Offensive Love

Love.  For not understanding it humans tend to use the word a great deal.  We like to think of our fluttering fancies and our craving desires as something fitting of the it.  We tend to dream of the knight saving his lady from danger and give great sighs of "how romantic" in our petty ideas of what love might be.  As Christians, in particular, we have endless ideas of what love is and how we feel it and relish in it.  However, the closer one looks into the God that inspires love, the more they will realize how little they know of it all.

Love is beyond human comprehension. 

Of course, we can all picture a man in armor rushing to the aid of a woman he fancies with the assurance that she fancies him and, at that moment, needs him.  That is simple enough.  But what of a knight going to save a whore, inclined by all past evidence not to return his love, from the pit her own destructive passions?  The very sentence makes the mind recoil from all its warm feelings.  We innocents will whisper to ourselves "don't use that sort of language" and pass over the notion with disgust.  As much as we might want to think otherwise, we all would have that reaction if we were honest.  To put our fairytale into such a context is scandalous.  Who would dare?

God would.

The Creator of love cries out that scandalous tale in His own Holy Book.  Over and over He speaks through kings and prophets of the Love that makes us uncomfortable.  Through Ezekiel He told us, "...I passed by you and saw you wallowing in your blood, [and] I said to you in your blood, ‘Live!’ I said to you in your blood, ‘Live!’ I made you flourish like a plant of the field. And you grew up and became tall and arrived at full adornment. Your breasts were formed, and your hair had grown; yet you were naked and bare. 
^"When I passed by you again and saw you, behold, you were at the age for love, and I spread the corner of my garment over you and covered your nakedness; I made my vow to you and entered into a covenant with you, declares the Lord God, and you became mine" (16:6-8, ESV).

We see these words of filth and bareness and shift in our seats, disgruntled. Is so much talk of nakedness and blood truly necessary? God thinks so. He paints clearly the state we were found in, when He came to us with the chance to live and be loved. The Love that takes a filthy, broken thing and raises it to an age and state "for love"... that is the Love He offers. But it doesn't stop their either. God's Love continues even when, as Ezekiel describes, "you trusted in your beauty and played the whore because of your renown and lavished your whorings on any passerby; your beauty became his. You took some of your garments and made for yourself colorful shrines, and on them played the whore" (16:15-16a, ESV).  His Love is the kind that will continue even in such atrocities.  Without qualm or hesitation, He will save His bride from the very bed of her adultery.  We might feel embarrassed at such pages and the Love they imply, but it is those pages of Love, that make us blush or feel uncomfortable, which we need to study and comprehend most if we ever want to understand the love our Creator made.  To hear our hero Rahab was a prostitute and our model David an adulterer offends us, but God still put it in front of us clearly, daring us to be offended.

That is Love.  Intruding, offensive, and unashamed.

The Doubting Christian

In the world today, unspoken implications accompany every statement.  Insinuation lies under everything, especially in the realm of teaching.  The Christian Church is heavily guilty of such unstated teachings, and more than one sorely needs addressing.  One that stands above others, however, is the unspoken belief on doubt.  Pastors and speakers preach on God’s omnipotent and omniscient nature, which are both long words that young Christians often interpret as, “God has control of everything, so He is never to be doubted.”  While Christian teachers instruct the message unintentionally, it still does its work.  In the church-going person’s mind, a “doubting Christian” becomes interchangeable with “a Christian whose salvation is doubtful.”  That interchangeableness may seem true and harmless, but it leads to Christians that refuse to doubt anything that comes from God, which is unbiblical and damaging.  When Christians refuse to accept doubt, they do not rid themselves of it; instead, they give it opportunity to injure more and pass over a chance for deepened faith in God.

