#our Warden everyone. truly a pillar of strength

[secret-engima]

Spoiler Snippet of Worlds Unseen (Calling You and Me) Chap 10

(I have literally no self control. Then again I’ve been sitting on this for literal months so maybe I have a little but it’s gone now so here we go. MAJOR SPOILERS for Worlds Unseen verse so pls, if you read, come screech at me, if you don’t want spoilers, then don’t click the read more. Assuming the read more works this time. Also this is ... LONG. Long snippet. Very spoilery snippet. You have been warned.)

...

     Luna walked slowly toward Drautos, the Ring of the Lucii pinched between two fingers while her other hand hovered near it. Nyx was hissing at her to run, to not be an idiot, but Bast could already see her plan in her grave, sorrowful eyes. She was going to put herself between them and the biggest threat —Drautos— and then she was going to put on the Ring.

     She was going to die for them.

     No.

     Not again. He’d already lost a mother, he’d already lost a father. He wasn’t losing Luna too.

     Bast waited until she was passing by, less than three steps away from him and less than ten from Drautos’s outstretched hand. Then he lunged, snatching her wrist with one hand and ripping the Ring from her fingers with the other. He could hear the guns coming to bear and the crack of bullets leaving chambers, could see Drautos’s sword coming up and over to cleave Bast in two. He didn’t care.

     He put on the Ring and the world turned blue.

     Everything slowed to less than a crawl. He spun in place, drinking in the surreal experience of seeing bullets inch through the air, slower than worms in a spring frost. He could see Drautos’s sword coming for his head, so slow he could have probably run a lap around the entire city before it came close to the ground. He could see Luna’s face twisting into terrified, heartbroken realization, so slow her expression was still mostly shock. Nyx was reaching for him, hand only a few inches from his side and splinted leg pushing him forward mere centimeters. Libertus was pulling Crowe toward the ground, one crutch hovering in the air as gravity took its sweet time dragging it earthward.

     Bast took a deep breath and looked back at Luna. Even though she probably couldn’t hear —maybe especially because she couldn’t hear— he whispered, “I love you, Luna, and I’m so sorry.”

     Then he straightened, a ward-prince before an audience and a glaive at attention, “Kings and Queens of Lucis, grant me audience.”

     The world around him vanished save the pavement directly beneath his feet. Luna, Nyx, Libertus, Crowe, everyone else disappeared from his sight. The air rippled with power-time-judgement, so strong he felt like he would drown in it. Then, like towering, burning silhouettes of ancient memory and timeless magic, they appeared. He could only see thirteen of them, arrayed around him like enormous pillars of judgement-power-who-dares. But he could feel the rest lurking in the darkness. A hundred generations of Ring-bearing rulers, all of them watching. Waiting.

     Judging.

     “You call upon the Wardens of this world’s future Mortal,” rumbled the first of them —Mystic, Founder King, oldest of the Ring—, “and if you come lusting for our power, you must first stand in our judgement.”

     Bast wanted to fold beneath the weight of magic pressing in on all sides, he wanted to scream and cry, crumble to dust if it meant escaping the painful, searing weight of power that was waiting for the slightest excuse to burn him alive. But he didn’t. He forced his knees to lock and his back to stay straight, made his voice remain steady as he looked up into their helmeted faces and made his plea, “It is true that I come for your magic, but not for my sake. Hear me, Kings and Queens of the Lucii! The Oracle stands in mortal peril and the Ring is inches from the enemy’s grasp! The Chosen King wanders the world unknowing of the danger and at risk of losing she who is to guide him and forge the Covenants in his name!” The magic curled closer, squeezed his lungs and Bast shuddered, fought for air and kept going, “Please. Please, I ask not for my sake. I ask for Luna, for Noctis, for Regis, for the world. Summon your Old Wall! Grant me the strength to see Luna to safety beyond Insomnia’s borders before it is too late!”

     The weight doubled, then tripled, and Bast collapsed to his hands and knees with a helpless wheeze under the weight of ancient contempt, “You presume to judge what time is ripe for our power? To presume our favor? Yours is not even royal blood. Your soul is not even of our star.” Not of … what?

