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Shake the dust off your feet

Reference: Matthew 10:5-14
An edited version was published in Parousia Newsletter, The Weekly Wrap, 20 Feb 2026

I have always been intrigued by the cultural and religious significance of ‘Shake the dust off your feet’. For context, this was part of the instructions given when Jesus ‘sent out’ his apostles to proclaim that ‘the kingdom of heaven has come near.’

Jesus gave them ‘authority to drive out impure spirits and heal every disease.’

But Jesus narrowed the geographic scope of their mission: ‘do not go among the Gentiles … go rather to the lost sheep of Israel.’ Paul would later be led to the Gentiles.

So he dispatches twelve missionaries to the twelve tribes on their first mission without him, ‘two by two’ (Luke 10:1).

He commissions them to travel light and stay at the house of a ‘worthy person’. But if ‘anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, leave that home and shake the dust off your feet.’

This final gesture is an affront on many levels.

The dust-shaking tradition was practised by Jews returning from Gentile lands as a sign of renunciation and separation from pagan defilement.

In the Oral Torah (Mishnah), Rabbi Batenura’s commentary sheds light on these historic roots: ‘all dust which comes from the land of the Gentiles is reckoned by us as the rottenness of dead carcass’ as it ‘pollutes the purity of the land of Israel.’

Jesus repurposes this familiar emblematic ritual and turns it against fellow Jews who reject the proclamation.

Why did Jesus have such high expectations of the lost sheep of Israel? Perhaps because they failed to recognise their shepherd. Hence his warning: ‘it will be more bearable for Sodom and Gomorrah on the day of judgment than for that town’ (Matthew 10:15). The inhabitants of those two ‘sin cities’ were Canaanites (Genesis 10:19), not followers of Yahweh.

In the Jewish tradition, hospitality and humility were demonstrated by washing the feet of the guests, especially after traversing dusty terrain. Jesus does this at the Last Supper (John 13:5), and reprimands Pharisee Simon for not doing this: ‘I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet’ (Luke 7:44).

When the apostles were ‘not welcome’ during their mission, perhaps the dust shaking in the streets (Luke 10:10) was their public retort to the inhospitable rejection.

My upbringing in a Levant (Lebanese) culture reinforces the derogatory significance of feet. Sitting cross-legged and pointing the sole of my shoe at another person is a sign of extreme disrespect, as the foot is the lowest part of the body that touches filth on the ground. Hence, shoes are thrown at a person as the ultimate insult: ‘you are lower than the sole of my shoe.’

A more familiar Western idiom may be ‘wash my hands of it’, which is absolving ourselves from any responsibility or association with a situation after doing our duty. This gesture was immortalised in the Levante when Roman Governor Pontius Pilate washed his hands in front of the crowd and declared: ‘I am innocent of this man’s blood … It is your responsibility!’ (Matthew 27:24).

The dust-shaking ritual was flaunted by Paul and Barnabas on their first missionary journey in Pisidian Antioch. When jealous Jewish leaders ‘stirred up persecution … and expelled them’, these two missionaries ‘shook the dust off their feet as a warning to them’ (Acts 13:50-51).

In our Christian walk today, how do we apply this lesson of shaking dust from our feet? How do we reconcile it with ‘love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you’? (Matthew 5:44).

In our modern mission to be Christ-like, we are less likely to experience dusty feet, but more likely to experience ‘hot under the collar’ when mocked, rejected and persecuted for following Jesus. What others think about us and our faith is none of our business. It is God’s business to play God.

Perhaps the liberating takeaway lesson from Jesus is: ‘You are free to walk away with a clear conscience and your head held high. Leave the rest to me. Stop knocking on the doors of the hard-hearted. When they resort to name-calling and trying to shame you, this says more about those throwing stones. It’s already in the past, so stop wasting time, let go and move on to more hospitable people. Don’t let the dust (mud) stick. You need to travel lightly and cannot carry these burdens. Leave them at my feet. I will dust them off in my way in my time.’

