sand?

Knowing my aversion to wearing jewellery, my children persuaded me to make one exception: a birthday ring with their initials inscribed on the inside. As a widower, this gift was akin to a wedding ring.

I never wore this ring to the beach, but had a couple of scares when I dropped it during gardening. It fell silently into the soil, but I always found it within a few minutes.

Except once.

I was laying down pea straw mulch on a newly constructed, raised garden bed. My ring must have fallen off.

I raked through the straw with my fingers. Repeatedly. Fruitlessly.

My internal ‘guilt’ voice started beeping: ‘Have you not learned to remove the ring before gardening? Or at least wear gloves?’ I placated the ‘guilt’ voice: ‘no need to panic, it’s a contained garden.’

Dark clouds were gathering over the dusk sky. Time to step up the search from bare hands to tools: I used a mini hand rake and combed through the fresh mulch. Surely the ring would get hooked.

After repeatedly scouring every inch of the garden bed, it was bucketing rain. Is this a cruel joke? All this water will push the ring deeper into the soil!

Time to be creative: I had a magnet in my toolbox and attached it to the metal rake. If the magnet could pick up ferrous metals such as nails, surely it could recover my metal ring.

Nope.

By now, it was very dark and very wet, but nothing else mattered. It was time for the LED head lamp to crank up (or down?) this ‘mining’ rescue mission. I’m sure this looked very suspicious to anyone watching.

Dripping in water and guilt, my heart was racing. How could I sleep tonight when this precious ring was drowning?

I purchased a metal detector online to arrive the next morning. Surely, that would be the last (pea) straw!

But it was too hasty, too cheap and too weak.

When I updated my children, they laughed at my perseverance: “It’s just a ring. We’ll buy you another one. Not worth losing sleep and getting sick over it!”

But to me, it was not A ring, it was THE ring.

In irrational desperation, I headed to the beach to bail up a ‘treasure hunter’ with my ridiculous request. As if a stranger would drive to my house with their metal detector!

Finally, a friend offered to hire a highly sensitive metal detector for this highly sensitive ‘customer’.

Within 60 seconds, the beeping was the most beautiful sound! My beloved ring was indeed buried well beneath the soil.

My elated heart wanted to sing out loud to everyone.

Then the penny dropped: the woman who found her lost coin!

Like her, I lit a lamp, swept the garden bed, and kept searching until I celebrated.

In the parable, that small silver drachma was probably part of her bridal headdress (semedi) adorned with ten coins to symbolise the ten commandments. Those coins were akin to her wedding ring from her betrothed.

While she worried that her coin fell through the cracks in the floor, I worried that my ring fell deep into the soil. While her dark house probably lacked windows, I lacked light and worked into the night.

The Lord moves in mysterious ways and breathes new life into timeless old parables.

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The luggage of life in Lebanon: discovering their robust armour

First published in Sight Magazine, 30 July 2025

This Life: The luggage of life in Lebanon – discovering their robust armour

It was the first ‘pilgrimage’ back to my Lebanese birthplace in nearly 20 years. My last trip ended prematurely during the ‘unholy’ Israel-Hezbollah war of July-August, 2006, when hundreds of Australians were evacuated, thousands of Lebanese were killed, and over a million were displaced. I remember the bombing and sonic boom of a nearby telecommunications tower by a drone.

In my lexicon, this was life-threatening trauma with a capital T.

Since the COVID pandemic and the loneliness epidemic, Australian mental health professionals have noted the (over)use of ‘trauma’, and the responsive rise of resilience programs.

Curious about comparing our trauma and resilience levels with Lebanon, it was ironic that my trip was heralded with fluorescent ‘fragile’ stickers at the Australian baggage carousels.

In Lebanon, I listened to dozens of relatives and taxi drivers. How the intercepting missiles during the recent Israel-Iran 12 day war became ‘daily theatre’ in Lebanese skies. How the Beirut port explosion on 4th August, 2020, could have killed hundreds of children if not for the summer vacation. How wages barely pay for fuel to drive to work. How child labour is rife among refugee families. How underpaid army officers, police officers and engineers are forced to drive taxis after hours and forfeit family time just to make ends meet: ‘Like you, we have dreams for our family.’

If global suicide rates (WHO) are any barometer to resilience, why does Lebanon rank 164 yet Australia ranks 57?

