Thanks to my friend Steve C. for the link to this Christian Warrior Motivation poster.
Showing posts with label Inspiration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Inspiration. Show all posts
Friday, December 7, 2012
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
Songs I Grew Up With: River Kwai Theme
As a youngster, I sometimes got to go to the drive-in theater with my dad & mom. On one of those occasions, we watched "The Bridge on the River Kwai," which featured the Col. Bogey March.
The sight of bedraggled prisoners of war -- ragged, disheveled, but unbeaten in spirit -- stayed with me. The music became a roller rink favorite which reminded me of that scene often through my high school years.
Watch the video; listen to the music; take away the lesson: they can take your freedom, they can imprison you, they can force degrading circumstances upon you, but if they cannot break your spirit, they cannot defeat you.
May God's grace buoy your spirit in and for the battle.
The sight of bedraggled prisoners of war -- ragged, disheveled, but unbeaten in spirit -- stayed with me. The music became a roller rink favorite which reminded me of that scene often through my high school years.
Watch the video; listen to the music; take away the lesson: they can take your freedom, they can imprison you, they can force degrading circumstances upon you, but if they cannot break your spirit, they cannot defeat you.
May God's grace buoy your spirit in and for the battle.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Quote for the Christian Warrior
In 1941, Winston Churchill spoke to the students at Harrow. The following is an excerpt:
Never give in. Never, never, never--in nothing great or small, large or petty--never give in, except to convictions of honor and good sense. Never yield to force. Never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Renew Your Courage & Hope in the Midst of Doom & Gloom
Christian Martialist Warrior, what is your mood like in this stage of the warfare? Are you optimistic? pessimistic? in a good mood? in a bad mood?
And just as important . . . WHY? Yes, it's important to recognize why your mood ranges up or down at this juncture of your life.
Are you bummed because your candidate did not come out on top on super Tuesday? Do headlines such as the following put you down?
- Banks Foreclose on Churches in Record Numbers (And the realization that what's wrong is not primarily with the banks, but with the churches that have presumed upon the future while ignoring James 4:13-17)
- Police Arrest & Strip Search Pro-Life Protestors (Knowing that police attitudes may have been influenced by recent characterizations of pro-life people as potential terrorists)
- African Christians Massacred (While recognizing that the U.S. "humanitarian" military actions in the Middle East ignore the plight of Christians while kowtowing to the volatile temper of Muslim terrorists [more & more I think Muslim terrorists is an oxymoron])
- American Police State Gathers Momentum (See also HERE) (Meanwhile, the general populace -- including pastors & church leaders) is unaware, uncaring, conditioned by gradualism, or afraid to stand up against the tyranny.)
This is nothing new. Listen to this expression of cynicism by the Kingston Trio (The Merry Minuet, released in 1959):
You are probably tempted to do the prepping for yourself & your immediate family, hunker down and let the world go to hell -- literally as well as figuratively. You know it's the wrong attitude, but you feel as though you've run out of options.
MY DIAGNOSIS
If you're at all like me, I believe you feel discouraged and un-hopeful for one or more of just three reasons:
And he said to them all, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me. For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: but whosoever will lose his life for my sake, the same shall save it. For what is a man advantaged, if he gain the whole world, and lose himself, or be cast away? For whosoever shall be ashamed of me and of my words, of him shall the Son of man be ashamed, when he shall come in his own glory, and in his Father's, and of the holy angels. (Luke 9:23-26)
And a certain scribe came, and said unto him, Master, I will follow thee whithersoever thou goest. And Jesus saith unto him, The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head. And another of his disciples said unto him, Lord, suffer me first to go and bury my father. (Matthew 8:19-21)
You are probably tempted to do the prepping for yourself & your immediate family, hunker down and let the world go to hell -- literally as well as figuratively. You know it's the wrong attitude, but you feel as though you've run out of options.
MY DIAGNOSIS
If you're at all like me, I believe you feel discouraged and un-hopeful for one or more of just three reasons:
- You've lost focus on your primary mission and objective;
- You feel as though you're all alone in the battle;
- You've experienced so many personal defeats that it has affected your outlook.
Mission: Proclaiming and Participating in the Expanding Victory of Your Lord's Kingdom on Earth.
When you're up to your [hips] in alligators, it's sometimes hard to remember that your original objective was to drain the swamp.
As a soldier of Christ, it's easy to let "emergency" side issues crowd out the main objective. As someone has observed, "The urgent is the enemy of the important."
There are many urgent issues around us today: abortion, child pornography, the rise of Islam and other cults, our nation's slide into immorality, the corruption of high officials and their utter disdain for the law of the land, let alone the Law of God, and so on. You may feel a need to engage the enemy on these fronts, but if you do so, you will fall into his trap.
The enemy attacks with many faces, like the Hydra of pagan mythology. And if you do manage to cut off one head, two more will grow in its place.
You will not make progress by concentrating on this or that head in the battle. You must realize that all these evils arise from a single cause, that none can be resolved without addressing that cause, and once that society resolves that issue, everything else -- social problems, cultural morality, political integrity -- will also fall into line.
That issue is the acknowledgment of God and obedience to Him. From a denial of these issue all the ills of the world. (see Romans 1:18-32) Hence, to restore the world necessitates a turn back to acknowledging and obeying Him, which is what the Kingdom of God is all about.
That does not mean that you will never mention or address those other issues, but you will always do so in terms of total surrender to Christ as King. That must constitute your central focus.
Christian Warrior, God has mandated that you most focus on His kingdom. You must shape your life's mission in terms of the Gospel of the Kingdom.
(This is not to say that you must forsake your livelihood or your family responsibilities to pursue God's kingdom. You must, rather, make your work serve Christ's purposes or find new work. You must determine how your family must function as a part of the Kingdom under the rule of Jesus as Lord.)
This involves a lot more than garnering professions of faith. It means bringing all nations into discipleship to the Lord Jesus Christ.
In His earthly ministry, Jesus did not call men merely to a momentary decision (the emphasis of much evangelism-so-called today). He called them to a lifetime of discipleship.
We offer an easy gospel to our audience, and we produce weak, dependent churchgoers who demand comfort, support and entertainment. When the crowds gathered around Jesus, He pre-qualified all the would-be disciples with an unvarnished call to sacrifice for the King and His cause.
And a certain scribe came, and said unto him, Master, I will follow thee whithersoever thou goest. And Jesus saith unto him, The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head. And another of his disciples said unto him, Lord, suffer me first to go and bury my father. (Matthew 8:19-21)
Paul the Apostle echoed this call to discipleship when he exhorted Timothy:
Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ. No man that warreth entangleth himself with the affairs of this life; that he may please him who hath chosen him to be a soldier. (2Timothy 2:3-4)
Okay, soldier, the battle is hard . . . and long . . . and thankless. So, what else is new?
