This Menacing Umbra

Spring 216 (B.C.)

Dear Father,

I wish I could begin this letter by telling you how marvelous life is in the army, and how wonderfully we’ve been able to do our jobs. Yet, one of the virtues you so faithfully taught me in my childhood was that of honesty. And so, in honesty I confess: life is miserable.

Our atrocities began many months ago (in fact nearly two years now), which I hope will give you reason to forgive my incompetent correspondence since that time. You will remember from previous letters how our acclaimed Hannibal chose, after much dispute amongst the officials, to march our forces across the fearsome Alps. I was, at first, awed at the bravery and endurance of this man Hannibal. He has truly been an example to me of what I might become one day if I follow in his faithful leading of courage. But, despite this admiration, our whole company was soon weary from the tumult which our journey began with, and distraught at the trek to come. How were we, so large a company, to maintain our strength and fortitude for what we knew would be a strenuous struggle?

Whatever miseries we thought we had faced, though, became miniscule in light of what we next encountered. Trouble after trouble placed its way in our path as we went along through the Alps. Many men were lost, and many beasts as well. Yes, our difficulties were many at that time. Of what I informed you after that I do not know, for we have been so preoccupied with our military work. Therefore, I will do my best to summarize for you what has happened since we crossed the Alps.

For a time, after crossing the Alps, fate seemed as though perhaps it was again turning in our favor. After a glorious three battles won on end, I thought that just maybe we could win this war after all. While my strength at Ticinus was little, it became renewed upon victory. Then again at Trebia, despite my strength being worn out from the intensity of the battle, I found myself rejoicing. Still, we remained very busy and so of course the details which I relayed to you were vague. Allow me then to share with you the one time in these past months in which I really did feel at ease. Hannibal was truly at his best at that time, a time in which he saw to it that all our forces hid in the hills while the weary Roman forces swam across the river. Just as they were coming across, we rushed at them and victory was ours! Ah, that was a happy day. Finally, there was one other battle, also showing the wisdom of our general in battle affairs. This one, as I am sure you heard of in Carthage, took place at Lake Trasimenus, and was of equal greatness to the one at Trebia. But that was months ago, Father.

Again I stand without hope. This time, I truly believe it may be the end, at least for this regiment. We have been now, through a painful and truly frustrating series of events, cut off from our food supply. I am just thankful to even have water in this forsaken place. It seems every day that another man falls ill. Those left with strength are so few in number. Frankly, I don’t know if we’ll last the remainder of the spring. Everything is so beautiful here in Italy around us, and yet, our men are feeble and lack anything to renew our old strength.

You know how much I, and the rest of the men here in the camp, admire Hannibal. Any of us would have declared just months ago that we would follow him to death – yet, now, with the reality of this hefty darkness looming before us, none of us is quite sure if even the man himself would go so far. Talk has been around of Hannibal considering a desertion of the mission, though I wonder whether perhaps it is just a rumor spread for the personal comfort of my comrades. For, as you know, our commander has devoted his life to this cause. Leaving it behind now would not only be a treachery to our country: it would be the death of all this man has ever been! His whole time on this earth has been for the sole purpose of conquering Rome. Surely he wouldn’t quit now. Or would he?

Conflicting rumors spread around the camp day after day, night after night, and I do my best to shun them from entering my mind, but still they do! When faced with the reality of near death, especially for a person as young as I- nineteen- even to think of doing it for one’s country is a burden. I want so badly to escape this thing, almost a disease, which is creeping into my mind, but I cannot. Perhaps it is the lingering cold, or my lack of food, that affects me so. Maybe all we need is a jolly song from Carthage, or a war theme to put our minds back at the work that has become such a drudgery to do.

Despite these possibilities, I know it is nothing but wishful thinking. Turning back now would be a foolish thing to do, because it would cause us to die simply on the way back. No, we must stay here. Our only hope is that perhaps some miracle will come about and we shall win whatever may next fall in our line of battle, or some good natured person will have the compassion to send us something in the way of provisions.

Until that time, though, I must endure to the best of my ability. There is nothing more to keep me going except life itself – and even that is an uncertain possibility. Father, please, give me a reason, any reason, just to live! Surely the world was never meant to suffer so, all for the sake of our desire to rule.

Send my love to mother. Speak nothing of this to her: it would alarm her too greatly. And if you still pray, then please, pray that deliverance might come upon us. I feel the end is near.

