There are so many stories behind the writing of STAR SONG and the other 7 books of SOUL JOURNEY WITH THE REAL JESUS over the 43 years it took shape. I have written 70 books, and these 8 books are the ones I obsess over. Always have. Always will. But why?
Why 43 years? And why all the dilly-dallying for so long? As I write this, it has now been 68 years since the beginning of this personal saga of the 8 books, and it will continue until I die.
I AM OBSESSED. I am obsessed with eternity, which begins here and now. I am obsessed with reaching unbelievers and helping them understand that they can truly spend eternity in the joy of their Maker and escape hell.
Right now, it is as though mankind is living in a dark cave. There is a passageway out, but everyone is afraid of it. After all, when anyone gets too close to the passage and looks out at the bright light, their eyes hurt. Those who decide to leave try to tell the rest of the people in the cave how wonderful it will be. But no one ever returns.
I hear people say things like, “But Jesus lived so long ago where customs were different, transportation and communication were different. Jesus just doesn’t relate to me. And don’t give me that light-of-the world stuff; it hurts my eyes.”
Even back in the 1950s, I understood this. My high school graduating class was 1/3 Jews, 1/3 Muslims, and 1/3 Catholics (and me, the nearly lone Protestant). We knew each other’s religions, but we did not talk about it in order to get along.
Then, when I was 17 at Harding College, I began writing my life of Christ. If you have read in STAR SONG of Mary’s meeting with angel Gabriel, I wrote it when I was 17. And the thieves and Jesus making their ways down the street with their crosses, up the hill, and the torture that followed – those parts were written by me when I was 17.
When I showed my girlfriends in the dormitory, they said I should write the entire life of Christ. But, from the very beginning in my youth, I knew I was writing for unbelievers. Unbelievers of all kinds with all kinds of good and bad experiences in their lives and all kinds of “reasons” to not believe the story of the Christ, the God-man who defied Satan and Death. Without hesitating, I said, “I have not lived enough of life.” I needed to be able to write my stories in such a way that the reader could say, “I’ve been there. I’m just like Peter. I’m just like Mary Magdalene.”
Well, in my young, simplistic mind, I immediately followed up with the exact number! “When I am 60 I will write it.” It was like my promise to unbelievers of the world. Through the years, I did dabble in writing short stories from Jesus’ life to help unbelievers. But mostly my meager manuscript sat in the tops of closets or bottoms of drawers.
But I never forgot my promise. So when I was around 50 years old, I ran into a not-well-received indie movie where Jesus was a modern man. Taking that example, about five years later, I decided to give it a try. I did not intend for it to be the final product, but I wanted to get a real feel for modern responses to Jesus if he did live in our modern world. Soooo (now don’t laugh)….
I secretly wrote “Jesus in Jeans”. I set up a map of the US with a Lucite overlay so that it was old Palestine laid over it sideways. so I would know which city in Palestine was over which city in the US. And, I had Jesus travel on his missionary journeys with his twelve in an old rusty bus. Oh, and I wrote Jesus’ name with the u in superscript and changed his name to Jes’s. (Remember this set of eight books has been my obsession most of my life. It had to reach as many unbelievers as possible.)
And what did they experience on their roadtrip? By the time I was sixty, I had experienced many ups and far more downs than I had anticipated, and could feel much of what those who met Jesus felt. And, yes, during those passing years, I, too, experienced doubts of God’s existence. Then I knew I could write from the point of view of modern unbelievers.
So, I just went through my eight books written the wrong (modern) way, and rewrote the parts that did not fit the ancient Bible world. Here are some obvious examples and the way I had written them in modern circumstances:
JOSEPH:
OLD WAY: ” Joseph throws Mary’s picture at the wall. Bleeding. Bleeding from the broken glass. Bleeding from the broken promise. The broken heart. The broken life.”
NEW WAY: ” Joseph throws the fine piece of clay at the wall, the one on which he had etched Mary’s picture. Bleeding. Bleeding from the broken pottery. Bleeding from the broken promise. The broken heart. The broken life.”
JOSEPH & MARY:
OLD WAY: Joseph carefully picks her up and gently places the mother of God’s Son into the rusty wheelbarrow.
