peterdsnow – Page 2 – Peter D. Snow, Author

I want to share the story of Jesus’ last…

January 29, 2023
by peterdsnow

Don’t I wish someone had thought to charge their phone or recorder. Nobody thought to record any of it, and all we can do is depend on eye witnesses recallng events after ten, twenty or fify years. Yet the more I examine the text, especially that of St. John, I do believe we can develop a clearer idea of what went down. Start with the procession. Did Jesus order a rent-a-donkey? Who was the procession aimed at? Did Jesus cleanse the Temple as reported in Mark, Luke and Matthew or did John have it right? Who wanted Jesus dead and why? Was Caiaphas a Pharisee or a Sadducee? That business with the coin, were the Pharisees trying to catch him out or were they relieved?

Then there is the last supper. Who was invited, Mary, his mother and the rest of his entourage? Was the upper room at John Mark’s mother’s house? What part did the Essenes play in the background? I am only beginning, for we have the last supper the garden of Gethsemane, the trial and then Easter Saturday. There is so much to question, and here and there there are hints that help us build a better idea of what happened.

For Lent I am going to post in my blogg, The Red Sock Ministry, the story of the last week in Jerusalem, wth answers to some of the questions and guesses as a result of my research. I think the story hangs together. I found I changed my mind about what I thought had happened. Will you join me for Lent? I’ll try to post a chapter or two each week.

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An assertion of life after the plague of 1345…

January 29, 2023
by peterdsnow

Julian of Norwich c 1320-1400

As truly as God is our Father,

So just as truly is he our mother.

In our Father, God Almighty, we have our being;

In our merciful Mother we are re-made and restored.

Our fragmented lives are knit together;

And by giving and yielding ourselves, through grace, to the Holy Spirit, we are made whole.

It is I, the strength and goodness of Fatherhood.

It is I, the wisdom of Motherhood.

It is I, the light and grace of Holy love.

It is I, the Trinity, it is I, the unity.

It is I the sovereign goodness in all things.

It is I who teach you to love.

It is I who teach you to desire.

It is I who am the reward of all true desiring.

All shall be well,

And all shall be well,

And all manner of things shall be well.

Also another prayer on the Trinity:

Saint Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179)

Praise to the Trinity – which is sound and life

And Creatress of all things within their very life,

And the praise of the angel throng

And lofty splendor of hidden mysteries,

Which are unknown to human minds –

It Is, and within all things, it is life.

Books

New Books

June 3, 2022
by peterdsnow

I am working on three books now. One is ready for printing .

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Confessions of a Priest:

June 3, 2022
by peterdsnow

Why am I still trying to publish books, and why am I still studying and thinking about the gospels as if I had to preach again this week. I love the church, my faith is the most important event of my life, but the beliefs that it peddles I find get in the way. We drag behind us 2,000 years of theological baggage. Its time we came clean. I don’t believe the Ascension ever happened. I’ve said it to six men sitting round a table faced by their bibles. Their faces first registered a mix of horror and surprise, then smiles. I asked them if they believed the story of the Ascension of Jesus rising up into the clouds, (Heaven) and disappearing. They sheepishly admitted they did not. We spent the next hour discussing why the story was told and finally understood its genesis. Once we did this we did not need to throw it away. Belief is the enemy of faith, but understanding is its handmaid.

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I have a new review for Book of Sam

January 17, 2019
by peterdsnow

Official Review: Book of Sam by Peter D. Snow

Post by Samy Lax » 05 Dec 2018, 03:09

[Following is an official OnlineBookClub.org review of “Book of Sam” by Peter D. Snow.]

Book Cover

4 out of 4 stars Wow!

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Book of Sam by Peter D. Snow recounts the conversations that the author had—over time—with his grandnephew about spirituality, the concept of sin, the over-glorification of science over art, faith, and intellectualism, and the depth of truth in popular religious catchphrases.

The author deals with how we get misled in our quest for discovering our own identity. The trend these days is to barter compliments for personal benefit. This certainly brings to mind what happens even at the level of presidential policy today. The author takes you through some everyday instances that help us see for ourselves how hollow this entire exercise is. As the author shares his experiences, we realize that the original divine presence (aka God) sees us out and all we need to do is to turn around and listen. When this realization hits us, it becomes easier for us to get some relief from the weight of peer pressure, our own injured assumptions, and other people’s judgments. What remains then is a stillness…and a sense of peace.

There are many different aspects to this book; it is a journey leading to finding ourselves, of the importance of silence in many situations, and of how shame and guilt heaped on us by others affect us so greatly that it impacts health irreversibly.

Much of the book is centered around the actual meaning of terms such as the soul and the subconscious. I especially enjoyed reading about that special natural event the author experienced one fine morning that helped him take the reins of his life in his own hands (and which he passes on to us as a meditation practice we can all benefit from). This book teaches us to identify the integrity within ourselves and shows us how being a victim betrays the grace that God has offered us.