     Magic like forests and old stones emerged from the ocean around him, cutting off his spinning thoughts as it curled around him like gentle hands on his shoulders. Bast’s head snapped around to face one helmet in particular as another king spoke, “Wait,” said Regis-not-Regis-but-his-memory-and-that-was-close-enough, “I know this soul. I watched him as he grew and taught him as he matured. I have seen what he is capable of. He too, seeks to safeguard the future. He too has sworn an oath to see the Chosen’s destiny through.”

     “Father,” wheezed Bast past the spinning pressure in his head.

     Regis —not Regis, memories of his magic preserved and given form as a warrior king, as the Father— did not respond, said nothing to Bast as the Mystic rumbled, “Very well, young king. We will weigh your ward-son’s worth.” The Mystic’s attention fell on Bast again, “But our boon does not come cheap. The cost … is a life.” The blackness around them curled away, revealing Nyx reaching for him, three bullets aimed for his heart and getting slowly but steadily closer. Behind him were Libertus and Crowe, Crowe almost to the relative safety of the ground, Libertus above her like a living shield against the hail of bullets coming for them, the hail that might miss, or might instead tear Libertus apart. The choice being offered was clear. Nyx or Libertus? Who would Bast sacrifice for the greater good? Who would he sentence to death in exchange for power?

     “Choose, Mortal,” intoned one of the other kings —the Fierce? It looked like the Fierce’s statue— “who’s life will you sacrifice for our power?”

     Perhaps if Bast had truly been royal blood, he could have chosen between them. Perhaps if he had been a real prince, he would have been able to swallow his guilt and make the sacrifice —like Regis had done to him, like Regis had done to all of Insomnia—. But Bast was not, and anger dragged air into his lungs and forced his back straight even though he was still on his knees, “No. No.”

     “You desire our power but refuse to pay our price?” Growled the Conqueror scathingly.

     Fury gave him strength to bare his teeth, “I will not bargain with that which I do not possess! You ask me what price I will pay for your power and then you command me to sell the life of a comrade? How is that just?”

     The magic around him rippled with disapproval, “A good king,” thundered the Mystic, “knows that sacrifice is necessary for the greater good.”

     “Oh, go throw yourself on Ifrit’s pyre!” Bast worked one leg underneath him in the startled silence that fell at his words, “I will not force others to bear my price when I am the one that seeks your boon!” He worked his other leg into place, shook like a leaf under the strain as he forced himself to stand. Wheezing and shivering, he tilted his chin in defiance, flicked his hand to banish the images of Nyx and Libertus and Crowe, “I … swore an oath … to protect Noctis, no matter what. But that … does not entail sacrificing others so that I might survive. That does not mean I will sacrifice Luna, or Nyx, or anyone else who has no part of my oath and whose lives are not mine to give.”

     Bast flexed his hands into fists to keep from falling as the magic around him grew even heavier somehow, “You’re right,” he choked out in a whisper, “I’m not royal blood, and I would not make a good king. A good king knows the value of sacrifice, of choosing who dies so that victory might be won. But,” Bast forced his voice to steady, pushed it out of his chest until it was strong again, “a true king protects his people above all. Even at the cost of himself. Like Regis, who held the Wall for years even as the strain killed him. Who held back the enemy long enough for Luna and Nyx to make their initial escape. Maybe he was a good king because he sacrificed Insomnia, sacrificed me, to save the Chosen King. But he … was a true king every time he sacrificed himself for the people he ruled.”

     Bast forced his head higher, made himself look into the glowing slits of the Mystic’s helmet, “I am Bast, ward-son of Queen-Oracle Sylva Nox Fleuret and King Regis Lucis Caelum. I am not of royal blood. I have no armies to command, nor magic to call my own. I have no kingdom or soldiers or wisdom or power to give you. But if a life is what you require for your aid, then I offer mine. Do with it as you please, just ensure the safety of my companions … of Luna. They are of dutiful heart, I know they will see your Ring to safety.”

     The silence lasted an eternity, and Bast closed his eyes as he waited for his fate. Then, from amid the circle of the Lucii nearest him, someone barked a laugh, “Well,” rumbled the Rogue —it had to be the Rogue, the voice was female—, “it would seem the Fulgarian chose wisely after all.” The … Fulgarian? Ramuh? What does she mean?

     “Agreed,” said another female voice, much lower in pitch, but also softer, “there is a spark in this one that even some of royal blood have struggled to match.” Magic curled around Bast, nudging aside the smothering weight, pushing it away like a shield and letting him breathe properly at last, “The Just supports his claim.”

