You Are Right To Be Concerned

precious bloodTurn Your eyes to the most prominent place and there You will find the face of suffering. It is not hidden, not swept away, not tucked into a corner. There is pain, all of the pain, beaten and bloody. It is a tangible suffering You are quixotically invited to join with Your own. It is blood You are bizarrely asked not to turn away from but to wash Yourself in. It is anointed flesh and that same precious blood You are preposterously told to believe is eternally offered as sustenance. Imagine such a scene. Do not look away from it. And know one thing: Truth such as this will never submit to the times.

It is an age where the people’s seers wear labcoats, and all that can be seen can be measured and categorized, but You know that there are echoes at the very depths of Your being, parts of You that understand that all of the explanations They offer are not enough, parts of You that instinctively know that not everything can be measured, not everything can be seen, not everything can be explained. There is always a piece of You, a piece which They would deny even exists, an indispensable piece that looks at their explanations, smiles knowingly and says “there is more than just this.”

The efforts by many to explain the Faith in terms the current age will understand, these are valiant and necessary efforts, but to the degree the World considers them subversive efforts, They are precisely right. The Faith is not of this world, it is beyond the natural, it includes all that You admit and all that You deny. The dogma it declares, dimly here, loudly there, should be among the gravest of concerns to those who breathe deeply of the times. Because We are out to change this world, to make straight the path to the new one. As many times as needed, as difficult as it may be. Forever and ever.

More than that, We are one. We are connected. We are an organism. Through a mystical body that includes those this World considers dead together with every baptized soul on Earth, We are interconnected as one. That You think such an organism can be defeated and tossed aside reveals more about your tiny World than it does about Us. The full force of tradition, all of those who have ever lived within it, cannot be chased away with childish labels and names, mindless protests and accusations. The vines from the Savior are omnipresent, and they connect us back to He who has already won this battle, He who cannot be tamed to fit Your times, He who lives in us, acts through us. Do You really think You can hold back the tide?

Through this One True God, the Creator, we are creatures interconnected with all of creation, all of what You can see and all They have chosen to blind themselves to. Visible, invisible, natural, supernatural. Your seers can deny that a spiritual war is on for Your soul, one You cannot touch or measure, but in denying it They only succeed in disarming You. And in the silent moments You know all of this is so. That is why You avoid the silence, that is why You fear it.

It is, though, a holy fear. At night You tell, You watch, You crave ghost stories. During the day You look to the great and beautiful and You feel hollow and apart. There must be more than this valley, this statue, this painting, these feelings, this World. How would You sound if You said these things aloud in this time? What would people think if They knew that You craved more than what You saw, more than the tiny World They allow You to believe in?

Holiness is the punchline to a joke. Religion is a crutch for the weak. Mysticism is a fool’s errand. The lies they propound are frail and fragile. Shame? They will shame You if you consider things beyond the veil? How mighty of You to cower at the threat of shame. You fear admitting You believe in things unseen? These times of Yours shout how they believe in vibes and crystals, the latest trends and the oldest lies. You try to fill the gap He has left in You with baubles and trinkets, shiny and trendy. You wedge them into the God-shaped void, pounding like a lunatic trying to fit another and another. Where is Your reason now? If you confess these truths, might the labcoats come for You? Who would care for You then? Only the holy, the religious, the mystics.

Every spinning atom in every person is not there because science ordained it or created it or thought it into being. The flowers in your yard are there because of their seeds, the rain and the sun. The sun is there for the seeds of those flowers and all that preceded them because of an explosion of the cosmos, or of multiple cosmos, or infinite cosmos. Everywhere science goes, everywhere it can go, You find Yourself going one step further and asking what caused such a thing. Careful now. Would You be mocked by the culture that surrounds You, supports You for asking such things? Who can say? But do not be afraid, for You were made that way.

Perhaps now it has occurred to You that it is precisely the subversives who claim and assert the one and only Truth. The World in this age holds up belief in one million conflicting lies, all at once. The popular culture forces conformance to itself as it partakes in the destruction of the presumptions that have always held humanity together, and then it threatens to shame You for questioning Them? The arrogance of the elite who claim they know more, dictate that You must comply to their view of reason, which We, which You, have seen is no reason at all?

What makes a rebel in such a World? Who are the independent souls? Is it possible that the individuals are not the ones who are all the same, who conform and comply to the World, but rather exactly the ones who stand together in a line stretching back into the past, through the present and into the future, all as one, and who say No.

From above the face still looks down at You. That face that suffers. Why would a Savior suffer? You wonder, but of course down deep You have always known. The suffering is the connection through the ages, through the vines that make You part of Him, through the people who came before You and right to You in this very instant. The suffering is the missing piece. The suffering is why He was sent, the source and summit, He took it all upon Him and to this day you can join yours to His. For He is not dead. None of them are.

Come into the silence and We will show You.

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Posted on September 17, 2017, in Columns, Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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