I particularly enjoyed the way the author has described how he came to the realization that women around the world are NOT sending out messages to the men by dressing up and wearing pretty accessories. I respect him for coming out with that in a book – I’ve not seen anyone deal with that topic so beautifully before this. Through some short excerpts from the Bible, the author discusses throughout the book about how God is not separate from us—his creations.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. Even with some heavy themes, everything it touches upon has a positive tone. Initially, I was concerned that it would involve too much preaching and be depressing overall, but that was not the case. Not one bit. I was also worried that I would get lost with terms from the Bible as I am not familiar with the book—mostly due to the fact that I am a non-Christian. However, the author did well to make most of it clear. I do not feel like I missed out on anything important in the book, despite my ignorance of certain mentions of the gospels and related references.

It is impressive how well written this book is. Even though it jumps between a variety of topics, it is easy to keep track of all of the ideas the author is sharing. He manages to make the content flow, giving you enough time to digest each new idea and suggestion. The way the author writes is very open and relatable.

My rating for Book of Sam is 4 out of 4 stars. It is an excellent combination of a memoir and a self-help book. Not only will spiritual enthusiasts love it, but also those who love heart-warming stores and heartfelt suggestions from someone who cares about making a difference. However, if you have a low threshold for self-help books or religious references, this just might not be for you. I personally wouldn’t hesitate to check out the author’s next book and find out what more he wants to share with his readers next.

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The Sorrows of God. Poem from the trenches of…

October 13, 2018
by peterdsnow

More of Woodbine Willy – The Sorrow of God

Studdert Kennedy or Woodbine Willie as the troops called him was a chaplain to the men fighting in the trenches of northern France during WW1. November 11th is coming up soon when we remember its a hundred years since that carnage ushered in the worst century of man’s depravity and violence. as a school boy we were taught to honor the sacrifice for Britain of so many, but when I studied the history I realized the utter pointless waste of all those men of that generation. General officers were incompetent, officers were cold blooded fatalists and the politicians couldn’t lead anywhere except into the hell of modern war and then financial collapse.

The poem was originally published in Rough Rhymes of a Padre (one of two volumes of war-time poems issued in 1914-18 under the pseudonym “Woodbine Willie”); then re-published under Studdert Kennedy’s own name in The Sorrows of God and Other Poems in 1921; and again in Rhymes in 1929, a one-volume re-print of the Rough Rhymes series. (Note plural `Sorrows’ in the book title, but singular in the poem.) In The Sorrows of God and Other Poems 1921 it is one of two items described as `Dialect Poems’. This volume is available online HERE. (I notice that some have reworked this poem in various ways so as to remove the Cockney dialect; but I think they have diminished its impact. So what follows is exactly what Studdert-Kennedy wrote.)

THE SORROW OF GOD

– A SERMON IN A BILLET

YES, I used to believe i’ Jesus Christ,

And I used to go to Church,

But sin’ I left ‘ome and came to France,

I’ve been clean knocked off my perch.

For it seemed orlright at ‘ome, it did,

To believe in a God above

And in Jesus Christ ‘Is only Son,

What died on the Cross through Love.

When I went for a walk o’ a Sunday morn

On a nice fine day in the spring,

I could see the proof o’ the living God

In every living thing.

For ‘ow could the grass and the trees grow up

All along o’ their bloomin’ selves?

Ye might as well believe i’ the fairy tales,

And think they was made by elves.

So I thought as that long-‘aired atheist

Were nubbat a silly sod,

For ‘ow did ‘e ‘count for my Brussels sprouts

If ‘e didn’t believe i’ God?

But it ain’t the same out ‘ere, ye know.

It’s as different as chalk fro’ cheese,

For ‘arf on it’s blood and t’other ‘arf’s mud,

And I’m damned if I really sees

‘Ow the God, who ‘as made such a cruel world,

Can ‘ave Love in ‘Is ‘eart for men,

And be deaf to the cries of the men as dies

And never comes ‘ome again.

Just look at that little boy corporal there,

Such a fine upstanding lad,

Wi’ a will uv ‘is own, and a way uv ‘is own,

And a smile uv ‘is own, ‘e ‘ad.

An hour ago ‘e were bustin’ wi’ life,

Wi’ ‘is actin’ and foolin’ and fun;

‘E were simply the life on us all, ‘e were,

Now look what the blighters ‘a done.

Look at ‘im lyin’ there all uv a ‘eap,

Wi’ the blood soaken over ‘is ‘ead,

Like a beautiful picture spoiled by a fool,

A bundle o’ nothin’ – dead.

And it ain’t only ‘im – there’s a mother at ‘ome,

And ‘e were the pride of ‘er life.

For it’s women as pays in a thousand ways

For the madness o’ this ‘ere strife.

And the lovin’ God ‘E looks down on it all,

On the blood and the mud and the smell.

O God, if it’s true, ‘ow I pities you,

For ye must be livin’ i’ ‘ell.

You must be livin’ i’ ‘ell all day,

And livin’ i’ ‘ell all night.

I’d rather be dead, wiv a ‘ole through my ‘ead,

I would, by a damn long sight,

Than be livin’ wi’ you on your ‘eavenly throne,

Lookin’ down on yon bloody ‘cap

That were once a boy full o’ life and joy,

And ‘earin’ ‘is mother weep.