One relative explained that asking about resilience was the wrong question. He defined resilience as the capacity to bounce back to his feet after getting knocked down to his knees: “I don’t let anyone or anything bring me to my knees except God. I fall to my knees when I need His strength to gain hope, not when life makes me lose hope.”

What invisible armour was he wearing that kept him standing in the face of so much adversity and consecutive crises?

Other relatives provided the lens to see these riches beneath the material poverty.

First, strong faith was the sword of the spirit. God’s name is evoked in every conversation, every hope (Insha Allah – God willing) and every blessing (nishkur Allah – thank God). They insisted that ‘faith commands us to keep walking and have no fear. To fear God alone.’ The Arabic word for fear (khawf) has positive connotations of awe and reverence.

Second, the family bond provides a shield from poison arrows of despair: ‘When we feel weak, we prop each other up, we take it in turns, we don’t collapse on the ground. We lean on each other like candles and stay alight.’ If the family is absent, deceased or emigrated, they lean on their congregation or neighbours.

Third, they evoke their Phoenician ancestry as the helmet, with its roots in the phoenix (firebird) that keeps rising from the ashes. ‘It’s in our blood. We are sha’ab al jabbar’ – people who intrinsically mend what is broken. My grandfather was the village jabbar who used a splint to heal broken bones.

When I returned to Australia, the ‘Fragile’ stickers at the carousel had a new layer. Perhaps the contents would be less fragile if the packaging were more…robust, not resilient. So it does not break in the first place when tossed around by…life!

Then it dawned on me: what do these pieces of invisible armour, worn by these invisible warriors (not worriers), have in common that I missed all along?

The recurring word was the plural nahnu (we) not the singular anna (I).

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The ‘Rich Man and Lazarus’, and its connections with a famous song

The ‘Rich Man and Lazarus’, and its connections with a famous song

First published in Sight Magazine, 18 July 2025

Open Book: The ‘Rich Man and Lazarus’, and its connections with a famous song

Read Luke 16:19-31 (NIV)

In my childhood, Rock My Soul in the Bosom of Abraham was a contagious chorus with an elusive verse: “so high you can’t get over it, so low you can’t get under it, so wide you can’t get around it, oh rocka ma soul.” What was ‘it’?

Why would a 175-year-old dead man (Genesis 25:7) be swaying my soul in his bosom?

This African-American ‘slave song’ describes the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus.

Jesus named the beggar at the rich man’s gate Lazarus, a Hellenised translation of the Hebrew Ele-azar (‘he whom God has helped’). This is an apt name given the preceding theme of eyes and hearts: Lazarus was invisible and insignificant to the rich man.”

For cultural context, this parable follows the parable of the shrewd manager, where Jesus responds to the “sneering” Pharisees: “You are the ones who justify yourselves in the eyes of others, but God knows your hearts” (Luke 16:15).

From his opening sentence of the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, Jesus directs his coded language at the Pharisees who “loved money”.

If the rich man “lived in luxury every day”, then he ordered his servants to prepare food that “fell from his table”, even on the Sabbath. This is the Sabbath law that the Pharisees accused Jesus of breaking (Mark 2:23-24).

Jesus named the beggar at the rich man’s gate Lazarus, a Hellenised translation of the Hebrew Ele-azar (‘he whom God has helped’). This is an apt name given the preceding theme of eyes and hearts: Lazarus was invisible and insignificant to the rich man.

When the two characters died simultaneously, the rich man “looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side”.

First, the rich man ‘in torment’ plays the race card and calls “Father Abraham”. In the Levant, this is called waasta – expecting favour due to connection, implying that this Jewish Patriarch should pity his own children before looking after some non-descript beggar. Whatever he wills should be done in heaven, as it was in his lifetime. This is the ironic antithesis of the Lord’s prayer: “on Earth as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:10)

Second, the rich man treats Lazarus like one of his servants: “send Lazarus to dip his finger in water and cool my tongue”. The entitled eyes and unrepentant heart of the rich man persisted in the afterlife: he knew the beggar’s name but still refused to speak to him directly.

Father Abraham addresses the rich man as “son”, which surely renders “Lazarus by his side” as an invisible brother.

Abraham turns the tables, reminding the rich man “in your lifetime you received good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now…”. The parable drives a wedge between the Pharisees and Sadducees as the latter do not believe in resurrection (Acts 23:8).

