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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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Shedding new light on the ancient Southern Cross

Shedding new light on the ancient Southern Cross

Spotting celestial signs of Jesus’ scars in the Southern Cross
Published in Sunday Age / Sydney Morning Herald on 6 January 2019

https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/life-and-relationships/faith-spotting-celestial-signs-of-jesus-scars-in-the-southern-cross-20190103-p50ph2.html

Why are the iconic five stars on our national flag named the Southern Cross rather than kite or diamond?

It was Italian explorer Andrea Corsali who first coined ‘this cross’ as ‘so fair and beautiful’ in 1515 while on a Portugese voyage to the Indian Ocean.

But why evoke the crucifixion and therefore Christ when observing configurations of constellations?

This question led me to ponder the significance of the five stars, especially the faintest fifth star Epsilon Crucis, at the ‘heart’ of the cross, which our indigenous Wardaman astronomers named Ginan. This is the same star that is excluded from the New Zealand flag.

The Southern Cross ‘asterism’ has legendary meaning in indigenous Australian cultures, representing a sting ray, an emu’s head and a possum. In colonial Australian cultures, it has been adopted on the national flag, in the Eureka Stockade, as a ‘badge of honour’ tattoo and as a symbol of resistance.

When viewed as the ‘crux’ (cross in Latin), these lights that pierce our night sky do indeed bear more than a resemblance to the lacerations that pierced the crucified Jesus. A nail for each hand, a nail driven into his feet, a crown of thorns on his head, and a lance through his side.

Chapter 19 in the gospel of John states that the Jewish leaders did not want the bodies left on crosses on the Sabbath, so the soldiers broke the legs of the crucified ones to hasten their deaths. ‘But when they came to Jesus and found that he was already dead … the soldiers pierced his side with a spear.’

Suddenly, the fifth star, and the word Cross, shed a different light.

The five stars match the five scars.

The enigma deepens when we consider that the estimated age of this constellation is between 10 and 20 million years. It is the smallest of the 88 known constellations, but perhaps the greatest in significance.

It now spells a searing reminder of the ‘big bang’ of love, long before the crucifixion was prophecised, long after we felt the ripples of this ‘supernova’. It heralds the new era (Anno Domini) that established our calendar years.

Due to the movement of the Earth’s axis, the Southern Cross has been invisible to the northern hemisphere since about 400 AD. Together with the two Pointers, it now navigates us to the South Celestial Pole. But together with the four gospels, it navigates us to the celestial sacrifice of the ‘lamb of God’.

If a star pointed the magis to the birth of Jesus, stars can point to the death.

Can we shrug off the scar-stars of the Southern Cross as a cosmic coincidence?

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The Pole and the Tree

THE POLE AND THE TREE, an allegory by Joseph Wakim

The lightning flashed across the skies like an X-ray of arteries from the heart. It ignited a snapshot of the silhouettes above the horizon.

No human dared walked the streets in this electric storm. Even umbrellas were unsafe.

The thunder echoed seconds after the burst of light.

It was so deafening that no human could hear the private conversation that was being conducted place on one tree-lined street.

Both were born as spotted gum trees.

One grew gloriously in the front garden of a double storey, brick-veneer home. Her branches spread gracefully to kiss the sun in order to provide shade for the fauna who sought shelter and safety there. Her trunk resembled a human stretching in a yawn, with its limbs arching and twisting.

The other had no limbs. He was carved into a perfect tube, stretching straight up like a power pole. In fact, he was a power pole. A short horizontal plank was bolted into his vertical axle, where the electric cables hung. He used to shed its bark in spots, like his neighbour. Now he was stripped bare for the world to see. This pole had no leaves, no seeds, no spots, and no-one to call him ‘home’. The humans treated him as dead, as a utility, to carry their telegraphs across the land.

This pole moaned in pain and the neighbouring tree could hear the crackling of the electricity sparks which humans called the ‘crown’.

To the tree, the crackling sounded like the gritting of teeth.

‘Why do you do that?’ asked the tree.

The pole did not answer. He could not answer in this excruciating pain. Another flash. Another thunder. Another crown. Another moan.

‘What is it, dear neighbour?’ the tree asked again.

‘Neighbour?’ the pole panted. ‘I am no neighbour. We are not the same!’

The tree already knew that. ‘But I can see you. I can hear you.’

‘But you can’t feel what I feel,’ the pole muttered. ‘They think I am dead.’

