Pedigree of a Savior

My mother was exceedingly proud of her ancestry, which boasted two aristocratic English families whose roots went back to the Mayflower. My father, less than impressed with her credentials, once wryly referred to Mom's genealogy as her "family twig."

I received as a Christmas gift a calendar Bible, and as I ingest my daily helpings of God's Word, I've been struck by His choice of flawed vessels to bring His Son into the world. For example...

Did you know that Jesus's distinguished lineage included Jacob, who connived his way through life, lying to his ailing father and alienating his only brother? Also among our Savior's illustrious ancestors was Perez, the illegitimate offspring of Jacob's son Judah, whom he conceived with his widowed daughter-in-law when she was posing as a temple prostitute.

Peyton Place, anyone?

And let's not forget David, the man after God's own heart, whose illicit union with Bathsheba resulted in the murder of an innocent man in one of the most shocking cover-ups recorded in Scripture. These two adulterers later produced Christ's ancestor Solomon, whose liaisons with foreign women led the wisest king who ever lived into idolatry and compromise that besmirched his throne and ultimately divided his kingdom.

These are the some of the juicier tidbits in Jesus's history. From a humble beginnings standpoint, Christ descended from Leah, Jacob's unloved wife, who played second fiddle to her beautiful sister Rachel, and had to be pawned off on unsuspecting Jacob through her father's trickery. God's Son could also claim among His relatives Rahab, a member of the world's oldest profession, and her daughter-in-law Ruth, whose widowed status forced her to beg scraps and marital protection from a stranger.

Truth really is stranger than fiction.

I can only conclude that Philippians 2:8 is the understatement of the century - no, the millennium. Better yet, the entire stage of human history. Christ's heritage, culminating in His birth to an unmarried teenager who just barely escaped being left at the altar on the strength of a dream given her disgraced fiancé, better qualified Him to land a role in As the World Turns than to head up the divine church.

And yet, this family tree was carefully, painstakingly constructed by none other than God Himself to serve as the vehicle by which He would introduce freedom to handcuffed humanity.

How fitting that the Son of God, who descended from such “colorful” ancestors, chose to grow up in an obscure town which His peers held in contempt. John 1:46 states that the thinking of Jesus’ day was “Can anything good come out of [Jesus’ home town] Nazareth?” Apparently, something good could – and did – come out of this humble, despised city.

Kind of gives you hope for the rest of us, doesn't it?

For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation...: Pedigree of a Savior 2

Seeking Peace and Perfect Justice

My friend and prayer partner, Tina Simon, has been at it again. Feast on her bittersweet herbs:

   

Last Words of Karla Faye Tucker, convicted murderer (right), who was executed after trusting Christ in prison:

“Yes sir, I would like to say to all of you — the Thornton family and Jerry Dean’s family — that I am so sorry. I hope God will give you peace with this. Baby, I love you. Ron, give Peggy a hug for me. Everybody has been so good to me. I love all of you very much. I am going to be face to face with Jesus now. Warden Baggett, thank all of you so much. You have been so good to me. I love all of you very much. I will see you all when you get there. I will wait for you.”

As a Christian, how do I view justice? Are we to be the avenger of blood? Or are we to bring that “mercy that endures forever?” If mercy trumps justice, then what do we owe the victim?

If we had never sinned, we would never know of mercy. Mercy requires an offense. Jesus suffered the ultimate death penalty in the place of all those sinners who would come to believe in Him and accept His offer (perhaps our greatest sin is the arrogance to think we don’t need a savior and, therefore, we don’t need to accept this offer; we need not “bend the knee").

There are times when I wish I could keep it simple in my mind and heart; either I am enraged for the rights of the victim, or pity the offender. I am often in sympathy with both, and don’t know how to come to a satisfactory answer for either.

I know that if things had been different, I could be standing in the dock. If my life had been different, if God hadn’t saved me. Still, I’m kind of tired of the refrain, "I’m depraved because I was deprived."  While that is often the case, I know as a sinner I’m also responsible for my own behavior, that the state doesn’t wield the sword for nothing.

It is much harder to feel compassion for both the offender and the victim, but I know it is right. Yet, there needs to also be some way of protecting society. We must do our best to serve both.

