2024-04-27 A Meditation on Attack

“10 For it was fitting that he, for whom and by whom all things exist, in bringing many sons to glory, should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering. 11 For he who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one source. That is why he is not ashamed to call them brothers, 12 saying, “I will tell of your name to my brothers; in the midst of the congregation I will sing your praise.” 13 And again, “I will put my trust in him.” And again, “Behold, I and the children God has given me.” 14 Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, 15 and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery. 16 For surely it is not angels that he helps, but he helps the offspring of Abraham. 17 Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. 18 For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.” (Heb 2:10-18 ESV)

Rattling punch in the night, the morning anew stands starkly different: go forth boldly, is the call, whilst mourn what freedoms are on pause, is the undercurrent. We were indeed liberal and willingly dealing with the regrets, with the penitence, with the categorizations so cruel… but freely entered upon. Now, the punch in the night. Now, the breach and clarion Wake Up call to man the ramparts. Now, the gratitude for a day’s labor, even if it be at the helm of our Christian war, our Constantinian hour were it only attested to, that we are lovers of peace, and lovers of liberality. Of free society and of the soldier’s God-given right to learn and explore, to adapt and grow up into, to hazard a few ventures solemnly into the night, and brought to the light of day, too: what we did with all that Peace-Time earned, that prior generation’s war somehow if not on all points, on most points Won. We won, and need not apologize, that we were found at the Ready, found in daring response to the discord, to the bluster and belligerence, to the loser’s mantle infesting and paralyzing, poisoning the spirit in the room.

Somehow we did what we did as Men, Woman, consigned if not to die anon (1 Cor 4:9), to make deeds that Matter. To soldier because time is of the Essence. To see an invisible friend, or silent foe, on the corner sated, in satiety, consumed by both love—urgent in its mandate—and hate—festering in its infectious ways. An umbrella aloft, a parasol of Here People, good people, the community in color and banner, under a mesmerizing slow dance, consigned unto what the Spirit says to the Churches, hearing but no time to rationalize and distance oneself: we are sleepwalking awake and alert, unto the swaying dance moves, the stark response: you may punch in the night season; we lance forth in the wakeful prayer season.

We pray, because to move past a Threat is to win an early brand of war. It is to be supple, weaker in posture, that we might rest our confidence on a greater Good, Jesus on the Cross, Jesus unpanicky, intentional, patient, and leading with His own personal, sensitive, Loss, to warm the troops, to visit the Commune, to regale and honor the fighter’s spirit, the soldier’s wan demeanor or patient and stern countenance. Light and dark, all brands of man’s race, creed, clan, and principality: we are the strange heirs to do things what will be remembered and puzzled over from a distant fond vantage point; the Spirit is Here, Now, and ready to attack—if by “attack” we mean serve up the victory of the Cross—to be with sage vantage point aware, yes that was a withering blow, but yes, we are not hasty nor immature, not impatient with what tanks of the spirit are at beck and call. We are those who hope to be found Awake, mourning yes, but Awake, and alert to all and sundry by way of what street fights and stark lessons unfold under that parasol and umbrella.

Looking skyward we know we have a Friend who ascended. We have a card up our sleeve. We have a mouthpiece and a mournful Service of Worship, a gifted Fellowship and prayer-partnering community. We are more than conquerors, through Him who loved us. And our victory is to pass on, to “die” even, for the betterment of Man’s evolution and Hope. In this is our reward, and in this is our longing Hope.