‘Who?’

‘Who do you think?’ the pole muttered. ‘The humans who did all this to me.’

‘You mean they thought they killed you?’

‘I wish they did’, the pole continued. ‘I wish I was dead.’

‘Well you’re not,’ confirmed the tree. ‘I can hear you … panting.’

‘They think no sap means no life!’ the pole grumbled. ‘But there’s much more to us than sap.’

‘What did they do to you, dear neighbour?’

‘What did they do?’ the pole echoed. ‘What didn’t they do?’

Another thunderclap. Another cry in pain. The tree felt pity but did not know how to help.

‘I see they stripped you of your … arms’, the tree began.

‘Arms only?’ the pole mocked. ‘They stripped me of much more! They stripped me of my skin. They stripped me of my spots. They stripped me from my family roots. They stripped me from my neighbours. They stripped me bare.’

The tree sighed. ‘I’m so sorry, dear neighbour. But they cannot strip you of your dignity. You still have that.’

‘What dignity?’ scoffed the pole. ‘Can’t you see me naked up here, with electricity currents bolted all around me, running through my spine?’

‘I don’t understand,’ the tree shrugged and shook her branches. ‘Why would they do that to you?’

‘Not just me,’ replied the pole. ‘Open your eyes and see how many of us are tied together, for as far as the eye can see. We are slaves chained together, to carry their burden on our shoulders.’

‘What burden?’ asked he tree.

‘For their electricity, their telephones, their messages, their …’

Another bolt, another scream.

‘If I was dead, I would feel nothing!’ the pole shrieked with a trembling voice. ‘This is eternal punishment!’

The tree was saturated in the pouring rain but this did not blur her vision and her curiosity for the truth. ‘Punishment … for what? What did you do, dear neighbour?’

‘Do?’ the pole sneered. ‘How can we do anything? We were trees, just like you. What do you do?’

‘I … I grow, and give branches, and attract birds, and make beautiful …’
‘Stop it! Please stop reminding me of the life they took away from me!’

‘But you asked me …’

‘And now I’ve asked you to stop!’ demanded the pole.

‘So why the punishment?’ repeated the tree. ‘What possible crime could a tree commit?’

After a long pause, the pole exhaled and whispered, ‘Straight!’

‘Straight?’ repeated the tree. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘My crime is that I grew straight … straight up to the light. No twisting or turning. I cut right through the air and grew directly toward the one true light. Not their human lights that they switch off and on.’

‘So they stripped you bare and executed you like this … for being straight?’ concluded the tree.

‘Oh how I wish they could hear me now!’ the pole cried out. ‘I will talk so straight it will cut them!’

‘But you said that you carry their messages’, the tree reminded him. ‘Why can’t you carry your own message and send it.’

The pole shuddered. ‘Can’t you see I am dis-armed! They call me a power pole! What power do I have? The only power I feel is that electricity which burns at whatever is left of me.’

The tree sighed in sympathy. ‘I want to help you, dear neighbour.’

‘Help yourself!’ the pole replied. ‘Lean over here and take my advice.’

The tree swayed in the storm as close as she could muster. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Don’t grow straight. Learn from me. Twist and curl. Stretch and twirl. Arch and join hands with your neighbours. Just don’t grow straight. They will target you. They will strip you. They will crucify you … like me … like us … like all of us.’

Another flash of lightning and the crown around the head of the pole became a luminous blue.

He screamed. ‘It burns!’

‘Oh I can’t bear this any longer, ‘the tree declared, rain running off her gum leaves like tears. ‘How can I share your pain?’

The pole panted but did not reply.

‘Please talk to me, dear neighbour’, continued the tree, ‘let me help …’

‘I thirst,’ the pole whispered. ‘But it’s too dangerous.’

‘What is too dangerous?’

‘The rain always runs off my body,’ he explained. ‘I have no branches and no leaves to capture it.’

‘But what about the cables and the beam that holds them up there?’

‘They are not my body. They will never be part of my body. They are bolted to me, but they are not me.’

‘So how can I quench your thirst?’

‘There are cracks in my body that lead to my spine. The water runs down but never soaks in. My skin is parched with cracks. They are wounds from the electricity burns where the remains of my flesh have been torn open. Do you think you could fill your leaves with rain water, swing your branches and help me drink, through my cracks – just this once?’

‘Well I could try …’

‘But it’s dangerous,’ the pole warned. ‘You are made of wood and water. The electricity can run right through you.’