“But now…” highlights the ironic role reversal: Now the rich man is begging “have mercy on me”. Now the rich man is “in agony”. Now the rich man wishes to be seen as Ele-azar.

Abraham responds: “a great chasm has been set in place, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot”. Perhaps this is the origin of the Rock my Soul verse “so wide, you can’t get around it…”

Third, the rich man desperately begs for a miracle: “send Lazarus to my family, for I have five brothers. Let him warn them…”. Again, he speaks about Lazarus in the third person. Again, he relegates Lazarus: from waiter to messenger.

When Abraham declines this last request, the rich man pleads “if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent”.

The ironies are falling off his table!

Why has the rich man refused to repent or apologise directly to Lazarus?

If the black-and-white writings of ‘Moses and the Prophets’ cannot incite repentance, why would the rich man’s five brothers be convinced by the apparition of the familiar beggar whom they probably stepped over at their brother’s gate?

Is it coincidental that the Sadducee high priest Caiaphas had exactly five brothers-in-law and were all priests?

When Jesus later raised the ‘real’ Lazarus from the dead, the chief priests plotted to kill both of them (John 12:9-10), rather than repent.

The parable provides a salient warning that despite how you “justify yourselves in the eyes of others, God knows your hearts”. While wealth, reputation, waasta, sickness and poverty are all left behind, only the colour of the heart persists. The rich man remained ‘dressed in purple’, refusing to see beggar as a brother. Lazarus remained silent throughout the parable, never cursing the rich man.

Circling back to the Rock my Soul ditty, there is an inescapable coincidence: Abraham was born around 2000 BC in the ancient Sumerian city of Ur, now in Southern Iraq. All three monotheistic faiths revere Abraham. While Ab-raham means ‘father of many nations’ in Hebrew, raham/racham also means womb and mercy in local Semitic languages, especially around Ur.

How apt that Lazarus is shown mercy as he is welcomed home to the womb/bosom of Father Abraham.

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The unspoken tragedy of Mr Solo and his many silos

First published in SIGHT MAGAZINE, 27 June 2025

Open Book: The unspoken tragedy of Mr Solo and his many silos

When the disciples asked Jesus “Why do you speak to the people in parables?”, He replied “Because the knowledge of the secrets of the Kingdom of Heaven has been given to you, but not them…whoever has ears, let them hear” (Matthew 13:9-11).

Thanks to the Gospel writers, we hear the spoken words of Jesus on these sacred secrets. But the unspoken in the parables can also speak volumes, especially to ‘the people’ of the Levant – where I was born.

The parable of the rich fool epitomises the duality of the spoken messages and unspoken cultural context.

In a “crowd of many thousands”, one man demands that Jesus “tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me”.

Unspoken: The local Jewish crowd would have known that the firstborn son inherits “double the share” of the other sons (Deuteronomy 21:17). They may have resented that this man opportunistically expected Jesus to overrule Mosaic law publicly.

Jesus rebukes this brother and responds with a parable: “The ground of a certain rich man yielded an abundant harvest. He thought to himself – what shall I do? I have no place to store my crops.”

This self-centred soliloquy is spoken in the singular (my italics), like the question posed by the man in the crowd. There is no we, us or indeed God in the equation.

Unspoken: God-fearing people of the land intrinsically know that this is the language of entitlement, not blessing. They cannot take credit for an ‘abundant harvest’, just as they cannot be blamed for drought and flooding.

Jesus continues: “Then he said…” (to himself).

In the Levant languages of Aramaic, Hebrew and Arabic, the word for self (nephesh/nefs) also means soul, a divine gift from God.

Unspoken: The Levant culture is family-centred. Therefore, this joyful news would call for exciting discussions with his choir: family, heirs, elders, village, partners and clients. Moreover, there is no mention of praising or consulting God about his next steps.

Instead, Mr Solo keeps singing with his possessive pronouns: “This is what I’ll do. I will tear down my barns and build bigger ones, and there I will store my surplus grain.’”

Unspoken: after Mr Solo’s chest-beating chorus, the labourers who toil under the sun would wonder – where are the verses about increasing his workers’ wages or donating to charity?

The rich man’s coda concludes: “And I’ll say to myself – you have plenty of grain laid up for many years. Take life easy. Eat, drink and be merry.”