I suppose what is saddest is that we can’t seem to reach people early enough. Perhaps that is part of what makes me feel uncomfortable - the thought that we have somehow failed, too. With each prisoner, as well as every victim, society in some measure has taken part in the offense. We fail both the offended and the offender when our culture refuses to acknowledge the elephant that sits so prominently in every American living room. It is disguised as the American dream, which demands the sacrifice of our children to abortion and day care and latch key living. This is at best. At worst, our offspring go to bed hungry, abused and terrified -and no one is listening.

I know that every believer - no matter how vile his crime - is with Christ in heaven, and I will one day share heaven with that person, but that does not answer for the crime here on earth. Perhaps in this sinful world, our criminal justice system represents flawed and fallen humans' best attempt at justice. It's the best we can do.

I wonder what kind of results there would be if someone did a study to find out just how much help or closure there has been for the victims or their families five to fifteen years after the offender has been convicted. Does it ease the rage any? Is there peace or resolution? Have we done our utmost for the victims and their loved ones?

Maybe my dissatisfaction with the answers we currently have to all these questions stems from the fact that there is no really adequate solution. Only Christ provides the ultimate answer as He changes hearts, one person at a time.

I constantly remember the phrase, there but for the grace of God go I. I am both victim and perpetrator, sinner and sinned against.  I feel myself in the body of both and want to minister to both sets of needs. I know forgiveness lies with Christ, but there must still be a penalty paid down here.

Thank you, Father, that in Christ, Psalm 85:10-11 is made whole:

Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other. Truth shall spring out of the earth; and righteousness shall look down from heaven.

Happy New Year!

Two short anecdotes from this past Sunday at church, just perfect for the New Year:

Shared by Pastor Rob Eyre, who filled Bethany Evangelical Presbyterian Church's pulpit on December 30th:

Pastor Eyre was at one time involved in a community organization/public policy class with Princeton University. The students took a field trip to a somewhat depressed area in New Jersey, where a garden had been planted in a formerly barren field. Unbeknownst to the well-meaning horticulturalists, the section of ground they had beautified was filled with lead; the group was much dismayed to receive notice that they were being fined for their toil, pending the removal of the toxic element. The extraction process would be complicated and expensive.

To everyone's delight, research concluded that a certain plant could be used to leach out lead from contaminated areas. The plant in question actually thrives on lead. Once harvested, the element could be put to practical use, thereby turning a profit and leaving previously noxious ground safe for planting. It was a win-win situation for all, and the gardeners found themselves in the lovely position of being paid for their efforts!

The auspicious plant that turned crushing failure into shining success? The mustard seed.

Imagine something as tiny and unassuming as a mustard seed having the power to swap disaster with victory.

"'Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.'" Matthew 17:20

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Shared by Megan DeHaven, Youth Director at Bethany Evangelical Presbyterian Church, at Bethany's Sunday night praise service:

Meg, who has the heart of an evangelist, befriends local children as she and her dog stroll around their neighborhood. So far her efforts to reach out have resulted in Meg and her husband, Mike, hauling home a trunkful of pumpkins they hoped to carve with community kids who didn't show up for the Halloween festivities.

Lately, though, things have been looking up. Meg was pleased to be invited this past holiday season to a Christmas concert by one young lady she has gotten to know. On the appointed day, she was feted at an outdoor "concert" chirped by two little girls with rhyming names, whose repertoire consisted of a monster song, one Christmas carol, and a couple of miscellaneous tunes. The cherubs apologized for their dearth of material by explaining that, while they had been inviting people to their concerts for years, Meg was the first person who ever showed up!

The little ones excitedly produced Meg's "all access backstage pass," which entitled their guest to post-concert goodies and fellowship. Upon learning, however, that the promised cocoa and snacks had been gobbled up by hungry siblings, Meg hosted the singers at her home for holiday movies and treats.

The grin on Meg's face as she related this story underscored the message she derived from it -  how we as God's children so often invite Him to our "show," but deny Him access to our behind-the-scenes doings.

Maybe if we reversed this process, our "show" would be less of a show, and more a way of life.

