Tamara Beryl Latham:
When I was young, and in my teens, I remember walking to the store many times
and hearing men's cat calls and wolf whistles. When I worked later in
Manhattan, I heard the continual remarks
and cat calls of construction workers. When I had
conversations with many of the men at my place of employment or at social gatherings, they
always either talked about sex, or their comments had an underlying sexual
theme. After a while, I began to hate men. In those years, I
figured there was no way to get an intellectual conversation out of them.
They had one-track minds, which centered on sex.
One night, I had a dream. In the dream
I was very young, maybe five or six. Jesus and I sat under a tree on a
grassy hill. He had a staff and overlooked a herd of sheep. He wore a long white muslin-type tunic that had a rope around the waist. I ran and played, as He sat under the tree. He talked to me, and I
remember being very peaceful. I loved it there. He was so good to
me and the thought that kept running through my mind was: "Here is a man
who talks only of the good in life and never about sex." When I awoke from the dream, I had a different outlook with respect to men. I no longer hated them and I realized all men do not concentrate on sex. Jesus changed my life in that dream. Even to this day, I remember the
peaceful landscape and His reassuring face. Jesus had striking
features, but what I remember most is His face being long
and narrow. He was a tall man with thin lips and His skin was tanned from the
sun. With time, the dream faded.
Fifteen years had passed and I had enrolled in college. One day,
just a little before Easter, I was sitting in the Student Union, our school
cafeteria. I was thinking to myself: "Jesus,
we see so many pictures and paintings of You. It's almost Easter. Why don't You show us what You really look like, so there will be no doubt in
our minds?" At that exact moment, I looked up and there was a black and
white picture, which took up the entire back cover of a book a male student
was reading opposite me. The picture on the book was the face in my dream!
I walked over to the gentleman and asked him the name of the book, and he
replied, "The Shroud of Turin." I went to the library and
checked out the book, and read it cover to cover in about two days. It was one of the best books I have ever read. I became very interested in
the Shroud and, after obtaining my degree in Chemistry, I went to a seminar
given by Dr. Alan
D. Adler, a porphyrin chemist who did the initial blood
chemistry on the Shroud. According to Dr. Adler, the blood was authentic
and so was the Shroud. Although the Shroud failed the initial carbon dating
screen, I know this is the image of Jesus. The face on the
Shroud is the face in my dream. The analogy I make is with
respect to a biological father. Let us assume one hadn't seen their
biological father for about fifteen or twenty years, and then was shown
a picture of him. There would be no doubt. We would all know our
biological father's face.
The same holds true with the Shroud. I don't need any
evidence. I know the Shroud contains the true face and body image of
Jesus and that it is His authentic burial cloth. We will see,
in time, this to be the case. Jesus wanted us to know the extent of His
suffering, as well as His physical appearance.
Although the image on the Shroud was produced by Jesus' body giving off
intense light during the resurrection, His face was etched in my mind after
the dream and, long before I had ever even heard of the Shroud of Turin.
— Tamara Beryl Latham
I find two things particularly interesting about Tamara's account. First, she
says her
life was transformed by her vision of Jesus. Second, she prayed to see Jesus, and her prayer was answered
immediately in a surprising way. On the other hand, when Tamara tells me about
her personal beliefs, I can't believe in the Jesus she believes in. How can
Jesus refuse to speak to human beings, demand that they "believe" in him, then
send them to hell if they don't? How could Jesus praise the compassion of the
Good Samaritan, then not be a Good Samaritan himself and condemn the
compassionate saints of other religions (men like Gandhi and the Dalai Lama) to
hell? And why would any truly loving, enlightened being demand
belief, blind obedience, worship, praise, and the bending of every knee? So,
while, I find Tamara's dream and revelation interesting, I find no reason to
conclude that Jesus is the Jesus of orthodox Christianity. So now let me tell a
story of my own . . .
The Gardener’s Roses
by Michael R. Burch
I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses ...
I too have come to the cave;
within: strange, half-glimpsed forms
and ghostly paradigms of things.
Here, nothing warms . . .
this lightening moment of the dawn,
pale tendrils spreading east.
And I, of all who followed him,
by far the least . . .
The women take no note of me;
I do not recognize
the men in white, the gardener,
these unfamiliar skies . . .
Faint scent of roses, then–a touch!
I turn, and I see: You.
My Lord, why do You tarry here:
Another waits, Whose love is true.
Although My Father waits, and bliss;
though angels call–ecstatic crew!–
I gathered roses for a friend.
I waited here, for you.
Footnotes and
the story of how this poem was written.
Well, we have heard three poets' thoughts and perhaps settled nothing. Readers
will have to draw their own conclusions. Joe Ruggier, Tamara Latham and I have
very different ideas about who Jesus was. In my opinion, no good person would
refuse to speak to someone, then condemn that someone to hell for not "believing" in
him. When I was a child, I prayed to God and Jesus continually, and they never
spoke to me in return. I was only a child, and it broke my heart to pray to God
for forgiveness, yet hear nothing in response. The Christian religion only
filled me with shame, terror and despair. God and Jesus refused to speak to me,
while condemning me to an eternal hell, so of course I hated them. All the popes and evangelists from now till kingdom come can proclaim the
glories of God and Jesus to the skies, but there is one thing they can't do.
They can't explain why God and Jesus refused to speak to me, when I was only a
child, praying desperately for them to forgive me of the sin of having been born
human. Why should I believe in Jesus? Why should anyone? Perhaps most
importantly, why should any mother subject her own children to such a
soul-rending religion? If mothers actually believe in hell, how can they have
children in good conscience?
If you're concerned about innocent children being terrorized
by the debilitating fear that they're in danger of an "eternal hell" when
they grow up, please read this article
No Hell in the Bible.
If you're interested in "things mysterious," you may be
interested in these other Mysterious Ways pages:
A
Direct Experience with Universal Love
Two Tales of
the Night Sky
Genie-Angels
Darkness
Michael,
Wonderful and Glorious
The Poisonous Tomato
Of Mother Teresa, Angels and the Poorest of the Poor
Thy Will Be Done (Iron Lung)
Did Jesus Walk on the Water?
Mysterious Ways Index
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