The sorrows o’ God must be ‘ard to bear

If ‘E really ‘as Love in ‘Is ‘eart,

And the ‘ardest part i’ the world to play

Must surely be God’s part.

And I wonder if that’s what it really means,

That Figure what ‘angs on the Cross.

I remember I seed one t’other day

As I stood wi’ the captain’s ‘oss.

I remember, I thinks, thinks I to mysel’,

It’s a long time since ‘E died,

Yet the world don’t seem much better to-day

Then when ‘E were crucified.

It’s allus the same, as it seems to me,

The weakest must go to the wall,

And whether e’s right, or whether e’s wrong,

It don’t seem to matter at all.

The better ye are and the ‘arder it is,

The ‘arder ye ‘ave to fight,

It’s a cruel ‘ard world for any bloke

What does the thing as is right.

And that’s ‘ow ‘E came to be crucified,

For that’s what ‘E tried to do.

‘E were allus a-tryin’ to do ‘Is best

For the likes o’ me and you.

Well, what if ‘E came to the earth to-day,

Came walkin’ about this trench,

‘Ow ‘Is ‘eart would bleed for the sights ‘E seed,

I’ the mud and the blood and the stench.

And I guess it would finish ‘Im up for good

When ‘E came to this old sap end,

And ‘E seed that bundle o’ nothin’ there,

For ‘E wept at the grave uv ‘Is friend.

And they say ‘E were just the image o’ God.

I wonder if God sheds tears,

I wonder if God can be sorrowin’ still,

And ‘as been all these years.

I wonder if that’s what it really means,

Not only that ‘E once died,

Not only that ‘E came once to the earth

And wept and were crucified?

Not just that ‘E suffered once for all

To save us from our sins,

And then went up to ‘Is throne on ‘igh

To wait till ‘Is ‘eaven begins.

But what if ‘E came to the earth to show,

By the paths o’ pain that ‘E trod,

The blistering flame of eternal shame

That burns in the heart o’ God?

O God, if that’s ‘ow it really is,

Why, bless ye, I understands,

And I feels for you wi’ your thorn-crowned ‘ead

And your ever pierced ‘ands.

But why don’t ye bust the show to bits,

And force us to do your will?

Why ever should God be suffering so

And man be sinning still?

Why don’t ye make your voice ring out,

And drown these cursed guns?

Why don’t ye stand with an outstretched ‘and,

Out there ‘twixt us and the ‘Uns?

Why don’t ye force us to end the war

And fix up a lasting peace?

Why don’t ye will that the world be still

And wars for ever cease?

That’s what I’d do, if I was you,

And I had a lot o’ sons

What squabbled and fought and spoilt their ‘ome,

Same as us boys and the ‘Uns.

And yet, I remember, a lad o’ mine,

‘E’s fightin’ now on the sea,

And ‘e were a thorn in ‘is mother’s side,

And the plague o’ my life to me.

Lord, ‘ow I used to swish that lad

Till ‘e fairly yelped wi’ pain,

But fast as I thrashed one devil out

Another popped in again.

And at last, when ‘e grew up a strappin’ lad,

‘E ups and ‘e says to me,

“My will’s my own and my life’s my own,

And I’m goin’, Dad, to sea.”

And ‘e went, for I ‘adn’t broke ‘is will,

Though God knows ‘ow I tried,

And ‘e never set eyes on my face again

Till the day as ‘is mother died.

Well, maybe that’s ‘ow it is wi’ God,

‘Is sons ‘ave got to be free;

Their wills are their own, and their lives their own,

And that’s ‘ow it ‘as to be.

So the Father God goes sorrowing still

For ‘Is world what ‘as gone to sea,

But ‘E runs up a light on Calvary’s ‘eight

That beckons to you and me.

The beacon light of the sorrow of God

‘As been shinin’ down the years,

A-flashin’ its light through the darkest night

O’ our ‘uman blood and tears.

There’s a sight o’ things what I thought was strange,

As I’m just beginnin’ to see

“Inasmuch as ye did it to one of these

Ye ‘ave done it unto Me.”

So it isn’t just only the crown o’ thorns

What ‘as pierced and torn God’s ‘ead;

‘E knows the feel uv a bullet, too,

And ‘E’s ‘ad ‘Is touch o’ the lead.

And ‘E’s standin’ wi’ me in this ‘ere sap,

And the corporal stands wiv ‘Im,

And the eyes of the laddie is shinin’ bright,

But the eyes of the Christ burn dim.

O’ laddie, I thought as ye’d done for me

And broke my ‘eart wi’ your pain.

I thought as ye’d taught me that God were dead,

But ye’ve brought ‘Im to life again.

And ye’ve taught me more of what God is

Than I ever thought to know,

For I never thought ‘E could come so close

Or that I could love ‘Im so.

For the voice of the Lord, as I ‘ears it now,

Is the voice of my pals what bled,

And the call of my country’s God to me

Is the call of my country’s dead.