That is today’s star its energy merged with our Sun.
Answering a higher spirituality, few can do it, my Mother had.

One of the sermons my mother gave when I was a child, contained a poem that had then and always since, filled me with such emotion to the extent I can not read it aloud, I will never know how my mother read it before a full congregation maintaining a serene composure.

‘Ragman’ by Walter Wangerin Jr.

I saw a strange sight. I stumbled upon a story most strange, like nothing in my life, my street sense, my sly tongue had ever prepared me for. Hush, child, hush now, and I will tell it to you.

Even before the dawn on Friday morning I noticed a young man, handsome and strong, walking the alleys of our City. He was pulling an old cart filled with clothes both bright and new, and he was calling in a clear tenor voice: “Rags!” Ah, the air was foul and the first light filthy to be crossed by such sweet music.

“Rags! New rags for old! I take your tired rags! Rags!”

‘Now this is a wonder’, I thought to myself, for the man stood six-foot-four, and his arms were like tree limbs, hard and muscular, and his eyes flashed intelligence. Could he find no better job than this, to be a ragman in the inner city?

I followed him. My curiosity drove me. I was not disappointed.

Soon the ragman saw a woman sitting on her back porch. She was sobbing into a handkerchief, sighing and shedding a thousand tears. Her knees and elbows made a sad X. Her shoulders shook. Her heart was breaking.

The ragman stopped his cart. Quietly, he walked to the woman, stepping round tin cans, dead toys and diapers.

“Give me your rag,” he said gently, “and I’ll give you another.”

He slipped the handkerchief from her eyes. She looked up, and he laid across her palm a linen cloth so clean and new that it shined. She blinked from the gift to the giver.

Then as he began to pull his cart again, the Ragman did a strange thing: he put her stained handkerchief to his own face; and then he began to weep, to sob as grievously as she had done, his shoulders shaking.

“This is a wonder.” I breathed to myself, and I followed the sobbing Ragman like a child who cannot turn away from mystery.

“Rags! Rags! New Rags for old!”

In a little while, when the sky showed grey behind the rooftops and I could see the shredded curtains hanging out black windows, the Ragman came upon a girl whose head was wrapped in a bandage, whose eyes were empty. Blood soaked her bandage. A single line of blood down her cheek.

Now the tall Ragman looked upon this child with pity and he drew a lovely yellow bonnet from his cart.

“Give me your rag,” he said, tracing his own line on her cheek, “and I will give you mine.”

The child could only gaze at him while he loosened the bandage, removed it and tied it to his own head.
The bonnet he set on hers. And I gasped at what I saw: for with the bandage went the wound! Against his brow it ran a darker, more substantial blood- his own!

“Rags! Rags! I take old rags!” cried the sobbing, bleeding, strong, intelligent Ragman.

The sun hurt both the sky now and my eyes; the Ragman seemed more and more to hurry.

“Are you going to work?” he asked a man who leaned against a telephone pole. The man shook his head.
The Ragman pressed him: “Do you have a job?”

“Are you crazy?” sneered the other. He pulled away from the pole, revealing the right sleeve of his jacket- flat, the cuff stuffed into the pocket. He had no arm.

“So,” said the Ragman. “Give me your jacket, and I’ll give you mine.”

So much quiet authority in his voice!

The one armed man took off his jacket. So did the Ragman- and I trembled at what I saw; for the Ragman’s arm stayed in it’s sleeve and when the other put it on, he had two good arms, thick as tree limbs; but the Ragman had only one.

“Go to work,” he said.

After that he found a drunk, lying unconscious beneath an Army blanket, an old man, hunched, wizened and sick. He took that blanket and wrapped it around himself, but for the drunk he left new clothes.

And now I had to run to keep up with the Ragman. Though he was weeping uncontrollably and bleeding freely at the forehead, pulling his cart with one arm, stumbling for drunkenness, falling again and again, exhausted old, old and sick yet he went with terrible speed. On spider’s legs he skittered through the alleys of the City, this mile and the next, until he came to its limits and then he rushed beyond.

I wept to see the change in this man. I hurt to see his sorrow. And yet I need to see where he was going in such haste, perhaps to know what drove him so.

The little old Ragman- he came to a landfill. He came to the garbage pits. And I wanted to help him in what he did but I hung back, hiding. He climbed a hill. With tormented labor he cleared a little space on that hill. Then he sighed. He lay down. He pillowed his head on a handkerchief and a jacket. He covered his bones with an Army blanket. And he died.

Oh how I cried to witness that death! I slumped in a junk car and wailed and mourned as one who has no hope- because I had come to love the Ragman. Every other face had faded in the wonder of this man, and I cherished him, but he died. I sobbed myself to sleep.

I did not know- how could I know?- that I slept through Friday night and Saturday and its night too.