When Christians suppress doubt in God, they do not rid themselves of it.  Christianity is not simple, because God never intended it to be.  Eventually, life will turn a corner that gives qualm.  That change may present itself in a person, situation, or even a page in the Bible itself, but inevitably something about God, whether His teachings or His deeds, will run in opposition to a Christian.  The challenge may vary, but it comes to all, because all are humans, lacking God’s divine mindset.  The mortal shells in which Christians are contained cannot avoid some deviation with the immortal God.  Doubt will inevitably come.  When that voice of questioning whispers inside, a church-goer’s natural reaction stifles it, due to the implied teachings of his or her life.  Christians correlate doubt with sin and, therefore, force it down.  Without outlet, a seed of doubt will sprout roots of fear and bitterness.  Denying doubt will not erase its existence.  Once conceived, question cannot be unasked.  Stifling doubt only keeps it inside, where it does the most damage. 

By containing doubt, Christians often ravage their faith.  Refusing to question God directly makes doubt fester in false secrecy—a place where Christians convince themselves an all-knowing God does not know what they are thinking.  In that location the doubt will frighten Christians and embitter them toward the God who “refuses” to answer a question he or she never dared to ask.  Believers will keep doubt unvoiced to God and other believers in order to avoid appearing ungodly to the church that ever insinuates the “sin of doubting.”  In such a fashion doubt takes on the façade of invincibility.  Christians fear to speak of their doubt not only because God is omnipotent, but because failing to ask the questions stirred by doubt makes them certain everyone will fail to answer.  They fear voicing it will only spread their uncertainty to others.  Doubt becomes a plague, which seems able to contaminate others by mere utterance.  Thus, Christians fail not only to share their doubts with God, but with other Christians as well.  In such a way the stifled, inward doubt roots itself deeply and ravages a Christian’s faith.

If Christians honestly release doubt into God’s care, He will use it to motivate Christians to faith based upon more than emotion.  Once believers admit their doubt to themselves and God, it gains a much different power.  In God’s care, doubt gains the ability to strengthen rather than injure.  In the end, God is omniscient, which does not mean Christians should refuse to doubt, but rather, that He can answer every doubt Christians have to offer.  Rather than condemning doubt as a tool of the devil, which molds it into just that, Christians should consider that doubt is first a tool of God.  Learning occurs fastest when the learners ask questions.  Is it not probable, then, that God should allow doubts in Christians so they might ask and therefore learn about Himself?  If His followers will but have the faith to offer Him their doubts in confidence, He will doubtless put all uncertainties to rest.  As an all-knowing God, He holds all the answers.  Granted, not all divine solutions will suit just what the imperfect nature of humanity desires, but the answers are there.  More doubts, questions, and time of honesty in God’s presence will eventually lead Christians to a place of submission to His will.  Only then, after doubts have served their purpose, can God’s followers sit in trust at His feet.

By stifling doubt, Christians often damage their faith rather than accepting the uncertainty and the deeper faith it can develop.  God will answer all His followers’ questions, in time, if they will but ask them.  If Christians force themselves to remain unquestioning of the omniscient God, they will never experience the wisdom He has to offer.  God has never turned aside a doubtful mind.  From Moses to Paul, He has, in His timing, answered the questions offered about Himself.  Without the use of doubt, His tools for maturity grow limited.  With that truth in mind, the Church’s implied teaching turns on its head.  A “doubting Christian” is not “a Christian whose salvation is doubtful.”  Rather, a doubting Christian in the hands of a God known for His ability and desire to put doubt to rest is a Christian set on the assured path of salvation.

Melody of Ill Omen

She had always been different.  Everyone knew it.  Having been told so rather frequently, she retained a strong awareness of it herself.  No one ever fully understood her, and few tried.  Her interior and exterior were mismatched—a flaw that made her unsettling to look upon.  She possessed all the characteristics of a fine woman; a gentleness and benevolence that drew all to her naturally.  Her fine dark hair and smooth face complimented her sweetness, but there lay her condemning oddity.  In the frame of her fair complexion rested a pair of horrifying eyes.  Her pupils seemed endless, rimmed with such blood-like crimson they resembled the fiery entrance of hell itself.  The blemish marred her too vividly to be ignored.  The knowledge has long since been lost to man, but in those days everyone understood the significance of such eyes.  They were the sign of a seer: someone inseparably connected to the unseen realms all humanity feared and worshiped.  Seers could explain all things unnatural, blessing or curse, and were rumored to even peer into the future.  People craved their knowledge but feared their power.  They were considered the children of fairies… or demons. 