The garage door is open. He rolls her in and closes the door. He has cleared out a place where the owner had thrown down car parts and tools. Again, Joseph bends down, picks up his little wife, and moves her with the tenderness of love to the floor. Then he takes a greasy blanket off a peg on the wall to help keep her warm.
NEW WAY: Joseph carefully picks her up and gently places the mother of God’s Son into the straw-filled cart.
The stable door is open. He rolls her in and closes the door.
He has cleared out an empty stall and filled it with fresh straw. Again, Joseph bends down, picks up his little wife, and moves her with the tenderness of love to the floor. Then he takes a smelly blanket off a peg on the wall to help keep her warm.
SHEPHERDS:
OLD WAY: “Come, young man with not much education. Come with no corner office with your name on the door. Look into the eyes of God.”
NEW WAY: “Come, young man with not much education. Come, you who are not noticed by the important. Come Look into the eyes of God.”
ANOTHER THING I DID TO HELP UNBELIEVERS identify with the story of Jesus, is that I began each chapter with a negative. Mary was too young, Elizabeth too old, Joseph too gullible, the shepherds too smelly, Anna too senile, Simeon too idealistic, The wise men should have minded their own business, Zachariah should have accepted he’d never have a son. King Herod dared control God, the magi dared interpret God.
Well, I’m going to stop here. But I do want to WARN YOU….
The plot is all wrong. Who’d ever believe it?
Mary and Joseph? Nobodies. They think they have their lives together all figured out. They don’t. An interfering force is about to disrupt everything.
A wedding that will be the talk of the town? Definitely. They will have that all right. But not in the way they intend. Their wedding will be the gossip of the town. Albeit, holy gossip. Whatever that is.
Instead of guests coming in from everywhere for the happy occasion, hardly anyone will attend. Instead of delight, there will be embarrassment. Talk of the town? Yes. But Mary and Joseph will wish everyone would just leave them alone in peace.
A moderate home in a moderate part of town? Not any time soon. They will be forced to go to their ancestral home at the other end of the country for a pointless census.
Then the military will go after them. They’ll have to escape to another country. It will be a long time before they can have that moderate home in that moderate part of town. What bitterness lies ahead for them.
How could Joseph go through with it in the first place? He’s stupid. Just plain stupid. Who would marry a woman who is already pregnant by someone else? That story she concocted about being impregnated by God. Where did she hatch that up? She needs a good head shrink. So does Joseph. What a weird pair. Maybe they deserve each other.
And that son of theirs. This is where the plot really gets bizarre and makes no sense. Their son is actually supposed to be God.
Now, let’s suppose for argument’s sake that he really is God. It’s all wrong. Does he make his entrance as a grown man? No. He’s actually born. He makes his grand entrance as a mere baby. He takes all that unnecessary time to grow up.
Once he’s grown, is he a giant? Nope. He’s the same size as any other man. Shorter than some.
What about a ring of stars around his head to signify his divine station? Well, if not that, at least a halo. Where’s his halo? He has none. He claims it would detract from his divine mission. So, how is anyone supposed to know he’s God if he looks like everyone else?
He could at least fling lightning bolts at his mortal enemies. No way. Not this peculiar specimen of God. He flings words instead. What good is that?
All right, then. How about riding on the wings of a giant eagle as he goes around spreading those words? No way. Not that man—er uh God. He gets around like the mortals do. He walks or uses the same kind of transportation everyone else does.
Well, food. Ah, yes, food. He could eat stones and wash them down with water wrung out from a couple of clouds. But no. He eats the same kinds of food everyone else does.
So here he is. He dresses like everyone else. He faces his enemy like everyone else. He gets around like everyone else. He eats like everyone else. No way is anyone going to believe he’s God
He’s going to do everything wrong. It’s hard enough to believe in a divine, eternal being. How is one supposed to believe in someone who looks and acts the same as them?
Poor Mary and Joseph. Especially Mary. What’s about to enter her life is at once myth and mystical, and a great big hoax. And even though some people will eventually call her a goddess of some sort, some will call her son a devil.
But others will believe. They will actually believe this whole thing. They will stake their very lives on it!
OH, AND ME? I’M STILL OBSESSED.
