We Paid for the Party with our Dearest Blood – As Silent as the Grave

Greetings Dear Reader,

So much of our faith rests upon the truth of and belief in the Resurrection.   Yet today is the day of waiting.  Today is the day when the silent grave speaks volumes.  If Christ is not risen our faith is in vain.

Yet I feel so often that I live as if this were the truth and not the truth of tomorrow.   It is real.  I believe it all.  Yet the silence and distance of time act upon me subtly to keep me from always acting.  The time and silence make things seem less real and urgent unless I focus my faith and fervor. 

We are not a people with a dead god.  We are a people with a Christ is conquered death and killed it on our behalf.  My faith sometimes feels so very old and worn.  But then Christ promised to renew that with the Spirit he sent for us.  Even in the darkness of Saturday the disciples knew what Christ had said.  Like me they chose to live as if Sunday would never come.

The women were headed to the grave to tend to a body.  They were planning to care for a dead god in a

silent tomb.  The grief, pain, and loss were all real to them even though the miracle worker, food creator, death conqueror had promised he would rise again.  They faced the silence of the grave after a long painful Saturday. 

I have to use faith that has been tested and pummeled for years to believe that tomorrow matters.  If those who walked with Jesus and saw all he did were unable to believe before seeing him how am I expected to conquer the silence?  The answer is that I choose to do so.   I believe.  I have faith.  Even though it is weary and thin at times it is my faith.  Even though I doubt and disobey at times I still believe.  Even on those dark Saturdays when all seems lost and death seems to be winning I have hope.  The grave is silent and dark on Saturdays.  The night seems long and filled with death, violence, and hopelessness.  Everything seems lost.  We have paid for the party with our dearest blood and it seems our faith is in vain right up until sunrise.

My Eyes are Dry – Keith Green

My eyes are dry

My faith is old

My heart is hard

My prayers are cold

And I know how I ought to be

Alive to You and dead to me

But what can be done

For an old heart like mine

Soften it up

With oil and wine

The oil is You, Your Spirit of love

Please wash me anew

With the wine of Your Blood

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Aramis Thorn

Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a home owner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store."