Such a woman walked down the dirt street, carrying a woven basket in the crook of one arm.  Every eye rested on her, and the crowds parted before her timidly.  Despite all her sweetness and beauty, her eyes tainted her every movement and expression with a sinister hue.  No soul dared draw too near, but none would draw too far away in fear of insulting her.  She, however, hardly seemed eager to take offense.  Such treatment had always been hers, since birth.  Her parents could not explain her existence, nor did they make any attempt to nurture her growth.  Out of fear they looked after her until they could pay some pour soul to marry her.  It had been a miracle indeed that such a man had been found, though most agreed his unhesitating intimacy toward his wife made him equal to her strangeness.  Her husband and son were the only souls on earth that nearly understood and genuinely cared for her.  That suited her fine.  Humanity could do as it pleased, and she would do the same.

“A moment, if you would, Banshee.”

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder.  Her lips curled in a smile that made her eyes twinkle.  Everyone within sight shuddered; certain she had some devious amusement in mind.  Initially, upon hearing her name, she assumed some poor soul wanted her advice.  They often came for it, when desperate.  “Banshee” they called her.  Fairy Child.  She had never had another name.  Labels suited her existence better than names.  Her husband called her “dear” and her son called her “mother”.  Labels… no name. 

The tone of superiority in the voice behind her corrected her first impression.  Only one person in the world spoke to her that way.  Lady Scarlet.  She sat in the same place as always, hunched under her canopy with an eerie smile and a raven perched on her left shoulder.  Her eyes were always hidden beneath the shadows of her hood.  Everyone knew the color of those eyes though.  Banshee was not the only seer.  The crimson shade of the woman’s cloak reminded all of what she concealed beneath it.  Hiding her eyes made them seem more powerful, and brought the desperate to her more than Banshee, which both seers preferred.  Lady Scarlet kept a good business, and Banshee had a little peace.  They associated together in their own way nearly every day.  Banshee almost looked forward to the encounter.  She and Lady Scarlet understood each other, as companions bearing the same unearthly knowledge.

“You may have as much of my time as you please,” Banshee answered kindly. 

Lady Scarlet’s crooked smile broadened.  “You know they’re with us, don’t you, lass?”

Always the same question with the unchanging response.  “They are always with us, Scarlet.”

The woman nodded.  Despite the regularity of such conversations, the crowd grew stiff and alert, hanging on their every word as if they might glean answers to life’s mysteries.  Scarlet always spoke vaguely, and Banshee responded with a similar ambiguousness.  Neither need specify.  By a matter of principle, they saw the world differently than everyone else.  References to an invisible “they” were as common as others commenting on a passing stray.  Though Banshee could not perceive exactly what Scarlet’s trained eye saw, she felt keenly aware of them.  In her vision they were shadows that took whatever shape they desired.  Banshee always paid heed to their calls and gestures, and thus understood things beyond human comprehension.  Scarlet’s raven, Banshee knew, remained silent and only gave its harsh cry as a bad omen, implying an approaching death or disaster that they would explain if she listened closely.  Though the sky was clear, both Banshee and Scarlet knew it would storm by tomorrow.  To their left sat a hungry hound about to snap at the woman passing with arms full of tempting food.  Banshee took note of the last strand of knowledge and cautioned the befuddled woman to steer clear of the dog.  What seemed common sense to her astounded those watching.  Scarlet chuckled knowingly, and the crowd shuddered with painful awareness of something unnatural among them.

“They are rather moody today, Banshee,” Scarlet sighed, “You should be careful.”

