where is the hero?

the baby lies within the womb
helpless and yet unafraid
for little does he know of the outside world
that has already determined his fate

the young girl stands amidst the well-attired crowd
waiting for the music to resound and the celebration to commence
little does she know that she stands within a church among the bloodthirsty
and that a sacrifice is needed to keep the wolves content

one friend betrayed another
for profit, for gain, for friendly acclaim
and there was no justice
nothing to quell the pain

the young men and women were crucified
bought into silence
or imprisoned some way
none were victorious

those who loved were crushed and slain
those who laid all upon the altar were burned
the ones who refused to compromise the truth could not escape
in the wicked man's place the righteous and innocent were spit on and hanged

"where were the heroes?" the children asked their parents
as the stories of our times were borne by the retelling of one generation to the next
but there were no heroes
so the parents would kindly ask their child, "but what do you mean?"

and the children would wonder how it could be so
and agonized in their dreams over what could have been
if you had been courageous
if you had loved

you're a dead man

Was there ever such a thing as a love
that would cause a man
to lay down his life
and die an excruciating death
willingly
in the place of another?

I have read of such things
written on thin pages with red words
but I have yet to see it proven
by the lives of the people
who profess to carry such a love within themselves
I have yet to see a life stained red with love
just as those blood-red words promised there would be

Why?

Because dead men can't love?

You're a dead man
because you've never been to the cross
you've never laid down your life
you've never actually died a blood-spilling and excruciating death for another
you've never paid the price
to be made truly alive
truly free
truly love-filled

It was love that breathed life into Adam's lungs

All around me
I see still and lifeless clay forms
as full of potential
as full of promise
as a corpse

But
what if
love
breathed
once more?

"Don't ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive. And then go and do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."
-Howard Thurman

there's no such thing

"There's no such thing,"
their eyes
their faces
their averted glances and turned backs
respond to my query
but still I imagine that there were such a thing

I've left the churches
thrown out all my christian things
but still I can't seem to get away from them

I try shopping online for a simple camera strap
and there are christian camera straps
I look for other necessities and find christian guitar straps, t-shirts, soaps

It would seem
that christians can make
everything under the sun
that a person might want
but I really don't want a christian camera strap, guitar strap, t-shirt, soap, or whatnot

I just want a whole heart
I want the scars to disappear
I want the pain to stop
I want justice
I want peace
I want to be free
I want to forget every christian I've ever known
and all that they've done
and the ruin that they've made
I want it to be as if I never knew them

you can keep your christian-made this and christian-made that
I'd rather buy from kind heathens on their way to hell

the only thing christian I ever want to see
is a Christian who loves
so that I can see the scars
and touch them
and thrust my hand into their side
and know
and feel
the love I see through the tear-stained pages with blood-red words
that impossible, consuming, unbelievable, merciful love

"A Christian who can love you?"
responds the christian
"There's no such thing."

do you remember him

They were strong young men
with bold beliefs
and countless dreams

They were proud and accomplished
the brightest of their generation
anxious for their names to be written in history

One of millions
a mere nameless, faceless number
among a grand tragedy

The brilliant young man
the beautiful woman
the sweet child
the weak grandmother
the wise old father
none more important, more valuable, more memorable than the next

The holocaust of the christians
is coming
to the young
to the old
to the rich
to the poor
to the famous
and the invisible, forgotten, unlovable kind

It doesn't matter what you've done
how you look
your great abilities
whether your life has been long or short
whether you are worthy of this or that from your fellow man

All that matters is
do you know the Savior
do you recognize His Voice when He speaks
do you recognize His Face in the orphan and the widow and the unlovable and the oppressed
do you know Him
do you know Him

unknown

"Who are you?"
I asked him
as I stood before him once more
and struggled to understand
what had just happened

"Who are you?!"
I wanted to scream at all of them
the day I was told
that I had been talked about, lied about, ruined
that they had betrayed me

I never knew them
that is the truth

They loved me
they were my best friends
those were all lies

They kneel down to pray
they raise their hands in praise
they quote verses, chapters, hymns from memory
they take the hand of the Christian on either side
they are followed by admirers of their great faith and poise

As hell welcomes them
from earth's ever-receding boundaries

Sons and daughters of damnation, beware
beware the One you claim to know and laud
beware the One you reject in His hour of need

"Long live the king!"
the men shouted outside the castle gate
as the King lay in a ditch nearby
disguised with filth, pain, despair
disguised so that only love could recognize Him

"Help Me!"
He cried
but they only turned and mocked Him or told Him to be quiet
it was important they impress the guards at the gate
and associating with riff raff like Him certainly wouldn't help their cause

"Don't you know me?"
each of them said come their judgement day in His courts
"I stood at the gate every day shouting your praises — I loved you, I was loyal and faithful!"

But He said He did not know them and cast them out
for they knew Him not in His disguise

courage

They said it was courage
that brought Daniel to his knees to pray
that led him to the lions' den

Sometimes I have wondered
what would courage look like
today

Sometimes I have wondered
if we were all meant to be that way

They said it was courage
that I would say the things I said
do the things I did
as they bared their teeth
and circled with hungry eyes

But I didn't feel courageous
I felt terrified
and love — I felt love
the kind of love that must walk up a lonely hill
and hang upon a shameful cross
and bear excruciating pain

Perhaps courage
is simply
love in the midst of terror
love that never backs down
love that never gives up

Though fears encircle me
closing in from every side
though doubt shrouds me in darkness
though my path is dark and slippery
though the enemy bares his teeth and roars with fiery hatred
I know Your Love will not leave me
I know You will never leave

a different path

I don't want to read the Bible
I don't want to study the countless theology books that fill my shelves
I don't want to debate the theory and ideals
I don't want to listen to the sermons
I don't want to sing the anthems
of those who betray me

I do not want to sound like them
I do not want to think like them
I do not want to live like them
I want to forget them
and their god

I want to walk away
from all that they believe
I want to run far
from the god they represent
I will never be like them
I would rather die

Months pass
wounds heal
though scars remain
and I kneel to pick up a dusty book
I once read night and day

The days come and go
leaves turn and fall
the snow comes
the ground is hard and cold
and I remember

I remember their kind touch upon my shoulder
I remember their gentle words of hope
I remember days
I close my eyes
I do not want to remember anymore

I open my Bible once more
I beg of the Crucified One
to let me forget
let me disappear
until the spring comes, until the snow thaws, until the beauty returns

I turn beloved pages once more
and tears fall
and I pray
that the Heartbeat of the One who spoke the blood-stained words
would pulse through my heart, so dead and cold
that I would not merely read and use these words
like the others
but that they would crucify me, bury me, breathe on me, hold me fast to the Pierced Heart
of the One who died and lives and speaks them still
I do not want to select words and piece them together and contrive a god from paper and ink
I want to know the God who still parts seas and makes blind men see
I want to know the God who still speaks to those who believe
I want to know the Resurrected One
I want to believe
that He would resurrect me
oh, leave me not beneath the hard earth and cold snows always awaiting spring!

