When Religion Turns On Us

     If you haven't been paying attention, there is looming what the NY Times is calling an, "ISIS Crisis". In the wake of this and other current events, we as the American people are starting to get spooked. Ever since 9/11, the "impenetrable barrier" around our nation is being slowly broken down. The borders have holes in them that are held open by our government. All manner of persons can slip through with inscrutable intentions.

     I don't know what's happening in your neck of the woods, but here, we are pulling out our Survival Guides, starting to learn from Bear Grylls and Fat Guys in the Woods. We are beginning to dig in, rallying with friends and family, gathering supplies and ammo for when the world is turned on its nose and all of the signs building toward The End finally rear their heads.

     "Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and pestilences. And there will be terrors and great signs from heaven... Alas for women who are pregnant and for those who are nursing infants in those days! For there will be great distress upon the earth and wrath against this people" - Luke 21

     Now, I'm not even close to being a firearms expert. Even though I've dreamed of being Robin Hood and I've read World War Z and several blogs on guns, it's not my forte (It's not even my twen-te). But, one thing I know is, when I'm choosing a defense system, I'm looking for maximum stopping power. 

     Stopping power, or the ability to incapacitate, mainly depends on your enemy. According to Max Brooks', "Zombie Survival Guide," a zombie feels no pain. To them, pepper spray might as well be water to the face, and an RPG or assault rifle is too loud and inaccurate to be of much use. You need precision in the form of a silenced rifle and/or a machete, along with the skill to use them effectively.

     In most situations against a human (fully possessed of his faculties), an imposing threat of pain has all of the stopping power that you should need. However, we may very well face foes that aren't deterred by mankind's normal sense of self-preservation, and so we must make extra precautions. 

     Advanced Military Personnel, or for the sake of brevity, "AMPs," are able to infiltrate, overpower, capture and/or kill all but perhaps 4.7% of American Citizens at will, regardless of their level preparation. Unless you've been training for most of your entire life, you're in the 95th percentile. 

     Even if AMPs aren't initially a threat, we may face the abstract enemies brought on by various levels of economic collapse. Along with looters, these foes include, hunger, thirst, and the elements themselves. So we train with the Fat Guys in the Woods (FGWs?). Yet, when only equipped the level of society that they could personally bring to bear, more initial American colonies failed than succeeded. So, how will we, the self-inflated, educationally-cushioned elite of the world, survive when our chairs are pulled out from under us?

     Let's imagine this guy, for example:

     

Let's say he came to your home, with four other guys, armed with handguns, bent on stealing your food with or without your consent, fully prepared to, and even banking on, taking it over your dead body.

     What's your best bet for greatest stopping power?


     Traps? Snipers? Assault Rifles?

     What if, instead of four guys, it was this guy?

     HA-ha, just kidding. But look at Luke 8:


     "For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he had not lived in a house but among the tombs. When he saw Jesus, he cried out and fell down before him and said with a loud voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me.” For he had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many a time it had seized him. He was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the desert.)"

     So, my question is, which of these two has the greatest stopping power?
     

          - A high- powered assault rifle, or a command from Jesus Christ?

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven"

     Jesus taught an interesting form of Non-Violence.

     In John 18, though the mob was coming to take Jesus to his death, he rebuked his follower's offer of protection, instead healing the wound that Peter had dealt.

     In Matthew 5:39, Jesus says "But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if anyone would sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well."

     To be clear, I'm not against arming yourself. Apparently, there is a time and place for it, too. However, let's consider who we follow, or at least who we claim to follow.

     In our preparations for the end of life as we know it, are we also preparing our daily, personal relationship with "EL Shaddai," the "All-Mighty" so that when Emperor Palpatine comes knocking, we know how to face him?

     Do we walk with Jesus closely enough or hear Him clearly enough to know when to be bold, when to show compassion, and when to defend the helpless through force of arms? We are told not to be conformed to this world (or the view of our favorite pundit), and we sure as anything can't trust our own opinion. Yet we are guaranteed the opportunity to rejoice at the glory of sharing in Christ's suffering.