Real soldiers fight the battle and press on, heedless of the personal cost. They battle to enlist other disciples in this war.
Moreover, the transformation of individual and household lifestyles by the Spirit in terms of the Gospel of the Kingdom and the Royal Law of Liberty can and must lead to a transformation of cultures and the establishment of a Christian civilization.
Loneliness
If you feel discouraged because you think you battle alone, think again. Elijah thought he fought alone for the integrity of God's kingdom.
And he said, I have been very jealous for the LORD God of hosts: because the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down thine altars, and slain thy prophets with the sword; and I, even I only, am left; and they seek my life, to take it away. And the LORD said unto him, Go, return on thy way to the wilderness of Damascus: and when thou comest, anoint Hazael to be king over Syria: And Jehu the son of Nimshi shalt thou anoint to be king over Israel: and Elisha the son of Shaphat of Abelmeholah shalt thou anoint to be prophet in thy room. And it shall come to pass, that him that escapeth the sword of Hazael shall Jehu slay: and him that escapeth from the sword of Jehu shall Elisha slay. Yet I have left me seven thousand in Israel, all the knees which have not bowed unto Baal, and every mouth which hath not kissed him. (1King 19:14-18)
The prophet had occupied the point position on the front lines for a long time, and now, after a time of R&R, he had begun to sink into despair. That's often how it happens -- you don't realize how the battle has drained your spirit until you experience a lull.
Despair had brought the prophet to a critical crossroads. But the Lord did not rebuke him, for he had remained faithful through some desperate times.
Instead, the Lord did three things. First, He gave Elijah a couple of rear-echelon kingdom tasks. Then, He sent the prophet to a companion, a protege whom he would train by precept and example.
Finally, the Lord opened his understanding to the fact that He has placed His faithful ones exactly where He wants them. The faithful did not make up a majority -- or even a plurality -- in Israel, but they were 7,000 times as many as Elijah had thought.
If you feel alone in the battle, let me tell you that I've felt that way many times. But in the end, I know I'm not alone because someone who cares will read this. And you're not alone, because I'm here, and that's why I've written this.
Personal Defeats
I've had a lot of these in my life, and I know better than to treat yours lightly. Sometimes, you suffer so many defeats physically, mentally and in your spirit that the very word victory seems like a hollow mockery.
At times, I fear that I've spent far too much of my life grimly holding on without much hope or joy. And I've run across more than a few fellow warriors in the same condition.
I'm in a more contented state at this stage of my life than I have been in previous decades, but I can certainly empathize with those who have become weary of repeated defeats.
If that describes you, I want you to know that I had you in mind when I wrote "The Combat Master's Christmas Tale". Beyond that, the Word has much to say to your heart.
The Apostle Paul encourages with these words:
And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not. (Galatians 6:9)
Whether you feel it or not, victory lies ahead, and you will partake of it. That's what kept our Lord and King in the battle to end:
Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12:2)
I like the words that Deolexrex puts at the end of every one of his emails:
The history of Christianity is a series of victories, described and disguised as disasters. Beginning with the cross...
In the end, you will discover that every defeat that has so disheartened you was actually a victory leading to the enemy's ultimate undoing. The overall strategy belongs to God, and ultimately, you must count your faithfulness in itself as personal victory, no matter what the outcome looks like "out there".
A Call to Action
Do you agree with my assessment? Do you agree with what I've written about our mission?
Have you come to a place where you're ready to set other things aside and dedicate your warrior skills in service to proclaiming and promoting Christ's kingdom?
If so, how would you feel about a fellowship of Christian Martialist Warriors for mutual encouragement, planning and aid. It would be part think-tank, part action committee dedicated to the realization of the Great Commission in and through Christ's Church.
If the thought appeals to you, please respond by email rather than in the comments section. Let me know if you're ready to lead or to follow and what your personal heart needs are at this time in terms of our mutual mission.
I will write more on this in coming days.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
The Right to Life: A Simple Gift
The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
This morning I received word that my aunt had died during the night, and later I heard that an esteemed brother in the faith had only hours left in his earthly house of clay. My mood is one of somber rejoicing that both these Christians have completed their days here and now have the prospect of basking in the camaraderie of the saints before the face of God.
The Lord alone took their lives, as He took my wife's mother just a few weeks ago. That is His prerogative -- solely His prerogative.
When it comes to the rest of us, He has laid down the commandment, "Thou shalt not murder." The right to life comes from God, so He has circumscribed it with His Law.
Implicit in that Law we see the right to defend our lives against those who would take away the life which God has bestowed. The American tradition has codified that right in something we call the Second Amendment.
Some years ago, I wrote a little verse about the right to bear arms and to defend one's home. I wrote it to the melody of the old Shaker hymn, "Simple Gifts".
My version of the words follow. If you're not familiar with the melody or the original words, you can hear a great rendition by Yo Yo Ma and Alison Krauss by CLICKING HERE.
Tis the gift to be deeded; tis the gift to own land.
Tis the gift to greet strangers with a firearm in your hand.
And when we shall all wear our 'arms in plain sight,
We shall find that society has turned out polite.
This morning I received word that my aunt had died during the night, and later I heard that an esteemed brother in the faith had only hours left in his earthly house of clay. My mood is one of somber rejoicing that both these Christians have completed their days here and now have the prospect of basking in the camaraderie of the saints before the face of God.
The Lord alone took their lives, as He took my wife's mother just a few weeks ago. That is His prerogative -- solely His prerogative.
When it comes to the rest of us, He has laid down the commandment, "Thou shalt not murder." The right to life comes from God, so He has circumscribed it with His Law.
Implicit in that Law we see the right to defend our lives against those who would take away the life which God has bestowed. The American tradition has codified that right in something we call the Second Amendment.
Some years ago, I wrote a little verse about the right to bear arms and to defend one's home. I wrote it to the melody of the old Shaker hymn, "Simple Gifts".
My version of the words follow. If you're not familiar with the melody or the original words, you can hear a great rendition by Yo Yo Ma and Alison Krauss by CLICKING HERE.
Tis the gift to be deeded; tis the gift to own land.
Tis the gift to greet strangers with a firearm in your hand.
And when we shall all wear our 'arms in plain sight,
We shall find that society has turned out polite.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Scots Wha Hae: Christian Warrior Inspiration
The Christian Warrior grounds himself in the Word of the Living God, particularly through singing the Psalms. Still, there are those extrabiblical songs and graphics that also help to bring me back to my roots, to who I am.