"We proclaim to you what we have seen and heard, so that you also may have fellowship with us. And our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ." 1 John 1:3

Check out Keith Green's "To Obey is Better than Sacrifice"

Third Time's Not the Charm

I've figured out why I keep eating, even after I've decided the food isn't worth it. It's the same reason I keep listening to B101's Christmas music, regardless of the fact that their station managers seem to have decided there are maybe 12 holiday songs worth playing - that's their story, they're sticking with it - so no need to bore their audience with anything inspirational or - yee gads - original.

Don't misunderstand. I'm really not knocking the DJ's for playing what their audience wants to hear. Actually, I'm kicking myself for falling into the same trap time and again. I keep tuning in, hoping to hear something different, and it always surprises me just a bit when I get the same old thing, ad nauseam. In like foolish manner, I'll go back to the table repeatedly, even though, as my friend Randi says, the food really isn't that great. I know I can have leftovers tomorrow. I know it's not going to be any more delicious the second time around than it was the first. Foods that were ho hum with the first bite are not going to wow me any more with second helpings, so WHY do I go back for more?

The plain fact is, I'm chasing a high.

I don't want the experience to end. I want my heart to be warmer, the sensations I'm feeling to last longer or be amplified. Something irrational inside me subscribes to the notion that whatever is going on around or within me simply isn't enough. I have to supplement it with some sort of sensory pleasure that is always elusive and always fleeting.

Just for today, I'm going to try to let God have the last word.

"So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God."

I Corinthians 10:31

For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation...: Jesus Christ, the Same Yesterday, Today, and December 26th

Jesus Christ, the Same Yesterday, Today, and December 26th

My father-in-law used to say the heaviest thing for him to pick up was a pen. That was back in the days when people used such outdated implements to correspond with each other. Nowadays, we might say the hardest things to un-stick are the keyboard letters. Either way, we're talking about writer's block, and mine has been  noticeable these last few months.

I must acknowledge and dedicate this post to my dear friend René, who has been gently nudging me for several weeks now to get back on the proverbial horse and ride. A faithful reader of my blog, she has been dutifully checking for the latest posts, only to find there were NONE! I've been blaming my reticence on the old standby, Christmas busy-ness, but René was having none of it.

"It's been well over a month! It is time!" was her last admonition to me; so René, this one's for you.

We do make Christmas ridiculously busy in our culture. Not surprisingly, we become tired and cranky, and turn what should be a joyous celebration of imperial birth into a time of stress and often emptiness. My own cycle goes something like this:

I begin to get the Christmas spirit before Thanksgiving. I wait anxiously for B101 and oldies 98 to start playing round the clock Christmas music, and wade through my disorganized collection of CD's to supplement the radio's somewhat limited offerings. I gradually decorate the house until one day I walk downstairs and realize my vinyl Christmas tablecloth is just too much, and secretly look forward to stashing it away till next year. When my children were younger, I read Christmas stories and the Christmas story to them at bedtime; now that they're more or less grown, I read heartwarming yule tales to myself, without telling anyone (till now). Our family lights scented candles that make our artificial tree seem more piney, while watching Nick at Night's Christmas marathon, circa 1994, for the thousandth time, and munching cheater's Pillsbury cookies out of the freezer (they don't necessarily have to be baked; we don't believe in wasting time).

As our family is of mixed lineage, we celebrate Hanukkah as well as Christmas. This is one of my favorite parts of the holiday celebration, as it reminds me of my dear father, whose menorah (wax-encrusted and in dire need of polishing, but nevertheless quite functional) almost makes it seem like he's still with us. I send out holiday cards in batches, wending my way through two dilapidated personal address books and several church directories. Throughout the month I package up homemade goodies (often "ghost-baked" by my fairy godmother, Anita, whose banana bread is listed right next to nectar and ambrosia on the official menu for the gods), and deliver said treats to deserving service providers, whose good will I hope to maintain in the new year.

Somewhere around the 20th I start to panic, realizing I haven't wrapped a thing, let alone finished shopping. I make one last trip to the mall and begin wrapping with abandon. Towards the end of the Scotch Tape (and my patience), I switch over to bagging, which is more sensible anyway, since my boys have zero appreciation for ribbons, bows, or Thomas Kinkade-themed paper.

