martyrion.

>Transcript of Lithurgy's speech at Murder of Crows

>>  This past month, a short moment of rest was allowed for me to ponder a profound thing. For the Christian, there never truly is rest, at least, not in the sense of the physical. 

If afforded a time to sit on a bench admist a set of gravestones and write about things, the painting of such a scene sets a tone of what I am compelled to speak.

How the Creator could re-claim death to be beautiful. Not as a prize to be sought, but as an outcome of love. How wasteful is the practice of our final chapters, when we scribble through the sacred and scarce pages gifted to us by Christ, ignoring his inkmarks for our own inferior touch-ups.

What I mean is, what of our testimony?

Tell me, how does one reconcile the idea of maintaining a pure eye, an innocence of a dove while retaining tact, if one's defense is towards lewdness? A quick turn of violence, a moral highground constructed of arguements sprinkled with a bit of holy water I presume?

If you call for the rise of Christ's presence, yet the fire within His temple, our human frame, is maintained with coals of human pleasures, will He not turn His face in sorrow? Grieved, once again, yet His door still open.

Would you die?

Truly come and die?

Breaking the legs of thine sinful ghost, who hangs by a breath on the cross unkept,  willingly erected for the Bloodied Man with Torn Complexion? This Man who sits beside you, on a thin, wooden frame much like yours, silent with authority. Inwardly weeping for our folly, that weighs His heart with sorrows.

We are quick to curse, quick to throw a violent fist, quick to act in our flesh. But what of that death?

"And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, and they loved not their lives unto the death" (Revelation 12:11).

We have our soul's rest in the arms of Christ here on Earth to maintain us. Yet will we squander it, a repeated exchange till the great joyous rest of His Heaven is robbed, not by another, but by our hand who could not contend to depart from his sinful playthings of wood, hay, and precious metals of fool's gold. (1 Corinthians 3:12-13)

You know, I often wonder if the splendor of the Tree of Knowledge would be afforded to them, if they only remained patient in trusting God to reveal it to them in time, as the minds of children often stagger under its weight.

"For with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge, the more grief " (Ecclesiastes 1:18). 

 

>>Personal Reflections.