There is a suffering greater than the pain of a sick body or a broken heart
A numbness, a paralysis, encased in a deafening silence
Too hurt to speak, to cry, or sing a lamentation
Too wounded to kneel, to crawl, or pray for salvation
Is this the agony of Jesus in Gethsemane?
His passion on the cross at Golgotha?
Or is it the torment of Judas after betraying Christ?
The tears of Peter after denying his Master three times?
This experience is a dying more tragic than death
A self-imposed solitary confinement, like starving yourself thin
Confusing the likeness of Christ with an alter-ego
Projecting one’s own secret sins upon public scandals
The predominant fault of our age is virtue signaling
Yesterday’s heresy will be tomorrow’s creed
Prelest is the defining mark of the progressive
Nostalgia is the Achilles heel of the traditionalist
The prophet speaks in poetry, the penitent in prose
Satan appears as an angel of pop psychology
Social media is more of a mirror than a window
The path is broad but the way is narrow
Was I pursuing truth or fleeing trauma?
This is the question I ask myself now
The answer is in the question, I suppose
But there is one thing, upon reflection, I know
I reacted when I should have remained still
I retaliated when I should have remained silent
I rebuked when I should have forgiven
I recalled my brother’s sins when I should have recounted my own
My punishment is to wander aimlessly
In the desert with no manna, water, or quail
To drink whiskey in the garden
Without sleeping disciples or a consoling angel
To be crucified between two thieves
With no one to break my legs or pierce my side
My punishment is to relive the exact same day
Over and over until I learn one valuable lesson
There is no crossing the Jordan
No entering the promised land
When you have burned every bridge
Wrongly thinking God would miraculously part the waters
9 April 2019