Your son,

Gisgo

Conquistadors

Joan of Arc, the savior of France

Everybody's heard of them. Not just the Spanish ones, either. Men like Alexander the Great, Charlemagne, and Alfred the Great, among them. All these men were called the great. Why? What makes someone so spectacular as to deserve the title great? 


There was much to it. For a man to really be a "great" man, it seems that by history's standards, he must have great wit, survive some great calamity, be educated by a great man, have a great religious standard, rule or conquer a great kingdom, be great in his treatment of his subjects and soldiers, write a few great things, and stand out as a great leader. Phew. That's a lot of greats.

Still, this is such a low, low standard for being great. If a man truly was great with every bit of his heart and soul behind it, he would have to do much more. Being truly great would mean to know everything that ever was, is, or ever shall be. It would mean living through life's greatest disasters, and yet having the greatest wealth and privilege as well. To be a great person in your very essence would force a person to be the ultimate educator, to author your own religion, to be the awe of everyone who ever lived, and at the same time the pure hate of these very people. To write the greatest masterpiece ever written, and to make it exceed not by just a little the other works. To be the most powerful leader, and yet the humblest servant. The most loving person, but the one most likely to invoke fear in any individual or group, no matter how powerful. To be nothing but absolute good, and to have no traces of evil or sin in your life. To be God. 


"Wait a minute!," you're thinking, "To be great, you don't have to be God." Well, technically, no, but if you want to come anywhere close to the epitome of greatness, you'll have to come pretty stinking close to being God. Don't hear what I'm not saying: that these men should stop being called great. No, of course not! They were fantastic as men, and I admire them ever so deeply, but the reality is they weren't God. But even the Creator of the Universe -- the Creator of time itself! -- chose not to stop with being great. No, he went much farther.

Willing to suffer, God died on our behalf. We who were ugly, disgusting, unworthy, sinners, an insult to the very name of God -- he died for us. Jonathan Edwards said it well:

The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider or some loathsome insect over the fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked; his wrath towards you burns like fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else but to be cast into the fire; be is of purer eyes than to bear to have you in his sight; you are ten thousand times so abominable in his eyes as the most hateful venomous serpent is in ours. You have offended him infinitely more than ever a stubborn rebel did his prince; and yet it is nothing but his hand that holds you from falling into the fire every moment. 'Tis to be ascribed to nothing else, that you did not go to hell the last night; that you were suffered to awake again in this world, after you closed your eyes to sleep. And there is no other reason to be given why you have not dropped into hell since you arose in the morning, but that God's hand has held you tip. There is no other reason to be given why you haven't gone to hell since you have sat here in the House of God, provoking his pure eyes by your sinful wicked manner of attending his solemn worship; yea, there is nothing else that is to be given as a reason why you don't this very moment drop down into hell...And now you have an extraordinary opportunity, a day wherein Christ has thrown the door of mercy wide open, and stands in the door calling and crying with a loud voice to poor sinners; a day wherein many are flocking to Him, and pressing into the kingdom of God. Many are daily coming from the east, west, north, and south., many that were very lately in the same miserable condition that you are in, are now in a happy state, with their hearts filled with love to Him who has loved them, and washed them from their sins in his own blood, and rejoicing in hope of the glory of God.

If you couldn't read that, just copy-paste it into a document and enlarge it. It takes up a lot of space, but you need to read it. Now.

The point is, God is completely great in every way, if he would do this for us! And even if he didn't do it, he still is worthy of every praise. 

So why did I call this post "Conquistadors"? I did so because that is what we are called to be. See Matthew 28 and the book of Acts for proof. If we serve such a great God, shouldn't we want to get out there and spread the message of his loving grace toward us? And if this is the case, why shouldn't we be conquistadors for the Cross?

Alfred the Great, Charlemagne, and Constantine are three fantastic examples of rulers who were used by God to save their nations. All three of these men, though, did it partly by conquering in battles, and much by conquering hearts. They showed their people the Living God, and the people wanted more of him. Mini-renaissances happened in these nations. Often it began with a single step of action for the Gospel, which is something each of us should aspire to accomplish. That first step is hardest, and from there you have to go if you've really experienced the love of God. Loving God makes you want others to have him for a king, and it makes you want to serve him in every action. As St. Augustine said, 

"Love God and do what you please."

