The Middleton

A forsaken man. Without a country. Without a hope.
His soul in turmoil, like the hot winds and raging sands that lash him with the fury of a taskmaster's whip.
He is driven forward,
always forward,
by a God unknown toward a land unseen...

Each night brings the black embrace of loneliness.
In the mocking whisper of the wind, he hears the echoing voices of the dark.
His tortured mind, wondering if they call the memory of past triumphs,
or wail foreboding of disasters yet to come,
or whether the desert's hot breath has melted his reason into madness.

He cannot cool the burning kiss of thirst upon his lips nor shade the scorching fury of the sun.
All about is desolation.
He can neither bless nor curse the power that moves him, for he does not know from where it comes.

Learning that it can be more terrible to live than to die,
he is driven onward through the burning crucible of desert,
where holy men and prophets are cleansed and purged for God's great purpose.

Until at last,
at the end of human strength,
beaten into the dust from which he came,
the metal is ready for the Maker's hand.

-Cecil B. DeMille, from The Ten Commandments

Never have words resonated more truly than those words resonate with me today. On Sabbath afternoon, I found myself in desperation mode, pleading with God for a change in my life, or at least an understanding of why my change had not come. For months I have struggled with spiritual apathy and disconnectedness. These two things had already taken over my natural life, and it could only have been a matter of time before they took over my spiritual life as well. All my coping mechanisms failed to soothe the agony of the soul separated from its Maker.

I spoke to a former classmate from ARISE, Sandra that afternoon, and she encouraged me to read the Word and find the answers there. I agreed to take the few moments I had left before I had to depart for the evening to read the Bible. I opened it once, and it opened to Acts 9. I thought to myself, "I won't find anything worthwhile there" and closed it again. I opened the Bible again, and it opened to Acts 9 for a second time. I shook my head and started reading. Shortly I came to verse 6: "And he trembling and astonished said, Lord, what wilt thou have me to do? And the Lord said unto him, Arise, and go into the city, and it shall be told thee what thou must do." Then Saul went into the city, and he waited, without eating or drinking, until it was shown what he must do.

"So be it," I said. And at the moment began an unbelievable journey, a journey without food and water. I prayed more and more as my strength became less and less. The first test came Sunday morning, as the sponsor of the Health-Evangelistic Series I've been a part of producing took the entire production crew to Olive Garden for a feast. Reluctant to proclaim my fasting for everyone to know and discuss, I said nothing. Soon the questions rose of why I was not ordering. I silently said, "I'm just fasting." When the food came out, it pushed my will pretty far. Everyone had something different. Everything smelled so good. I prayed as my stomach churned. At the end of the first 24 hours, I wondered how much longer I could last. Simple tasks such as showering and washing hands became temptations to break the fast. The first night I broke down in tears, singing the song "Help Me Believe" by Kirk Franklin. I collapsed upon the cold earth, begging for the hand I had been waiting for so long. The only answer was the chilling wind freezing the moisture upon my face.

After 48 hours I knew I was at the end of my rope. I knew I could not last another day without food or water. But we may most easily find our Father at the end of human strength. And, at the end of human strength, some 50+ hours into the fast I cried out one last time. I thought I was not heard. I returned the the place where we had just finished recording and sat down in the back, waiting to leave. Hyperventilation and tachycardia set it. I could no longer think. I heard the others calling to me and I staggered to my feet to pack up my computer and leave. Someone, alarmed by my hyperventilation and the dreadful coldness of my flesh, called the doctor who had presented that evening, and he came and stood in my way, bidding me to sit for a moment. I sat down. He started asking questions. I whispered to him of the fast, how it had started, and how I needed the change of heart...to love my Father again, to be drawn to Him, draw others toward Him, to break free from my apathy. My heart rate was now up to 120, and he called the lay pastor in and sent everyone else out of the room. They laid hands upon me, prayed for me, and the miracle came. I was too weak to know it.

They bade me drink as a sign of my faith that my prayers had been answered. I was too weak to drink of my own accord, and they had to pour water into my mouth, bit by bit. Cup after cup was brought. The Word was read aloud. Fruit was brought. Juice was brought, and finally, solid food. Within the half-hour, I was fully restored, and my heart was filled to overflowing with love, joy, and peace...the fruit of the spirit for which I had been starving.