I don't want to merely read the Bible
I don't want to merely study the countless theology books that fill my shelves
I don't want to merely debate the theory and ideals
I don't want to merely listen to the sermons
I don't want to merely sing the anthems
of those who betray the Crucified One
I don't want to be one who crucifies Him still

I want to live
I want to know
I want to be
I want to hear
I want to shout, dance to
I want to be clothed in
consumed by
the blood-stained words
of the One they crucify

I close my Bible
I gently wipe the dust from its cover
then I walk away
because He has not finished
He has not finished loving
He has not finished speaking
He has not finished writing

"Now I am going to him who sent me, yet none of you asks me, 'Where are you going?' Because I have said these things, you are filled with grief. But I tell you the truth: It is for your good that I am going away. Unless I go away, the Counselor will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you. When he comes, he will convict the world of guilt in regard to sin and righteousness and judgment: in regard to sin, because men do not believe in me; in regard to righteousness, because I am going to the Father, where you can see me no longer; and in regard to judgment, because the prince of this world now stands condemned. I have much more to say to you, more than you can now bear. But when he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all truth. He will not speak on his own; he will speak only what he hears, and he will tell you what is yet to come."
-John 16:5-13

the wide path

I used to walk with the crowds
I used to join them in beautiful buildings, homes, even outdoor gatherings
to sing beautiful songs
to hold hands and pray beautiful prayers

Yes, I know the grasp of a friend's hand upon my own
I know the comfort of a friend's prayers
I know the gentle kindness of a friend's voice
I know what it is to be loved
I know what it is to love
and then see the joy in my friend's face when they see me

I used to walk with friends
I used to be called "friend"
I was not always this way
I was not always unlovable, broken, empty, so dead inside

But one day as I was walking with my friends
I noticed someone by the wayside
he was alone
he had no friends
no one reached out to take his hand and I wanted to
no one stopped and knelt to pray with him and it brought me to my knees
I heard mocking, cruel voices as I knelt there with him and tried to speak a kind word
but I was speechless as he lay there in the dirt
I was speechless so I just knelt there beside him
and watched my friends' faces as they turned and left

Yes, I once knew the grasp of a friend's hand upon my own
I knew the comfort of a friend's prayers
I knew the gentle kindness of a friend's voice
I knew what it was to be loved
and to love
then see the joy in my friends' faces when they welcomed me, embraced me, looked for me

But I no longer walk with the crowds
and they no longer look for me
they avoid me, walk past me, mock me
now I am unlovable

Was it all worth it?
now I lay here by the wayside
filthy, bleeding, unrecognizable
now I lay here in disguise
seeing the truth of their hearts
the truth of our "friendship"
the truth of their false love
the truth of all that I once called "beautiful"
and was it all worth it?

Was it worth it to stop
and kneel down
and lose my beauty, my love, my dreams
to love one?
was it worth it to become unlovable that the unlovable might know love?
was it worth it to love him?

Perhaps you will never know
the look upon his face when I knelt beside him
perhaps you will never see
the scars in the hands that I took in mine
they were made by nails and a hammer and sinful, wicked, hateful men
perhaps you will never realize
that it was Jesus I chose
that it was Jesus I saw
that it was Jesus who was beside me
that it was Jesus I loved

It was worth it

Who has believed what he has heard from us?
And to whom has the arm of the LORD been revealed?
For he grew up before him like a young plant,
and like a root out of dry ground;
he had no form or majesty that we should look at him,
and no beauty that we should desire him.
He was despised and rejected by men;
a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief;
and as one from whom men hide their faces
he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

Surely he has borne our griefs
and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed him stricken,
smitten by God, and afflicted.
But he was wounded for our transgressions;
he was crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,
and with his stripes we are healed.
All we like sheep have gone astray;
we have turned—every one—to his own way;
and the LORD has laid on him
the iniquity of us all.

He was oppressed, and he was afflicted,
yet he opened not his mouth;
like a lamb that is led to the slaughter,
and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent,
so he opened not his mouth.
By oppression and judgment he was taken away;
and as for his generation, who considered
that he was cut off out of the land of the living,
stricken for the transgression of my people?
And they made his grave with the wicked
and with a rich man in his death,
although he had done no violence,
and there was no deceit in his mouth.

Yet it was the will of the LORD to crush him;
he has put him to grief;
when his soul makes an offering for guilt,
he shall see his offspring; he shall prolong his days;
the will of the LORD shall prosper in his hand.
Out of the anguish of his soul he shall see and be satisfied;
by his knowledge shall the righteous one, my servant,
make many to be accounted righteous,
and he shall bear their iniquities.
Therefore I will divide him a portion with the many,
and he shall divide the spoil with the strong,
because he poured out his soul to death
and was numbered with the transgressors;
yet he bore the sin of many,
and makes intercession for the transgressors.
-Isaiah 53


"Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.' Then they also will answer, saying, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to you?' Then he will answer them, saying, 'Truly, I say to you, as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.' And these will go away into eternal punishment..."
-Matthew 25:41-46

good men

They were good Christians
whose voices drifted from quaint small churches with stained-glass windows
they knew every word of every hymn
they sat attentive and faithful in the same pew every week
they prayed with fervent heart and bended knee

They were good patriots
who waved flags side by side
who sang with all their might
who fought until their clothes were battle-torn and crimson
and their loved ones wept with grief and pride

They were good fathers
who sang lullabies by firelight
who tucked their children into warm beds
who held a little girl's hand when she was sick
and whispered strength when a son was afraid

They were good sons
they were good brothers
they were good friends
they were good men
their son, their daughter, their mother, their father, their sister, their brother, their friends said

But they were Nazis, I said
for I was a Jew
and I knew the holocaust to be true
and I had the scars, the numbers to prove what I knew
for I knew them better than you

we have the key

Once upon a time
there were a few proud men
who led a very large crowd

They said they were headed to heaven
that one needed a "key" to enter
and that if we followed them
they would lend their key that we might all enter in, and feast

Many knew this was not so
many knew the young men were scammers, con-men out to steal the people's money
many knew where they were truly leading the people
and where they were really headed themselves
deep in their hearts, many knew

And thus holocausts are wrought
at the hands of the wicked
and the cowardly

And thus the children of our generation were lost
at the hands of heartless men
and silent friends

blind faith

I walked to the edge of the precipice
and looked out into the abyss
I followed them to the edge
and what now, what now?
I cannot jump
I cannot turn back

"But you must!" I cry
to my friends
my foes
the children
all the children

I walked to the edge of the abyss
and looked upon the fallen forms
of innocent, trustful ones
and I wondered how, why?
was your kingdom worth the bloodshed?
was it really worth it?