‘The same with you, right?’ asked the tree.

‘No. I have more than wood and water. I also have metal bolts and carry a much heavier burden of electricity. If the lightning strikes when you touch me with water, you could carry all my electricity on top of yours.’

‘And so what if I do?’

‘It could kill you. It could burn your roots and leaves.’

‘And then what?’

‘And then?’ the pole pondered. ‘Then you could become like me.’

The tree paused then surprised the pole. ‘And then what?’

The pole was shocked. ‘You would risk all this, all your beautiful life, for me?’

‘Well, what is a dear neighbour for?’

‘No!’ the pole realised the enormity of the sacrifice. ‘I am sorry I even said that. It’s wrong. It’s unfair. It’s cruel.’

‘And so is what happened to you, dear neighbour,’ snapped the tree.

‘So … you will risk everything, just to quench my thirst, once?’

‘Well, I could have grown straight and risked everything? But I was spared your fate. I did nothing right. You did nothing wrong. Right?’

‘But you are so … beautiful.’

‘You were a tree like me once, remember?’

‘But you have humans who love you, and care for you, and take shelter beneath you …’

‘Maybe we need just one tree to die so we could save the lives of others.’

‘How?’ asked the pole.

‘If something happens to me, it will be for all the world to see … how dangerous this all is. Maybe they will learn to stop stripping trees like you, and put their cables somewhere else.’

‘No!’ the pole was mortified at the offer. ‘Please don’t!’

‘You can’t stop me, dear neighbour,’ insisted the tree. ‘It’s my choice.’

The tree deliberately waited for the next flash of lightning. She swayed her boughs, filled her leaves with the pouring rain, and positioned herself next to the cracks in his skin. When she felt that lightning was imminent, she watered his skin and soothed his burns.

When the lightning struck, they screamed together. She lit up like a Christmas tree. Some of her branches became instantly charred and came crashing to the ground with a thud that shook the house.

The residents flicked on their lights to see the source of the noise. Then they had a black out and panic ensued.

There were flashes of camera photography as the residents were in awe of this spectacle. The tree was now on fire. It could soon become charcoal.

The pole now had a different thirst. He wanted to know where this profound self-sacrifices had come from.

He took his dear neighbour’s advice, in her honour, and did his best to pass on this story through his cables, as a telegraph to all the power poles, for as far as the eye could see.

‘Tell the trees of her sacrifice,’ he messaged in his own way. ‘If they follow her, we may stop the crucifixions!’

The crackling crowns were drowned out by the wailing sirens of fire trucks racing towards the burning tree. They were followed by news media, hot on the trail of a good story.

The picture of a tree embracing a pole sparked much speculation.

The question was not whether the tree and the pole could speak. The question was whether the humans would listen.

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Peter’s First Miracle

PETER’S FIRST MIRACLE: A meditation on Matthew 14, by Joseph Wakim

It was dusk. Jesus had just fed the multitudes with loaves and fishes. He asked his apostles for some time alone to grieve the beheading of his cousin John. He instructed them to take the boat and wait for him on the other side of the Sea of Galilee.

As night fell, Jesus prayed alone on the mountain while wild winds struck the sea. The apostles in their boats were being tossed about in the middle of the sea and could not reach the other side. They could not row forwards because it was contrary to the oncoming wind, and they could not row back because it was contrary to his instructions.
What if he was already on the other side and waiting for them?

The apostles had just witnessed another miracle and knew that he was supernatural. But this wild storm on this dark night did not bode well. They were languishing in the middle of the sea, languishing between the natural and the supernatural, languishing between faith and fear.

If he was the son of God, how could he abandon them like this? Did he not know that their lives were in peril and that they could all drown at sea?

Then, through the darkness the apostles saw what looked like a radiant Jesus walking towards them on the water. They were petrified and thought this was a ghost. Jesus knew exactly what they were feeling in their hearts and called out, ‘Yes it is I! Be not afraid!’

Peter, the most experienced fisherman among them, dropped the oars of the boat, and responded to Jesus, ‘If it is really you, call out my name! Tell me that I can walk on water, like you. Then I will obey!’

The other apostles could not believe that Peter was prepared to abandon them. He had surrendered the steering of the perilous boat and pledged to surrender his life to Jesus, here and now.

‘Come, Peter!’ beckoned Jesus, with an outstretched hand.

