Monday 6 February 2017


  We sigh without and pant within as we hear the tolls of an apocalyptic tune. We fear to hear of wars and rumours of wars and of men's hearts failing them for fear of what is happening. And with an even limitless potential for fear is to hear that as divine as the kingdom of heaven is, it is not immune to violence (Matthew 11:12).
  Desperate times it is as we watch the enemy advance with an unprecedented bloodthirst, our blood a cherished relish, and all this while we are stuck on the cross, for we are crucified with Christ...yes, not us but Christ that lives in us. To whom do we run when our feet are fastened to the cross? where do we knock when our hands are nailed apart?
  To obey or not to obey authority at these desperate times, an authority whose silence in the face of our predicament seems a tacit support of it?
  Yes, we should turn the other cheek, but we are soon loosening our nails as the enemy continues to advance. You keep your face they slap you, you turn the other cheek they cut off your head. The bells are tolling, tolling of death, tolling of tears and anguish, tolling of martyrdom, tolling of desperate times and we are disposing of our cross. We are scampering for answers, scampering for refuge, scampering to save our lives, scampering to pull out Peter's sword and cut off some ears in self-defense.
  Do we pray 'Maranatha' or do we say LORD, allow us a day off the cross to deal with these guys?
  The bell is still tolling and we are soon loosening our nails.

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