The Christian can get in trouble for saying certain things. Frankly the Christian is in trouble all the time.
But what does that matter to me? If they find me sitting in a pile of poop, they’re not likely to pick me up and put me in a pile of poop. I’ve been in trouble since the day I was born.
I take a certain comfort in that.
THE SAD SONGS:
Listen to the pace and the melody of a sad song. As far as I can tell, I am not educated in music, all the notes are arranged in minor scale. I suppose there’s a technical name for that, but it escapes my mind. For it escapes my desire to learn.
It is a melody slow and deliberate. It is a melody that defies dance. It is more a melody of atrophic limbs. It is not a melody that gives our legs that leap you see in those who are presently joyful. It is far more a malady to our body than a melody.
But the soul. The soul stands still. The eyes of the soul are not shut, while its ears listen attentively.. It looks around with longing. It looks around for eternal hope. The soul sings along with sighs and groanings, imperceptible to the ears and eyes of man. And if it could be heard, Man would not understand the sounds.
The response to sad music is in full light of God’s eyes. No man can see that response. No one dances lightly down the street to a dirge. They plod along with careful steps. Introspection, for a time, is their king. Balancing their lifeless frame atop helpless hips.
From point A to point B, that is their only need. Sadly and deliberately, we live in point A. Point B is too far removed from our perception even in the best of days. How much farther when trouble attends our every waking moment?
The sad song is not the solution. It is a manifestation of the symptoms. Christ is the solution, my friends. He is the One who watches for the broken hearted. The joyful often elude his sight, even while they receive his sustaining.
Are you broken hearted? Then listen to a sad song and let your souls eyes look up. From the hills comes to Redemption. Upon the Great Hills is the glistening White Hope.
By His Grace.
Food for thought:
When life goes well, people feel strong. But such strength always leads us to a false illusion. For the bad times do come. What right then did we have to feel secure?
The wise man remains sober even while he laughs with joy. The bad times then have no effect on such a man’s perceptions.
But see how the bad times devastate those who live for pleasure and joy. As if such people have a right be at peace in this world.
Perfect strength is sobriety in Christ, it will not be found anywhere else.
“Are those gunshots in the streets? Was that Ally’s 5 year old boy who was shot in the head tonight?”
Pay no mind to the violence. Close your ears, close your eyes, close your mind, close your heart. Go to your place of peace.
“Is that a nameless ignorant girl we see on the corner with a heroin needle in her hand? Why that’s Bob’s daughter! What a shame he lost control of his loved ones.”
Pay no mind to the violence. Close your ears, close your eyes, close your mind, close your heart. Go to your place of peace.
“What a pleasant place we have created. What a beautiful place Society has made. See how evil runs rampant at night, the place where we sleep in peace. Who needs talk about God in our public squares? We simply hire a janitor to clean up the blood.”
Pay no mind to the violence. Close your ears, close your eyes, close your mind, close your heart. Go to your place of peace.
“Who needs faith in Jesus when we have locks on our doors? Who needs the power of God’s words among us, when all we need to do is move to the suburbs? Who needs the miraculous intervention of the Holy One? We have our laws and ways. Let the wicked kill each other, we will sleep in peace.”
Come my brothers and sisters. Count God as dead and useless. Ignore the coming judgment. Surely the wicked will find a place to live. The loss of the Gospel among us in public is no loss at all. It has proven, in fact, to be our blessing. Even take notice that the righteous observe a restraining religion. Who needs the gospel of Christ?”
As you say so it shall be. As you do, it belongs entirely to your home. As you have failed to believe, so you will perceive. You have chosen to build a paradise through the engine of fear. You spurn the one who gives you a paradise by the engine of Eternal strength.
So be it. Let all the nations turn with perplexity to the violence and blood in their streets. See how they relegate obscurity to the Holy Words of Blazing Eternity.
So be it.
May your will be done Sovereign Father. Prepare the place of contest. Your Holy Son stands ready to deliver your will. Your Righteous One, prepared to move at a moment’s notice.
Let them have their way until they are sure you are no more. Then He will appear to their shock, amazement, and horror.
The Glory of your Holy ways is from forever to forever. Rebellion cannot see you. Let them puzzle their fate. They choose their own way over yours. Indeed, let them puzzle their fate.
Amen!
The Lord, The Sovereign Lord, the Source of life, ever-present Righteousness, Glorious mercy and justice. He has all things, doesn’t he? He lacks nothing, how true. That’s what Sovereign means.
But let me speak to the rich man. Let me speak to the perverted drunk. Let me speak to the beautiful woman. Let me speak to the greasy whore. Let me speak to all those who have a place among Man, whether glorified or horrified; those with clean hands and those whose hands are covered with blood.
God has all things for he is all things. Yet what he does not have, he has poured out his life to gain. He does not have your love. He does not take first place in all your days, though he is first in all eternity. All creation honors His Holy Name, except here. His name is Jesus the Christ, look into it.
“You ask too much of us! You sit in your religious Chapel, carved of pure Ivory, and judge us. You have forgotten the demands of life that are far more then we can bear. We cannot put God first we must defend our home!”
Your home? Your home is a soleless pair of old shoes. Your home is a worn-out pair of jeans filled with holes, and leaving your buttocks bare. Your home is an umbrella missing it’s purposed fabric. Your home is a cave filled with Wolverines and poisonous snakes. The floor of your home cannot be cleaned! Why can’t you smell the stench of your household enemy’s feces, which lay in the crags you can’t reach? Precious place, isn’t it, this place you call your home. The place where you fear even in what you call solace. You light a lamp, but still darkness pervades.
8 “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6)
He is your potential friend. He is your potential Guardian. Already he provides what you call your home.
Who causes the lava to harden? Who plants the seed of a tree in its craggy niches? Who brings the beautiful erosion to cause a paradise? Who gave you this place? Who dressed you with skin? Yet you would fear and keep him far from you?
Trust him and do the things that belong to him. Then you will have a home that is not filled with stench and death. Your home provides you no pact with death.
How I find my soul longing, from time to time, for the place where the following is not:
The torrent of vulgarities, Lies, hatred, violence, wickedness in all its various forms, Godless gods worshipped by empty Souls, the flood of Sorrow we own from the day we are born, the Hopeless fear of loneliness, the endless oppression of weakness, the constant and frantic gathering for those things we should not have, the ceaseless grappling for knowledge, etc.
In the place I am desiring, all that is good thrives and grows. In the place I am presently living, everything that is good is referred to as a shame. The diligent receive vulgar labels. The unrighteous are heralded as icons of maturity.
I long for a rain of righteous words. I search for a field of beings whose pure smiles are full of endless Joy. Here we pay dearly for a simple friendly embrace. But in this place I have heard of, friendship never ceases.
Here they love you as long as you are profitable. But love in the place of my heart has no measure or monetary value.
Days turn into weeks, weeks turn to months, months turn into years and years turn to decades; where the lack of Love begins to wear down the mind.
Let hatred die, as surely it must. Let the despising isolation fade Into Oblivion. Let the race for pride fall in mid gait.
Come Lord Jesus!
We: Live, Die, Face Judgment. Jesus or die twice.
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