Banshee shrugged, shifting her basket to her other arm, “Don’t worry… I won’t take any favors from them.  I know the price as much as you.”

They constantly gave advice, but never acted unless requested.  Banshee never asked for anything because of Scarlet’s constant warnings.  A slight shiver ran through her as Scarlet’s hood shifted.  Scarlet’s eyes resembled blood even more than Banshee’s.  Her old, cracked lips formed her words harshly.

“Never forget it, lass.  Never forget.  They’re bored, and it’s good sport for them to have a request.  You know what they’ll take if you ask them for a favor, don’t you, Banshee?”

It grew quiet.  The crowd paused, watching the pair intently.  They had all heard the warnings before, but never had the satisfaction of hearing what price a seer feared to pay.  Lady Scarlet knew.  Banshee knew.  But neither dared voice it aloud.

They would take the debtor’s soul.

Banshee tossed the thought aside, returning to her usual good humor with a laugh that made the masses relax.  “Of course I know.  I would never be foolish enou-”

Scarlet’s raven rustled its feathers, raised its head, and called loudly.

Lady Scarlet stiffened.  Banshee grew rigid.  Both heard them, calling out.  Danger.  Worse… danger at the little house up on the bluff, east of the village.  Scarlet sucked in her breath.  Banshee dropped her basket, staring ahead blindly.  Lady Scarlet recognized the astonishment and the look of sheer terror that followed.  Regaining her senses, Banshee turned and fled as if death were on her heels.  For a moment Scarlet watched with concern, then gave a great shudder and sat back in her chair with a wearisome shake of her head.

“Despair makes fools of us all, Banshee.”

The words never reached her.  Banshee never looked back.  Fear urged her feet beyond their natural limits.  Her heart hammered with the human emotions her unearthly knowledge usually avoided: anxiety and terror.  She gasped for air, turning her racing feet down the nearest street leading to the countryside east of town.  The little house on the bluff was her own.

Never had the path home seemed so long.  Her mind raced with the voices of the shadows around her, telling her of the bandits that would come there at dark and taunting her to increase her speed.  If she asked for help… they could make her faster.  Banshee shut the thought out.  Not yet.  She had not reached such a point of insanity yet.  Her human mind bent dangerously under the pressure of unnatural knowledge and natural fears, but not that far.  It took her a good hour to walk to the market.  Now she found herself covering the distance in less than half the time.  Still it felt as if she could not get there soon enough.  The sun sunk behind the horizon.  She stumbled on a stone in the dirt path, too small for her to see.  They had not told her about it.  They wanted her to ask for help.  Banshee sunk her teeth into her lower lip and ran blindly down the last stretch of the road she knew and loved so well.  Before she thrust open the oaken door, they described every detail of what lay ahead.

Her eyes barely had time to adjust to the dim light of the lantern and catch a glimpse of her husband, limp on the ground, before rough hands seized her.  There were too many, holding her down, beating at her beloved, and grasping her precious son by the throat.  Hands everywhere.  No need to see their faces.  The hands committed the deeds that etched themselves into her eyes and tore into her soul.  She screamed, begged, and threatened.  No good.  They could not see her eyes well enough to care.  Blood pooled under her husband where he lay facedown.  In merciless whispers, they counted down the minutes till his passing and taunted her with the knowledge that her son would live to remember the murder of both parents.  Her unnatural wisdom warned her over and over, but her human mind, full of its flaws, broke under the weight of her love for those slipping away from her.  Trembling and weeping, she parted her lips with a scream.

“Save them!”

They need not be told twice.  She saw nothing.  Her eyes were already losing sight of the world humans so easily took for granted.  The figures and shadows around her became vivid.  She felt cold.  When she moved to wrap her arms around herself, she became aware that nothing else would ever touch her again except for her own, ghostly hands.  Then she saw all—the burden of both worlds in their full form.  She watched her husband and child fully restored, holding each other tightly to avoid looking upon the still form of their dear Banshee.  The place where her heart should have been ached, watching their agonized faces.  She only made one foolish attempt to hold them before realizing it was futile.  Her hands passed through them.  A shudder ran through her.  Her voice… perhaps they might hear that.  She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.  She couldn’t speak.  Forever.  Her cursed existence—the ghoul that remained of her—would continue in its wretchedness for eternity.  Never could she live, and death could never claim her. 