I want to extend my unreserved thanks to all of you who lifted me up in your prayers, and who, through your calls and messages, brought encouragement to me in my desperation. Thanks be to God our Father and to the Lord Jesus Christ, who gives us the victory. From that night, November 15th, I have not ceased to radiate. If you have not seen me yet, find a way. You will find a changed man.

This is a throw back....posted 3 years ago on an old blog I had. I was really feeling it yesterday. Enjoy.


Sunday, April 08, 2007

Learning to Fly
Category: Writing and Poetry
Last year I posted a bitter poem called "To Fly. . ." about the utter hopelessness I, at one time in my life, dealt with perpetually.
This weekend I was inspired to write a poetic response. In order to get the full weight of it, you have to read the first one first, but I'll save you the trouble of looking for it. The morbid irony of it can be a wee bit chilling, but the second one more than makes up in joy what he first serves up in anguish.

To Fly. . .

A smile on my face, but tears in my eyes
They all hear the laughter, but not the silent cries
Is it a smile of strength, or a smile of lies?
Will my troubled soul rest before all hope dies?


Tired of body and weary of mind
Perpetually lost, my soul cannot find
A place of solace from this constant bind
Killed for having sight but choosing to be blind


A debt of love that can never be paid
To a friend who lovingly came to my aid
Offering me a crown that will never fade
I don't know why on this course I've stayed


A course that curses me, condemned to die
I can't give it up, and I don't know why
Now I'm forcing smiles and hiding cries
Because my soul has wings, but never learned to fly


Learning to Fly

Gone are the days of darkness and death
No more searching for meaning in each breath
I've been released from the cage I was in
I'm freed from continual bondage to sin

I begged God I might die, so sure I'd be free
But thanks be to God He didn't listen to me
I asked Him to remove this heavy load
So I could walk with more ease down life's road

He said: "I know you want me to answer your cry,
"But son, those are wings! You were created to fly!"
Then, in the hard times, when the winds became rough
I sought Him for shelter, but it wasn't enough

He said: "Lift up your head and open your eyes,
"Spread out your wings, and take to the skies."
Timidly I spread them, fearing for my life
Convinced I would die in the windy turmoil and strife

And then the wind caught me up into the air
It was just me and God, and two wings, and one prayer
I started out shaking, not sure what to do
But the higher I soared, the more my faith grew

And when I was lifted over the storm below me
My heart then knew inside what my eyes had not seen
So when the storms come, I now take to the sky
Because my soul has wings, AND I KNOW how to fly.

It's 3:15 AM. I am wide awake. My eyes burn. They burn, not with weariness. They burn with anguish and anger.

A contempt for humanity whispers in my ear, and the words I hear, I know not how to defend against or even attempt to respond to any more. With what words shall I express my vexation? Tell it not, for the tale would never be fully heard, would it?

I am writing this blog, not for comfort, consolation, or even response of any kind. Read as you will, and do what you desire. I write not for you, but for myself for once. I am fully enraged. I am incensed to a level that I have not known in some time. If you see me, you will not see it. If you hear me, you will not hear it. But now, if you read me, you will read it. The outrage the overtook Moses, driving him to slay the Egyptian, has overtaken me, but I strive to be constructive, yet every breath I breathe only fuels the fire and fans the flames.

My cry, my inquiry, my agony breathes forth, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?"

You know who you are. Actually, you don't. And you never will. If what I say has no bearing upon you, then disregard it. If it does, you've probably already disregarded it. Hence, my treatise here is truly non-effectual for anyone but myself.

You do not know me. Perhaps you never have. Perhaps you never will. In your foolishness, you think you do. You think you understand everyone. You think you are a capable judge of all mankind. You think your perceptive ability is elevated to a level upon which you are a rightful arbiter of the skills, talents, propensities, and responsibilities of others. You are not. I repeat, YOU ARE NOT! Who do you believe yourself to be that you would presume to attack a wandering soul because you feel that this soul should not be or could not possibly be wandering. If the sign says, "Keep off the grass," but I don't speak English, how helpful is your criticism for my inability to follow simple signs? Who made you a judge and a ruler over mankind? Rather than inspiring a new level of greatness, you destroy what little foundation I have left. Your calloused judgments drive the rest of us to embrace our own failure and only look to more of it.