I stand at a crossroads
unable to move
unable to go back, unable to go on
unable to speak, unable to weep
unable to forget
unwilling to do what I must

But I must
I must

I must reveal the apostasy
I must show them the bloodstained cloth of those who gave their lives
for dreams
for lies
for wolves in disguise
for tear-stained pages with blood-red words

"But that is all that we have left!" the child whispered in my ear
and I looked into his face with shock and pity
at such childlike belief
in a lie
crafted by those who build their dreams
upon tear-stained children with bloody wounds

I close my eyes
I cover my head
I cry out into the empty blue skies
I know not what to say
how to tell them, how to save them
how to mend their wounds while my own bleed freely

"God is dead!" they said
"He will not see, He will not hear your cry, He will not avenge"

Lest my enemies claim the victory
lest the children die in vain
lest I perish into the abyss as merely one more slain
lest they prove You silent, absent, compassionless
lest my words, Your Words echo off a thousand empty lifeless souls like a funeral refrain
oh, would You vindicate me

"God is dead!" they said
they did not see, they did not hear, they did not expect Him

deliverance

Once upon a time
there was a young man
in pursuit of happiness

Don't be mistaken
he was not a bad man
he was actually considered by many to be a very good man
he followed the laws of his society
he worked hard
he preached morality and love to the lost
he cried for the broken

In time
this man
became rich
very rich, in fact
and was appointed as a ruler
over some
while he was still very, very young

This rich young ruler
though
was not happy yet

This rich young ruler
he still lacked one thing
one very important thing

And thus with bowed head
and desperate heart
he faced a dilemma
a very hard dilemma

Was it worth it to sell all he had
to purchase this treasure?

Was it worth it to exchange liberty for slavery
to own what he sought?

Was it worth it to throw his well-earned riches to the dust
for a mere promise?

He searched his soul
for the answer
and walked away sorrowful
a slave to his wealth
a pauper amidst all his liberty
forever in pursuit of happiness

He never knew
that true wealth is only gained by giving one's all
that genuine liberty is Blood-bought
that this happiness he sought can only be found by those who love
and are thus known by Love

silence

A young girl stands on a street corner
as night falls
and street lamps light all around her
she is scared, desperate, and completely empty of hope

A small boy huddles beneath a makeshift shelter
he shivers and wraps his arms around himself
as his tears are lost in the downpour
he knows no one will return for him

A mother holds a tiny skeletal infant
and simply watches him breathe in and breathe out
wondering which breath will be his last
there has been no food for days

The world is full of hungry, hurting, dying people
silenced by our comfort, our wealth, our ease
apathy, cowardice, selfishness
such a strange silence pierces me, breaks me, empties me

Tears won't even come
my breath catches in my chest
anguish and anger burn until I must cry out
for a revolution

Two paths lie before me in the form of two best-selling books.

One is red and bears a black-and-white picture of two young brothers who set out to change the world.

The other is colorful — colored by a photograph of 13 brown smiling faces and the face of a young twenty-two year old white woman who once upon a time went on a three-week-long mission trip to Uganda.

Some say that they are the same — these two messages. Some say that one is for some people while the other is for those specially called. Some say that both are great testaments of Christianity. But I say differently. I say that is blasphemy, apostasy, lunacy.

Because I am hungry, hurting, and dying
made silent by your apathy, cowardice, selfishness
rumors, lies, betrayal
I am suffocating

Tears won't even come
my breath catches in my chest
anguish and anger burn until I must cry out
for reprieve, for hope, for love

Two gospels lie before me: I have chosen one. I have discarded the other as if it were filthy rags — rags so filthy that they must be burned, rendered ashes by a blazing fire. Now that I stand aside and watch the smoke, I think on what I have done — and what I could have.

I could have chosen both, they said. But that would have been to lose all that I have before me, all that fills my heart, the One who takes my hand and speaks and guides me moment by moment. That would have been to burn all the pages of my life filled with Words of red. That would have been to crucify my Savior.

For before me I see my Savior and He has tears in His eyes
He is dirty and filthy and hungry and cold
and I know He will say the same to me if I join you
as I would say to you

Because I was hungry
and you did not nourish me
I was thirsty
and you gave me vinegar to drink
I was hurting
and you were as salt to my wounds
I was alone
and you spread rumors about me
I was friendless
and you shunned me
I was without shelter
and you would not protect me
I was dying
and you would not sacrifice yourself to save me
I was the "least," the outcast, the downtrodden, the worthless
and you did not love me

I see a world of people just like me
more than that
I see Jesus all around me
I see His tears in their eyes
I see His pain in their faces
I see piercings of thorns upon their weary brows
I see nail prints in the hands that reach out for mine
I see His fingerprints on each of them

I cannot turn away
I cannot walk your path
I will not go back
for I consider how He loved me
and sacrifices are not a response
"hard things" are a mockery
anything less than He gave
I cannot give
it is spitting in His Face
He gave everything for me
I must give nothing less
love, love — I must love
lest my heart and soul perish

Oh, but my love is nothing
my all is nothing
I am nothing
I have nothing
but what I give
take it
form something of dust once more
breathe on it
form me after You
heart of Your Heart
passionate
compassionate
You deserve something beautiful

I have no strength
to fight the storm
I have no courage left
that I might stay in the boat
and row with all my strength against the mighty waves
nothing left within me cries out to do hard things

I want the impossible
I want to hang upon a cross and rise again
I want to lose all privilege and prospects
my hopes, my dreams, my cherished treasures, my life
that I might find You
and love You
I want to love