His self-congratulatory monologue shifts into a Godless dialogue, referring to himself in the second person!

Unspoken: The Jewish crowd may have recognised that Jesus was quoting verbatim the first half of a sacred verse (Ecclesiastes 8:15): “There is nothing better for a person under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad…” They may know the second half which reminds us that life is a gift and our days are numbered: “Then joy will accompany them in their toil all the days of the life God has given them under the sun.”

Instead, Jesus ends the parable with more confronting words: ‘But God said to him – You fool! This very night, your life will be demanded from you.’

So much for the hedonistic retirement plan!

Unspoken: The crowd would be jolted by this reminder that all Mr Solo’s promises to his soul were all in vain.

Then Jesus drops a loaded question: “Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?”

This provocation targets everyone: the brother in the crowd, Mr Solo, his Jewish audience, and us today.

Jesus could have aptly cited King Solomon – “I hated all the things I had toiled for under the sun, because I must leave them to the one who comes after me. And who knows whether that person will be wise or foolish? … This too is meaningless, a chasing after the wind” (Ecclesiastes 2:18-19, 26).

Unspoken: The crowd may ask who inherits the many silos of Mr Solo? Unlike the ‘prodigal son’ (Luke 15) and the brother in the crowd, this parable is void of any heirs. Under Roman ‘Escheatment’ law at the time, intestacy (dying without a will or descendants) may lead to the assets being transferred to the pagan occupying empire!

When this penny (Caesar’s denarius) drops, the crowd would gasp – this man was indeed a fool.

And the brother in the crowd would understand why Jesus prefaced the cautionary parable: ‘Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions.’

Unspoken: What if you inherited as much as your brother today, but died tonight? “What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?” (Matthew 16:26).

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Psalm 23 – so simple, yet so complex

First published in Sight Magazine, 5 June 2025
https://sightmagazine.com.au/open-book/open-book-psalm-23-so-simple-yet-so-complex/

Why is ‘The Lord is my shepherd’ the most memorised and melodised of all the 150 psalms?

There is something profound about juxtaposing simplicity with complexity.

King David evokes the simple shepherd-sheep metaphor relationship with a complex ‘key’ change from verse four when he addresses God as ‘you’ rather than ‘He’.

I spent nine months living among sheep where fox predation was a constant threat.

“From the opening verse, David describes a personal relationship: the Lord is my shepherd. In each verse, the Lord/Shepherd is always the active subject while David is the passive object of that protection: He leads me, He refreshes me, He guides me.”

Lambs are very vulnerable. They lack speed, jaws, claws, stings, wings or camouflage. Perhaps this is why John the Baptist refers to Jesus as the ‘lamb of God’ (John 1:29) who is led to the slaughter.

I could not understand the real-life ‘silence of the lambs’ during the overnight carnage. This eerie experience shed new light on the prophetic verse “He was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth” (Isaiah 55:7).

In an age where we are prudent with pronouns, we may never know why the psalmist shifted from third person to second person – talking about the shepherd then talking to the shepherd.

From the opening verse, David describes a personal relationship: the Lord is my shepherd. In each verse, the Lord/Shepherd is always the active subject while David is the passive object of that protection: He leads me, He refreshes me, He guides me.

But why is David’s trust so childlike?

He answers this question: “though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil”. When we encounter what appears to be an immovable mountain or God-forsaken valley, we pray for a way “around” it, as if the Lord is waiting to embrace us at the finish line.

But David refutes this: the Lord is the lamp that causes the shadow. He is not the light at the end of the tunnel. He is already in the tunnel so we can walk through it. Hence the change of pronoun: “for you are with me”. We can feel His grace without seeing His face.

Perhaps the dreaded memories of David’s dark valleys catapulted him back to the bosom of the shepherd like a terrified child. Perhaps this key change reminds us how he cried out, “where are you Lord?” David tells us the answer: “you are with me”.

Perhaps the dark valley caused the close relationship, hence the key change.

Perhaps the relationship matured from an abstract God in the sky to a personal shepherd by his side.

The two preceding Psalms 21 and 22 both address the Lord as you/your, while Psalm 20 shifts from third person to second person in verse nine.

But it is more striking in Psalm 23 because it coincides with David emerging from the dark valley like a butterfly emerging from the dark chrysalis, or the risen Lord emerging from the dark tomb.