     The shadows rippled, almost like a feminine laughter, and magic settled like cold steel in one hand, “Too long has it been since a mortal willing to give of himself before others has come to us for aid. The Rogue supports his claim.”

     The magic of the Father, still draped on his shoulders like hands, shifted, like fingers giving a comforting squeeze, “He is my ward-son, and I have seen the lengths to which he will go to fulfill an oath. The Father supports his claim.”

     From the left, a shivering ring of steel and a soft male voice that sounded more like a bard’s than a king’s, “He shows intelligence beyond his years, to know the differences between kings. The Clever supports his claim.”

     “The Fulgarian has never been mistaken in such matters before,” declared another from the right, “The Pious supports his claim.”

     One by one, in bits and pieces and the shifting of magic so that it buoyed him up rather than tried to crush him down, the Lucii granted favor. The Warrior, the Fierce, the Wanderer, the Oracle. Kings and queens in the shadows behind them that Bast could not see and gave titles he had never heard in history —the Vigilant, the Scholar,  the Silent, the Bard, the Seer, so many titles lost to time well before he was born—. Finally, silence fell, and Bast’s eyes drifted to the Mystic, the only one who had not yet cast his vote.

     The Mystic seemed to stare into him and not just at him, old magic like storm clouds and oceans seething with some kind of anger and sadness and old memory before it settled, “You are far too much like my brother,” and though that was clearly a complaint, the ancient king almost sounded fond —brother? What brother? The history books said nothing of the Mystic having a brother—, “but you have earned the favor of the others. Very well ward-son of the Father. The Mystic will support your claim.”

     Bast gasped, then screamed as the magic all around turned and burrowed into his body, carving out new channels inside him for it to flow-burn-rage-heal. It coated every nerve and filled every available gap, then carved out more room when that did not prove enough. Over the agony of what felt like being burned alive from the inside, Bast heard the Lucii chorus, “Rise, Bast, ward-son of the Oracle-Queen and the Father. We name you Oathkeeper, guardian of the Chosen King and his Oracle. Our power is yours to wield and gift as you please until the time when the Chosen’s destiny is fulfilled. Your life is forfeit to this cause, and for this cause will you remain until such a time as dawn purifies the world.”

     The other Lucii fell silent as the power in Bast’s skin-blood-bones-soul began to settle, and the Mystic slammed his sword against the ground like an earthquake, “But know this, Oathkeeper. You are not welcome on this star, and when your oath has been fulfilled, your soul will no longer be allowed to linger here. You and any who share your blood will be cast out from the sight of our star to return whence you came.”

     Cast … cast out? Not welcome on this star? Did they mean … his soul would be destroyed once Noctis fulfilled his destiny? Or did they mean something else? He didn’t understand. Anymore than he had understood the Mystic’s earlier comment about Bast’s soul not being “of their star”. It was a terrifying prospect. That he would only live until Noctis fulfilled his destiny and then be … something. Cast out or destroyed or thrown away into some void as the price for power.

     But having this power meant Luna would live. It meant that he would be able to save Nyx and Libertus and Crowe, he would be able to help Noctis and keep him safe —keep his promise—. It meant he would have the power to help what was left of the only people he knew as family.

     “You drive a hard bargain,” Bast muttered sarcastically as he wrapped mental fingers tight around the heartbeat of power coiled inside him. He raised his head and grinned, bright and bold and wild like he had been taught —like Nyx did when he was fully intent of showing up some idiot that managed to make him angry, like Gladio when he was going to show up a rookie with too big an ego—, “where do I sign?”

#Melodies and Manuscripts #Secret Engima Rambles #Worlds Unseen verse #spoilers #ffxv #hzd #xover #bast

[dfroza]

Our courage in this life originates in grace

which is where our freedom is found. because this world tries to restrain the True nature of eternal things, yet in Today’s reading of the Scriptures we see from Paul that “the Word of God can never be chained!”

Today’s reading is chapter #2 of 2nd Timothy:

[Grace to Overcome]

Timothy, my dear son, live your life empowered by God’s free-flowing grace, which is your true strength, found in the anointing of Jesus and your union with him! And all that you’ve learned from me, confirmed by the integrity of my life, pass on to faithful leaders who are competent to teach the congregations the same revelation.

