Drenched in his own sweat, his own tears, his own blood, and the blood of his enemies dripping from his weapons... there in the midst of the battlefield he stood. Some would say he was the champion, but his heart was telling him something very different. As his eyes panned the scarred earth and torn bodies around him, he realized he was the only one standing. There were no cheers, no songs, no witnesses, no admirers: no mercy. What had he done? What had he won?
He fell to his knees in the midst of the carnage and wept. He realized that his heart was satiated with the contempt of his enemies, the proud. With the fire of hate still raging against his senses, he felt as if there was absolutely no room for anything of true worth in his life. His heart was so heavy and so full of darkness that there couldn't be any space for the smallest light to flicker. There on his knees he gave into his total exhaustion and fell into a deep sleep. O Proskuneo where are you? Just then a large wounded mastiff crept up to the warrior, licked his hand, and lay down beside him.
"Unto Thee lift I up mine eyes, O thou that dwellest in the heavens. Behold, as the eyes of servants look unto the hand of their masters, and as the eyes of a maiden unto the hand of her mistress; so our eyes wait upon the LORD our God, until that He have mercy upon us. Have mercy upon us, O LORD, have mercy upon us: for are exceedingly filled with contempt. Our soul is exceedingly filled with the scorning of those that are at ease, and with the contempt of the proud." Psalm 123
Wiping the sweat from his brow, and sighing, then loudly exclaiming, "Man, glad that was only a dream!" NOW ... Hauntingly, he realized that the dream had revealed the deep truth of contempt's captivation of his heart: though he hated the attitudes shown to him in the past, the treatment of "the scorner" and the mockery of "the proud" ... Over the days and years of quietly bearing the embarrassment, he had allowed disdain to fill his heart, and he had become what he hated. He was so exceedingly full of contempt that there was no room for the things that could bring healing to him and others: he could not find room for forgiveness, mercy, grace, faith and love in his life.
Although he thought he was a skilled spiritual counselor with plenty of lifetimes of wisdom's experience, he had become a source of negative attitude, controlling decisions, discouraging conjecture, hasty opinions, and woeful cursing of the life of others. The scariest thing was he began to cast away people who truly loved him ...with this overwhelming contempt. Either, or ; black and white; no gray in his perspective, and a hard hearted, stubborn answer had become the reflex of his lips. He knew the answer and didn't have to think about (or did he?); but what he had no power to offer, had become his greatest need ... MERCY.
O Proskuneo where are you? He slid out of his bed, fell to the ground and lifted his eyes ... looking and longing with his soul for the comfort of the Masters hand. O he would kiss that hand if he could find it offered. Tears seemed unquenchable in this moment, but it was here ... in his new found worship, in the midst of his tears... that he found Mercy offered. Worship prevailed!
Until we face the exceeding contempt that we could be harboring beyond fullness, we stand stubbornly in a battlefield with only one unsung, one self proclaimed ... hero. And the song that we sing in that painfully awkward solitude carries the saddest of all melodies right to the heart of God ... Sing away, hear Him say - "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28
HLFA,
Jeff