And why does the shepherd’s presence “comfort me”? Because He carries two tools: the pointed rod to strike predators and the curved staff to steer us back on track. Today, bishops only hold the curved staff (crosier) as shepherd of the flock, drawing us in, not driving us away.

Even when a member of the flock falls from grace, falls prey to temptation, or falls into self-loathing shame, the Good Shepherd does not throw the rod to banish that sheep like a leper. The Good Shepherd uses the curved staff to lift it out of the dark pit (Psalm 40:2) and rejoices as he carries it back to the flock on his shoulders (Luke 15:5-6).

This simple image is complex to implement in an age when ‘safe churches’ need to scrutinise who sits in the pews and what scars they bear. Are they welcome to share the Eucharist as the body of Christ, or should they be condemned for their past convictions, despite our ‘mercy’ convictions?

Verse five delves into this contemporary quandary: “You have prepared a banquet for me in the presence of my foes.”

The simple interpretation is that the Lord hosts a celebratory meal while the unwelcome enemy looks on with jealousy – like the parable of the rich man who sees Lazarus in the bosom of Abraham but cannot cross the “great chasm” (Luke 16:26).

But the parable of the prodigal son offers a more pertinent interpretation: the father beckons his disgruntled son to sit at the banquet with ‘this brother of yours’ (Luke 15:32), not as a spiteful observer. And where does Jesus deliver this parable? While dining with ‘tax collectors and sinners’ in the presence of grumbling Pharisees and scribes (Luke 15:1-2).

As Jesus demonstrated, the “table of the Lord” has no seat for enmity, only salvation.

Breaking bread with begrudging enemies may appear super-human, but not if we lead “paths of righteousness for his name’s sake”.

Joseph Wakim is an author (Australian Christian Book of the Year finalist) and independent columnist (UN Association Media Award finalist). He loves bringing a Middle Eastern cultural lens to insights on Jesus.

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Not drowning, praying

First published in Sight Magazine, 28 May 2025
https://sightmagazine.com.au/this-life/this-life-not-drowning-praying/

“‘Lord, if it’s you,’ Peter replied, ‘tell me to come to you on the water.’
‘Come,’ he said.
Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’ – Matthew 14:22-33 (NIV)

I recently challenged myself to swim to the yellow buoys which were about 500 metres off the beach, marked ‘no boats’.

At first, I kept my eyes fixed on those yellow triangles as they gradually enlarged in my view. As I approached my goal, the sound of my human paddles increased in pitch like pebbles on a lake. I tried to fix my gaze until the rising waves obscured the bopping triangles.

“Perhaps this is what happened to Peter when he attempted to walk on water to the beckoning hand of Jesus, his senses initially over-ridden by his rock-solid faith.”

I became disoriented. Panic set in and fear flooded my focus. There are no lifeguards on this beach. What if I get a cramp? What if I scream out to the nearest boats but my voice is drowned out by their motors?

Perhaps this is what happened to Peter when he attempted to walk on water to the beckoning hand of Jesus, his senses initially over-ridden by his rock-solid faith. A wave may have slapped Peter, shifting his gaze to his sinking body. Panicky Peter was rescued, but not without another slap “you of little faith – why did you doubt?”

My own confidence also wavered as I tried to splash away all the fears with different swimming strokes. The dog paddle was pathetic in the growing current so I switched to breaststroke where my whip kick could propel me faster, like a frog. But I was gulping too much water with each plunge so I geared up to freestyle.

My fear of submerging my head strained my neck and I could feel my body tensing. I gave up on the triangles, flipped over and resorted to back stroke so I could breathe. I gazed up at the cirrocumulus cloud formation above me, resembling fish scales, a mirror image above me of the sea beneath me.

Why am I here? I am not a boat, dog, frog or fish!

I tried deep breaths to arrest the accelerating palpitations. I turned my gaze to the eternal sky beyond the temporary passing clouds. In a surreal moment, everything seemed to move in slow motion.

Without thinking, my arms floated outwards and my legs stopped kicking. Without thinking, my shallow breathing became deeper. Without thinking, I assumed the position of absolute surrender – the crucifix.

Then it dawned on me: the only position that saved my life and conquered my fear in the water was the crucifix – the symbol of my faith.

