The Sword

I have heard it said many times that whatever divides is not of God. Of course, that simply depends on what is being divided and why. Is it not of God to divide sheep from goats, fleece from sheep, truth from error, heretics from the faithful, wheat from the tares? The problem is that those who make the statement above presume to be sheep or, they are under the false notion that pain and suffering and sorrow arising naturally from division are products of Satan and not of God. But these same people indulge in dividing others in the Name of God and think nothing of it. And does not God wound and break? Does He not call to forsake wife, children, parents and friends? Is forsaking easy and pleasant? If so, it would not be forsaking.

 

I am not sent for division’s sake;

I do not come to attack;

Strife and debate I do not sow,

Yet all these are found where I go.

 

I haven’t come for evil’s sake,

Bearing trouble, sorrow and pain,

Yet the sword I bear

Will cut in two

And each half in two again.

 

There are those who wish to take the truth

And claim it for their own

But others, joined to them, declare

“If you go, you go alone.”

 

I cannot help but cause this woe

If I am to speak what is true;

I can only hope as time goes on

That your loved ones will come too.

 

But you cannot wait for them to come,

The time to take heed is now.

Just as you cannot wait for yours,

The call cannot wait for you.

 

As friends increase, my enemies mount

In numbers greater still.

There are very few who know they are sick

And eager to swallow the pill.

 

But many there are who take offence

That the truth should upset their life

And hence the division, the sorrow, the pain,

The debate, the anger and strife.

 

But come if you will, take the medicine,

Be healed in your soul, set free

And in place of what you leave behind,

There are far greater things to be.

 

Lethbridge, Oct. 1, 1984

Related posts:

Bitterness
When you are given to see the incarnation of bitterness concentrated in your direction, I doubt that there can be a more hideous spectacle, especially when residing in one whom you have known intimately for decades and who is supposed to have the opposite, love, toward you. This comes by revelation but also by outer manifestation in the end for, all things must come to light and be dealt with, and are in the "last days." Only understanding of God can give one the encouragement to forgive, and faith to persevere. But bitterness is the lot of every believer and everyone must come to terms with it once and for all in the end. This is the "wicked one being revealed" and dealt the death blow. While it is the worst time of all, yet there is cause for those who believe to lift up their heads because redemption is near at hand. The manifestation of that mysterious man of bitterness is a token of the Lord present for it is in His coming that the son of perdition is exposed and destroyed. But destroyed how? By being redeemed, transformed, resurrected, reconciled to God through the Son of God. It is a great and terrible event.   Bitterness cries, "You owe me!" And she will not rest until She gets what she wants. She'll not be persuaded otherwise Nor will a substitute do.   "I disagree with You!" she cries to God. "Either You don't know what You're doing Or, You cannot do what's right. So I have to do it! I have to take control of things; I have to protect mys...
Ode to a Harlot
I was hurt by a vain professor of righteousness. Of that person I saw a vision. She was like her kind and her kind like her - light, treacherous, full of lust and hypocrisies. So are all those who "go to church" and think they do God a service.
War Games
The incomprehensible frivolity of those who deem it enjoyable and sporting to make a game of killing and suffering! Such acts and attitudes are symptoms of a horridly sick society indeed. To make a sport of the tragedies of mankind is to demonstrate a madness of the vilest kind on earth, worse than that which we find in asylums because those out and about, free to do as they please, are pleased to mimic the worst there is, though they are judged by the rest of society to be sane and responsible. The judges are as ill as the judged, if they find no fault or harm in such behavior. War games? War games? War games! Play, everybody, play! And play the dreaded things that one never plays again When the real appears. In all its horror and confusion, The incredible, the imagined takes its form from nowhere, But not from nothing. Frolicking souls, restless souls, selfish souls, Dull, simple, foolish and ghoulish; Shoot and kill! Play the game without the blood in sight, Though the blood already gushes forth With its life spilled to the ground.   While they play and rejoice in mock victories, Storm clouds swiftly creep. Even the rain spatters to warn but none take care And none suspect that the rain is red. Now they say, “Better red than dead” until they say “I wish I were dead.” Now they only pretend, like children, Running and laughing, not watching, Until they fall into the strong hands of a stranger, One of whom they have heard, One of whom they have t...

Leave a Reply