December 24th is probably my favorite day of the year, and I try to enjoy it to the fullest. I finish whatever is left to do in the way of gifting or cooking, often visit with family and friends, and generally savor the expectancy of the day. I treasure going to church on Christmas Eve, feeling the warmth in my heart glow brighter with the singing of each cherished hymn. After circling the tree with gifts, I settle down to watch Scrooge or George Bailey evolve into the men God intends them to be, while offering up silent thanks for the many blessings in my life.

 

Before I know it, Christmas day has arrived, with all its wonderful chaos. Some expectations are met, while other longings remain. One thing I can always count on: it goes too fast. While I'm always relieved that the mad rush is over, I usually also feel a sense of loss of excitement and forward-looking. The realization that winter is upon us, with all its dark, dreary days, that financial aid forms and tax season loom, and no amount of twinkling lights can make those realities go away. In short, a sense that the fun is over, and it's time to get back to work.

No matter how old I get, I can't seem to make the after-Christmas doldrums go away. I count the days till it's time to go back to work, and bite my nails the night before vacation ends. I usually try to stretch out the last day as much as possible, pretending the dawn won't come, and with it, the inevitable jolt back to ordinary life.

Through it all, I try to stick close to God, remembering it is He whose Son we are celebrating. Still, I wake up the day after New Years tired, over-stuffed with food and frolicking, till one thing catches me up short.

Jesus is right where I left Him.

    "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever."  Hebrews 13:8

For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation...: Third Time's Not the Charm

Ask Good Questions

"Ask good questions."

That's my friend Anita's recipe for relationship success. Posing thought-provoking questions, rather than making blanket statements, declarations and imperatives, leads to better communication, Anita swears, especially when parents are conversing with adult or nearly adult children.

I put this theory to the test recently, when my 20-year-old son opened up to me about his life. We startedout sharing a cup of coffee and, before I knew it, were deeply ensconced in the type of discussion parents dream of, once their too loquacious grade schoolers turn into reticent teens. I gnawed my tongue mercilessly, gulping more decaf when advice threatened to tumble out unbidden. I used every trick taught to first year psych students, including reflecting, affirming, and non-judgmental listening. I used phrases like, "It sounds like" and "So you're saying," rather than my well-worn "Don't you think?" and "If I were in your shoes..." In short, I hogtied my maternity, and took the stance of an objective, non-partisan automaton.

And I asked good questions. I wondered aloud what his feelings were about the issues on the table, and what options he saw for himself and others in his sphere of influence. Those questions gave way to more questions and, surprisingly, more unleashed confidences.

Just when I thought I would asphyxiate if I had to hold in any more life-saving counsel, my adult son asked me a good question:

"So... what do you think?"

"The purposes of a person’s heart are deep waters, but one who has insight draws them out." Proverbs 20:5

Thirty-seven Cents

Last night at prayer meeting, our leader told the story of a woman who donated a paltry 37 cents to a cause calling for big bucks. It was what she could afford -  no, probably more than she could afford. She thrust the four thin coins joyfully into the hand of the collector, along with a prayer of thanks to the Provider.

And all of heaven sang.

"So let each one give as he purposes in his heart, not grudgingly or of necessity; for God loves a cheerful giver." 2 Corinthians 9:7

"Now Jesus sat opposite the treasury and saw how the people put money into the treasury. And many who were rich put in much.  Then one poor widow came and threw in two mites, which make a quadrans.  So He called His disciples to Himself and said to them, “Assuredly, I say to you that this poor widow has put in more than all those who have given to the treasury;  for they all put in out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty put in all that she had, her whole livelihood."

Mark 12:41-44

Keeping My Side of the Street Clean Part 3

Almost two years ago I had a falling out with a neighbor over a trivial issue. Tempers flared, and things were quite chilly for awhile. I blogged about it at the time, vowing to do my part to repair the damaged relationship. It was hard to be civil when I felt wronged, and eventually we did have to duke things out a bit. Thankfully, the Lord spoke to me through some Peacemaker books, which explained the Biblical methods of resolving conflict. Things have been improving ever since, and I'm thrilled to report an incredible side effect of my obedience to God.

