0310 INTRO TO JOHN

BEFORE THE BEGINNING
“I tell you the truth: Before Abraham was, I am.”
~John 8:58
WHERE DO I BEGIN telling about Jesus? I suppose it’s
best to begin where any good story begins: Before
the beginning.

After all, who else could rightly say, “Before I
was, I AM.” So, you’ve got to know that the man is
older than dirt. Seriously. Old-er. You might say that
when God spoke all those worlds into being, what He
said was,“Jesus.” Or, more accurately, He was talking
to Himself, saying, “Do You like this universe I’m
making? It’s all for You.”
Now, I don’t know much about how God
works, but this much I can tell: wherever Jesus went,
He spoke truth. Whenever Jesus spoke, folks lit up.
Whoever Jesus touched, was made alive. He’s like
having a Coleman lantern in your tent on a foggy
night, lighting up the whole place.
Jesus grew up as a good Jewish boy. (The rest
of us weren’t what you’d really call, well,“good.”) 
He’d spent most of His life in Gal’lee County. Most
everybody living around here is Jewish, and we all
look and talk and believe the Bible like Jesus does.
But some of those Bible believers were the very ones
who ended up hating Him the most.
Jesus was the gentlest man I ever knew, and
yet He had a way of getting under some folks’ skin
right quick. He could make enemies out of religious
folk faster than anyone I ever met.
But then there were those who followed.
Crowds of thousands of people who found a
whole new life waiting. It’s as if God had become
flesh and dwelt among us. As if He had torn open the
curtain in the Temple, done away once and for all
with animal sacrifices, and had come to live right here
with us. As if we had seen the Shining One and lived
to gaze upon the image that would slay any mere
mortal. As if we had been welcomed into the inner
council of the Holy One Himself.
I mean, we Jews had grown up praying the
same way every day. We’d stand and face south
toward the Temple in the Holy City, and we would
say, Baruch a ta, Adonai. Blessed art Thou, Lord. We
used titles like King of the Universe, Maker of All, Almighty One, The Holy One. We called Him King.
We called Him Lord. We revered His name, to be
sure.
But when Jesus prayed, He called Him
“Father.” His Abba. His Papa. His Daddy. And not just
His. OUR Father.
A name like that makes it seem like we are
much more than just rebels whom God barely
tolerates. More, even, than those who have been
welcomed to be His people, and to have Him as our
God. If we call the God of the Universe our Daddy, it
implies that we are His very children, and that we are
invited to eat, drink and sleep in the Father’s house,
and to inherit all that He owns—which is everything,
in case you’re wondering. I’m telling you, that is as
profound as it gets right there, boys and girls.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. I was telling you about
how we are truly Jewish. But this here’s what you
might call genteel country living. Others would say
it’s rough country living. But we ain’t Gentile, just to
make that clear.
The hill country of Gal’lee County is about
sixty miles up north of Jerusalem, the Big City, as the
crow flies. Now, when a crow goes north from
Jerusalem, first he’s going to fly over Samaria
County, and them S’martians ain’t what we call “real”
Jews. But after you come through there (or go around
it if you know what’s good for you), up here in the
northern hills, we’re the real deal. Kosher as a jar of
baby dills. That’s something I’ve got to make clear to
you, or lots of these stories won’t make so much
sense.
See, those Big City folks don’t give us much
respect. Maybe on account of they get us mixed up
with S’martians. Maybe on account of what they call
our country accents. Either way, folks from the Big
City tend to call us things: hillbillies, rednecks,
country bumpkins, and even ignorant, no-good
cursed (*gulp*)Gentiles! “Galilee of the Gentiles,”
they call us.

That’s why our Council of Tourism and Trade
added a slogan to our welcome signs:“Galilee
County: A Kosher Community.” They were hoping to
turn opinions after many generations of bigotry
(which is a fancy word for hating someone in
advance, before they even did you wrong).
Ready for The Big Surprise?
Jesus chose to associate Himself with our
kind.
Which is right big of Him, if you ask me,
considering He’s God and all. I mean, He could’ve
been a big shot, if He’d wanted to. But He needed to
be called a Nazarene. Because He was.
A Nazarene.
From Gal’lee County.
You know.
Anyway, I guess Jesus was saying that it
doesn’t matter where you’re from; it matters where
you’re going.
I don’t know about you, but as for me, I’m
going wherever He does.