Scarlet Robe Creations

Hypocrites, do you know you are the rotted tree. You cling fast to a tradition, what clothes to wear, which prayers to speak, but inside, deep in the core of your being, there is nothing but rot. Hypocrites, no tainted tree can produce good fruit. It spawns only what it is. If the tree's nature is vile the efforts of any gardener will offer up nothing but decay. Do not seek grapes among the thorns. Seek them instead, in the vineyard of the Lord. copyright 2025 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

James Tissot - He who is of God hears the word of God He sat with his back to a pillar.  The crowd, previously gathered had dispersed.  A few remained, those of us who would not leave his side, and a few who sought any opening to make a challenge against his teachings. He had only just saved the adulterous woman from the stones of men who believe they do not sin.  He told the throng that the sin was theirs as well as hers.  All should be stoned.  Every stone in every masculine hand was dropped to the ground. He also knew what the Pharisees and scribes had in mind.  In response to words they had yet to utter he turned to us and said that he was the light of the world.  I could tell John was taken by that phrase. Then the teacher continued, while his enemies waited for an opening.  Again, he mentioned his death. "I am going away." We all pondered what this meant, but there was much more that he had to say.  Listening as John listened, one phras...

He wore a robe that flowed behind him.  His tassels were neat, and his scripture box was in place.  His strides were confident.  He was greeted with the nodded heads of respect.  Toward some he returned their respectful actions, on others he cast a scowl, a judgement. "Watch out for these." A man dressed in tattered garments said to those gathered round. The words caught the ear of the well-dressed man.  He approached the crowd as the man who spoke a warning pointed in his direction. "These teachers of the law," the man at the center of the crowd continued. "Of whom do you speak, Rabbi?" The well-dressed man spoke his final word with contempt.  He did not consider the man before him to be anything but a vagabond preacher with no real knowledge of the scriptures. "Answer me this." The man in tattered clothes stood up from the crowd and moved toward the ordained teacher of the law. "Do you not find pleasure in the respect given to you?" ...

You sit with your hands between your knees.  In another time you would have been stoned.  Instead, in this time, they simply stare.  Judgement screams out in their silence.  You don't belong here.  You don't belong among their kind.  They are the ones who have listened and heard.  They are the ones who will be harvested as the wheat. You are a weed. There is singing from the loft behind you.  As a child you would have shifted in your pew, turned and watched the singers.  Your mother would have sternly told you to turn around.  Now, you face the front of the church, if only to avoid the faces of those who knew you when you were trying to run away from God. How foolish.  How do you run away from someone who knows everything about you.  He has watched you enter the vile realms of this world and He has watched you stumble out.  He knows you have failed at love and succeeded at lust.  He knows you have sold priceless parts...

  Inspired by Brennan Manning's Ragamuffin Gospel (Paste Jewelry and Sawdust Hotdogs) She walked beside her pastor through the gardens outside her church.  A late spring Sunday, and the roses were in bloom.  There were red and pink blossoms to their right.  Tiny yellow roses, and a few whites to their left.  Had she been alone she would have taken a sniff.  After all, Mac Davis did say we should 'Stop and Smell the Roses'. "I am troubled," she said.  She wasn't sure if she wanted to speak to the pastor, or the deacon.  But her pastor was here and the moment seemed right. "I desire to move closer to God in my prayer life, but I find it difficult.  Sometimes... just reciting a formulated prayer leaves me feeling empty.  I need to know how to pray... I guess." "Formulated prayer leaves you empty?" His question bit into the cool air of the morning. "Sometimes." "Prayer is not about OUR feelings," he said, before adding, ...

Are we the generation, spoken of by Matthew and Mark, who honor the Father in word only, while their hearts are lost. We read, study and think, only the Pharisees are guilt ridden by the referenced sin. It is they, and not us, who worship such rules, made by man. Where is the command spoken by God, claiming the burden on a man's shoulders, the rule without foundation, brings our heart closer to His. Are we the people, sometimes called hypocrites, who stand chastised by Isaiah's word spoken from the Messiah's tongue, bound to the law of the mind and not the truth of the heart. copyright 2018 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author