For me, Robert Burns' "Scots Wha Hae" is one of those songs.
Original Lyrics:
'Scots, wha hae wi Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome tae yer gory bed,
Or tae victorie.
'Now's the day, an now's the hour:
See the front o battle lour,
See approach proud Edward's power -
Chains and Slaverie.
'Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha will fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn an flee.
'Wha, for Scotland's king and law,
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or Freeman fa,
Let him on wi me.
'By Oppression's woes and pains,
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free.
'Lay the proud usurpers low,
Tyrants fall in every foe,
Liberty's in every blow! -
Let us do or dee.
For me, Robert Burns' "Scots Wha Hae" is one of those songs.
Original Lyrics:
'Scots, wha hae wi Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome tae yer gory bed,
Or tae victorie.
'Now's the day, an now's the hour:
See the front o battle lour,
See approach proud Edward's power -
Chains and Slaverie.
'Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha will fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn an flee.
'Wha, for Scotland's king and law,
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or Freeman fa,
Let him on wi me.
'By Oppression's woes and pains,
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free.
'Lay the proud usurpers low,
Tyrants fall in every foe,
Liberty's in every blow! -
Let us do or dee.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Resistance is Futile!
Happy 5th Day of Nativity Celebration!
Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain (i.e., futile) thing? The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together, against the LORD, and against his anointed . . . . (Psalm 2:1-2)
Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain (i.e., futile) thing? The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together, against the LORD, and against his anointed . . . . (Psalm 2:1-2)
I always thought I was the only one who drew a parallel between Star Trek's cube-dwelling Borg and the foursquare city of New Jerusalem (Revelation 21:16). Each respective cube lies suspended in space (the heavens).
I don't know if the writers and producers of the science fiction saga had that in mind, but it seems that at least one unbeliever has made the connection and constructed a web page dedicated to his interpretation of it. (See here) I hope you find the web page instructive, in that it provides a glimpse at how those who embrace a non-christian worldview view believers. They see us as regimented, unfree and intellectually sterile.
I don't know if the writers and producers of the science fiction saga had that in mind, but it seems that at least one unbeliever has made the connection and constructed a web page dedicated to his interpretation of it. (See here) I hope you find the web page instructive, in that it provides a glimpse at how those who embrace a non-christian worldview view believers. They see us as regimented, unfree and intellectually sterile.
Fulfil ye my joy, that ye be likeminded, having the same love, being of one accord, of one mind. (Philippians 2:2)
This unity of belief and purpose stands out in distinct contrast, of course to public school instruction where humanistically trained teachers lead multitudes of children all to reach the same "politically correct" conclusions. And, as soon as they do, their indoctinators congratulate them that they are finally thinking for themselves.
The main point, however, that I want Christian Martialists to take away from a discussion of the Borg is the first half of their motto/battle cry:
"Resistance is futile."
At the celebration of our Lord's nativity, Christians momentarily leave behind their theological pessimism and sing the carols that herald the victory of the King and His reign over the nations of men. For a few days, they embrace the real possibility that He actually can establish peace and justice in our world.
I believe that He not only can, but that He will. The nations may rage against Him, but resistance is futile. Our God has not abandoned history to Satan; He will fulfill the commission He gave to the Church (Matthew 28:16-20), even if it's in spite of His people's lack of faith.
I've previously published a series of statements I'd like to put on signs in front of our property here in Possum Kingdom. Up until now, though, I've been looking for a better way to word the penultimate statement.
Now I think I have it.
JESUS CHRIST IS KING
YOU CANNOT IMPEACH HIM
HE WILL NEVER RESIGN
RESISTANCE IS FUTILE
THEREFORE TRUST HIM AND OBEY
Saturday, December 24, 2011
The Combat Master's Christmas Tale
The following appeared in my WARSKL blog one year ago.
Over the years, the nature of my work required that I spend too many Thanksgivings and Christmases in lonely, empty buildings away from my wife and children. In spite of that -- or perhaps because of it -- Nativity Day has acquired a taste of nostalgia and longing such that I can identify with those who must spend the day away from those they love most.
I dedicate this story to all of them and, indeed, to all who have struggled alone in battle for our Lord. I hope I remember it well enough to do them the honor they deserve. Further, I hope that each of you will find something of your own story in it.
Some, no doubt will think my story is an empty fabrication: a mere fancy of my tired, old and idle mind. But such people cannot know that the Nativity Day atmosphere which I breathe shines bright with promise and weighty with hope.
The ignorant will say it's magical, but its power draws on something much deeper and more powerful than magic. The word miracle comes much closer to describing it. In the Nativity celebration, life surpasses legend, and we find that we embrace more freely those things that ought to be.
It was the eve of our Nativity Day celebration, and for once, the mountain was shrouded by blizzard instead of mist. The weather had been clear when I started out to bring a small gift to my teacher, the master of all combat arts, ancient and modern. As I climbed, the snow fell softly at first, then the flakes became so thick and the wind gusted so strongly that it became nearly impossible for me to see my way.
White flakes started to crust the thick, full beard of the hardy Scot as he thanked me for my present. Then he said, "Ye'll not be going home in this weather, lad. Come with me."
He led me to his well-concealed stone cottage, and welcomed me into his home that was so much like its builder and owner: austere, yet sturdy, honest and warm. The heat of the fire and a couple of tankards of mead made the silence between us feel easy and friendly.
I watched the warrior follow his nightly ritual. First, he field stripped, cleaned and oiled his M-14. Then he did the same with his Model 1911. He hung them in their places above the mantel.
Then he dressed the edge of his claymore with a pocket hone, oiled it and hung it over the mantel where the warmth would drive away any moisture. Finally, he turned his attention to his dirk, but when he finished with it, he laid it by his side, for since his wife died, it was the only companion he took to his bed.
When he finally spoke, the combat master's Scottish brogue was low and sonorous. "Clodhopper, this night reminds me of a Christmas eve ever so long ago . . . " Then he told me this tale:
The enemy hated our faith and made war on us to snuff it out. My companions and I were fleeing a force that outnumbered us twelve to one. I was wounded, and my pace slowed my brothers-in-arms so that we surely would be caught.
The ground lay bare that December 24th, but the chill wind bit deeply as the sky darkened. Well knew I that the enemy needed no snow to track us, for the blood that dripped from my wounds left trail enough to follow.
Finally, I insisted that they go one way and I another. They would not have done it, had I not outranked them, and even then they almost stayed. But for the beginning snowfall, they probably would not have left me alone.