Call to me from the water
bid me to come
take my hand, for I am cowardly and weak, lest I sink
make me bold
make me faithful
make me real
let me walk with You
let me bind Your wounds
let me take Your infirmities
let me hold You as a tiny shelterless swaddled baby
let me weep with You in the garden
let me pray with You through the night
let me quell Your fears when You are afraid
teach me to love
to look upon Your Face
and recognize You
and listen
to Your cry
Your Voice
Your Heart
and never, ever silence You

a true story

Once upon a time
there was a horse
who walked the city streets daily
side by side with his owner
who was a poor man
by the name of Bill

When people drove by in their cars
and saw the horse on its afternoon walks
they would gape in wonder

When dogs saw the horse while walking by with their owners
when the horse and his owner took their evening walk
they would bark and tug on their leashes at the strange sight
of such a large dog heeling in perfect submission

And likewise the churches and their religious have made a spectacle of themselves
but not as God intended
simply put
they are not free

dust

You number my wanderings;
Put my tears into Your bottle;
Are they not in Your book?
-Psalm 56:8

A father sings his last lullaby
gently tucks the blanket around his sleeping child
and walks out into the darkness
he is only a memory now

A son bids a tearful farewell
he hugs his sisters and mother
grabs his solitary piece of luggage
and leaves for the place from whence few return

A mother grasps the hand of her child
and looks upon his small face with sorrow in her eyes
for she will not watch him grow, or comfort him, or guide him
and he already looks lost

The earth keeps turning
the sun rises and sets once more
the darkness comes
life is the same

But not for those of us who loved
and knew love

Can one who hung upon a cross forget
the love that put him there?

Can one who heard the voice and felt the touch and wept the tears forget
all that was lost?

And the creature returns to dust
for from dust it was made
but it was not dust for whom the Creator died
it was promise and hope and hands held and dreams shared while walking amidst a garden in the cool of the day

Can You forget
the ones for whom You died?

Can You forget
the names engraved by the piercing of a nail into the palm of Your Hands?

Forget not Your Love for me, O God
for I am but dust
I have hung
and died
I wept and I cried out
but I did not turn and walk away
I did not stop them
I carried the cross
I let them pierce me
until Your Name was engraved in the palms of my hands
and the blood and water flowed from my broken heart
forget not Your Love, O God
forget not the promise and the hope and the hands held and dreams shared
that You would breathe once more upon Your Bride

a tribute to the slain

Do you ever wonder if you made the wrong choice?
Do you ever glance down at the path your feet traverse
your bloody feet, your scraped knees and thorn-scarred clothing
and wonder
perhaps
if things might have been different?

Sometimes I think that I should
Sometimes I want to cry out into the void
a cry without words
because words spring from hope
and I have lost my hope
my friends
my passion
my dreams

Young and innocent
she once was
true and faithful to the end
that is how she loved

Pure and trusting
her heart was won
by nail-scarred hands that took hers in His
by love spoken

They begged me to return to them
they told me not to listen
to forget what I had heard
to join their silent religion of second-hand belief

But how could I turn and walk away
from the One I love?
How could I pretend not to hear
the Voice of my beloved?

Young and innocent
I was
true and faithful to the end
that is how I loved

Pure and trusting
my heart was won
by nail-scarred hands that took mine in his and never let go
by love spoken, whispered, thundered

I write this tribute to the slain
to the girl
who will never again write
or hope
or befriend
or love
or dream

I write this tribute to the slain
to the girl
who loved
and loved
and loved
and was crucified
until she could love no longer

I write this tribute to the slain
to the girl
who died
not for a cause
not for a religion
not for a hope
for all these died within her long before her pain was spent

I write this tribute to the slain
to those like her
who love
not mere pages
not mere etchings of ink upon them engraved
not mere rules and regulations and prayers that fade
but the Voice and the Words and the One who speaks them still

I write this tribute to the slain
to those like her
whose hearts will never beat again
lest the One with pierced hands
and pierced feet
and a pierced heart
breathe the breath of life once more

I write this tribute to the slain
to those like me
who believe

I write this tribute to the slain
last words
hear just these few last words, please

I write this tribute to the slain
to the first
and the last
to every one who died believing
I write this for you

You knew the Truth
you knew the Love
you knew the Voice that spoke
you knew the Man who stood untouched in the flames of the fiery furnace
you knew the Man led up the hill with a cross upon His back and spit upon His face

See my hands?
See my feet?
See my heart?
They are like yours
and His

I know it was not a waste
I know there is a Resurrection
for the slain

"For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for Me will find it."
-Matthew 16:25

the Farmer's field

The sowers went out and planted seeds
deep in the brown, dry earth of a barren field
but the crop did not grow
for the field did not belong to them

The sowers went out and saw a crop they had not planted
it flourished green and tall and elegant in the sunny breeze
and they murmured and cursed amongst themselves
for they were deceived

The sowers went out and surveyed the field of beautiful growth
"All weeds!" they said scornfully, irate
"And we shall burn it!" they decided that day
for they could not see, they were blinded by hate

The sowers went home
and spoke with venom-laced words
they spoke smoothly, deftly, with shining eyes and cruel smirks that they tried to hide
until all believed their gossip and lies

The sowers went out to the field, torches in hand
and lit the four corners of the good crop as it swayed beneath a gentle sunset
and the fire spread and the smoke billowed and the sowers walked home, triumph-filled in the twilight
and all was lost, blackened, forever ruined

Evening faded into darkness
as one man stood and soaked it all in —
the charred smell that stung his eyes,
the words of the sowers,
the darkness itself

The only thing he could not bring within himself,
fill his heart up with,
was their feeling of triumph
for he was the servant of the Farmer
chosen
to watch and water and nourish and protect the crop
until the Farmer returned
and the Farmer was returning soon

"'I lived in Germany during the Nazi Holocaust. I considered myself a Christian. We heard stories of what was happening to the Jews, but we tried to distance ourselves from it, because, what could anyone do to stop it?

A railroad track ran behind our small church and each Sunday morning we could hear the whistle in the distance and then the wheels coming over the tracks. We became disturbed when we heard the cries coming from the train as it passed by. We realized that it was carrying Jews like cattle in the cars!

Week after week the whistle would blow. We dreaded to hear the sound of those wheels because we knew that we would hear the cries of the Jews en route to a death camp. Their screams tormented us.

We knew the time the train was coming and when we heard the whistle blow we began singing hymns. By the time the train came past our church we were singing at the top of our voices. If we heard the screams, we sang more loudly and soon we heard them no more.

Years have passed and no one talks about it anymore. But I still hear that train whistle in my sleep. God forgive me; forgive all of us who called ourselves Christians yet did nothing to intervene.'

