“2 You then, my child, be strengthened by the grace that is in Christ Jesus, 2 and what you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses entrust to faithful men, who will be able to teach others also. 3 Share in suffering as a good soldier of Christ Jesus. 4 No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits, since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him. 5 An athlete is not crowned unless he competes according to the rules. 6 It is the hard-working farmer who ought to have the first share of the crops. 7 Think over what I say, for the Lord will give you understanding in everything. 8 Remember Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, the offspring of David, as preached in my gospel, 9 for which I am suffering, bound with chains as a criminal. But the word of God is not bound! 10 Therefore I endure everything for the sake of the elect, that they also may obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus with eternal glory. 11 The saying is trustworthy, for: If we have died with him, we will also live with him; 12  if we endure, we will also reign with him; if we deny him, he also will deny us; 13  if we are faithless, he remains faithful— for he cannot deny himself.” (2 Tim 2:1-13 ESV)

There is no gate-crashing in the Holy Spirit: built to last, the soldier isn’t a tyrannical swaying has been or former Entity now gone rogue. The soldier is not careening through the peaceable things with talk of War or a haphazard and ruinous prerogative. The soldier, built, measured, wisely assessed, is all the more ready when sanguine and flatlined hours come: not to allow the ennui to triumph, not to harbor regrets, not to go bleary-eyed because of the measure of our errors equalling the measure of our new heights, our successes.

Because personal Repentance, it never jades us or leaves us compromised, unable to fight. Unable to tarry onwards. Unable to give Voice to the Sentiment most salutary. The willingness, the desire, to see—believe you have an alter-ego and enemy—us fail, it is a desire born in loserdom, in some ways that the peaceable years, the uncontested outlay, the things accomplished ‘round here, are finally Confronted and taken to the mat.

Down for the count no longer, however, the soldier’s lifework does indeed ultimately face Game Day. Are we glad, now that our deeds are taken note of? All along they were noted, all along we had trials—never too great for us, but right at our level. The ticket to ride, therefore, is a soul… dear soul, are you quite certain of God’s love for you? Dear soul, are you quite certain of an inimical spirit, an enemy, who is recklessly seeking to undo you?

On some level the spirits dead and yet still swaying in the wind, doling out abuse here and murder there, these are spirits stark, leaving us in shock mode, glumly donning the helmet and receiving the shield, the boots and sword of the Spirit. We are glum, because it is a sober moment. Yes, the war was our license to Be, to be Soldier and Ambassador, Checkpoint occupant, employee, Courageous to serve and all the more to Ante up against a foe. But it was never a war desired, it is always glum and sad to face the uncertainty, the reality of our lone ship being itself a navy or land contested and fought over: civilian ships, they are part of a vast tapestry of society and comings-and-goings, but the militant, to the militant his or her Rig, his or her City, his or her Platoon, is a sovereign nation all on its lonesome. Under surveillance. Under attack. Not guaranteed, even, to Survive.

Yet to the barracks and to the helm! The fatigues most reminiscent of something seen while riding a peaceable bus about town, as this one or that one donned the uniform. So our Creed and Doctrine is peaceable and no cause for alarm, almost. Until it isn’t any longer. Until suddenly the enemy does swoop in, all blustery about teaching “the fear of the Lord”. Woman, man, I know about fear of the Lord, shouts back the soldier. But the caprice is already set in motion, and we have learned to bend as much as possible, to condescend, to patronize their Slander, because there is nothing worse than an enemy mocked, than a sentiment marred, then a pride injured. They are those swaying in unacknowledged winds of caprice and combat, of contention most unholy.

Soldiers of the hour, do get accustomed to your status as More contrite, More shriven, More confessed, than those with whom you do battle. They will be completely out of touch with the insanity, the murderous insanity, of their gambit. They will be on a completely Naive Tear, through the congregation’s trust, through the plausibility factor, through the daring and uncontrite attempt to saddle one or two Unbearable Loads onto the saint. This is our war, then, that we talk each other down from a tree, that we cease to try, however, to reason through the matter, and instead go somewhere Special, murmuring loving words, singing a hymn or lullaby, reminding God and Father Above loves you, loves me. And the enemy does hear us as we do all this and more in corporate Worship, ably led, charismatically celebratory. Hears and fears, perhaps, but hears. Hears and wishes to share a portion of the joy, the mirth. Wishes to know a bit more about our God and Father Above.