I finally prevailed by insisting that the snow would cover both our trails, and I could hide much more easily alone. They were a stout bunch who hated to leave me, and they would doubtless have stayed, had they known the true extremity of my weakness.
With the last of my strength, I hacked off some pine boughs with my claymore and dragged them under the low-lying branches of a pine tree. Then, I scooped out a nest in the deep, insulating carpet of pine needles, rolled up in my great kilt, and pulled the pine boughs over me, expecting that I would not live til morning.
The snow fell deep and fast, covering my blood trail and the tree that provided my shelter. Chills and fever took turns on me, that night, and at some point I heard the heavy boots of those who hunted me crunching through the snow mere feet from my hidey hole. The echo of their curses sounded in my fevered brain long after they had passed.
Then, at some point, I must have slept. I must have slept, for I had the strangest dream . . . if, indeed, a dream it was.
In my dream, I stood in a vast hall filled with many tables that fairly creaked under the load of a great and hearty banquet. About each table sat such a company of men as has never gathered in this life.
They reminded me of my companions -- good, true, honest and faithful men -- warriors all. The men were a merry lot as they ate and drank, but their laughter was not rude and their manner was courteous, filled with mutual love and respect.
Then I espied at the head of the hall, a dais that supported a wondrous manly throne of rich, carved oak. Upon the throne sat the King, beholding with sincere approval His warrior host.
Realization dawned upon me that I stood in the Hall of Valiant Warriors who served the true and rightful Warrior King. Pagan warriors had heard of the place, and they corrupted its beauty and simplicity in their myths of Valhalla, but now I stood in the actual midst of the great warrior-servants of the true King.
And how shall I describe Him, Clodhopper? Authority without arrogance . . . dignity without pride . . . and His eyes filled with the kind of compassion you find only in those who have suffered much.
Then my eyes fell upon His wrists and the deep scars from the nails that had wounded Him in His battle for the souls of men. On that day, a Roman spear pierced His side, but the dark lord's lance shattered into splinters against His mighty Soul.
Now and then, one or another would rise from this table or that and bear a plate of food to the dais and bid the King eat. He received the offer with grace and affection, but He, Himself, did not even once take a morsel of the great feast.
I started at the voice of one I had not noticed beside me. "Welcome, Mac."
"Y' know me, then. But you have the advantage, for I know you not."
"You may call me 'Ben'."
It amazed me that one of these mighty men should recognize one such as I. Even more amazingly, he assured me that he not only knew me, but that he and some others had eagerly awaited the chance to trade stories with me.
Before I could answer, the hall grew suddenly quite still. The men's gaze followed that of their King to the far end of the hall, where a pitiful, naked, bedraggled wretch limped through the portal.
No square inch of the man's body was without some laceration, bruise or swelling. Some wounds looked fresh, but others stank from putrefaction.
I watched in wonder as he tried to approach the King's dais, but his strength failed him. He collapsed to the floor in an aisle between two rows of tables.
Two warriors closest to where he fell rushed to him, one on each side. I thought that perhaps they would carry this beggar out of their assembly and away from the sight of their King. Instead, the most singular thing happened.
The mighty men gingerly lifted the beggar to his feet, and with their arms under his, conducted him slowly to the King. They treated him with the tender gentleness that you may have the privilege to observe in men of great courage and strength.
As they did so, the King stood to His feet, and every man in the hall arose and snapped to attention.
When they came to the foot of the dais, they stopped at a crystal font filled with clear, pure water. There they bathed the beggar's wounds and the purity of that water healed his flesh. Clotted blood, bleeding wounds and putrefying sores shrank away and became faint battle scars, much like those borne by all the mighty men in the hall.
Now I knew that he was not a beggar, but a soldier most recently fallen in the service of the King. He knelt before his sworn Sovereign who said, "Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord."
At that, his fellow-warriors draped him with a great kilt just like those worn by everyone in the company, and the King presented him with a sword and a shield. "These you shall bear for me in the great and final day of battle."
I turned to my companion, "Tell me, Ben, why am I here. Like yon man, I entered wounded and filthy, but I do not feel a part of this company."
"It is not yet your time, brother. You have come here because although you must continue the fight, we do not want you to battle on without hope. There is a seat reserved for you here, and one day you shall feast among us as we gather strength for the final victory."
The words "final victory" chased round and round in my fevered mind as consciousness slowly forced itself upon me. Thick snow blanketed the forest that long ago morning of December 25th. I arose from concealment, still weak, still fevered and sick, but alive and filled with renewed purpose and devotion, for I had seen a wounded and broken warrior honored by the King.
My teacher fell silent after the story, and so we sat again, both of us lost in thought. Then suddenly, "So, Clodhopper, tell me now a story of your battles. I long to hear of a great victory you've won.
I cringed with shame. "I have no great victories, and no real battles to recount. That's not what my life has been like at all." He did not say a word, but only fixed me in his gaze until I spoke again.
"All right, you want to know what my life is really like? I'll tell you a typical story from when I was a young believer."
The year after I surrendered my own life to the King, I accepted the challenge to carry my Bible to school every day, as testimony to my faith. My biology teacher saw my Bible, and he singled me out for ridicule in front of the class.
One day, he even falsely accused me of vandalizing a nature trail that he had made -- again, in front of the class. I never engaged the man in battle, and after that year, I had only limited contact with him.
At the end of my junior year, he proctored an exam I was taking. I finished it early, and to occupy myself, I wrote out John 14:1-6 on the scratch paper along with a little poem I had memorized. As I looked it over, a shadow fell across my desk, and the biology teacher stood over me.
He picked up my papers, no doubt thinking that I had smuggled some crib notes into the exam room. He stood there and read the Scripture passage and the little poem I had memorized by R.C. Trench:
Weep not for broad lands lost,
Weep not for fair hopes crossed.
Weep not when limbs wax old.
Weep not when friends grow cold.
Weep not when death must part thine
And the best loved heart,
Yet weep, weep all you can.
Weep, weep because thou art a sin-defiled man.
Then the unbelieving teacher said, "Interesting," and returned my papers to the desk. Later, during my senior year, he exacted petty revenge upon me for whatever crimes he imagined I had committed against him.
At that time, he made me look and feel a fool, and he humiliated me in front of others.
I tell you this story because it's fairly typical of my life. So often when I try to stand for what's right and true for the sake of my King, others have put me down, I've lost a job, or been mocked and scorned.
I cannot pick up a sword and go after these people. It's not the way my life has fallen. My story is not like yours, a tale of taking part in great battles and facing deadly enemies with rifle or blade.