‘He called me by my name!’ pondered Peter. ‘It is the Lord and I will go to him now!’

Fixing his gaze on the outstretched hand of Jesus, Peter stripped off his outer garments and stepped off the boat, onto the stormy sea. The apostles looked on in astonishment at his courage and his unquestioning faith.
In the chaos they wondered – why not wait for Jesus to reach the boat? Why not row the boat to Jesus? Why was Peter taking this literal leap of faith to go to Jesus?

Peter took his first step, fixing his gaze on Jesus. He was now oblivious to the wild weather and to the waves that were as tall as he.
He took his second step, advancing closer to Jesus. Both his senses and his common sense were overridden by his rock solid faith. He hardly blinked as he could now almost see the saturated face of Jesus.
He took the third step, and could now see the smile on the face of Jesus. He could hear Jesus encouraging him, ‘You’re doing it Peter! This is walking by faith!’
Jesus opened his outstretched hand and Peter was exuberant. They were both glowing.

Peter took his fourth step. A wave washed over him like a slap in the face.
He blinked. His senses were alerted. He glanced down and could see his feet were floating on water. His skin could feel the water dripping off his body. His ears could hear the wild wind whistling all around him. His lips could taste the salty spray that surrounded him. He could smell his own fear welling up inside him as he came to his senses.
He was defying the natural laws, and his fear was now defying his faith.

He took his fifth step, but his right foot submerged under the water. He panicked and glanced up to find Jesus, who was now obscured by the waves. He wiped his eyes and called, ’Where have you gone, Lord? I can’t see you anymore!’
He took his sixth step, with his left foot, and it too sank into the water. His eyes were now fixed on his sinking feet. He was losing his balance and his bearings. He waved his arms and cried out, ’Lord! I am drowning! Save me!’
Peter had fallen knee-deep. Not only was his body sinking, but his heart was too. He lost his compass to Jesus and became disoriented. He could no longer see the boat, nor Jesus, nor any shore.

He took his seventh step, under water, only to sink deeper. Even his knees had disappeared. Another wave washed over him and he was now panicking about drowning. He saw his life flash past him. He felt that no one could hear his calls, as he could not hear his own voice over the roaring storm.
‘Lord, I can’t see your face! I can’t hear your voice! I can’t feel your hand! I can’t sense your presence!’ he despaired. ‘What have I done to deserve this, Lord?’

He took his eighth step, kicking frantically, deeper under water, and felt his body descending to his waist. Now everything was going dark.
With all the strength he could muster, he closed his eyes and cried out in his trembling voice, ‘Lord, save me!’
He felt a firm hand grasp his own. He opened his eyes and looked up. Through the water, he could see the radiant face of Jesus gazing down on him. Peter used both hands to raise himself up to embrace Jesus.
‘Lord, where did you go?’ Peter pleaded. ‘I was looking for you everywhere!’ His salty tears were washed away by the salty sea.

He took his ninth step, this time on top of the water, fixing his gaze firmly on the face of Jesus.
‘Peter’, replied Jesus, ‘where did you go? You took your eyes off my face, and looked down at your feet’. Now Peter dared not blink.
‘But I could not see you when the waves…’ began Peter to justify himself. Jesus shook his head and smiled, ‘But I could see you. When you called my name, did I not raise you up?’
Peter took his tenth and final step, with Jesus, this time onto the boat. The storm subsided and the wind became calm. The trembling apostles could no longer stand. They fell to their knees before Jesus and declared, ‘truly, you are the Son of God!’
Then Peter cried out, shivering and kissing the feet of Jesus, ‘Sorry Lord … I was … afraid…’
Jesus placed his hand on Peter’s head and said, ‘I know your heart. You doubted. Let your faith stand tall. It will drown your fear’.

At dawn, their boat reached the other side of the sea.

Their journey, and indeed ours, is a turbulent test of faith. We yearn for the hand, the voice and face of Jesus, especially in the stormy sea, and he may be obscured by crashing and cruel waves. But he is there, floating not sinking, waiting not forsaking, beckoning us by name, inviting us to the banquet on the other side, transcending all the laws of nature, which he himself created.

This was Peter’s first miracle, the stations of his first cross.
And more miracles are promised when we walk by faith, nor by sight.
Like Peter, we will greet Jesus without our outer garments, without our boat, without our kin. Alone, we will face the radiant light of love who is brighter than the lightning of any storm that passes on our way to the other side of the sea.