But then, on Sunday morning, I was wakened by a violence.

Light- pure, hard, demanding light- slammed against my sour face, and I blinked, and I looked, and I saw the first wonder of all. There was the Ragman, folding the blanket, most carefully, a scar on his forehead, but alive! And besides that, healthy! There was no sign of sorrow or age, and all the rags that he had gathered shined for cleanliness.

Well then I lowered my head and, trembling for all that I had seen, I myself walked up to the Ragman. I told him my name with shame, for I was a sorry figure next to him. Then I took off all my clothes in that place, and said to him with dear yearning in my voice; “Dress me.”

He dressed me. My Lord, he put new rags on me, and I am a wonder beside him. The Ragman, The Ragman, The Christ!

I retyped that for you this morning, my apologies for any mistakes it is copy-written 1984, Walter Wangerin Jr. had passed in 2021 at 77 years old, he was an author and radio pastor.

It is a nice poem/story, yes it is a re-imagined Christ in a modern day city. We need that, we have always needed that if not here, there, if not there, then, and everywhere.

When my mother was not leading our church she sang in the choir, her love and devotion to God was in all of her works for she understood many things and did her best to raise her children right. I can feel her soul, her heart and mind to this day and I am glad she had been my mother.

Being Baptized, taking Communion and listening to the word of God growing up, at times I do not understand why I ever strayed or at times even denied, I would accept Christ as My Savior when I was 20, perhaps it was just teen rebellion. I would stray or become angered at other times and again ask God for forgiveness, not so much these days, I have no desire to do things that make me ask forgiveness, it is my life lessons and past I am reflecting on and asking to be forgiven of, crossing t’s and dotting i’s, because at my worst I told God I wanted a refund. My brother convinced me Christ is a prophet, when I finally accepted that and all these energies and my discovery of truth it became clear to me I have a lot of work yet to do.

Looking to the next Lunar Eclipse in Libra, relationships, balance and for myself power and justice or balance thereof, it falls within Lent, what I had given up and it is all well with me. It will merge with Zaniah, preparations need be made.

This poem is also powerful, being a humanitarian it touched me as it should, as a healer, I needed to look deep within and understand how I can help people. I would like to be able to perform such healing, I can not. I had no idea what was going to happen when I began writing, I do not plan, I write for the moment and understand why. Purpose, when facing the world held in the grip of Evil is to be uplifting and inspiring and I did my job a few days ago, I prepared for that, I had to be open, truthful, and by my virtues therefore draw Truth, this is only the beginning, recall I had also asked for Justice. My spiritual enemies had tried to put fear in me, and that is why they fear, I am reminded I am not alone, that was not my work, it is God.

I hope sharing this brought you closer to God’s Love.

My ancestors keep urging me today to speak of the Heavens, billions of stars and Galaxies, all the records of our lives and each of our Heavens, to tell everyone we are connected in the Heavens, yet spread out across the Universe, what we imagine our eternal lives to be is our destiny and our Heavens when we get it right, God takes our soul and expands it. Is it 21 gram theory and dust of stars and elements that make these beautiful anomalies throughout the heavens, pretty sure that is what it is. I will know for certain when I am gone and hope it is so.

On Friday I had posted on X, since deleted, everything was deleted, concerning my thoughts and feelings on these Wars, I will rewrite them over the next few days and hopefully post here. In summary I am saddened I may never visit Russia as I have since childhood and am concerned I may never make it to The Holy Land either, I really want to visit Mecca, yes I will purify myself a year before hand and respect your conservative culture if it possible to make such a venture.

The world needs to be reminded of our unity, pushing past the hate, our combined religions fundamentally recognize each other, we can recognize each other, then together we recognize hate, evil and we overcome it. The US Pressident said they will attack in ways that cause triggers, we’ve seen it all before, I happen to be one who loves horror movies and often ponders Hell, the things we have been made to see in the name of their evils through attempts to destroy our nations.
Our leader is destroying our nation, do not believe anything he says, he lies, in other nations FOXNews is not shown, my friends abroad, one in United Arab Eremites and the other in Germany, they confirm DonaldTrump is not shown. FOXNews is fair and balanced. The Americans want identification secured voting, immigrants to enter legally at border crossing stations, our leader is criminal by accepting immigrants illegally. If I went to your nation I would need to show identification, passport and explain the purpose of my trip while my luggage was inspected, YoBiden just lets them enter. So now States are fighting, pushing people around like commodities, 10 million over the last 3 years.

My ancestors only needed to find a way to America during the late 1800’s, denounce Queen Victoria, fill out papers and viola- citizens! Most here just want our nation’s laws adhered to.

Everyone is experiencing this change and time of change, the water rises and we scurry up for safety, up.

God Bless, until next time.