Overcome every form of evil as a victorious soldier of Jesus the Anointed One. For every soldier called to active duty must divorce himself from the distractions of this world so that he may fully satisfy the one who chose him.

An athlete who doesn’t play by the rules will never receive the trophy, so remain faithful to God!

The farmer who labors to produce a crop should be the first one to be fed from its harvest.

Carefully consider all that I’ve taught you, and may our Lord inspire you with wisdom and revelation in everything you say and do. But make Jesus, the Anointed One, your focus in life and ministry. For he came to earth as the descendant of David and rose from the dead, according to the revelation of the gospel that God has given me. This is the reason I am persecuted and imprisoned by evildoers, enduring the suffering of these chains—but the Word of God can never be chained! I endure all these hardships for the benefit of the chosen ones in Christ so that they may also discover the overcoming life that is in Jesus Christ, and experience a glory that lasts forever!

You can trust these words:

If we were joined with him in his death, then we are joined with him in his life! If we are joined with him in his sufferings, then we will reign together with him in his triumph. But if we disregard him, then he will also disregard us. But even if we are faithless, he will still be full of faith, for he never wavers in his faithfulness to us!

Be committed to teach the believers all these things when you are with them in the presence of the Lord. Instruct them to never be drawn into meaningless arguments, or tear each other down with useless words that only harm others.

Always be eager to present yourself before God as a perfect and mature minister, without shame, as one who correctly explains the Word of Truth.

And avoid empty chatter and worthless words, for they simply add to the irreverence of those who converse in that manner. For the words of Hymenaeus and Philetus are like gangrene, they have already spread their poison to many. They are lost to the truth and teach gross error when they teach that the resurrection of the dead has already passed. They are guilty of subverting the faith of some believers.

But the firm foundation of God has written upon it these two inscriptions: “The Lord God recognizes those who are truly his!” and, “Everyone who worships the name of the Lord Jesus must forsake wickedness!”

In a palace you find many kinds of containers and tableware for many different uses. Some are beautifully inlaid with gold or silver, but some are made of wood or earthenware; some of them are used for banquets and special occasions, and some for everyday use. But you, Timothy, must not see your life and ministry this way. Your life and ministry must not be disgraced, for you are to be a pure container of Christ and dedicated to the honorable purposes of your Master, prepared for every good work that he gives you to do.

Run as fast as you can from all the ambitions and lusts of youth; and chase after all that is pure. Whatever builds up your faith and deepens your love must become your holy pursuit. And live in peace with all those who worship our Lord Jesus with pure hearts.

Stay away from all the foolish arguments of the immature, for these disputes will only generate more conflict. For a true servant of our Lord Jesus will not be argumentative but gentle toward all and skilled in helping others see the truth, having great patience toward the immature. Then with meekness you’ll be able to carefully enlighten those who argue with you so they can see God’s gracious gift of repentance and be brought to the truth. This will cause them to rediscover themselves and escape from the snare of Satan who caught them in his trap so that they would carry out his purposes.

The Letter of 2nd Timothy, Chapter 2 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the closing chapter of the book of 2nd Kings that documents the seige of Jerusalem by Nebuchadnezzar:

[Chapter 25]

The revolt dates from the ninth year and tenth month of Zedekiah’s reign. Nebuchadnezzar set out for Jerusalem immediately with a full army. He set up camp and sealed off the city by building siege mounds around it. The city was under siege for nineteen months (until the eleventh year of Zedekiah). By the fourth month of Zedekiah’s eleventh year, on the ninth day of the month, the famine was so bad that there wasn’t so much as a crumb of bread for anyone. Then there was a breakthrough. At night, under cover of darkness, the entire army escaped through an opening in the wall (it was the gate between the two walls above the King’s Garden). They slipped through the lines of the Babylonians who surrounded the city and headed for the Jordan on the Arabah Valley road. But the Babylonians were in pursuit of the king and they caught up with him in the Plains of Jericho. By then Zedekiah’s army had deserted and was scattered. The Babylonians took Zedekiah prisoner and marched him off to the king of Babylon at Riblah, then tried and sentenced him on the spot. Zedekiah’s sons were executed right before his eyes; the summary murder of his sons was the last thing he saw, for they then blinded him. Securely handcuffed, he was hauled off to Babylon.