So, when we encounter trials of various kinds,

"Blessed is the man who remains steadfast [to the truth] under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him." - James 1:12

Be strong and of good courage. Set your feet on The Firm Foundation, fall into step behind The Way, the Truth, and the Life of the Narrow Path.

Is "Jesus" Really the Answer?

   

  “Alright everyone, close your eyes really tight!”

     Mrs. Poplin couldn’t help but smile at all of the little grunts and grimaces as kids screwed their eyes closed. Kevin’s eyes were glinting out between scrunched cheeks and a wrinkled forehead.

     “Now, I want you to picture in your mind all of the animals getting onto the ark with Noah. There are the horses! What sound do horses make?”

     The kids whinnied and flailed their hands, imitating horses with the abandon only kids can muster.

     “Oh, what are those, climbing in the trees?”

     The kids loved this game. Guesses of, “Monkeys!” “Sloths!” and even, “Tarantulas!” rang out.

     “I’ll give you a hint if you promise to raise your hands. They’re small. They have big bushy tails and they eat nuts. Yes, Joy? What’s your guess?”

     Off to one side, the little girl piped up, “I think it’s a squirrel, but I’m going to say… Jesus.”

     Is, “Jesus,” really the answer?

     It’s raining outside. Dark and heavy. The clouds spray icy drops of water at the upstairs windows of the church. Inside, several young men are in close conversation around a small table. The room looks to normally be used for children’s Sunday school, but on this dreary Wednesday, the small chairs force the men into somewhat attentive, if uncomfortable, postures. Three bibles lay at random, unopened, on the table.

     One man, perhaps a handful of years older than the rest, reads from a copy of the paper they all hold. 

     “All around you, the battle rages. Demons lay to your left and right, gutted by the armies of the Most High. You see men equipped in all of the armor of God, swords flashing when the lightning strikes, raising their voices with the mighty trumpets and charging fearlessly toward the battle lines.’

     “Looking down, you see that you have no sword. You have no armor. In fact, your pants are around your ankles. You are chasing after a seductress’ call, in the middle of a warzone!’

     “All around, the enemy is falling, the kingdom is coming to earth, and you are chasing an orgasm!”

The group leader looks up, half-smiling and making eye contact with the few boys who grin back.

     “How many of you guys can identify with that picture? There are totally times that I can.”

     A chorus of quiet agreement.

     “But let’s keep reading.” He says, looking back down, “John 1:2 says you are God’s child. There’s more to life than addiction. Romans 5: 1 says you’ve been justified. Romans 8:28 says God loves you no matter what. All of these verses,” He pauses to count, “all thirty five of them, say that we need to stop looking for the harlot on the battlefield. We need to open our ears to the trumpets! We need to fix our eyes on the Commander leading the charge! We need to pull up our pants, grab our armor and get in the fight! We don’t need sex, we need Jesus!”

     Is, “Jesus,” really the answer?

     Even we, the Lord’s men, are rapidly and in increasing numbers falling to pornography. Our addiction leads to late nights and lost hours that sap our desire to be with anyone but our minds and our hands. As the hunger grows, even that fails to satisfy and we turn to sexual experimentation. Soon, we hate who we have become, a shell of the good man we seem to be, not enough substance within us to cast a shadow. Left unchecked, our cravings will lead us to strip clubs and whorehouses. Downward this addiction will spiral, its claws sunk tightly into our chests until we have lost all notion of the way to the surface and, gasping for air, we drown.

     At some point along this path, before the end, we will realize the trap has sprung. We turn to books, then pastors, then friends, maybe even to family, but to no avail. The hooks are set deep. No program on our computer, no insightful book, no accountability meeting, seems to help us escape from the trap waiting just around the corner. We are evil men and our desires are continuous.