First let me relate a story a friend once shared. Like me, she had clashed with a neighbor. Not surprisingly, they weren't speaking after the argument. My friend felt terrible about the situation, and prayed for guidance. Shortly thereafter, she found a greeting card which summed up her position without apologizing, which was important to her because she truly felt the other person was in the wrong. The message inside urged reconciliation without taking the blame. She added simply, "Peace," then signed her name. Not long after sending the card, her young son had an accident and had to be taken to the emergency room. At this point in the story, my friend broke into a grin, stating, "Guess who his nurse was!" She went onto say that, while the neighbor never acknowledged the card directly, she did everything she could to make the ER experience as stress-free and comfortable as possible. What a testimony to the benefits of making the first move!

Getting back to the issue with my neighbor, I experienced a similar result. As we all know, the Northeast was hit by a doozy of a hurricane over the last couple of days. During the worst of it, a huge limb broke off a tree on my street, landing right behind my son's pickup truck. I watched wordlessly as he went over to move his vehicle, lest any other rogue boughs might decide to come crashing down on his investment. From her porch my neighbor saw what he was about to do. Suddenly she cried out, "Aaron, be careful! A power line might have come down with that limb!" She suggested a safer alternative to his backing up over the downed branch. His oblivious mother might have witnessed his electrocution, but for the quick-thinking advice of a former foe. I decided then and there I'd rather have a standoffish neighbor who comes through with the big stuff than a "hail-fellow-well-met" sort who might've let my son walk into destruction.

We don't often get such a meaningful payoff for doing the right thing. We may never know this side of heaven why He asks us to be peacemakers, especially when our attempts at reconciliation may be ignored or mistaken for weakness. I guess obedience without understanding is the essence of faith.

For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation...: Keeping My Side of the Street Clean

Morsels for Meditation...: Keeping My Side of the Street Clean Part 2

Moses Revisited

It's been way too long since I blogged. Then I get out of the habit and it feels like a burden... when really, it's a privilege.

What's been on my mind is how like Moses I am. When he was asked - commanded, actually - to put the squeeze on Pharaoh to let God's people go, he resisted. His first objection was basically, "Why me? What have I got to offer?" (Exodus 3:11). When God assured His servant that He would be with him every step of the way, Moses worried that he wouldn't have answers to the questions he might be asked. Again, God patiently addressed Moses' concern. Still not satisfied, the shepherd who had miraculously been rescued by none other than Pharaoh's daughter (during a blood bath her father had launched against male Hebrew babies) fretted that his audience might not believe him. The Lord, doubtless weary of His servant's unbelief and unwillingness to take on what He had equipped him to do, let loose a couple of miracles to remind Moses with Whom he was allied.

Incredibly, Moses was not through arguing! He next protested that he wasn't eloquent enough to persuade Pharaoh (Exodus 4:10). Here is where I get the chills, as the God of the universe takes responsibility for the full gamut of human capability, ranging from the deficient to the extraordinary:
 
"So the Lord said to him, 'Who has made man’s mouth? Or who makes the mute, the deaf, the seeing, or the blind? Have not I, the Lord?  Now therefore, go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall say.'" (4:11)

I'm astonished that this patriarch, born of God's chosen race and adopted into Egyptian royalty, still continued to doubt he had the credentials to do this job. Had he realized how much courage it took to contend with almighty God, surely he would have seen the ludicrousness of fearing an earthly king.

Yet, after all God's reassurances, underscored by physical signs of just what He was capable of, Moses begged God to send someone else, anyone else (4:13).

I was recently called by God to plead a cause of my own to a human authority. At first I tried to worm my way out by denying evidence that was right before my eyes to avoid getting involved. The Lord was relentless, and refused to remove the commission. I then sought to ally myself with others so I wouldn't have to face the situation alone. When it became obvious I needed to accept the challenge with only God (did I just say only God?) to accompany me, I spent hours preparing and rehearsing what I would say.


At the heart of my behavior was cold fear. The situation had triggered the memory of a similar experience in which I had been belittled, mistreated and outnumbered. I didn't want that to happen again. In addition, I've always considered myself a poor verbal debater; I'm exponentially more comfortable trying to persuade unknown readers out there than real live hearers right here. I pretty much relived Moses' conversation with God, with about as much success. In the end I limped into the meeting with nothing but heavenly armor covering my knocking knees, and emerged to sing praises to the Lord who did exceedingly abundantly, above all I could ask or think, according to His power (Ephesians 3:20), that did indeed work through this quivering clay vessel.