We should want to spread his kingdom.

How this should be done is a question that has spanned the ages. Martin Luther King, Jr. believed firmly in peace. The Crusades were not afraid of violence. The Separatists of England chose to start over all together. But, regardless of how it is done, there is no question as to what must be done. The how depends on the situation, but the what remains. Go into all the world. And don't turn back. There are two things Mr. Baker told me which I will never forget. The first,

"Move forward, be swift, never let the dust of the earth touch you."

In other words, don't doubt what you're called to do for a single moment if you know you're called to do it. And finally, I leave you with my favorite thing he's ever taught me,

 Theorein- Greek, verb: the act of gazing intently

Mr. Baker showed us a depiction of Moses gazing at the burning bush, awed at the majesty of God. What are you gazing intently upon? Does it strike your heart with terror, and yet with a firm, unshakable love? Is it the God of the Universe, who holding you over the very gates of hell, chose to rescue you and call you his child, his beloved? I challenge you to love him for that, and simply for being God. I challenge you, and myself, and any brother or sister out there, to go all out for this God. Be changed. Tell everyone about him. Dance the dance, sing the song, know the Book, love our Lord. One step can change the world. Be conquistadors.

Meridian

Torrents of Trepidation (and Why I Live in the Hills)

WHOOSH!

The wind swept about me, thrashing its finger in my face. Rain was coming. In Israel, the wet season was upon us. Seeing the storm clouds moving in, I began trudging wearily toward the house. As I gazed back at the crops, I sighed at how much work remained to be done when the rain stopped. But, I reminded myself, I ought to be thankful that I lived in my native country, when so many before me had lived in exile.  

Just then, a figure burst through the gate at the end of the field, and came running straight in my direction.

“Judas!” the man yelled, clearly angered by something. “Go and gather your brothers together, and don’t tarry!”

My father, a priest, was vehement in tone, and whenever he got like this, it was wise not to question his authority. Quickly I turned to fetch my brothers, John, Simon, Eleazar, and Jonathan. Like any other boys, my brothers had their share of quarrels. As the middle child, somehow I always landed being the mediator. Once again, this proved true.

                                                            ~

The news my father had for us was not happy. Israel had been commanded, under Antiochus Epiphanus, to conform to the culture of the pagans. We were to worship as the heathens, dress as the heathens – essentially, we were to be heathen. Moreover, my father, Matthathias, as a respected priest in Israel, was expected to be among the first to comply with this official order. Yet, being the godly patriarch he was, father wouldn’t go along with the heathens and certainly would not lead the people into sin. This burden was heavy, and caused us to lose ourselves to grief for many days. But, at last, we realized this could continue no longer. My father’s intention was to be a man of God, and each of us knew he would stay in God’s will.

                                               

With renewed vigor, our family marched along the way to Jerusalem, ready to greet the officials with a clear refutation.

                                                            ~

“You wish to do what?”

The Seleucid general was clearly in disbelief, but my father remained calm.

“Must I live to see these days?”

Appalled at this show of disrespect toward the government, the soldier took a step closer to us. We, in fear, closed ourselves in tighter to one another.

“I will have no one in this land who does not obey the command of his own authorities!” 

The s hissed through the man’s gritted teeth, giving him an aura of penetrating villainy, and a strong presence of regime throughout his enormous bulk. I felt a shiver run down my spine in full acknowledgement of the evil before me. Almost at once, our family exchanged glances, realizing the danger in which we placed ourselves.

“It is a small matter,” continued the man, “to alter your manner of worship.”

“Perhaps to you it is,” replied my father in his rather notorious vehemence, “but I see it not as you do. Indeed, if you change my practice in worship, you will take away my God whom I love. And if you do so, you shall have me exchange all my other daily practices for your own. No, this is no small matter. If this succeeds, may God be my deliverer!”

A cheer rose up behind me. Gladdened that someone was on our side, I turned.

My heart dropped. The cheer was not for my father’s courage in going before the government – no, it was far from that. A young man, a man I had played with in my childhood, a man from a god-fearing, honorable family, had chosen to side with the general.

Bowing down before an idol of the gentiles, my friend threw himself prostrate and began to pray, “Oh Zeus, most high and blessed above all the gods, the son of Kronos, husband to Hera, and father of Athena, Apollo, Dionysus, and the rest of the most beautiful divinities in Olympus: may your name be great forever.”