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The Prodigal Son – how grace trumped mercy

The Prodigal Son – how grace trumped mercy
First published in Open Bok, The Sight Magazine, 28 Nov 2025

The familiar Parable of the Prodigal Son is riddled with cultural questions about what did not happen. It epitomises the difference between earthly retribution and “as it is in heaven”.

Luke Chapter 15 starts by setting the scene with the cultural context: The Pharisees and the scribes murmured, saying, “This man receives sinners and eats with them”.

The law of Moses stipulates that the firstborn inherits a “double share” (Deuteronomy 21:17).

The father could have declined the disgraceful request and observed the Jewish wisdom to “wait until the last moment of your life, when you are breathing your last, and then divide your property among your heirs” as contained in the Jewish Book of Sirach (33:23). But he “waived” what was culturally right and “divided his property between them”, granting a third to his younger son.

Because the son had effectively treated his father as dead, the brother wrote off “this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes”.

If the brother knew about the son’s exploits, he probably heard murmurs that the son had fallen into desperate times, resorted to feeding “unclean” pigs (Leviticus 11:7) for a Gentile, and worked on the Sabbath (Exodus 20:8-11). Others may have arranged to eliminate this sin-soaked son before he further disgraced the family’s reputation.

When the son “came to his senses”, he rehearsed a three-part speech: “I have sinned against Heaven and against you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.”

When the father saw him “still a long way off”, he was “filled with compassion” rather than wrath.

King David offers a lofty explanation for the father’s heart: “You have searched me, Lord, and you know me…you perceive my thoughts from afar…Before a word is on my tongue, you, Lord, know it completely…and you lay your hand upon me.” (Psalm 139:1-6).

Instead of shunning the son, waiting for the grovel or expecting the reverent hand-kissing, the opposite happens. It is the father who publicly disgraced himself by running out to the sinner – to give grace! It is the father who hastened to embrace and kiss his son. It is the father who gestured forgiveness before a word was spoken.

When the son delivers his three-part speech, the father refuses to hear part three about treatment as a servant. Again, the father waived that third of what was culturally right.

Again, the opposite happens. The father asks the servants not only to “bring the best robe” but to “put it on him”, as if to cover the scars of his sins. For the murmuring Pharisees and Scribes, this imagery would have evoked the angel replacing Joshua’s filthy clothes with fine garments (Zechariah 3:4), especially as royal robes were traditionally preserved for a noble prince (Esther 6:8-9).

By putting a ring on his son’s finger, the father is immediately and publicly restoring the son’s status in the family. The signet ring was traditionally engraved with a family crest for a wax seal, akin to a credit card! For the murmurers, this would have evoked the ceremony when Pharaoh promoted Joseph with a signet ring (Genesis 41:42).

As servants traditionally walked barefoot, the sandals reinforced the father’s rejection of part three.

At best, the son was hoping for mercy after sequential stages to redeem himself. Instead, he was greeted with immediate grace.

Instead of the father becoming angry and turning his back, it is the brother who “refused to go in”.

The brother cannot understand the hasty celebration, after all the shame and disgrace that the son has caused. Surely, the father has skipped a few stages – a process akin to our Western justice system.

Our justice system may entail a protracted process of charges (breaches of Mosaic law), prosecution, trial, plea bargaining, evidence, witnesses, cross-examination, victim impact statements, sentencing, proportional retribution, compensation of victims, public shaming and mandatory rehabilitation.

Similarly, Baptist minister Dr Gary Chapman co-authored The 5 Apology Languages which maps out the popular and progressive stages of regret, responsibility, restitution, repentance then forgiveness.

Perhaps the brother expected more grovelling and healing before he was ready for clemency.

But the father sprinted straight to forgiveness.

Given that the brother had already received his ‘double share’ of inheritance prematurely, perhaps he was ‘eyeing off’ the full share of his father’s remaining property. The regrafting of the son may jeopardise this.

Perhaps this is why the father explicitly placates him: “everything I have is yours.”

Is it a coincidence that the parable ends by circling back to the opening murmurs?

Indeed, the father embraced his son to erase the shame and so he “receives sinners”.