What train is rumbling past us today whose whistle we ignore?"
-Erwin W. Lutzer, quoting an eyewitness account in his book 'When A Nation Forgets God'

the lie

To some it is an enemy that always survives
a memory that haunts in darkness and light
a painful agony, a sorrow unwept
something to be feared
fought
forgotten
but it is never forgotten
you must shut it out
silence it
turn and outrun it
again
and again

To others it is a faithful comfort
a companion ever present in the best of dreams
a treasure to be sought
a cause to die for
a hand to hold when all others slip away
a light in the dark
hope
and joyful tears

Once upon a time
two friends met
and talked
and understood something
understood something I call truth
though others have called it many things — religion, freedom, love

I could not take it
knowing something
asking for something
always pretending to seek it
yet remaining empty, whole, caged
I ached for a breath of fresh air
I longed to give all instead of just talking about risking this or that
I wanted open blue skies and I was ready to leave the safe, quaint parlor to find them

You kept talking
and I stopped talking — listening, even
because I wanted to live
and you did not

I died for the truth
yes, I died
yet your life is but a lie

"The hardest thing about searching for the truth is that sometimes you find it."
-Anonymous

where God dwells among men

I went in search of the place
where God dwells among men
I searched in buildings of stone and brick and mortar
I searched among the well-spoken, well-polished and finely attired
I had heard He could be found there on Sundays

I went in search of God
in gardens like where He was said to have once walked with a man and woman ever so long ago
I searched among the beauty — the roses, the leaf-framed and brilliant sky
I searched among the shadowy passages and cobbled walkways of fragrant serenity
for I noticed that the smallest of creatures still find refuge there

I went in search of love
among those said to be alive with the Heartbeat of the One who hung upon a cross for me
I searched in hope that all around me would not remain gray, cold, thorn-filled
I searched desperately for I knew not where else I could search
if even these people offered no love to me

Where is that place
rumored, imitated, sought, so seldom found
where God dwells among men?

Is He in the churches
among the religious
bribed by half-hearted gestures
to confine Himself to stuffy buildings and small minds
for a couple hours a week?

Is He to be found walking in the cool of the evening
silent
searching amongst all the beauty He created for one like Him
a special breathed-upon creation
to share in it all?

Is He to be found when all the magic words are said?

But I did not find Him there

Where is that place
where God dwells among men?
I searched among your family, your friends, your church
I searched and I searched
and I am so weary

I went in search of the place
where God dwells among men
but then I began to wonder
is God searching, too
searching for a place, a heart after His, a temple of a different kind where He may dwell?

I went in search of God
in search of love
and at last found the One
for whom my soul longed
and I held Him fast and did not let Him go

Will He find you?

Or does He only find those who search for Him
and search for Him
and search for Him
and search for Him
until they have passed by all the others
until they find Him
until they will never let Him go?

"But from there you will seek the LORD your God and you will find him, if you search after him with all your heart and with all your soul. When you are in tribulation, and all these things come upon you in the latter days, you will return to the LORD your God and obey his voice. For the LORD your God is a merciful God. He will not leave you or destroy you or forget the covenant with your fathers that he swore to them.

"For ask now of the days that are past, which were before you, since the day that God created man on the earth, and ask from one end of heaven to the other, whether such a great thing as this has ever happened or was ever heard of. Did any people ever hear the voice of a god speaking out of the midst of the fire, as you have heard, and still live? Or has any god ever attempted to go and take a nation for himself from the midst of another nation, by trials, by signs, by wonders, and by war, by a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, and by great deeds of terror, all of which the LORD your God did for you in Egypt before your eyes? To you it was shown, that you might know that the LORD is God; there is no other besides him."
-Deuteronomy 4:29-35

there are no more prophets

Once upon a time
God spoke to man

He told Adam not to eat of the tree in the garden
He told Abraham to lay his son upon the altar
He told Noah to build an ark
He told the Israelites to repent, turn, follow Him, hear His Voice, obey

It seems amazing, really
to think that things were once so
seeing how very different they are now
imagine hearing the Voice of God
like they did

But what if you didn't have to imagine?

What if He still spoke?
What if He still expected His people to hear?
What if He still required of His people that they obey?

What if you are missing it?
What if you are missing Him?

What if He forbid you but one thing you simply could not understand?
What if He asked you to lay your dreams upon the altar to be bound and burned?
What if He told you to spend your days doing that which all others deemed crazy and foolish?
What if He spoke to you?
Would He speak to you directly?
Would He speak to you through a prophet?
Would He only speak to you through a book?
Would He tell you what you expect He would say?
Or something to harden your heart like those Isaiah was sent to?

The Pharisees were well-versed in Scripture
yet they rejected and crucified the living God
the long-awaited Messiah
The rich young ruler loved and obeyed the written law
yet he refused the authority of and walked away from the loving, breathing, speaking LORD
the Savior come to set him free
You are good and obedient and wise in your own eyes . . .
Are you any different?

"No more prophets in the land?" the old man said
and wept
he had gone to a better place
a place where God's Voice was heard by all
but he wept for those he had left behind
those who would never believe in the God he knew
because they would never hear the Voice he loved so

"Silence!" the people cried
and one by one
the prophets were crucified
along with any person who heard the Voice of the Lord their God

There was a time
when God spoke to you

Like Adam, He forbid you something you could not understand
like Abraham, He asked you to sacrifice your dreams
like Noah, He asked you to forsake your reputation and simply choose obedience
like Israel, He spoke to you and expected you to hear and obey

It would seem unbelievable, I am sure
to think that things would ever become so
seeing how very different they were then
hearing the Voice of God
like they did
and obeying or disobeying
but knowing
that He had spoken

Imagine a day
when those who claim to know and follow and love God
the very God of Adam and Abraham and Noah and Israel
when those who profess to be redeemed and cleansed by the Messiah
would call every prophet evil
the act of hearing the Voice of Jehovah and speaking His Words "works of darkness" (Eph. 5)
would say that God can no longer speak
would despise, lie about, shun and slay all who say that they hear Him

But you don't have to imagine

"No more prophets in the land?" the woman said
even she had left
and gone to a new land
a land where God's Voice was welcome and beloved
but even now, she did not weep for those she had left behind
those who would not believe in the God she knew
because they hated the Voice she loved so

"Silence!" you pled
and with that one word
our friendship was forever dead
along with my hope for you

But remember
remember
when the days grow dark
when you draw close to the end of your path
when all is truly silent
and you long for a Voice in the darkness
remember
that there was a time
when God spoke to you

In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lifted up, and the train of His robe filled the temple. Above it stood seraphim; each one had six wings: with two he covered his face, with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew. And one cried to another and said:

“Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts;
The whole earth is full of His glory!”