Disgusted, my father was filled with fury, as were the rest of my family and those few others who were faithful to Yahweh. Enraged at the denial of the Jewish people toward their God, and all they once held dear, it was apparent that my father was moved to wrath, tensing every muscle in his body. In this heat, my father erupted and began to slay all those worshippers who had left the Hebrew faith for pagan idolatry. Furiously, he swept through the crowd gathered in this square of Jerusalem, trampling those thrown prostrate before the graven images of the gods of the Greek-speaking peoples, tearing down these corrupt statues, and ending the lives of those who sought to defend this rebellion against the one true God. Catastrophe marked the scene in Jerusalem, and all were distraught. Still, my father Mattathias had one purpose: to serve the living God by fulfilling his holy call to lead the people of Israel n righteousness.

                                                                        ~

That day proved to be just the beginning of many great struggles between those Jews faithful to God, and those unfaithful. It was not long before my father took our family away to the hills, to be preserved against the pagan influences and harsh persecution we experienced in the city. Since then, we have remained here, a growing number of others joining us. My father’s wish is that someday Israel may be restored to her full glory, for the Lord has promised this to us. It seems more and more clear, however, that perhaps I am the one the Lord would have go before Israel while she waits, and renew her strength to endure. How I will do so, I know not, but one thing I do know: that this man Antiochus is wicked, and does not follow the true and living God.

I am afraid I must take leave of my writing, and tend to the fields. The work never ends around here, since we are so few in number. But, before I go, I must take one last look over the ridge where I sit. Ah, yes, over there, just in view near the horizon, is my hometown. If I blur my eyes, I can almost see the fields, and feel the wind whipping around my face. The rainy season is back in Israel; and maybe, just maybe – Yahweh’s cleansing rain will heal my people soon.

Some things I want to do in my lifetime...

...possibly in this order.


-Become proficient at singing and piano and perhaps one or two other instruments
- Go to a God-honoring college and major in English and/or History, with possible minors in Music, Education, Physics, and/or Government.
-Become fluent in Latin and possibly Greek
-Consider going to Law School (but most likely, don't actually attend unless I love the prospect)
-Run long-distance
-Work in the political world
-Attend the University of Oxford for at least one term for the experience, or possibly longer for a MA in History
-Somewhere in between the above steps, or shortly thereafter, get married to a Godly, intelligent man, and love him well
-Be a missionary for 6 months or a year
-Have kids any time after getting married, love them as dearly as old Mrs. Sowerby in The Secret Garden, and teach them to fear God and to love his precepts and creation
-Teach a handful of other eager students these same things
-Create a peaceful home where love is abounding and learning is encouraged
-Have a large garden (after all, I'll have plenty of little hands around to help! :D)
-Run a home business of tutoring or something like that to help aid with the family income
-Begin to grasp the things I love
-Paint in Italy
-Spend some time writing in Switzerland
-Possibly publish a scientific paper
-Throughout all of this, finish an epic poem or fantasy novel worth reading regardless of era


Underlying thing to do: Serve my God and be willing to add things to this list, and take them off just as easily, according to his will, and my submissiveness first to my parents, and then my husband. ;)


Meridian

Eloquence Embodied

Winston Churchill: Eulogy for Neville Chamberlain

House of Commons
November 12, 1940

Since we last met, the House has suffered a very grievous loss in the death of one of its most distinguished Members, and of a statesman and public servant who, during the best part of three memorable years, was first Minister of the Crown.

The fierce and bitter controversies which hung around him in recent times were hushed by the news of his illness and are silenced by his death. In paying a tribute of respect and of regard to an eminent man who has been taken from us, no one is obliged to alter the opinions which he has formed or expressed upon issues which have become a part of history; but at the Lychgate we may all pass our own conduct and our own judgments under a searching review. It is not given to human beings, happily for them, for otherwise life would be intolerable, to foresee or to predict to any large extent the unfolding course of events. In one phase men seem to have been right, in another they seem to have been wrong. Then again, a few years later, when the perspective of time has lengthened, all stands in a different setting. There is a new proportion. There is another scale of values. History with its flickering lamp stumbles along the trail of the past, trying to reconstruct its scenes, to revive its echoes, and kindle with pale gleams the passion of former days. What is the worth of all this? The only guide to a man is his conscience; the only shield to his memory is the rectitude and sincerity of his actions. It is very imprudent to walk through life without this shield, because we are so often mocked by the failure of our hopes and the upsetting of our calculations; but with this shield, however the fates may play, we march always in the ranks of honour.