The father hosts a celebratory homecoming dinner for this ‘sinner’ and so he “eats with them” too.

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Do we need sarcasm emojis to grasp the parable of the shrewd manager?

Do we need sarcasm emojis to grasp the parable of the shrewd manager?

First published in Sught Magazine, 10 October 2025
https://sightmagazine.com.au/open-book/open-book-do-we-need-sarcasm-emojis-to-grasp-the-parable-of-the-shrewd-manager/

Read Luke 16:1-15 (NIV)

The ‘paradoxical’ Parable of the Shrewd Manager has always confounded and divided Christians. Why would the master “commend the dishonest manager”? How are “people of this world” shrewder than “people of the light”? Why would Jesus encourage us to “use worldly wealth to gain friends” so we are “welcomed into eternal dwellings”?

A cultural torch may help crack open this nut: the Levant languages are renowned for their colourful lexicon and hyperbole. I know that from my Lebanese upbringing, when my relatives sought to sharpen their point. If I visited my aunt after a long absence, she responded sarcastically: “So you remembered where we live!”

When our angry Lord spoke “out of a storm” to Job and his friends, He sarcastically quizzed them about his mysterious creation: “Surely you know, for you were already born! You have lived so many years!” (Job 38:21).

Jesus was a master of rich language: “If your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away” (Matthew 5:29).

When His opponents plotted to stone him for blasphemy, He deployed sarcasm: “I have shown you many good works from the Father. For which of these do you stone me?” (John 10:32).

But there were no sarcasm emojis and exclamation marks 2000 years ago when Luke recorded this parable!

Within this cultural context, a re-reading of the shrewd manager parable does not contradict the surrounding parables about the prodigal son and Lazarus in the “bosom of Abraham“. Both of these parables juxtapose the ‘way of the world’ (rich man; selfish son) with the way of the ‘light’ (Lazarus; repentant son).

Surely, Jesus was sarcastic when He suggested that using worldly wealth to gain friends would lead to eternal dwellings. There is only one eternal dwelling: “in my Father’s house” (John 14:2). Moreover, Jesus tells us “do not store up for yourselves treasures on Earth” (Matthew 5:19).

At the end of His parable, Jesus pivots His focus to the sneering Pharisees: “You are the ones who justify yourselves in the eyes of others, but God knows your hearts”. He knew that they “loved money” and became “people of this world” when they should have been “people of the light”.

Jesus concludes: “no-one can serve two masters”. The shrewd manager knew exactly how to navigate the way of the world so that “people would welcome me in their houses”. Like the shrewd manager, the Pharisees knew the rule book when “dealing with their own kind”.

After the sarcasm has landed on the sneering Pharisees, Jesus leaves us with a serious challenge: do we who ostensibly serve the true master know the rule book of ‘our own kind’ to shrewdly navigate our way to eternal life?

The shrewd manager knew the way to the heart of the master he serves. He hastily concocted a win-win-win situation for “people of this world”. The debtors received an instant discount and closure. The master would be hailed a hero for his unwitting charity. The manager set up a contingency plan to be welcomed among these debtors “when I lose my job here”.

In the honour-shame culture of this world, the manager spared himself from the public shame of begging, and bestowed public honour on his master.

As ‘people of the light’, how well do we know the way to the heart of the master we serve?

What is unspoken by Jesus in this short parable may have been culturally odd to his Levant audience.

The master declares, “you cannot be manager any longer”, but does not ask the manager to balance the books first.

The master does not reveal who informed him of the mismanagement.

The master does not send the manager to prison or slavery for “wasting his possessions”.

The manager, meanwhile, does not defend himself, demand witnesses or plead by hand-kissing.

Unlike the prodigal son, he does not offer himself as a “hired servant” (Luke 15:19).

The wasteful manager does not know what each debtor owes, so he asks them.

He does not call for an urgent group meeting with debtors, perhaps because ‘people of this world’ (unlike people of the light) protect themselves by scheming privately, behind closed doors.

He does not evoke a long (family) history and loyalty of working for the master.

