The Camerado Chronicles -- Part One, Chapter IV

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12 June
Pine Bluffs

I have just over an hour before I can blast off according to the new
rules governing my driving time, so I'd like to get right into a
discussion about the Word of God.

All Christians I'm sure are familiar with the opening
verses of the Gospel of St. John:

1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word
was with God, and the Word was God.
2 The same was in the beginning with God.
3 All things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made.
4 In him was life; and the life was the light of men.
5 And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

In the original Greek, "Word" was written as "Logos," which jived with pre-existing Greek philosophy regarding God and matters of the
spirit (a monotheistic philosophy that had been slowly replacing the ancient pantheon of Zeus and friends since the era of Socrates), and
with the Hebrew concept, expressed in Genesis, that God spoke the created universe into existence. And in Christ the Eternal Tao,
Hieromonk Damascene, writing from the Eastern Orthodox perspective, lays out a very convincing argument that Logos is equivalent to
the Chinese concept of "Tao," which is the word Chinese Christians use for "Word" in their translation of the Gospel of John , thus giving
personhood (consciousness and tangible qualities) to the Tao, a concept we Westerners tend to see as impersonal and nebulous.

So what is this mysterious Word of God that John declares so boldly as the source of all things? He hasn't yet tied it in with the reality of
the living man they called Jesus the Christ, but he will later, abundantly. Before that, even strict constructionist Biblians are given room to
wonder, to plumb their consciousness for the sublime answers in their hearts.

This past winter, while working for a charter bus company, I was driving a motorcoach full of older folks from the Rogue Valley to a
dumpy casino in Winnemucca, Nevada, by way of Klamath Falls and Lakeview and the lonely highways of the Great Basin. I had
reached that four-hour stretch after Lakeview where there is nothing, I mean nothing, by the way of humanity or civilization, other than
the "endless black ribbon" of asphalt slicing through
the desert, clear into Winnemucca. And I also had
just endured an absurd two-hour breakdown
--involving an electrical short, I had
learned, caused by a single loose screw--during
whichI had gotten myself caked in mud, soaked
withantifreeze, and by the grace of God alone, had
not even the slightest flare-up of temper. The
situation went straight from Mysterious,
bypassed Frustrating and Infuriating, and
ended up at Comical. I hammed it up with
the passengers, and gave them every
reassurance that they were going to be fine
(even though half the bus was sticking out into
the travel portion of the shoulderless highway).
Life was striking me as pure, unmolested,
uncompromised fun, and I was an atom that
just loved to be. One of those moments,
before all the worries and schemes that also
accompany human life come back from their
temporary leave of
absence.

It was in this ethereal air that I began contemplating what the Word of God means to me. Aubray challenges me on this often, because to
her I spend far too much time and energy on those worries and schemes and not enough simply enjoying the presence and abundant love
of God. And she's right, I have wasted a lot of time and energy separating myself from God with these plans and concerns. So, that
very day, with my worries and schemes left behind, I began to seek the antidote. As any good Biblian Christian would (or anyone trying
to be, anyway), I started by contemplating the scriptures, specifically the opening verses of John I just wrote. Focusing on verse 3: "All
things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made." The first part of that is self-explanatory and
would stand alone if the author simply wanted to express that the Word created everything --and this generally seems to be all that most
Biblian writers I’ve read take from verse 3. But the second part is what intrigued me:

without him was not anything made that was made.

Re-arrange the words a bit, without changing the essential meaning:

nothing that was made was made without him.

Now paraphrase, again with strict adherence to the meaning of the words:

None of God's creation was made without the Word.

Now, what do we mean by "without?" This is a crucial word in this text. He could be saying that nothing was made without the creative
power and authority of the Word. But that just restates what was said in the first part of the verse, and John's trademark is his
Hemingwayan, to-the-point brevity. Another equally valid interpretation is that nothing was made without the presence of the Word
within it, just as no newborn baby is made without blood, and water is not made without two molecules of hydrogen for each oxygen.
Or, even farther removed from the conventional interpretation, nothing was made "without" the Word, meaning the opposite of "within" --
therefore, everything was made within the Word of God. Seen this way, the Word is something of such awesomeness and
grandness that we can't possibly explain our relationship to it in words alone --it isn't merely within us or around us: it is us,
and it is far beyond us as well.

There will be plenty of time to come back to the Christotheistic possibilities of these non-traditional interpretations --and I think they are
both meaningful-- but I want to stick with St. John's Gospel and what dawned upon me on that bus ride to Winnemucca. Verses 4 and 5
go on to say: "In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in the darkness, and the darkness
comprehended it not." Here John seems to be preparing the reader to take that dive with him into the faith-based understanding that
Jesus of Nazareth is the Word of God --the Word we encounter at the beginning of the Hebrew Bible-- establishing the great contrast
between those who understood and accepted his teachings and those who did not. That's cool; we are all created beings and we all have
bodies, and each body casts a shadow that contrasts with the light. And most of us tend to live in our shadows, or the shadows of
others...until we understand that the light shining before us is not our death, it is not an oncoming train on the track of life, it
is the Life; not a life as we live it, but the Life of the Christ, the Word of God. When we understand this, we are willing to trade
our limited life for His unlimited Life.

And what exactly is this unlimited Life? Go back to verse 3. (Who is Seymour's Fat Lady? Aw buddy, aw buddy, it's Christ Himself
buddy, Christ Himself....sorry that is an obscure reference, and I'm not going to explain it yet, but I will. It will mean more to you then
for having seen it now.)