The combat master fixed his eyes upon mine as he asked, "Did you rejoice?"
"What?"
"Did you rejoice when the teacher humiliated you?"
"Uh . . . well . . . no."
"Acts 5:41 tells us that after the authorities had publicly beaten and humiliated the apostles, they rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer shame for His name."
I remained silent as he continued. "You must understand that the deepest wounds a soldier carries, no mortal eye can see, and no human surgeon can heal. Though you've not fought with weapons such as hang on my wall, you carry deep wounds of that sort, as well.
"Forget not the King's cross. He lifted no material weapon, and He suffered shame and humiliation for our sakes. And it looked for all the world to see as though He suffered a great defeat amid the scornful laughter of those who mocked.
"And yet, though it appeared a loss, it turned out the most decisive victory in the War of the Ages -- a great strategic victory that the King won naked, wounded and alone without rifle or sword.
"That is why He honored that poor, naked and broken warrior in my dream. Because that warrior followed his Sovereign.
"As our King won the great strategic victory, so you and a multitude of your brothers have won many tactical victories in His name. Those victories may have looked like defeats --they may not have even looked like battles -- but they were victories nonetheless because His cross supports and affirms them.
"One day the sheer weight of those victories will crush what remains of the Kingdom of Darkness, and all the world will know our King's reign of peace, justice and truth. In that day, you will need no medals, for your scars will tell the story of your battles and how you emerged victorious.
"I have known many warriors, and I have trained many pupils through seemingly countless years, and many times I have looked at one or another and thought to myself, 'This one reminds me of the honored warrior in my dream.'
But tonight, Clodhopper, tonight I fancy that the honored warrior looked a lot like you."
I had nothing more to say, and it was just as well, for the lump in my throat was too large to let a single word past.
That's how I remember one particular Nativity Day eve that I spent away from my loved ones. I missed them that night, but I would not trade my experience in the combat master's cottage for anything. Anything except maybe to hear the King say to me, "Well done . . . ."
It's a funny thing, how I've thought of my family during the Nativity celebrations when I could not be with them. Yet, those holidays when I am with them, I also cherish the lonely times, when the kind words and good wishes of a good, true and strong friend shone in my darkness like a beacon from the King.
Tonight, I will be in church with my wife and youngest daughter. I will listen to Christmas favorites played on Celtic harps by young women in lovely dresses. But my thoughts and wishes will also be with the lonely warriors who, away from home, struggle in the dark with enemies seen and unseen.
Please accept my wish to you, dear brothers and friends, for a most happy and blessed celebration of the King's birth. And if you feel lonely, defeated, wounded or downhearted in any way, please remember this as the Christmas eve that you climbed the snow-capped mountain and waited out a blizzard before the fire of a warrior whose heart is as great and strong as the mountain he calls home.
And if you ever doubt the value of your efforts, remember that after you listened to his story and he listened to yours, you heard him say, "Tonight, I fancy that the honored warrior looked a lot like you."
Over the years, the nature of my work required that I spend too many Thanksgivings and Christmases in lonely, empty buildings away from my wife and children. In spite of that -- or perhaps because of it -- Nativity Day has acquired a taste of nostalgia and longing such that I can identify with those who must spend the day away from those they love most.
I dedicate this story to all of them and, indeed, to all who have struggled alone in battle for our Lord. I hope I remember it well enough to do them the honor they deserve. Further, I hope that each of you will find something of your own story in it.
Some, no doubt will think my story is an empty fabrication: a mere fancy of my tired, old and idle mind. But such people cannot know that the Nativity Day atmosphere which I breathe shines bright with promise and weighty with hope.
The ignorant will say it's magical, but its power draws on something much deeper and more powerful than magic. The word miracle comes much closer to describing it. In the Nativity celebration, life surpasses legend, and we find that we embrace more freely those things that ought to be.
*****
It was the eve of our Nativity Day celebration, and for once, the mountain was shrouded by blizzard instead of mist. The weather had been clear when I started out to bring a small gift to my teacher, the master of all combat arts, ancient and modern. As I climbed, the snow fell softly at first, then the flakes became so thick and the wind gusted so strongly that it became nearly impossible for me to see my way.
White flakes started to crust the thick, full beard of the hardy Scot as he thanked me for my present. Then he said, "Ye'll not be going home in this weather, lad. Come with me."
He led me to his well-concealed stone cottage, and welcomed me into his home that was so much like its builder and owner: austere, yet sturdy, honest and warm. The heat of the fire and a couple of tankards of mead made the silence between us feel easy and friendly.
I watched the warrior follow his nightly ritual. First, he field stripped, cleaned and oiled his M-14. Then he did the same with his Model 1911. He hung them in their places above the mantel.
Then he dressed the edge of his claymore with a pocket hone, oiled it and hung it over the mantel where the warmth would drive away any moisture. Finally, he turned his attention to his dirk, but when he finished with it, he laid it by his side, for since his wife died, it was the only companion he took to his bed.
When he finally spoke, the combat master's Scottish brogue was low and sonorous. "Clodhopper, this night reminds me of a Christmas eve ever so long ago . . . " Then he told me this tale:
The enemy hated our faith and made war on us to snuff it out. My companions and I were fleeing a force that outnumbered us twelve to one. I was wounded, and my pace slowed my brothers-in-arms so that we surely would be caught.
The ground lay bare that December 24th, but the chill wind bit deeply as the sky darkened. Well knew I that the enemy needed no snow to track us, for the blood that dripped from my wounds left trail enough to follow.
Finally, I insisted that they go one way and I another. They would not have done it, had I not outranked them, and even then they almost stayed. But for the beginning snowfall, they probably would not have left me alone.
I finally prevailed by insisting that the snow would cover both our trails, and I could hide much more easily alone. They were a stout bunch who hated to leave me, and they would doubtless have stayed, had they known the true extremity of my weakness.
With the last of my strength, I hacked off some pine boughs with my claymore and dragged them under the low-lying branches of a pine tree. Then, I scooped out a nest in the deep, insulating carpet of pine needles, rolled up in my great kilt, and pulled the pine boughs over me, expecting that I would not live til morning.
The snow fell deep and fast, covering my blood trail and the tree that provided my shelter. Chills and fever took turns on me, that night, and at some point I heard the heavy boots of those who hunted me crunching through the snow mere feet from my hidey hole. The echo of their curses sounded in my fevered brain long after they had passed.
Then, at some point, I must have slept. I must have slept, for I had the strangest dream . . . if, indeed, a dream it was.
In my dream, I stood in a vast hall filled with many tables that fairly creaked under the load of a great and hearty banquet. About each table sat such a company of men as has never gathered in this life.
