No, I cannot put down a hand of blessing upon injustice. Twisted words and neglected context brings a man into disparity. The flustered words of the mother hen won't break down the sin sewn to the backs of these cowardly men. Same way I cannot pull my brothers from the lions den. We could take cynical steps towards undermining their upbringing but you can't wage a culture war and succeed in saving their songs.All my friends would rather raise their glasses then sink to sharp swinging words. Those demons will drag us ten feet deep. Power holds no meaning in regards to the souls uplifting.
No, I don't know where to go with the layman. I would rather spin him up a story to satisfy his rumbling spirit, but he wouldn't wrestle the truth down like I would like him to. He'd fight it for a minute, but then lay for a drink, in the customs he's accustomed to, despite the growing severity.
You ask me, whats so severe. And I'm sure the flustered hen could tell you. She might say the plot is out of order and theres a darker deviousness that would ensue. Just mischief you might say, were not bound by the law. Yet consequences are heartbreaking and mediocrity gets raised as a higher and higher standard of living. We exalt empty promises, and witty comebacks. That's our victory, that's our solution. But demise is awaiting your last heartbeat. And I wouldn't have it. The thought wrecks me.
I could find words. I could find answers, but It troubles me to systematically meditate upon regiment and structure. I've seen enough hollow homes cascading around as successful stereotypes, playing the worlds game, trying on the emperors new clothes. I understand the flood in this context. God in the highest is here to appease loneliness. But his work seems to overflow with abundant victory despite whatever reason I use to conduct orderly diagnostics.
God, I am convicted of using a scarecrow. I am frightened by falsehood, yet I am addicted to hypocrisy.
The scale of destruction frightens me. I have fantasies about annihilating my enemies, about ripping them limb from limb so that terrorism might seek shelter and not find a place to hide. I am not the Christ. Neither is the Church. But we are missionaries of the ministry of reconciliation. We exist as salt and light and his joy, even if the truth of this is found to be absurdity.
The greater absurdity is this culture war. Neither evangelism nor reconciliation. Before a war against secularism, can we have wrestling within the Church for unity?
For what is a marriage but intimate?
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