In the nineteenth year of Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon, on the seventh day of the fifth month, Nebuzaradan, the king of Babylon’s chief deputy, arrived in Jerusalem. He burned The Temple of God to the ground, went on to the royal palace, and then finished off the city—burned the whole place down. He put the Babylonian troops he had with him to work knocking down the city walls. Finally, he rounded up everyone left in the city, including those who had earlier deserted to the king of Babylon, and took them off into exile. He left a few poor dirt farmers behind to tend the vineyards and what was left of the fields.

The Babylonians broke up the bronze pillars, the bronze washstands, and the huge bronze basin (the Sea) that were in The Temple of God and hauled the bronze off to Babylon. They also took the various bronze-crafted liturgical accessories used in the services of Temple worship, as well as the gold and silver censers and sprinkling bowls. The king’s deputy didn’t miss a thing—he took every scrap of precious metal he could find.

The amount of bronze they got from the two pillars, the Sea, and all the washstands that Solomon had made for The Temple of God was enormous—they couldn’t weigh it all! Each pillar stood twenty-seven feet high, plus another four and a half feet for an ornate capital of bronze filigree and decorative fruit.

The king’s deputy took a number of special prisoners: Seraiah the chief priest, Zephaniah the associate priest, three wardens, the chief remaining army officer, five of the king’s counselors, the accountant, the chief recruiting officer for the army, and sixty men of standing from among the people. Nebuzaradan the king’s deputy marched them all off to the king of Babylon at Riblah. And there at Riblah, in the land of Hamath, the king of Babylon killed the lot of them in cold blood.

Judah went into exile, orphaned from her land.

Regarding the common people who were left behind in Judah, this: Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon appointed Gedaliah son of Ahikam, the son of Shaphan, as their governor. When veteran army officers among the people heard that the king of Babylon had appointed Gedaliah, they came to Gedaliah at Mizpah. Among them were Ishmael son of Nethaniah, Johanan son of Kareah, Seraiah son of Tanhumeth the Netophathite, Jaazaniah the son of the Maacathite, and some of their followers.

Gedaliah assured the officers and their men, giving them his word, “Don’t be afraid of the Babylonian officials. Go back to your farms and families and respect the king of Babylon. Trust me, everything is going to be all right.”

Some time later—it was in the seventh month—Ishmael son of Nethaniah, the son of Elishama (he had royal blood in him), came back with ten men and killed Gedaliah, the traitor Jews, and the Babylonian officials who were stationed at Mizpah—a bloody massacre.

But then, afraid of what the Babylonians would do, they all took off for Egypt, leaders and people, small and great.

When Jehoiachin king of Judah had been in exile for thirty-seven years, Evil-Merodach became king in Babylon and let Jehoiachin out of prison. This release took place on the twenty-seventh day of the twelfth month. The king treated him most courteously and gave him preferential treatment beyond anything experienced by the other political prisoners held in Babylon. Jehoiachin took off his prison garb and for the rest of his life ate his meals in company with the king. The king provided everything he needed to live comfortably.

The Book of 2nd Kings, Chapter 25 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Wednesday, december 30 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons that illuminates our human condition in Light of the eternal:

There is a gap between the “real” and the “ideal,” between our present sense of exile and our hope that one day we will be in our heavenly home; there is an inherent and ongoing dualism we experience as we sojourn through our days. On the one hand, if we make time to reflect on what is "real," we will eventually encounter the "Parmenidean" realm of "being," that is, the totality of sheer existence, the inescapable presence that surrounds and pervades any "thing" whatsoever: the "ground" of existence; the timeless sense of unity, perfection, and so on. The heart's response to this awareness is humble acceptance - to surrender to all that is -- in wonder over the miracle of consciousness and the sheer gift of life itself. The "real" is what "is" and that is a monolithic mystery...

On the other hand we encounter the everyday "Heraclitean" flux of life, the experience that all things flow (πάντα ῥεῖ ), and that we are all part of the endless river. The only “universal” is change itself, or the inscrutable process of becoming. The heart's response is to engage life, to learn to swim, and to go with the flow, however, since everything is in process, fighting injustice and seeking good outcomes are essential, and therefore there is a duty to refuse to passively be carried away in the drift, indifferent to the suffering and needs of others. We seek stability within the ongoing flux by identifying "universals" or principles, and it becomes our responsibility to improve the world, to lessen suffering, and to hold to whatever ultimately "is" -- the substance (or substratum) of everything, is good and worthy of our struggle...