And the posts of the door were shaken by the voice of him who cried out, and the house was filled with smoke.
So I said:

“Woe is me, for I am undone!
Because I am a man of unclean lips,
And I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips;
For my eyes have seen the King,
The LORD of hosts.”

Then one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a live coal which he had taken with the tongs from the altar. And he touched my mouth with it, and said:

“Behold, this has touched your lips;
Your iniquity is taken away,
And your sin purged.”

Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying:

“Whom shall I send,
And who will go for Us?”

Then I said, “Here am I! Send me.”

And He said, “Go, and tell this people:

‘Keep on hearing, but do not understand;
Keep on seeing, but do not perceive.’
“Make the heart of this people dull,
And their ears heavy,
And shut their eyes;
Lest they see with their eyes,
And hear with their ears,
And understand with their heart,
And return and be healed.”

Then I said, “Lord, how long?”
And He answered:

“Until the cities are laid waste and without inhabitant,
The houses are without a man,
The land is utterly desolate,
The LORD has removed men far away,
And the forsaken places are many in the midst of the land.
But yet a tenth will be in it,
And will return and be for consuming,
As a terebinth tree or as an oak,
Whose stump remains when it is cut down.
So the holy seed shall be its stump.”

severence

And day fell
and night came
it all felt the same
one after another they passed me by

Dawn and dusk
once held hope, peace
but not anymore
not anymore

And so I walked away

"Why is it you no longer join the masses?"
they asked
but I just kept walking

"Why is it you no longer join us to pray, to sing, to fellowship?"
I heard their voices behind me, fading in the distance
but I just kept walking

I was in search of something else

"Why is it you do not follow our god anymore?"
they prodded as I passed them by
but I had to keep walking
I had to keep walking
and the truth was
I never did follow their god

Dawn brightened
dusk faded
but all seemed shadowed
I could not find what I was looking for

"Come back!"
they shouted
but I closed my eyes
covered my ears
waited until all was silent
and then kept going

My feet hurt
my knees were bruised, scraped and bleeding
my eyes sore from straining to see in the darkness
my hands were bleeding, too
my heart was numb, shattered
but I had to go on

No one had ever taken this path
no one had ever really found what I seek
without dying
I had been told
but that was a small price to pay
compared to the pain I felt

I know that I am close

And love drives me on
away from your religion of smooth talk and shiny crosses
away from your god
away from all that you represent

Love, carry me when I am weak
Love, quell the fears that arise and make me brave
Love, bind me to the altar when I want to run back to the safety of their timid, hollow beliefs
Love, You traveled this path before me
now lead me on
lead me upon that path which took Your life
lead me to die fully
that You might live through me, within me
lead me to the cross
I am dead already
I am empty, bleeding, broken, and without love
and I want life

where love is

I know of a place
where friendship means something beyond the shallow norm
where friends sacrifice their lives for one another
where love is pure
where love is not a mere empty word that leads to betrayal

I know of a place
where love is
and I often like to go there

I know of a place
where a mother's love
causes her to lay down her life for her child
her life for his
her blood to seal his fate

I know of a place
where love compels a child
to lay down his life for his friends
to end the reign of evil
it is a place where the blood of the courageous is shed
because there are people courageous enough to love
and it is so different from the cold, heartless, piercingly empty world I know

I know of a place
wicked, some call it
evil, dark...
oh, but that is what they call me
and there is love there
love, even for the outcasts

I know of a place
where the young have courage
to stand and fight
for all that is right
and against all that is wrong
there are cowards, yes
but heroes, too

I know of a place
where love lives

Where is this place, you ask?
The Harry Potter books

Strange, isn't it
that a story about witchcraft
would contain more morals, more truth, more courage, more sacrificial love
than your own

Strange, isn't it
that the place where the outcast, the hungry for love, the child of the world
can find these things they so persistently seek
is not your home, your church, or among your religious friends
where the "witchy" curse, harm, and destroy
free from the hinderances of those with sacrificial love
but in a "place" you call evil

Strange, isn't it
that you call me the same things
you label this "place"

Strange, isn't it
how your religiosity simply doesn't measure up
against people, places, books
marked by
known for
love
the harsh, stark, unyielding truth of it

Could it be
that you are missing how things were meant to be
that this "threat" merely outshines your religion
that love really is crucial
that you could miss it
and that those you think so wrong might be the ones
to someday find it, rejoice in it, and die for it
as you never could?

I knew a place
where "love" was spoken
but their words were without life
where grown men were too cowardly to die
that love might live
and I will not go there again

May the children never, either

May they seek love
may they spread their arms wide and feel the piercing pain
may they pay the price

Witchcraft is an abomination to God
and those who practice it will not see eternal life
but neither will those who love not

Take my life, my blood, oh God
that Your Love would mark those
who know You not
and may look in all the wrong places
but who seek, desire above all, would die for Love
crucify the dead words, the fragments of religion, all that ties me to that which is not love
create among us the "place"
where Love is

alexander and alan

Once upon a time there was a small army in a very small kingdom named Purcellville. The young men of this army were known to be very brave. They were a "band of brothers," in a sense, always spurring one another on when they thought one of their members needed a little push — "like iron sharpening iron" one of the young men described their blessed fellowship.

All the young maidens of the land thought these young men simply the height of manliness, the perfection of all that is courage and morality. Every day, they would come and sit at their feet and listen as the young warriors stood at the city gates and shared the recent victories won against injustice in the land.

One young man in particular would specially charm the young maidens by adding how afraid he was, quoting song lyrics that had filled his heart with courage and love of country, and talking of sunsets and sunrises witnessed on his journey that had simply stolen his breath away. All the maidens thought he was particularly brave and strong.

One day, a small homeless girl approached their party at the gate. Alexander, one of the more famous warriors, saw her first and tapped the friend next to him on the shoulder. The little girl was afraid of what they would say to her when she got closer — and ashamed about what they must be saying about her as she approached with her ragged and too-large clothing and dirt-smudged hands and knees.

All she ever had to do was approach somebody and the lies and rumors would start, so there was no use trying to hide her appearance, and yet she was so very weary of being "known" before even speaking — or being given a chance to speak.