     Time and again, we are told that Jesus can help. “Give it to Jesus and you will be free!” But is “Jesus” really the answer? If so, why is it that so many who claim, “Jesus” are still bound and gagged to their god called sex?

     You cannot serve two masters.

     Yet, I have found freedom.

     Rather, freedom has found me. His name is, was, and will forever be, Emmanuel, or “God with us.”

     Before my first thoughts turned inward and prepared my heart for these evil hooks, he overpowered them. The chains no longer drag me down. If I waste away in front of the computer screen, eyes glazed, mouth slack, heart pounding until judgment day with a flat-lined conscience, I will be counted innocent of it all.

     Christ died for sin, once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring them to God. 1 Peter 3:18

     However don’t be deceived, when I come to him prepared for a mansion and golden streets, I will hear,

“Be gone from me, I never knew you.” Matt 7:23

Wait. What?

     Even before Jesus’ death, burial, and resurrection he told the paralytic,

     “Take heart, your sins are forgiven.” Matt 9

     Why did Jesus come to earth? To die? To rise again? To forgive sins?

     Jesus came so that God could be with us. “Emmanuel.”

     The answer is Emmanuel.

     There is one source with the strength to reverse the undertow of addiction, one escape from the perversion of our evil hearts. One person is the way and the light shining in the darkness.

     He knows you. Do you know him?

     What is his favorite color?

     What does he like to do with his free time?

     Why does he let sin run rampant?

     Sheeple, what does his voice sound like?

     Get to know him, let his love grow through you, he will lead you to freedom.

     Without vision, all people perish.

     Before you can hope to transform, you need to look to what you will become.

     Now we see as through a mirror, dimly, but then we shall see him face to face. We shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.

How Do You Love Me?

How do you love me?

I am an animal, chasing down hateful desires as if my salvation meant nothing. Like Israel before me, my flagrant whoring reeks from the high places. Yet the Lord is faithful? His love carries on. My family remains faithful. My friends still love me and accept me. They see my lewdness, my blantant disregard of the gift I've been given, and yet they love me still. Why?

This is the best I can do to explain:

“Death. I am death. I hunt, molest, and kill. I prey on the weak and unsuspecting, luring them into abandoned trust before ripping their heart out. I destroy because it is what I do.

My name is Peter and I hate.

Love. I am love. I spend my effort, time, and thought for those around me. I give to anyone and everyone that I come in contact with, seeking their benefit with no reserve. I give because it is who I am.

My name is Peter and I love.

I am two men, polar opposite yet struggling for dominance over the same life. I am chained to death, yet living still. The things I long to do, I do not do. I do the things I hate.

My name is Peter and I am wretched.

There is a man who offers life. I chose to follow Him. He gave his life for me, I gave my life to Him. He is my hope. He is my freedom. He is the life in my soul.

My name is Peter and I am forgiven.”

People can love me because they see the life in me. I am reborn. I fight so that the good may defeat the evil inside, but I no longer want the evil to win. The ones who know me best will see my fight and love me for it. Death lives in my body, but I am no longer death. I am love, and I am loved.

-Rock Darkwater

This Earthen Vessel'd Treasure

There once was a man who lived in a town, much like the one I live in today. This man owned a priceless treasure, but it was locked away in a room and he didn't have the key. The man spent his days doing what was good in his own eyes. Then one day, a woman appeared in front of him. She had a key hanging from a chain at her throat. She took the key, unlocked the room, and together they beheld the glorious treasure. They took what they could carry and went out into the town to invest it. The two of them were quite satisfied for some time.

The years passed and the woman grew restless. Whether it was the treasure, the room, or the town, something displeased her, and she decided to go. As she made to leave, the man grabbed her hand. “Stay with me.” He said. But she would not be convinced. She pulled and pushed, slapped and fought to be released, until at last, the man let her go. As he released her hand, he snatched the key to the treasure room. Startled, she considered trying to get it back, but then turned abruptly and disappeared into the blackness that is beyond our story.