They reminded me of my companions -- good, true, honest and faithful men -- warriors all. The men were a merry lot as they ate and drank, but their laughter was not rude and their manner was courteous, filled with mutual love and respect.
Then I espied at the head of the hall, a dais that supported a wondrous manly throne of rich, carved oak. Upon the throne sat the King, beholding with sincere approval His warrior host.
Realization dawned upon me that I stood in the Hall of Valiant Warriors who served the true and rightful Warrior King. Pagan warriors had heard of the place, and they corrupted its beauty and simplicity in their myths of Valhalla, but now I stood in the actual midst of the great warrior-servants of the true King.
And how shall I describe Him, Clodhopper? Authority without arrogance . . . dignity without pride . . . and His eyes filled with the kind of compassion you find only in those who have suffered much.
Then my eyes fell upon His wrists and the deep scars from the nails that had wounded Him in His battle for the souls of men. On that day, a Roman spear pierced His side, but the dark lord's lance shattered into splinters against His mighty Soul.
Now and then, one or another would rise from this table or that and bear a plate of food to the dais and bid the King eat. He received the offer with grace and affection, but He, Himself, did not even once take a morsel of the great feast.
I started at the voice of one I had not noticed beside me. "Welcome, Mac."
"Y' know me, then. But you have the advantage, for I know you not."
"You may call me 'Ben'."
It amazed me that one of these mighty men should recognize one such as I. Even more amazingly, he assured me that he not only knew me, but that he and some others had eagerly awaited the chance to trade stories with me.
Before I could answer, the hall grew suddenly quite still. The men's gaze followed that of their King to the far end of the hall, where a pitiful, naked, bedraggled wretch limped through the portal.
No square inch of the man's body was without some laceration, bruise or swelling. Some wounds looked fresh, but others stank from putrefaction.
I watched in wonder as he tried to approach the King's dais, but his strength failed him. He collapsed to the floor in an aisle between two rows of tables.
Two warriors closest to where he fell rushed to him, one on each side. I thought that perhaps they would carry this beggar out of their assembly and away from the sight of their King. Instead, the most singular thing happened.
The mighty men gingerly lifted the beggar to his feet, and with their arms under his, conducted him slowly to the King. They treated him with the tender gentleness that you may have the privilege to observe in men of great courage and strength.
As they did so, the King stood to His feet, and every man in the hall arose and snapped to attention.
When they came to the foot of the dais, they stopped at a crystal font filled with clear, pure water. There they bathed the beggar's wounds and the purity of that water healed his flesh. Clotted blood, bleeding wounds and putrefying sores shrank away and became faint battle scars, much like those borne by all the mighty men in the hall.
Now I knew that he was not a beggar, but a soldier most recently fallen in the service of the King. He knelt before his sworn Sovereign who said, "Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord."
At that, his fellow-warriors draped him with a great kilt just like those worn by everyone in the company, and the King presented him with a sword and a shield. "These you shall bear for me in the great and final day of battle."
I turned to my companion, "Tell me, Ben, why am I here. Like yon man, I entered wounded and filthy, but I do not feel a part of this company."
"It is not yet your time, brother. You have come here because although you must continue the fight, we do not want you to battle on without hope. There is a seat reserved for you here, and one day you shall feast among us as we gather strength for the final victory."
The words "final victory" chased round and round in my fevered mind as consciousness slowly forced itself upon me. Thick snow blanketed the forest that long ago morning of December 25th. I arose from concealment, still weak, still fevered and sick, but alive and filled with renewed purpose and devotion, for I had seen a wounded and broken warrior honored by the King.
My teacher fell silent after the story, and so we sat again, both of us lost in thought. Then suddenly, "So, Clodhopper, tell me now a story of your battles. I long to hear of a great victory you've won.
I cringed with shame. "I have no great victories, and no real battles to recount. That's not what my life has been like at all." He did not say a word, but only fixed me in his gaze until I spoke again.
"All right, you want to know what my life is really like? I'll tell you a typical story from when I was a young believer."
The year after I surrendered my own life to the King, I accepted the challenge to carry my Bible to school every day, as testimony to my faith. My biology teacher saw my Bible, and he singled me out for ridicule in front of the class.
One day, he even falsely accused me of vandalizing a nature trail that he had made -- again, in front of the class. I never engaged the man in battle, and after that year, I had only limited contact with him.
At the end of my junior year, he proctored an exam I was taking. I finished it early, and to occupy myself, I wrote out John 14:1-6 on the scratch paper along with a little poem I had memorized. As I looked it over, a shadow fell across my desk, and the biology teacher stood over me.
He picked up my papers, no doubt thinking that I had smuggled some crib notes into the exam room. He stood there and read the Scripture passage and the little poem I had memorized by R.C. Trench:
Weep not for broad lands lost,
Weep not for fair hopes crossed.
Weep not when limbs wax old.
Weep not when friends grow cold.
Weep not when death must part thine
And the best loved heart,
Yet weep, weep all you can.
Weep, weep because thou art a sin-defiled man.
Then the unbelieving teacher said, "Interesting," and returned my papers to the desk. Later, during my senior year, he exacted petty revenge upon me for whatever crimes he imagined I had committed against him.
At that time, he made me look and feel a fool, and he humiliated me in front of others.
I tell you this story because it's fairly typical of my life. So often when I try to stand for what's right and true for the sake of my King, others have put me down, I've lost a job, or been mocked and scorned.
I cannot pick up a sword and go after these people. It's not the way my life has fallen. My story is not like yours, a tale of taking part in great battles and facing deadly enemies with rifle or blade.
The combat master fixed his eyes upon mine as he asked, "Did you rejoice?"
"What?"
"Did you rejoice when the teacher humiliated you?"
"Uh . . . well . . . no."
"Acts 5:41 tells us that after the authorities had publicly beaten and humiliated the apostles, they rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer shame for His name."
I remained silent as he continued. "You must understand that the deepest wounds a soldier carries, no mortal eye can see, and no human surgeon can heal. Though you've not fought with weapons such as hang on my wall, you carry deep wounds of that sort, as well.
"Forget not the King's cross. He lifted no material weapon, and He suffered shame and humiliation for our sakes. And it looked for all the world to see as though He suffered a great defeat amid the scornful laughter of those who mocked.
"And yet, though it appeared a loss, it turned out the most decisive victory in the War of the Ages -- a great strategic victory that the King won naked, wounded and alone without rifle or sword.
"That is why He honored that poor, naked and broken warrior in my dream. Because that warrior followed his Sovereign.