But she had been watching and listening from afar to the charming warrior who talked of color-painted skies and stirring songs and overcoming terrible fears like she often felt and she thought that maybe he was different than the rest — gentler, nobler, compassionate and yet fierce at the same time and for the right things. His name was Alan, she was pretty sure. And she was now standing directly in front of him and he was looking down at her with a kindly expression.

"Sir Alan?" she began, her words coming out barely above a whisper. "Yes?" he responded, smiling. She gained courage from his kind look and felt stronger and less ashamed as her voice grew louder. "If all that you have said of yourself is true, then I believe you are different than the rest of these men, and the one to tell of this serious matter of injustice we outcasts have been dealing with which no one else cares of or does anything to stop.

"Your fellow soldiers have been taunting and abusing us, hurting us. I understand you have no reason to listen to a poor girl like me, of bad reputation and lowly appearance, but I am not bad like some say that I am, and my hands and my knees are dirty because I was struck down, my clothing torn because they hurt me. Please help us, sir. I am tired of being oppressed when I have done nothing wrong, and am too weak to fight..."

Her voice trailed off as she saw his eyes growing wider and his expression changing. "This has nothing to do with me!" he stood up and exclaimed in anger. "It is not my responsibility to deal with this and you are gossiping about my friends!"

The young girl was disappointed, but unsurprised. The fierce "band of brothers" claimed to be accountable to each other lest they become malicious or cowardly, but it was a hoax. The brave young men loved to talk of victory and fighting injustice while flexing their muscles for the young maidens, but it was all a sham.

She had not meant to gossip or ruin one man's reputation to another. She had only wanted the pain and oppression to stop, her own unearned bad reputation to be corrected by someone the people loved and would trust so people would no longer treat her as worthless and evil without even knowing her, and to find out if there were any men or women of the sort of character that loves justice and hates all injustice and offers real compassion that can be felt to those in need.

In truth, the young warriors fought no battles of their own. They loved to talk of banishing all injustice from the land, but tell them of it right in their midst, stand before them face to face and ask for help, and their words were empty and dead.

And so she decided that she would hide in silence. There were no heroes in the land. There was no hope that she would ever be "one of them" someday — respected, loved, not despised. She recoiled at the thought of such a hope — she hated the thought of being such. She would rather be hated.

disgrace

Once upon a time
there was a woman
who loved
and loved
and loved

"Why does she love me?"
some wondered
for they had been told by others
that they were unlovable
yet she loved them
somehow

Why did she love?

Wrong
some called such love
shameful, even
for she loved the poor
the criminal
the unclean
the friendless

Why did she love us?

Maybe we will never know
for she could not stay
that woman who loved
and loved
and loved
passed away
last Fourth of July

Why did she love me?
Why did she stand beside me and squeeze my hand
when I was friendless and alone?
Why did she defend me
when others shamed me?
Why did she smile and hug and welcome me like family
while others stood by and scoffed and lied and waited to crucify?
Why did she love me?

Unlovable
I am
once more

Unlovable
I am
to those who knew her well

Unlovable
I am
to those who loved her

Or am I?

Can one who knew her well
miss the reason she loved
everyone?

Can one who truly loved her
let her love die?

Would they not know how it would grieve her
to live as they do?

Would they not have filled their hearts up with the love she offered them
and never, ever let it die
if their love were real and true and faithful?

She loved me
and you disgrace her
because you let her love die

Why did she love me?
Because she knew she had been loved
and she filled herself up to overflowing with His Love
so that all would know
the great love she had been shown
though ever unworthy she often felt

He Loved her
and she honored Him
she never let one pass her by without telling them, showing them how He Loved

Why do you not love with her love?
I know that she loved you
no less than she loved me
but you turn and walk away
and those who never met her
do not know
how she loved you
how she would have loved them
though ever unworthy

You disgrace her

"Many called her beautiful
for the way she dressed,
the way she smiled,
the way she danced—
merely the way she looked.
But that she reached to cool My forehead when I was sick,
that she said a kind word when I was discouraged,
that she hugged Me when I cried,
that she loved Me—
I thought that was most beautiful of all.

Great men of the times
rose up and called her great
because of things she had done
or said—
mere accomplishments and wise words,
the world acclaimed.
But that she took My hand when I was afraid,
that she stood by Me when I was alone,
that she was not a mere fair weather friend,
that she loved Me—
I thought that was greatest of all.

Many loved her
for so very many reasons they often liked to say,
and talk of,
and praise—
and wonderful
were the things they listed.
But that she asked nothing,
that she awaited no gift,
that she demanded no merit when I was poor and friendless and weary of trying,
that she loved Me—
I loved that most of all.

And she still looks beautiful
and they still say great things
and there are many who love her
but now there is fear in her eyes—
for now she stands before the Throne
and the things of earth are but a peasant's cloak, a pauper's disguise.
But then I step forward
and take her hand
and smile
and say, simply,
'She loved Me.'

'But Lord . . . when did I do these things—
Lord, when were You sick,
or discouraged,
when did I hold You in my arms while You cried?'
she exclaimed
in surprise.
And I replied,
'When you did it for your child,
for a stranger,
for one who could give nothing in return—
it was then you loved Me.'

And many call her beautiful
and many call her great
and many love her for the things she said and did
and I know she will not be forgotten—
but remember most of all,
remember how she loved.
Remember how she asked nothing,
how she awaited no gift,
how she demanded no merit from the poor and friendless and weary of failing—
remember that she loved Me,
remember that she loved Me."

Matthew 25:31-46
'She Loved Me' — For Sono Sato Harris

the shattered knight

The man fell to the battlefield
face to the dirt
and just lay there
amongst the dead

The battle raged on
men fought hard
and died valiantly
all around him
but he felt numb
oblivious to it all

Or perhaps he thought he was safe
if he just "laid low"
either way
he just lay there
uninjured
without will to wield the weapons at his side
without passion to fight
without a worthy purpose for being on a battlefield
as good as dead
for all the good he did his fellow man

the battle

I stand and watch
as my friendships become dust
and I wonder
I wonder
why do I write
when silence is easier
why do I fight
and let peace escape like a tear
why do I say the words
I know will make you walk away
why do I lie down to die
and let them crucify
when everything within me screams,
"I want to live!"

"Because there is a battle to be fought!"
cries something outside of me
or Someone within

"Must I?"
I wonder
plead
beg for reprieve
sometimes bleed

But I must fight
I know that I must

Even when the hand slips from mine
even when their eyes look hard and cold when they meet mine
even when they say I must go
I know I must fight

And so I fight
evil
enemy
friends
family
myself
I just fight to keep fighting

Why?