Endless.

Clutching the bleeding dreams of yesterday in her trembling hands, she heard the raven call once more.  Not a warning this time, and not a sound any earthly creature would hear.  She knew it to be for her alone, calling out to her as one of its own kind.  Warily, she raised her head.  Her condemned existence shown clearly in her mind, and she smiled brokenly.  Nothing more than the raven’s kin… doomed as a bearer of ill omen till the end of time.  The raven did not remain silent until danger lurked by choice; it could voice nothing else.  She watched her loved ones weeping just beyond her reach, then closed her eyes.  The darkness soothed her a little, though she felt too aware of everything in both realms of existence to call it true blindness.  Breathing deeply, she parted her quivering lips and released the only sound her heartless, soulless core could form out of her parched throat.  She felt her dear ones cringe.  They could hear her now.  Could they understand?  She put every essence of her dark fate into her cry, hoping the love which had created it would reach them.  The raven joined her.  They harmonized the cry of empty souls.  Banshee and Raven sang their endless melody of Ill Omen.

Through the Villian's Eyes

 

The world holds such color.  With such a vast amount of hues, it almost seems an endless horizon of possibilities.  Then again, if you look at it from another angle, the human eye only sees the one shade lucky enough to be reflected, despite the many hundreds of colors that failed to meet the mark and show the world what they had to offer.  Life can be like that sometimes.  So many lives pulse through the veins just beneath the earth’s surface, yet only a few solitary souls make a reflection that the human eyes can see.  If you look at it that way, your horizon seems a little cruel, doesn’t it?  Try and keep that in mind, if you really want to understand what I’m saying.  No, I'm not a deep thinker, really.  I’m not even complicated.  And don’t bother asking who I am.

 You already know me.

 That’s right.  I’m your worst nightmare.  The big bad wolf – come to eat your pigs or your grandmother, depending on which moral you feel like learning today.  If that’s not good enough, I’m also the evil witch that cuts your hair of freedom or gives you poisoned apples of jealousy.  That’s right, I’m the evil stepmother too; the one that made you a slave in your own home.  If I ever offer to help you or act like your friend, don’t be fooled.  My motives always work towards a single being, and that would be myself.  I’m the creator of conflict – the sole character that no story can be without.  I am the villain.

 Don’t look so scared.  I left my spinning wheel at home today.  You’re the one that asked to see me, remember?  I’ve already lost, and it seems you’ve got a sick desire to kick the loser while he’s down.  You want to understand me?  Don’t be arrogant.  Your story hasn’t earned a master villain of complex mind that takes effort to comprehend.  This fairytale has just one villain, and its a pretty simple one.  I already told you who I am, but if you really want to understand, just look at who I was.  Ask me that, if you want.  No one else knows better than I do, anyway.

 Still want to know?  Fine then.  I’ll tell you, since you asked.  I was that beggar you just ignored on the street.  I was the boy in the market that all the other children teased for having crooked legs.  I was the girl that never had a father to quiet my cries at midnight, when the nightmares closed in.  I was the knight that never had a lady to fight for.  I was the princess who lost her lover to someone just a little fairer.  I was the farmer who lost his living to drought.  I was the widow that could never quite stop regretting my beloved’s passing.  I was the thief trying to feed a starving family.  I was the innocent framed for murder.  I was the one weeping beneath your window, begging the heavens for a better life while you slept on your bed of luxury.  Don’t look at me like that.  It shouldn’t surprise you so much.  All big bad wolfs start as abandoned pups.  It’s the simple truth of life, just like those colors I told you about that never get reflected.  That’s just the way it is.  Simple facts.  Show me that happy ending or yours, and I’ll give you a glimpse of my wretched beginning.