As a matter of practical living, this dualism shows up in our hearts as a disposition or temperament that arises when we encounter seemingly pointless suffering in our lives (or in the lives of others). Even if our theology encourages us to "see through" the dark cloud of suffering and accept its ultimate resolution, misery and chronic pain defy our best explanations, often leaving us speechless, in the whirlwind of mystery and confusion, hoping to find the will to believe despite our inner fracture or the crucifixion of our world...

Friedrich Nietzsche once said that he could accept any "what" of suffering if he had a "why," though that dialectic is never really finished, since the faith to regard suffering as purposive or pointless is an ongoing, and ultimately terminal, struggle... Of course having a sense of meaning, a "story" that accounts for your suffering is important, yet it is a story being told as you live it, and you will have days of fortitude as well as days of weakness... As Kierkegaard once said: “Truth is not something you can appropriate easily and quickly. You certainly cannot sleep or dream yourself to the truth. No, you must be tried, do battle, and suffer if you are to acquire the truth for yourself. It is a sheer illusion to think that in relation to the truth there is an abridgment, a short cut that dispenses with the necessity for struggling for it.”

The question as to whether suffering and death are "essential" to what is real or merely "accidental" is an academic one, but when the issue comes up-close and personal through intimate afflictions, the question becomes a matter of the heart answered by how we choose to respond, especially when our best explanations (or rationalizations) fail us... For most people this “answer” to the problem of suffering is to deny there is any problem at all, as Blaise Pascal once ironically noted: "Being unable to cure death, wretchedness, and ignorance, men have decided, in order to be happy, not to think about such things" (Pensees). Such collusion to deny the reality of suffering is ironically exposed in our addictions, our obsessions, and in our constant use of various “tools of distraction.” Denying the reality of death is ultimately foolish, however, since it makes a deal with the devil to become "comfortably numb" at the expense of our very souls... “This your last chance. After this there is no turning back. You take the blue pill, the story ends. You wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to. You take the red pill, you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes. Remember, all I'm offering is the truth. Nothing more” (The Matrix: 1999). The ancient sage Socrates would unhesitatingly have swallowed the red pill: "It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool, or the pig, is of a different opinion, it is only because they only know their own side of the question" (J.S. Mill: Utilitarianism, 1861).

Another response to the problem of mortal suffering is to try to "fix" or circumvent it through various medical technologies. Instead of accepting the age-old struggle of learning to suffer (and to die) well, the modern world creates another layer of denial - pretending that death and disease are a problem that can be resolved by palliative technology and science. At the very least, medical technologies supply "end of life" care that is engineered to hide the truth from the culture at large... The rise of "trans-humanism" is a romantic idealization of this view.

A characteristically spiritual approach seeks to transform suffering and death to be the means of sanctification - a sorrowful yet necessary prelude to deliverance and ultimately to salvation. Suffering is the price we pay for the blessing of existence, and God uses it to educate or rectify the soul for the perfections of heaven. Now while such a "soul building" theodicy may rationalize some of the common hardships of life in this world, it rings a bit hollow when we consider certain forms of suffering, such as the death of a very young child or the unjust and senseless murder of a bystander in a bad neighborhood... It makes a mockery of the pain we feel in grief, by acts of terrorism, through political tyranny, and so on.

Often enough these different approaches to suffering are intermixed within the heart, as, for example, when a person receives a terminal medical diagnosis but then wrestles through accepting what is happening yet also doing whatever is possible to fight for life. This struggle arises when the intellectual "problem of evil" becomes a mystery of the heart, and the person both surrenders and yet wrestles over God's role in the darkness of their unknown. This is a sacred place , the "garden of pain," where we face the essential truth of our own vulnerability and mortality, our suffering and our fear, and yet it is precisely there that we cry out to God for the strength to accept his will without hatred and despair...

