Chapter 25 The Modern Day Psalmists

This month will soon end, and with it, the sun will begin its descent on a year that has known little of its light; a mid-way point on a decade that has witnessed, or introduced, or simply sustained untold and unimaginable suffering.

Here, and in places far and wide.

And it should really be no surprise, for those who choose to envision the battle, that such trials can and will occur -- right now, and yes, even more intensely in the not so distant tomorrows; for these events must take place, before our very eyes, where nature and mankind coalesce to ravage homes, displace entire people groups, redistribute and reverse wealth and standards of living, fueled in no small part by an unseen evil that is beyond our earthly appreciation.

Recall with me, in chapters spilling backward, the story that was told of his form, this one who opposes us; he who currently seethes into the darkest shadows and dominion of our own private nightmares. Look above and beyond your screen, this page that you read. Do you see him there? Listen now, for with a hiss he summons his legions and they gather by rank just outside the edge of you, on the verge of me, their number and resolve far beyond our comprehension. His tongue slithers out of his mouth, for he is the serpent from which all deceit flows, and with each eerie utterance there is a fading of light, in this very room, his mere presence fashioning a void in space and time; he being the thief of any remaining goodness in this world.

And in the escalating darkness of this Neverland gone wrong, his timbre methodically rises to one of a fevered rallying cry, a brazen challenge to concentrate forces of hate upon you and upon me, should you follow a certain Savior, especially now in this season of unfathomable love, for we are sacred ground that had previously been theirs to possess. We’ve deserted them, you see --an intentional act that will not lack for a reckoning.

Now is the moment, he shrieks to his number, when you shall accept the power given you to destroy and deceive. Leave no survivor, least of all this one; he motions in your direction, and mine.

Bring distrust to healthy unions, arrogance to the humble, misconceptions and distorted communication to obliging ears. Whisper reliance on human strength and point hapless souls toward inerrancies of truth. Create and encourage all forms of disharmony among these so called followers and do so with abandon!

He pauses for effect, and now, regrettably, we already know the confusion. His army takes great pleasure in the moment. Slowly but surely the echo of their indignation begins to cascade through the ranks. One last time he raises his gruesome form to accentuate his final command.

Above all else, divert them from the rights and royalty given them. Fill their potential moments of praise and petition with suitably exquisite distractions, for only by this will we weaken the resistance!

If we could only see and feel this ensemble, we’d dare not face them on our own, for our senses would be overcome with the fetid, exhaled air of stale and putrid lungs, from nether and below, from this evil who waits with minions to devour and discourage; one demon’s dare after another, unrelenting, merciless to consume this flesh, these souls of ours, to force down these aspirations, these hopes; to accept perception and circumstance as surety, some evil clothed as fate from which naught emanates.

And so it may be a little of this, or some of that we choose, as our defense, to cope with or adapt to or medicate from the likes of the latest barrage of foul play, on a large scale, or small, delivered by this personified iniquity. The symptom of his mere presence is that we succumb, appearing quite normal and functional on the outside, but inside and on the brink of us, we’re writhing and contorting and wrestling, and essentially wanting it to stop right about now.

Malign me if you must for such folly, but trust me, he waits -- crouching and coiled as a beast or serpent of prey, an image of your choice, as real as these words, as their author, their reader, for this page carries a message of freedom, and his of opposing slavery.

Still, the Rider calls out our glory:

Press on in your form, your art, your beauty. Liberate truth, my precious Church, on the wings of your Royalty, for it must not be subjected.

And we should listen, hearken as princes and princesses of this Kingdom, and relent into his embrace, but still, we dare to not concede. There is little of retreat running through this blood of ours, so we’ll hunch over and fight his adversary, our very formidable enemy, in the shadows; sucker jabs, illegal kidney punches, engaged in this street fight, with no rules to govern dirty play, and yet, he waits for us, desperate, longing in our corner.

His voice rings true above the fight:

Enslave not these carriers, for they are the modern day psalmists, my very sons and daughters -- the dreamers, the music makers and dancers; the artists who will paint and display my beauty.

Sanction now their imagination to unfold and ensign the dull! Bring forth color and light, to defeat shadows; to die not a slow and painful death on the altar of mediocrity.

Hear it with me now; lend your ear to the one true Voice, echoing above this space we fill, this time we inhabit.

Rise up and stretch outward, raising hands to worship the One who crushes evil with his fist!

Summon now the righteous armies with me. Add to their number and deepen the line for the rivaling minions are many. Empower their strength and call forth their brilliance as they take flight -- sharpen their arrows and forge their steel. Sound the trumpets and beat the battle drums for this, my fellow warriors, is a campaign for our very souls!

And it should really be no surprise, my friends, that the battle has already begun.