Scarlet Robe Creations

Christ Among the Parisees - Jacob Jordaens (1593 - 1678) Are they hypocrites, not belonging to the father, weeds, not wheat? Scholars seeking only to destroy the Word threatening their authority. The Word was not spoken of itself. He was made flesh by the one with whom the hypocrites claim intimacy. Hypocrites. Weeds in the field. White washed bones in a parched desert. Hypocrites criticizing the Word spoken, sinning against the Spirit. copyright 2024 - Donald P James Jr  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

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...

He will harvest the wheat into the barns, a kingdom earned by love. Love, nourishing the grain which has found good soil. ~ He will separate the weeds without harming the wheat and stoke the flames of the furnace, fires never quenched. ~ Weeds grown beside the wheat, influencing life, body and spirit, yielding nothing of value, or heavenly peace. ~ He will harvest the hearts open to Him and close the barn doors on those who chose to be ignorant of His name. copyright 2018 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

Weeds that grow up among the wheat, choking the goodness the soil has to offer, pushing aside the grain planted by the sower of souls. Weeds reaching for the glory destined for the good seed, the bright orb that nourishes the bounty of the intended  harvest. Weeds trying to imitate wheat, pulled from the soil when the time is ripe, separated in rustic barns by the workers and tossed into the flames.  copyright 2017 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author From the Collection;  From Capernaum to Emmaus