How dare I be amazed.

Check out Chris Tomlin's Our God

God Rather Than Men

I've been reading the story in Acts where the apostles are imprisoned by "the powers that be" for sharing their faith. No sooner are they miraculously rescued by an angel, than they receive instructions to jump right back into action again.

I don't know about you, but if I had just been sprung from jail, the last thing I'd want to do is head back to the same place I'd been arrested to commit the same offense. Unhesitatingly, the text seems to indicate, they obey. I have to wonder, though, if in their humanness they didn't blurt out, "You want us to go where? And do what? Remember what just happened to us? You just took us out of the frying pan, and now You want to hustle us right back into the fire? Something's wrong with this picture!"

I've had some large-ish trials this past year - nothing close to what the apostles faced in the first century - but enough to send me to my knees more often than when things are humming along at a normal pace. I've endured some pretty sticky dealings with "powers that be," and found them pretty intimidating. When we read the account in Acts, the religious leaders, at least to my mind, don't sound all that scary. We are only privy to a few lines of dialogue, and the apostles seem to come out on top in every confrontation. They don't appear to flounder for words, or think of things they should have said two days later, like I do. But I'm willing to bet if we could get inside the minds of Peter and the gang, we'd see they were just as petrified as we are about going up against the "big guns."  I would further surmise that the high priest and his cronies could hold their own in a debate, and shred a fisherman like Peter with a few clever sentences. After all, they were the leaders of the Sadducees, the conservative Jewish ruling body of the day. They would have been powerful, wealthy and well educated. Most of  the apostles were humble tradesmen. What business did they have going up against such an influential assembly?

To put a modern spin on the type of situation the disciples were facing, imagine being "invited" to a meeting with management to discuss some "issues" with your work performance. You enter a conference room with a table long enough to seat the Partridge Family, the Brady Bunch and everyone on Walton's Mountain. You're escorted to a high backed leather chair by men in Armani suits holding laptops which click incessantly as they interrogate you. You yearn for a cheesy poster or piece of fluff art to break some of the formality; all that meets your eye is a dead-white dry erase board and ceiling projector, both of which seem to scoff at your desperate situation. You feel helpless, overwhelmed, and without a prayer.

That's where you're wrong. There's always a prayer, and it's the smartest (and sometimes the only) thing to do in such circumstances.

The disciples knew that key fact, and they ran with it. Their courage came from none other than God Himself, in the form of the Holy Spirit, which descended upon them on the day of Pentecost. And yes, absolutely, the same help is ready, willing and able to be tapped by timid believers like me in today's global, post-modern world. I know this because, on more than one occasion, he has un-tongue-tied yours truly, whose tendency is to stutter and stumble when feelings of inadequacy kick in, and whose debating skills are - well, let's just say lacking.

Not only that, but He sends help from unexpected sources. Looking back at Acts 5 again, we see that the apostles' case was pleaded by none other than a Pharisee, a member of the rival religious group to the Sadducees, and certainly no friend to the early Christians. It was the persuasive and self-serving argument of Rabbi Gamaliel which prompted their accusers to let the apostles off with a flogging and a warning. They didn't get away unscathed, and we may suffer some fallout, too. There is precedent, though, for believers to anticipate deliverance and unusual means of assistance.

I personally have experienced God's creative methods of intervention many times. Last spring He "sprang" me from a dangerous and hostile situation in a way I couldn't possibly have predicted. Years ago, when my husband was in medical school and we needed every cent we could lay our hands on, God guided me to resign a part time day care job. My son was a toddler at the time, and he accompanied me to work. He was becoming increasingly jealous of the attention I had to share with his peers; every shift was becoming a combat zone, leaving both of us exhausted and angry with one another. While I knew unequivocally it was time to leave, this was insanity from a financial point of view. A week later, a better, more lucrative child care position, which included a separate classroom for my little boy, fell into my lap through no effort on my part. As such evidences mount up, so does my assurance that He can and will protect and often rescue His people from the perils which assail us.

Count on it.

For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation...: Deliverance

Morsels for Meditation...: Deliverance Part 2, AKA, Jurassic Park Revisited