"As our King won the great strategic victory, so you and a multitude of your brothers have won many tactical victories in His name. Those victories may have looked like defeats --they may not have even looked like battles -- but they were victories nonetheless because His cross supports and affirms them.
"One day the sheer weight of those victories will crush what remains of the Kingdom of Darkness, and all the world will know our King's reign of peace, justice and truth. In that day, you will need no medals, for your scars will tell the story of your battles and how you emerged victorious.
"I have known many warriors, and I have trained many pupils through seemingly countless years, and many times I have looked at one or another and thought to myself, 'This one reminds me of the honored warrior in my dream.'
But tonight, Clodhopper, tonight I fancy that the honored warrior looked a lot like you."
I had nothing more to say, and it was just as well, for the lump in my throat was too large to let a single word past.
*****
That's how I remember one particular Nativity Day eve that I spent away from my loved ones. I missed them that night, but I would not trade my experience in the combat master's cottage for anything. Anything except maybe to hear the King say to me, "Well done . . . ."
It's a funny thing, how I've thought of my family during the Nativity celebrations when I could not be with them. Yet, those holidays when I am with them, I also cherish the lonely times, when the kind words and good wishes of a good, true and strong friend shone in my darkness like a beacon from the King.
Tonight, I will be in church with my wife and youngest daughter. I will listen to Christmas favorites played on Celtic harps by young women in lovely dresses. But my thoughts and wishes will also be with the lonely warriors who, away from home, struggle in the dark with enemies seen and unseen.
Please accept my wish to you, dear brothers and friends, for a most happy and blessed celebration of the King's birth. And if you feel lonely, defeated, wounded or downhearted in any way, please remember this as the Christmas eve that you climbed the snow-capped mountain and waited out a blizzard before the fire of a warrior whose heart is as great and strong as the mountain he calls home.
And if you ever doubt the value of your efforts, remember that after you listened to his story and he listened to yours, you heard him say, "Tonight, I fancy that the honored warrior looked a lot like you."
Friday, December 23, 2011
A WARSKYL Warm Fuzzy: The Tradition Continues
Many families share Nativity Day traditions, and to some in the WARSKYL family, it has become traditional to expect the retelling of my warmest, fuzziest family holiday memory. It contains a threat of danger, some guns and a happy ending.
Here is the story as I first posted it at Thanksgiving, 2007:
When my older girls were in their teens, we made the trek from Pennsylvania to Riverview, Florida for a visit to my folks. I don't remember if it was actually a holiday or not (but it should have been). My brother & his family were also there, so bedtime was marked by sleeping figures of various sizes curled up all over the tiny house.
Sometime around 2 or 3 AM, I was awakened by a voice outside the house saying, "We have the house surrounded. Come out with your hands up." I wasn't sure what to think, and my first instinct was to grab my Model 1911 from under my pillow and step out of the bedroom door to see if anyone else had heard this demand. They had.
We all met in the center of the house. My brother had his .45, my dad came out of his room with his Remington .380, and ONE OF MY DAUGHTERS had her Helwan 9mm. I can't think of a family get-together where I've felt more warm and gooshy (This is probably the ONLY time you'll see the phrase "warm and gooshy" in this blog). It would have marked an intruder with poor timing indeed to come through the door at that moment.
It makes me proud that all had the same reaction, all (who were able) came armed, and (not least) all were exercising muzzle awareness -- no one inadvertently pointed a weapon at any other family member.
The menacing voice with the threatening message, it turned out, was a recording that belonged to a burglar alarm at a construction site nearby. The air must have been just right to carry the sound to my parents' house so clearly.
A man does what he can, and occasionally Providence gives him a glimpse of the progress he has made. Those moments can provide encouragement . . . but they can also provide warm, fuzzy holiday memories.
If you missed my Christmas Eve story last year, please check back tomorrow. If you have a warrior's heart, I think you'll be glad you did.
Here is the story as I first posted it at Thanksgiving, 2007:
When my older girls were in their teens, we made the trek from Pennsylvania to Riverview, Florida for a visit to my folks. I don't remember if it was actually a holiday or not (but it should have been). My brother & his family were also there, so bedtime was marked by sleeping figures of various sizes curled up all over the tiny house.
Sometime around 2 or 3 AM, I was awakened by a voice outside the house saying, "We have the house surrounded. Come out with your hands up." I wasn't sure what to think, and my first instinct was to grab my Model 1911 from under my pillow and step out of the bedroom door to see if anyone else had heard this demand. They had.
We all met in the center of the house. My brother had his .45, my dad came out of his room with his Remington .380, and ONE OF MY DAUGHTERS had her Helwan 9mm. I can't think of a family get-together where I've felt more warm and gooshy (This is probably the ONLY time you'll see the phrase "warm and gooshy" in this blog). It would have marked an intruder with poor timing indeed to come through the door at that moment.
It makes me proud that all had the same reaction, all (who were able) came armed, and (not least) all were exercising muzzle awareness -- no one inadvertently pointed a weapon at any other family member.
The menacing voice with the threatening message, it turned out, was a recording that belonged to a burglar alarm at a construction site nearby. The air must have been just right to carry the sound to my parents' house so clearly.
A man does what he can, and occasionally Providence gives him a glimpse of the progress he has made. Those moments can provide encouragement . . . but they can also provide warm, fuzzy holiday memories.
If you missed my Christmas Eve story last year, please check back tomorrow. If you have a warrior's heart, I think you'll be glad you did.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Does This Poster Reflect Christian Warrior Culture?
There's truth in this poster's observation, but it's wrong about real men not crying. My King was the ultimate Man, and He wept (John 11:35).
From 22 Words
Saturday, November 5, 2011
What It Means To Be A Christian Warrior
A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of attending the Sensible Prepper conference in Greenville, S.C. Among the many good folk I met there was C.S., a woman who resonated with my explanation of WARSKYL as a system of self defense built around a core of Biblical principles. As I would discover, she understood what it means to be a Christian warrior.
The next day, she returned to our table with a paper entitled "I Am A Soldier in GOD'S Army". I believe she is the author. I am reproducing it below with some very minor alterations to fit the purpose and philosophy of Christian Warrior Online.
Thou therefore endure hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ. (II Timothy 2:3)
I am a soldier in the army of my GOD. The Lord Jesus Christ is my Commanding Officer. The Holy Bible is my code of conduct; faith, prayer and the Word are my principal weapons of warfare. I have been taught by the Holy Spirit, trained by experience, tried by adversity and tested by fire.
I am a volunteer in this army, and I am enlisted for eternity. I may die in this army, but I will not get out, sell out, be talked out or pushed out!