Getting back to the Gospel: was St. John trying to tell us, as part of the thesis statement for his testimony of Christ, that Christ lives and
dwells within all of us, or even that Christ is all of us? I don't know; it's John's gospel, not mine, and unfortunately he's not around to
clarify for us. But I hope that I have opened up (or clarified) for you the possibility that it was so, for even a devout fundamentalist
should be able to admit that the possibility exists, based on John's wording as recorded in the King James translation (generally considered
the authoritative English version).

* * * *

Driving plans for today have been altered, and by an act of God no less. I saw menacing skies to the south about an hour west of
Lincoln. When I reached the outskirts and pulled into the USX terminal, I had been rained on a little bit but nothing extreme. I popped
my laundry into the washer and started a self-serve computer course to educate myself on the new "hours of service" regulations. In the
meantime a deluge of Biblical proportions started coming down on the roof, and all the TVs started showing a weather map of
southeastern Nebraska with giant red & orange splotches all over it, meaning thunder and lightning storms, and a couple tornado decals
scattered to the southwest of Lincoln, meaning tornados. I wrapped up the tutorial, put my clothes in the dryer and called Aubray. Then
the lights went out. About 15 minutes later they came back on, and I restarted the dryer. Now they're off again. My clothes are a damp
heap with about 30 minutes yet to go, and I am writing by flashlight in the drivers' lounge --spooky memories of Oroville, that haunted
macrobiotics morgue where Bray and I spent two weeks without electricity in September. A few minutes ago I was talking with three
other drivers, and the mention of my trailer full of pure magnesium ingots from the Great Salt Desert of Utah turned into a spritely
conversation (in the dark, mind you) about fishing with explosives. Ah, the world of truck driving.

* * * *

Before I get back to the implications of the opening verses of St. John's Gospel and revisit the statements of Thomas Merton and Mother
Teresa, let me with no further delay jump into the realization about the Word of God I had on the bus, and why ever since that strange
January day I have been increasingly unwilling to equate the words of the Bible with the Word of God.

Contemplating the reality of my experience that day --the calmness and joy in the midst of chaos and stress-- and the first five verses of
John's gospel, and idea began to form: the Word of God is not a thing. Not even a person really. It is a phenomenon, an event. The
Word of God is a spark of energy, ignited within us when we recognize it "without" us,when we recognize it in something outside
ourselves --words, music, nature; anything can ignite the Word of God within us because everything has it-- and that the "it", the
energy, that is outside of us is exactly the same as the "it" within us. (Keep in mind the Word of God is not exactly God as I am
using the terms here, but they are not separate either.) From God's perspective the Word is neither objective nor subjective, because it
transcends object and subject, it does not recognize the borders we see between things, people. To us, with our dualistic minds, we
experience the Word subjectively, though we often project it outwardly, just as we think we are looking at the outside world when all we
ever see is a complex moving picture projected onto our retina and broadcast in the brain.

What is the experience of the Word of God like? No emotion can capture it. No words can describe it. You feel an energy that you
can't contain. At the same time, you have complete calm; you are not searching; your life feels like it is spelled out before you in a way
you could never have found on your own. Everything that has happened in your entire life, and all the corollary events that led to them
and those that led to those etc, all feel like they were orchestrated, with complete synchronicity of purpose, to have you right here, right
now, feeling the way you do. You want to share what you're feeling with the entire world (and in a way, you do). If the Word comes to
you through someone else's words, you want to go find that person right then and there and thank him/her, or you want to reach back
through time and slap the author a high-five ("Yo, T-Mert! I am down with that 'shining like the sun' shit!) You feel that ecstasy that
only comes from knowing, now with absolute certainty, that you are not alone, that you have brothers and sisters out there who share
your thoughts and feelings, that you can reach others the way others have reached you. Music that evokes the Word sounds like a
chorus of angels; you could melt right into it and never come back it is so beautiful. Landscapes can make you realize this is still the
Garden of Eden. The mind-boggling intricacy and dazzling color of a single flower will transport you to the heavens, and the mere
thought of all the stars in a clear mountain sky will bring a sonic boom of joy from your heart. If you are religious, the Word will make
you fall to your knees (figuratively perhaps) and thank God with all your might for clearing the muck out of your eyes and ears for even
one minute, one hour of pure, unadulterated love. You want to radiate that love to the entire world (and again, in a way, you do). And
for whatever period of time it is given to you to stay in the Word, you know exactly why you were given this life and what God expects
you to do with it.

It doesn't often last very long, but for the time that one can hear the Word of God (and remember, no matter what senses gather it from
the outside, we hear it on the inside, for God speaks the Word into existence), one knows that there is nothing in the universe or
beyond that is not God.

If you are a Christian and your church hasn't clued you into that, then I'm sorry, they may be the most sincere, hard-working, loving
pastoral staff on God's green earth, but I don't care what their brochure, church bulletin or Yellow Pages ad says: they are not teaching
the Word.

I hope I've made the reasoning behind that provocative statement clear: words --even the almighty words of the Bible-- are not equal
to the Word. Words are containers of meaning, and books are containers of words. Books can point to the Word within us (which is to
say, make us subjectively aware of the Word within and beyond us), but they cannot contain the Word because the Word is not
contained by anything. It transcends all things.

At the end of his gospel, after telling the most mind-blowing and awe-inspiring tale of the life and works of the man who was called
Christ, St. John tells us, again without buildup or pretense,

"And there are also many other things which Jesus did, the which, if they should be written everyone, I suppose that even
the world itself could not contain the books that should be written." (John 21:25)

--crystal clear evidence that Whom we are talking about is not a solitary person who lived 33 years and got Himself whacked by the
Roman mafia.

So why in the world would we believe that all there is to know about Christ is contained in the Bible?--HC Lincoln, Neb.

copyright 2004 by Hermit Crab
a Fish Out of Water production

Next --Chapter 5