It fell to Neville Chamberlain in one of the supreme crises of the world to be contradicted by events, to be disappointed in his hopes, and to be deceived and cheated by a wicked man. But what were these hopes in which he was disappointed? What were these wishes in which he was frustrated? What was that faith that was abused? They were surely among the most noble and benevolent instincts of the human heart--the love of peace, the toil for peace, the strife for peace, the pursuit of peace, even at great peril, and certainly to the utter disdain of popularity or clamour. Whatever else history may or may not say about these terrible, tremendous years, we can be sure that Neville Chamberlain acted with perfect sincerity according to his lights and strove to the utmost of his capacity and authority, which were powerful, to save the world from the awful, devastating struggle in which we are now engaged. This alone will stand him in good stead as far as what is called the verdict of history is concerned.

But it is also a help to our country and to our whole Empire, and to our decent faithful way of living that, however long the struggle may last, or however dark may be the clouds which overhang our path, no future generation of English-speaking folks--for that is the tribunal to which we appeal--will doubt that, even at a great cost to ourselves in technical preparation, we were guiltless of the bloodshed, terror and misery which have engulfed so many lands and peoples, and yet seek new victims still. Herr Hitler protests with frantic words and gestures that he has only desired peace. What do these ravings and outpourings count before the silence of Neville Chamberlain's tomb? Long, hard, and hazardous years lie before us, but at least we entered upon them united and with clean hearts.

I do not propose to give an appreciation of Neville Chamberlain's life and character, but there were certain qualities always admired in these Islands which he possessed in an altogether exceptional degree. He had a physical and moral toughness of fibre which enabled him all through his varied career to endure misfortune and disappointment without being unduly discouraged or wearied. He had a precision of mind and an aptitude for business which raised him far above the ordinary levels of our generation. He had a firmness of spirit which was not often elated by success, seldom downcast by failure, and never swayed by panic. When, contrary to all his hopes, beliefs and exertions, the war came upon him, and when, as he himself said, all that he had worked for was shattered, there was no man more resolved to pursue the unsought quarrel to the death. The same qualities which made him one of the last to enter the war, made him one of the last who would quit it before the full victory of a righteous cause was won.

I had the singular experience of passing in a day from being one of his most prominent opponents and critics to being one of his principal lieutenants, and on another day of passing from serving under him to become the head of a Government of which, with perfect loyalty, he was content to be a member. Such relationships are unusual in our public life. I have before told the House how on the morrow of the Debate which in the early days of May challenged his position, he declared to me and a few other friends that only a National Government could face the storm about to break upon us, and that if he were an obstacle to the formation of such a Government, he would instantly retire. Thereafter, he acted with that singleness of purpose and simplicity of conduct which at all times, and especially in great times, ought to be the ideal of us all.

When he returned to duty a few weeks after a most severe operation, the bombardment of London and of the seat of Government had begun. I was a witness during that fortnight of his fortitude under the most grievous and painful bodily afflictions, and I can testify that, although physically only the wreck of a man, his nerve was unshaken and his remarkable mental faculties unimpaired.

After he left the Government he refused all honours. He would die like his father, plain Mr. Chamberlain. I sought permission of the King, however, to have him supplied with the Cabinet papers, and until a few days of his death he followed our affairs with keenness, interest and tenacity. He met the approach of death with a steady eye. If he grieved at all, it was that he could not be a spectator of our victory; but I think he died with the comfort of knowing that his country had, at least, turned the corner.

At this time our thoughts must pass to the gracious and charming lady who shared his days of triumph and adversity with a courage and quality the equal of his own. He was, like his father and his brother Austen before him, a famous Member of the House of Commons, and we here assembled this morning, Members of all parties, without a single exception, feel that we do ourselves and our country honour in saluting the memory of one whom Disraeli would have called an "English worthy."

If you know much about these two men and their relationship, you will at this point be left in utter astonishment. What an incredible man Churchill was, and so gifted with words! Thank you Mr. Baker for giving me this analysis assignment, thank you Jake H. for the subject suggestion, and thank you God for Winston Churchill!! I look forward to meeting him someday.

Meridian