I am faithful, reliable, capable and dependable. If my GOD needs me, I am there. If he needs me to teach children, disciple youth, help adults or just sit and learn, He can call on me because I am there.
I am a soldier. I am not a baby! I do not need to be pampered, petted, primed up, pumped up, picked up or pepped up.
I am a soldier. No one has to call me, remind me, write me, visit me, entice me or entertain me.
I am a soldier, not a wimp. I am in place, saluting my King, obeying His orders, praising His name and building His Kingdom. No one has to send flowers, gifts, food, cards, candy or give me handouts. I do not need to be cuddled, cradled, cared for or catered to.
I am committed! I cannot have my feelings hurt badly enough to turn me around. I cannot be discouraged enough to turn me aside. I cannot lose enough to cause me to quit. When Jesus called me into his army, I had nothing. Even if I die in this war, I will come out better than even.
I am more than a conqueror. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Devils cannot defeat me. People cannot disillusion me. Weather cannot weary me. Battles cannot beat me. Money cannot buy me. Governments cannot silence me, and Hell cannot handle me.
I am a soldier. Even death cannot destroy me. For when my Commander calls me from His battlefield, He will promote me to serve in His heavenly host.
I am a soldier in the army, and I'm marching to ultimate victory in time and on earth, a victory commanded by the King and predestined by His Father. I will not give up. I will not turn around. I am a soldier, marching to the beat of Heaven's drum.
Here I stand. Will you stand with me?
Choose you this day whom ye will serve . . . but as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD. (Joshua 24:15)
The next day, she returned to our table with a paper entitled "I Am A Soldier in GOD'S Army". I believe she is the author. I am reproducing it below with some very minor alterations to fit the purpose and philosophy of Christian Warrior Online.
Thou therefore endure hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ. (II Timothy 2:3)
I am a soldier in the army of my GOD. The Lord Jesus Christ is my Commanding Officer. The Holy Bible is my code of conduct; faith, prayer and the Word are my principal weapons of warfare. I have been taught by the Holy Spirit, trained by experience, tried by adversity and tested by fire.
I am a volunteer in this army, and I am enlisted for eternity. I may die in this army, but I will not get out, sell out, be talked out or pushed out!
I am faithful, reliable, capable and dependable. If my GOD needs me, I am there. If he needs me to teach children, disciple youth, help adults or just sit and learn, He can call on me because I am there.
I am a soldier. I am not a baby! I do not need to be pampered, petted, primed up, pumped up, picked up or pepped up.
I am a soldier. No one has to call me, remind me, write me, visit me, entice me or entertain me.
I am a soldier, not a wimp. I am in place, saluting my King, obeying His orders, praising His name and building His Kingdom. No one has to send flowers, gifts, food, cards, candy or give me handouts. I do not need to be cuddled, cradled, cared for or catered to.
I am committed! I cannot have my feelings hurt badly enough to turn me around. I cannot be discouraged enough to turn me aside. I cannot lose enough to cause me to quit. When Jesus called me into his army, I had nothing. Even if I die in this war, I will come out better than even.
I am more than a conqueror. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Devils cannot defeat me. People cannot disillusion me. Weather cannot weary me. Battles cannot beat me. Money cannot buy me. Governments cannot silence me, and Hell cannot handle me.
I am a soldier. Even death cannot destroy me. For when my Commander calls me from His battlefield, He will promote me to serve in His heavenly host.
I am a soldier in the army, and I'm marching to ultimate victory in time and on earth, a victory commanded by the King and predestined by His Father. I will not give up. I will not turn around. I am a soldier, marching to the beat of Heaven's drum.
Here I stand. Will you stand with me?
Choose you this day whom ye will serve . . . but as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD. (Joshua 24:15)
Monday, October 31, 2011
Reformation Day
Two years ago, I played the part of Martin Luther in our church's Reformation Day celebration. Below, you will find the piece I wrote & presented on that occasion.
Hello, my name is Martin Luther. You may remember me because on the eve of All Saints Day – you call it Halloween – in 1517, I nailed a notice to the church door at Wittenberg.
Now, in those days before Facebook, the church door was like a public bulletin board, so posting a message was no big deal. I was making a public challenge to debate some of the Church’s practices that I thought were not according to the Bible.
Two years later, I got my debate – with a very famous and learned theologian by the name of von Eck. At that time, von Eck made an accusation that I was a new John Hus.
Well, that hit me hard, because I knew the name of Hus. I had been taught that he was a heretic burned at the stake in 1415. I did not want to be associated with a heretic.
So, I went to the university library and read all I could find about this John Hus. He lived in Bohemia – you call it the Czech Republic. If youlook on a map of Europe, Germany is here, Poland is here, and where my thumbs cross is Bohemia.
As a young priest, John Hus encountered the teachings of John Wycliffe, from England. Wycliffe had translated the Scriptures into his native tongue, and he also showed how the Church had drifted from the Bible’s teachings.
Hus taught some pretty radical ideas. He said that the Church was not made up of pope and priests, but of all God’s elect people; he also taught that Christ, not the pope was the only true head of the Church. He also spoke out against indulgences – paying money to the Church to have your sins forgiven.
Hus preached that one receives forgiveness from God through true repentance, not by paying money. That was the same thing I said in the paper that I nailed to the church door. I really started to like this guy.
It was no wonder that the Church officials were really out to get John Hus. At that time, Bohemia had a good king: Wenceslaus. (Good King Wenceslaus . . . that’s really kind of catchy.) The king tried to protect Hus, but that only lasted so long.
Hus was put on trial and told to renounce his beliefs. He said that he would change only if someone could prove his teachings were contrary to the Bible. On July 6, 1415, Hus’s enemies executed him by burning him at the stake.
Before he died, he made a prophecy. He said, “In a hundred years, God will raise up a man whose calls for reform can not be suppressed." It was 102 years later that I nailed my paper to the church door.
In speaking of the Reformation, someone has said, “Wycliffe struck the spark, Hus lit the torch, and Luther illumined the land.” I prefer to say that God’s Word illumined the land.
As we celebrate the Reformation, we honor those who -- like Hus -- gave their lives for Christ and His Gospel. But I think there is also room to rejoice and make merry as we bask in the light of the truth.
In that spirit, I invite you to enjoy "The Reformation Polka" (video below)
Monday, October 24, 2011
Martin Luther's "Here I Stand" Free Download
In celebration of Reformation Day, The Listener's Bible is offering a free MP3 download of Martin Luther's "Here I Stand" speech. Max McLean's dramatization of this pivotal moment in Reformation history will be available until November 1st.
Here's the link:
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