 No, I don’t want your pity.  Give me sympathy and I’ll give you another taste of my apple.  Sure, I started innocent.  Don’t we all?  But that’s the sort of thing I let go of a long time ago, when I took on the dark crown and evil smile act.  It’s too late to act charming towards me.  I’ve well earned these chains you put on my wrists.  I deserve a lot worse, but you don’t really have the stomach for it, and let’s be honest: this is a children’s story.  Real justice is too graphic for the genre.  Since shackles are the worst I can get, I’ll take them.  Just lock me away and forget I ever rested after the "Once upon a time" of your fairytale.  No, I don’t want your compassion.  The person I was might have taken it, but I certainly won’t.  If you really want to do something for me, than I’ll ask you for one favor.  Just one, then I want to get locked in that tower you have just for people like me.

Give the next beggar a little money – a smile wouldn’t hurt either.  That’s right, I want you to pick up that stray puppy and take him home before he grows into something nasty that will haunt your children.  Stop fretting over the villains you’ve defeated and take care of the ones that haven’t found their weapons of malice yet.  I don’t care how dirty that little girl’s clothes are; if you see her crying, then at least ask her if you can help.  You’ll be the only decent human being she meets, I guarantee.  If you don’t reach out, no one will.  Think of it as saving yourself, if you can’t get enough motivation from the idea of putting a fallen soul back on their feet.  You don’t want to fight the sort of villain they’ll become.  Take it from someone who knows.  The desperate always become the devious.  Little hurts of childhood form the grand characteristics of evil that make children shudder.  Of course, small gestures of compassion can go a long way too.  If you can’t afford to save, then just inspire.  Show them a little kindness, and they won’t forget that the world has that sort of thing.  That’s all there is to it, really.  It isn’t complicated.  Just a simple cure for the dastardly villains of the future.  You can start with that crippled boy sitting on the street corner behind you.  That’s right, the one with the crutches and the sad eyes.  Yes, he certainly looks pathetic, doesn't he?  Don’t let it fool you.  He’ll be the conniving wretch that wreaks havoc in the lives of the next generation.  He’s got that look of bitterness lingering beneath the despair in his eyes.  That sort of thing will take you a long way down the path of sinister intentions, crooked legs or no.

Trust me, I know.

Wishing Fountain:

I hear you.

Would you feel better, if I told you that?  You seem a little sad.  My visitors always are.  I get all sorts here, you know.  Last week a man stumbled upon me, dragging the burden of a broken family with him.  Yesterday a young girl skipped up to me, anxiously fingering her coat pocket that carried a child’s troubles.  Within the last hour itself I’ve seen two heartbroken women, one tired mother, and a gentleman with a weary smile and a half empty bottle.  I hear you too, on your knees before me with your regretful cries and tears.

I’ve heard them all.

None of them speak.  None of them even realize it, but I hear them just the same.  They’re all different, as only human souls can be from one to the other.  However, no matter who they are, they all carry the same two things: coins to drop in my waters and dreams in your heart that you’ve never voiced above a whisper.  But I hear it, when you close your eyes and release your shining trinkets into the rippling waters.  No – you didn’t say it, but I heard it.  You want happiness, love, safety, or comfort.  No matter the wish, it’s been heard.  So don’t keep hold of your gloom, my dear visitor.  The entire world might turn a deaf ear your way with a cold heart, but I am listening.  I have no warmth on my surface to give you – no arms with which to embrace you, but I hear you.  Only I have seen the dreams attached to your coins.  I alone have stood through the trials of time until they crack my stones, waiting for the day you come to my edge and release those beautiful wishes to me.  This one fountain has waited to hear you.  So please, leave me with a smile, if you can.  Forget your burdens for a while and receive your much needed comfort.  You can take heart, dear wishful soul…

I heard you.