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Looking at Mark 8

All too often, I feel like Mark’s Pharisees and disciples who still don’t get it even after watching Jesus feed thousands of people, heal scores and talk Truth until their hearts bleed. Show me another sign, I cry, revealing that I don’t know or trust him any better than those who actually watched him spit in his hands and make blind eyes see.

Then, like that son in Luke’s parable, with shame I start to tell Jesus I don’t even deserve to be his disciple, much less the child of his Father. But the words are yet to form in my mouth when I realize that he, like that parable’s father, has already wrapped his arms around me in love.

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