The debtors do not know that the manager has already been fired.

The manager’s eye was set on his earthly prize: retaining ‘my job.’

As people of the light, we have a different set of rules to reach the eternal dwelling place in the heavenly kingdom.

When we understand the sarcastic speech and the cultural context, this parable is not paradoxical. It is consistent with all that Jesus teaches: we are people in this world, but not of this world (John 17:16-18).

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How the dandelion inspired an epiphany

Jesus told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field. But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away. When the wheat sprouted and formed heads, then the weeds also appeared.

“The owner’s servants came to him and said, ‘Sir, didn’t you sow good seed in your field? Where then did the weeds come from?’

“‘An enemy did this,’ he replied.

“The servants asked him, ‘Do you want us to go and pull them up?’

“‘No,’ he answered, ‘because while you are pulling the weeds, you may uproot the wheat with them.” – Matthew 13:24-29 (NIV)

I used to banter with my neighbours when I caught them “wasting time” on weekends: head down on bended knees, weeding their garden. “What a sight! Get a life!”

I recently heard those words boomerang back to me when I was caught red-handed uprooting dandelions from my garden after a downpour.

For those obsessed with a lush green lawn, dandelions are an invasive and uninvited weed. During winter, their rosette bases camouflage as grass, anchored by a deep taproot. In spring, their yellow daisy-like flowers morph into a white ‘puffball’ of wind-blown seeds to expand their invasion of my hallowed lawn.

The uprooting of weeds from moist soil may have looked like laborious repetition, but it felt like spring cleaning. There was something simple yet miraculous about working hand-in-hand with the seasonal rhythms and cycles of Creation.

The dandelion’s jagged leaves ostensibly resemble a lion’s teeth, hence its name stems from the French dent-de-lion. Their ‘teeth’ looked more like defence battlements of a fortress. Indeed, extracting these foot-long tap roots from my ‘fortress’ was like extracting a lion’s tooth – a very exacting art!

One passing neighbour tried to correct my (mis)classification: “At least I was weeding! Dandelions aren’t weeds! They’re good for the lawn!” He proceeded to enlighten me on their pollen that feeds bees, their leaves that boil into herbal medicine, and their tap roots that brew into ‘coffee.’ I did some fact-checking and he was right! These weeds contain antioxidants and are highly nutritious.

Children love to blow the seed heads to make wishes: another insidious ploy that these self-germinating opportunists deploy to tempt my grandchildren in my ‘Eden’!

As I toiled in the soil, it evoked the etymological ‘roots’ of humility, from the Latin word humus meaning (down to) earth. Digging even deeper, a Rabbi recently told me that the name Adam derives from the Hebrew word Adamah, which also means earth. This makes perfect sense as the “Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground’” (Genesis 2:7).

As I uprooted the ubiquitous invaders from deep in the dirt, I bundled them for removal. If ‘they’re good for the lawn’, perhaps they’re even better for my compost heap. In time, these rejects would decompose into the rich dark organic matter (humus) that improves soil fertility and plant fruitfulness.

Right under our noses, the garden is rich with echoes of Eden and Gospel parables. For example, my compost heap consists of rejects and broken parts: peels, leaves, clippings, eggshells, packaging and scraps. Yet the Creator miraculously enables this dead debris to breathe new life into old soil. Perhaps in God’s time, and in subsequent chapters of our lives, none of our brokenness goes to waste either.

When I returned to the lawn wearing my ‘Gospel’ lens, I had a dandelion-inspired epiphany about the parable of the weeds. When the weeds sprouted with the wheat, the servants asked the owner “Do you want us to go and pull them up?” In his wisdom, the owner declined because “you may uproot the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest.”

Indeed, my weeds disguised themselves as green grass until their yellow flowers shot up. Only then could I distinguish them from the good seed that I had sown. Only after the rain could I uproot them from softer soil. Only in that ripe moment could I avoid damaging the lawn.

Next time my neighbours catch me ‘wasting time’ and tell me to “get a life!”, I will respond with: “This keeps me grounded and reminds me to stay humble.”

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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 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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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.