Intellectually we may be tempted to regard our suffering as the way to reconcile our sins with God's justice (karma), but this is not the message of the gospel, of course, which proclaims Yeshua was made "sin for us" to bring us forgiveness and life (Rom. 4:5; 1 Pet. 3:18; 2 Cor. 5:21; Rom. 8:1). Indeed Yeshua sacrificed on our behalf "reconciles" God's justice with the truth of his love (Psalm 85:10; 89:14). That said, we return again to the realm of paradox, since though we are not forensically punished so that we are made good, we are "corrected" by our Heavenly Father as we partake of suffering to be conformed to the image of Messiah (Heb. 12:5; Col. 1:24; Rom. 8:17; 8:29; 1 Cor. 15:49, etc.). The divine exchange given at the cross is the miracle of substitutionary atonement - and yet we still suffer in this life, we still might wonder if there be a hidden message of rebuke -- even while we are assured that all things (including our afflictions) work together for our ultimate good and for the glory of God.

It is an "already-not-yet" mode of existing, friend, as we partake of the heavenly gift and promise and yet await its consummation in the future... Meanwhile while God does not take away those pains and fears common to all men in this fallen world, he does impart courage produced by the Holy Spirit that yields conviction of His love and presence. Even if the world totters and shakes we find comfort because the LORD is near.

There is always a gap between what we are and what we could be, between the "is" and the "ought," and between the real and the ideal in our lives... Our conversion imparts to us a new spiritual nature, but we still must struggle through our deep inadequacies so that we might learn to truly love God and others (Shema). God graciously saves us by faith, and he sanctifies us the selfsame way, though in the latter case this means learning to keep focus, to persevere, and persist in hope - despite the shortfall of our lives. So where are you going today? Are you keeping faith in God's promises for your life? Are you catching up with the miracle of what God has done for you?

This dualism of life shows up within our hearts as we wrestle with our faith and with our "double-mindedness," that is, the ambivalence that results from not having our minds made up. On the one hand, we need to confess the truth of our radical sinfulness, our depravity, our brokenness, and so on, while on the other we must learn to know ourselves as the "beloved" and to find faith that God’s blessing indeed belongs to us -- that Yeshua gave his life for us -- despite ourselves. We have to be willing to take God’s new name for us and believe that God has transformed our deepest nature for eternal good. We have to be renamed from “Jacob” to “Israel,” and yet we know ourselves as both... In other words, we must learn to “put on” the new nature and to “put off” the carnal reasoning of our former life. The answer for us is found in the word "miracle," as God in great mercy and compassion regenerates us, comforts us, and then guides our way back to the truth of his salvation.

Often the only prayer we have is "Help, LORD!" (עזור לי יהוה). I use this one on a daily basis, that is, whenever I am confronted with the truth of my condition... Living in the "already-not-yet" state of redemption is a soul-building venture that helps us to acquire the precious middah (quality) of patience: "In your patience possess ye your souls" (Luke 21:19). Testing produces endurance (Rom. 5:3), but God surely is faithful "to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy" (Jude 1:24). May He come speedily, and in our day. Amen. [Hebrew for Christians]

https://hebrew4christians.com/

12.29.20 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

December 30, 2020

Wonder at the Word

“Thy testimonies are wonderful: therefore doth my soul keep them.” (Psalm 119:129)

Josiah was eight years old when he became king of Judah. His grandfather was Manassah and his father Amon, both evil kings. While it seemed Josiah would follow the same path, he didn’t. “He did that which was right in the sight of the LORD, and walked in the ways of David his father, and declined neither to the right hand, nor to the left” (2 Chronicles 34:2). What made such a difference?

As the text above testifies, Josiah found wonder in God’s Word. When Josiah was a young man (age 26), a godly leader read to him the law (torah), which engaged his soul.

And the king stood in his place, and made a covenant before the LORD, to walk after the LORD, and to keep his commandments, and his testimonies, and his statutes, with all his heart, and with all his soul, to perform the words of the covenant which are written in this book. (2 Chronicles 34:31)

Such was the case of the psalmist. The earlier portions of Psalm 119 declare the good that he had done, but now his soul was motivated. He longed (v. 131) and cried for direction and help from the Lord: “Look thou upon me, and...Order my steps in thy word....Deliver me from the oppression of man....Make thy face to shine upon thy servant” (vv. 132-135).

These unselfish prayers were each coupled with a promise to obey. With his heart and correct behavior involved, the psalmist wept for those who “keep not thy law” (v. 136). When the hearts of God’s people break because of sin, revival comes (2 Chronicles 7:14). HMM III