Because this life
is a battle
for my soul
and yours

Don't you see, dear friend?
I fight my heart
that I might fight for your soul
I fight my hopes
that I might fight for your soul
I fight you
all the while the tears fall
but I must fight for your soul
lest my own perish
because I loved not

all for nothing

The young men take the stage
the children gather to listen
an epic story is to be told, for sure
of foes subdued
of challenges conquered
of the secret to their victories

The people walk away happy
like children fed candy, they will return
and return
and return

The young warriors take to the podium
swords in hand
as if ready to fight
but it is all a show
for the enemy lies within their hearts, still
ready to deceive
ready to poison
ready to kill

The people walk away excited and sure and ready to follow
in the footsteps of the young warriors
for they know not where this path leads
its end, they cannot yet see

"All for nothing!"
said the man whose treasure was burned
"All for nothing!"
said the woman whose children perished
"All for nothing!"
at last, said a young warrior
as he surveyed the masses
and wept

This summer
like many summers past
you will hear the thrilling tales
of two young men
who will offer you what may simply be termed an inoculation

This summer
like many summers past
you will be told that you can have it all
success, prestige, worldly acclaim, wealth, your best life now
and eternal life

This summer
like many summers past
you will be challenged to believe
that love of the world and love of God can co-exist in your heart
that what Jesus commanded is hard — but not so difficult nor impossible as some say

This summer
you will be presented with a false message, a half-truth
that will inspire you, but not save you
that will instill within your soul a love for the things you should forsake
you will be asked to work hard, where Jesus would call you to come and die

This summer
the cheap "gospel" is being sold in your town
the kind that offers you the world, not Christ in His fullness
the kind that promises life, without death
the kind without a real, rugged cross which you must carry and upon which you must hang

This summer
you are being invited to join the company of those
who hear not God's Voice
who speak of His Will but do it not in full when He requires that which is truly difficult
who pay little for what little they have and yet charge you for what God said should be free

This summer
for the low, low price of $30-40
you can be inoculated against that which would require your life, but save it
or for free you can pick up a Bible and read it
take up your cross, let go all other loves, answer the call of the One who requires your all

Many, I know
would rather pay a few dollars than give everything right down to their very life
for the "same 'gospel'"
who would buy a "product" for $500,000,000 when it's being offered for $40 by well-dressed traveling salesmen
unless they knew that one would save their life and the other was only worth as much as it cost

"All for nothing!"
the people said
who finished their race first, second, third place
only to find themselves in hell
only to find that they had run the wrong race

"All for nothing!"
the man said
who had once inspired others to do their best, to try their hardest
for all his efforts now proved useless, worthless, and empty
without the love that believes, counts all lost, grasps the rough wood of that inimitable torturous cross, obeys the Voice of the One who calls, follows, bleeds, hangs, dies, and declares it freedom

the secret

"Some became fools through their rebellious ways
and suffered affliction because of their iniquities.
They loathed all food
and drew near the gates of death."
-Psalm 107:17-18

The man gave his life for his friend
the son for his father
the father for his son
the righteous for the enemy
the slave for the free
the oppressed for the oppressor

You see, it's all true
no matter what they tell you now

There was once a time
when there was a people
who were known for their love
just as Jesus said they would be

There was a time
when God's Church
was not thought to be confined and contained and sought and found
within stuffy buildings
amongst selfish, self-righteous, serpent-tongued, coldhearted men

There was a time
when disciples of Jesus
were those who walked like Him, talked like Him, healed like Him, forgave like Him
were those who knew Him personally
were those who were not ashamed of the full and costly truth

There was a time
when men died
and lived
bled, hung, wept, gave all
for friend
for foe
for even the least lovable

There was a time
when "Christianity"
was not going to a social club once a week
putting on conferences
writing books that garner little praise-filled blurbs from all one's little friends

There was a time
when "Christianity"
was a costly, painful, blood-spilling death

There was a time
when "Christianity"
was not costless
painless
crossless
because it meant following after Jesus
being like Him
not "better" than Him —
well-educated
a more peaceable communicator with those who disagree
acceptable to the religious

There was a time
when the "Christianity" of the faithful few
sounded just like what I now know

Now you claim to be the faithful few
but I look at your lives, your friends, your families, your churches
and it's all so different

What's the secret to your "Christianity"?

May the world know

the only way

"What's the best way to share the Gospel?" many people wonder, and many people offer to teach us. Answers range from 3 easy steps to 5, from tracts and pamphlets to CDs and DVDs of sermons, songs, and even hip-hop raps. Some people quote Jesus' words, analyzing His methods of speech and usage of parables.

"How can I save them?" I wondered, prayed, studied, read countless books on the topic. I underestimated the people. And I underestimated God. I should have known that their response is always the same. I should have known that His is, as well.

In the end, after valiant speeches and tear-stained pleadings, I just stretched my arms wide, closed my eyes, and prayed. In the end, I could do no better than Him. In the end, I, too, felt the nails tear through my flesh. In the end, my heart, like His, was broken, and then pierced through by the people. Just as He promised those whom He would send, all truly sent by Him, I was hated, mocked, spit on, raised up in shame and with great pain for all to see, and crucified.

In the end, I found no better way, no easier or swifter or tidier means to save a person. In the end, every word He said to His disciples was true for me. In the end, only by the cross would men be saved, only by that kind of Love would truth prevail. So I spread my arms wide, and let them crucify me, like He let them crucify Him.

Just like God's chosen people of old, mere priests and pastors and human mediators cannot atone for you nor pronounce you saved nor cover your shame come judgement day. Just like God's chosen people of old, you hear the prophets, who speak God's perfect words, and believe yourselves to be right before Him, then you go your own way. Just like God's chosen people of old, you speak truth and talk of God, but you know Him not — no, not truly.

But He offers you one more chance, just as He offered Israel of old — one more chance to know Him, to obey Him, to believe on Him, to love Him, to be saved by Him.

"One more chance?" you ask. "But I already know Him!"

Friend, if you knew Him, you would not have crucified me.

Touch the scars. God is Love.

Please visit our twitter page and the Cry Action website for more information.

"Now thanks be to God who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place. For we are to God the fragrance of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing. To the one we are the aroma of death leading to death, and to the other the aroma of life leading to life. And who is sufficient for these things? For we are not, as so many, peddling the word of God; but as of sincerity, but as from God, we speak in the sight of God in Christ."
-2 Corinthians 2:14-17