After I regained my breath and my perspective, I reached my triangular milestone. But this was now incidental to the real epiphany. The symbol that claimed the last breath of Jesus at the crucifixion is now a symbol that restores our breath and indeed saves our life.

Joseph Wakim is an author (Australian Christian Book of the Year finalist) and independent columnist (UN Association Media Award finalist). He loves bringing a Middle Eastern cultural lens to insights on Jesus.

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Speech at Book Launch: More Precious Than Birds

Book Launch: More Precious Than Birds
Author: Chadia Elhage
Date: 7 May 2023

Mabrouk Chadia.

Our friendship goes back to 1989 in Melbourne, when you first arrived in Australia.

Your fearless trilingual prose and poetry made heads turn. But beyond your intellect, I have grown to admire your compassionate heart.

Your short stories pick at a scab that yearns to heal. Our human scabs ooze a putrid pus, but a cedar tree scab oozes a precious liquid amber.

Perhaps all these scabs have another name: Trauma.

If you Google the most over-used word this decade, you will find Trauma.

But not in the 1970’s and 1980’s when this book is set.

The Lebanese who fled the war and arrived in Australia were given various labels and called all sorts of names – but not Trauma.

And because they arrived under the ‘Lebanon Concession’ program, not the refugee program, they became the sole responsibility of their sponsoring relatives.

As a social worker at that time, trauma and mental health were still taboo in our community. If I asked about PTSD, my clients were almost offended: shoo bti’sud?Anna majnoun! (what are you implying? Am I deranged?)

But if you apply today’s broader definition of Trauma to those Lebanese survivors, many would have ticked the boxes for complex PTSD.

Chadia’s short stories and personal memories testify to this:
Page 45: The state of Lebanon was fragmented into pieces;
Page 47: Mass displacement of half a million Lebanese;
Page 48: Who sold and who brought the souls of the martyrs?
Page 49: The ghosts multiplied around us;
Page 86: Each time she heard a missile, she cowered and covered both ears with her palms … children would wake up terrified

Those children are now adults. Some may be in this room right now, with callouses covering their own untold true stories.

Rich in metaphors, Chadia refers to this callous on page 56:
Being in a foreign land, wrapped him in a veil alien to him, leading to his … severing the umbilical cord.

For the last 5 years, I have been interviewing survivors of the Beirut bunkers for a new book: how did they survive without trauma therapy?

Many recount what still triggers their flashbacks today, more than 40 years later:
the smell of kerosene, the sound of a kettle whistling, the sight of canned food, the flash of lightning, cars backfiring, electricity blackouts.

Many have developed chronic stomach cramps because eating was futile without a toilet, and this morphed into eating disorders such as anorexia in later life.

In the 1980’s, I remember trying to be romantic with my wife by lighting candles, and she would say with her hand on her palpitating heart: dakheelak la! Bi-zakarooni bi iyam al harab! (I beg you – no! they remind me of the war years!)

Others lament the good old days when people prayed together and shared what they have: a sense of we not me.

But there is a twist to this story and Chadia’s resilience is a living testimony to this:
Perhaps we as social workers and therapists were asking the wrong questions.

Instead of asking survivors about their trauma and suggesting that they ‘let it out’, perhaps the right question was a humble question:

Instead of ‘please let me teach you some strategies to survive trauma’, perhaps we should now be asking ‘please teach us so we can learn – how did you survive all those years?’

And not just survived, but many of you actually thrived.

In one interview, I was told: ‘what’s the point of asking me to sit on a couch to talk, talk, talk? I don’t want to talk about it. That’s not my way.’

So how did some survivors of trauma, like those in Chadia’s stories, live to tell their tale?

Many of you would know more than anyone: just like the triggers of trauma may be multi-sensory, so is the healing: the fresh aroma of home-made coffee, the fragrance of a favourite meal, music from happier memories, flicking through old photo albums, praying rosaries together, telling jokes, heartfelt affection, reciting poetry.

These are sensory experiences that take you back to the bosom of safety.

Chadia writes as she speaks: rich with similes that connect events with nature:
Just from Page 20: like a vanishing dream … like dust … like a cloud … like a lonely arrow.

Chadia experienced this trauma first hand. But her callous oozes liquid amber that is indeed more precious than golden ink on pages.

More precious than birds in flight.