Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Apostate

At the heart of ev'ry rebellion
Lies a poisoned barb of Pride
So corrosive and so corruptive,
That we scarcely note its effect
Until it is everlastingly too late:
We've staggered away from light's warm embrace--
And for what?
Offense?  Contention?
Diverging views?
It's hard, I've noted,
To kick so continuously against the pricks.

It's cold where we've made our new home
And comfort seems fleeting.
But we are, of course, correct--
And we can take comfort in such fact.
Established norm had grown outdated,
Conventions had become tired,
And change, of a certainty, was requisite.
We had changed--should not what we believe change with us?
We cried for it, lusted for it,
And, when it came not and we were called
To repentance...
The barb twisted in just a bit deeper.
We cut our ties,
We sunk our covenants in the river,
And we made our way to other roads
And freer byways.

...But why is it so bleak here?
And where is the Sun that we so long enjoyed?
The land seems pitted, scarred, angry...
And we are unable to put down deep roots.
Must we wander through these mists much longer?
We seem to have lost our way.
We seem to have lost a lot.

But we can't go back to where we've been!
Not after the censure, not after the shame.
We burned our dwellings there to ash
And ignored their entreatings as we
Took up our journey down paths once forbidden us.

We left for peace of mind, for joy.
And we're confident that it will come...

At the heart of ev'ry rebellion
Lies a poisoned barb of Pride
So corrosive and so corruptive,
That we scarcely note its effect
Until we feel that it is everlastingly too late:
We've staggered away from truth's warm embrace--
And for what?
C.R.E.

5 comments:

  1. Sorry it's rough! I procrastinated and am once again trying to post one a day.

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  2. That was me. Sorry, I didn't have my name attached to my account. I love it, Cody! Keep up the good work.

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  3. I thought for a long time about this post, and then I decided to respond in poetry.

    On Calvary, on Calvary
    That carpenter from Gallilee,
    Condemned to die for apostasy,
    Whipped and bruised for blasphemy--
    His rebellion was a heresy
    That arose from "pride," so poisonously
    On Calvary, on Calvary

    And this was his apostasy--
    He taught men to have charity,
    That all descended from deity,
    That all would have immortality
    That every soul had divinity
    That love would conquer misery
    If only everyone could see
    That all were alike, eternally

    And in the Garden of Gethsemene
    He became at one with you and me
    And took on himself our slavery
    So we could evermore be free
    To cease from judging carelessly
    With that vicious word, "apostasy"

    And as he hung there on the tree
    He forgave them of their blasphemy
    As he was murdered guiltlessly
    He plead to God that they would be
    Forgiven of this travesty
    Pure and guiltless, just as he

    On Calvary, on Calvary
    The holy man from Galilee
    Condemned to die for apostasy
    Whipped and bruised for blasphemy
    And of the highest form of heresy--
    To say all were alike to deity
    And that all would partake of eternity
    That all, forevermore, would be
    Forever whole, forever free
    To cease from finding apostasy
    Instead, to live with charity
    And so he hung there, guiltlessly
    Condemned to die for apostasy
    On Calvary, On Calvary

    His injunction is to love. And love begins with understanding. Instead of pitying "apostates," perhaps all should follow the injunction of the man from Galilee to understand them.






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    Replies
    1. Beautifully put, Josh. I really enjoyed that and I agree with you. We should all love. Truly God is no respecter of persons and requires the same of us. Christ's expectation is that we one day love as He did and does and that we develop that trait so Divine as to be referred to as His pure love.

      With that love of brother, how can we not be saddened and how can our hearts not reach out for those who have erred in understanding, whose ears have been dulled, or whose hearts have been hardened? My heart calls out to all who have chosen to cut themselves off from blessings that they once enjoyed. Are we guilty of not loving them because we wish that they had chosen differently? Are we guilty of being uncharitable because we cannot, like God, look upon sin with the smallest degree of allowance all the while striving to be divine enough to love the sinner?

      A word on pity. Pity can also be called compassion and I view it as such. I pity any who once basked in glorious gospel's light and has now chosen a path so opposite, so soul-tearing as to be antagonistic to those truths that they once loved. To me, that is pitiable.

      Thank you for your words, Josh. You are very eloquent and have provoked many a thought in me this afternoon. Please, keep it up. =)

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    2. Ultimately the question we have to ask is "what is love?"

      I stand that love is to mourn with those that mourn and to seek understanding before judgment. To mourn for someone who you think is no longer receiving the blessings they once received is not mourning with them. It's mourning for them. It's a judgment. And what we must remember is that we all are alike to God.

      Also, I've found that whenever I say that another's action is born of pride, it is much less a reflection of their reality than of the reality of my heart which reflects itself on the world around it. More often than not, the pride I see in others is only my own pride.

      What, then, is apostasy? It's a separation from God. Where is God? "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." God is to be found in those around us. "To love another person is to see the face of God." Mourning for others instead of with them separates us from them and is the ultimate apostasy from the truth of the atonement--the at-one-ment--that God is one with us in ways we cannot comprehend.

      "Apostasy" is a matter of perspective, and for me to assume that I have the truth and others do not is a form of pride, a form of separation, and a form of apostasy from the at-one-ment of Christ.

      The true task of the disciple is not to mourn for the apostate, but to understand them as God understands them--to find their pain and mourn with them.

      Seeking understanding changes everything. And as I do that with awareness, "pride" generally falls out of the equation.

      Food for thought. I enjoy your poetry--keep it up.

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