The man turned, gazing wistfully at the treasure in the room. Then he gently closed the door and locked it tight. The key, he hung on a chain over his heart.

For the man, the years went by as if he were in exile. He had made something of himself, but it was as if it were a dream, or an unfinished project that he couldn't complete. The treasure he had invested produced returns, but it never grew. The man gave what he could from what he had to people who needed it more than he.

Time passed.

As he spent his days he began looking for another woman. “This one must be different,” He said. For he didn't need the door to be unlocked anymore, he already had the key. He waited and watched for the one who would make the unlocking worthwhile.  

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us." - 2 Corinthians 4:7

This House Stands Empty

    Greetings and Felicitations! It's been a month or so since I've written anything. Oy! I tell you what though, I've been beating myself up for it. I was like, "How am I supposed to be a writer when I don't even write stuff!" But finally, an idea came to me out of a line from a Paramore song. While I was thinking about my book, I realized that inspiration doesn't just come on it's own. We have to prime the pump, so to speak. I had to be thinking about stuff. Go figure. Anyway, this is what came out. Love it or leave it, but let it simmer for a while, and maybe do some thinking of your own. 

__________________________________________________________________

     Up nine stairs to the off-white door. Flip the light on the wall. Pain ignites behind my ears. Eyes revolt against the sudden light. Flip the switch back off. Phone light out to check the thermostat. Seventy-five. Walk to the kitchen for water from the fridge. I slowly take in the small apartment embedded in cold linoleum and tan stain-masking carpet. Bland liquid slides down my throat. That hard edged, not-quite-tingle prickles my arms as the heater drags the cold out of the room. Stomach growling. Fridge is empty. Sit down at the too-small-to-be-dining-room-to-big-to-be-coffee table, and boot up my laptop. Wan blue light shows that, unlike me, the world outside of that dual pane, second story window is tripping by under the neon lit night. Slapping the lid closed and flopping onto the small wants-to-be-but-isn't-quite couch, I stare blankly at the eggshell popcorn ceiling.

This house stands empty.

     Bass throbbing. Lights flashing. Booze flowing. Girls dancing. It's all here and it's all now. A hazed stupor fills the air of the downtown condo. A late night retreat from the doldrums of the nine to five. The couches, occupied by couples I wish had stayed home, are blinking through the colors of the rainbow, their paisley florals flashing like a bad acid trip. Claustrophobia cloys in my mouth as I look at the mass of anonymous flesh undulating to the cacophonous beat of the latest pop sensation. Every Brad seems to have an Angelina. Some have two. Me? I'm leaning against the bar, in the corner, where it meets the living room wall. Yep, in the décor of college night life, I am an electrical outlet.

This house stands empty.

     Behind me, the screen door slams shut and I drop my keys on the table. The television warbles out a show tune as I head to the bathroom. Business finished, I holler into the living room as I head to the kitchen. Noodles on the stove and meatballs in the oven. Spaghetti again? Well, I guess it's easy. Grabbing a Heineken from the fridge, I step in to the living room. How was school, kids? Nothing. Jen and Casey sit enthralled, reality TV holding their gaze. A break comes, commercials and channel surfing. I repeat. Eric, the littlest, gives a shrug over his left shoulder. Eh, it was school. He sprawls out again on the floor. Judy? Oh yes, dear, they went to school, same as always. The show's back on. Right. Dinner. Spaghetti, Heiniken, the Tribune, and me, at the little table in the kitchen. The Sox lost again, well, Andy'll be mad at work tomorrow, but he'll get over it. Laughter and light burst from the living room, quickly hushed by the murmur of the next scene. As the noodles slip from my fork for the umpteenth time, I realize that it's funny how silence can be devoid of actual quiet.

This house stands empty.

Alone. Forgotten. Discarded.

Aimless. Hopeless. Stagnant.

Wishing. Longing. Desperate.

This house stands empty.