You have set standards for the rest of the inhabitants of this world that align to such a narrow worldview that none of us can ever measure up in your eyes, and yet you are too blind to see this. How am I deserving of being beaten with many stripes when I do not share your standards, your values, or your convictions? And if I have erred, strike me not in vengeance and rage. Guide me. Lead me. Instruct me. Inspire me!

If I am unaware, kindly make me aware. If I am aware, lend a hand!

Fool, you are. You have always wanted others to be understanding of you, and yet you have not for a moment turned to lend the understanding you so greatly stand in need of to any other human being who may also be in need. You withhold from others the patience that you have required for the duration of your entire life. May God Almighty do also unto you. Are you so blindly selfish that you cannot comprehend that everyone else on this planet is struggling just as you?

Why must you elevate me to a place that I have not attained? Why must you place me upon this pedestal? Why must you require of me a standard that you think I should attain, and that perhaps I could attain were I where you think I am? I am not there! You do not know me.

The insane thing about it is that you feel exactly what I write presently, as if it were you that were being oppressed, and you still haven't realized that YOU ARE an oppressor! Humanity, I speak of thee! So motivated by selfishness, so blind to your fellow-suffers!

I am not a saint. I am not an angel. I am not your example. I am a sinner saved by grace.

I am not who you think I am. I am not where you think I am. I cannot do what you think I should.

You think I am a pillar. You think I am a standard. You see something great in your mind, but you do not see the reality I live. You do not see my heart, so torn. You do not see my mind, so sullied. Perhaps I am a pillar, but not one that stands tall. I am The Fallen Caryatid from Rodin's "The Gates of Hell." The weight of the expectations you have laid upon me have crushed me. It is because of people like you that people like me lose hope. Could you but season your bitter words with love, you might inspire excellence. But you never thought of that. And you won't. You can't. All you see is what's supposed to be. You don't see me. You can't.

I'm sorry to disappoint you. I tried to tell you before. You didn't listen then either.

My patience for the blind ineptitude and foolish expectations of the imbeciles with whom I share the planet has reached its supreme exhaustion.

Earth, I report. I'm out. Seriously. I can't deal with you. I do not plan to be heard from until my blinding pain and grotesque anger at your rancid ways has sufficiently abated for me to return to being part of the solution.

Imagine yourself, on a Friday night, walking up to church. Someone mentioned there was a special vespers service going on. You make your way inside, and open the door to the sanctuary. You gaze towards the front and see some kind of video being projected on the wall. You look again, and it seems to be some animated film. Then it dawns on you....this is a scene from "Despicable Me." You probably found the film to be amusing when your first saw it, but now you're in church on a Friday night. That just happened.

I must admit I was greatly shocked. I began this vast internal conflict. Was this the right place? Yes, this was the right place. Could it possibly be, say, a Thursday night instead of being Friday night? No, indeed it is Friday. Then why are we watching Despicable Me? After a moment, the clip ended, and some blurb about following a bunch of rules came up, then something about the Sabbath not just being some rule...

What?

Really?

Is this what we do now? We play random, secular clips in CHURCH on SABBATH and try to pull some spiritual lessons out of it? Is it because the simple, plain truths of the Bible don't engage our minds that we turn to the stars of the screen to point us in the right direction since they hold our attention? Mercy. Only one word come to mind. Profane. And it seems to come to mind with greater frequency.

Profane.

Just last week, while in Alabama, I attended Sabbath School--something that I rarely do. I was sitting, attempting to listen to the teacher as she went through her thoughts on the lesson (which reminded me why I really don't dig Sabbath School much). In a few moments I heard a distinct sound coming from behind me. In the row directly behind me, some young adults were talking. And when I say talking, I mean TALKING, not whispering, not muttering, but a full blown, proper sort of talking that you do when there is absolutely nothing of importance going on around you. I thought to myself, "Give them a minute. They'll finish." After a few minutes, I realized this was not just an exchange. This was a conversation. I gave a few more moments as my indignation burned within me. After 10 minutes, I could no longer hold my peace. I turned around and said to them directly, "Do you mind talking your conversation somewhere else? I'm trying to listen." The guy says, "Sorry." But get this....the girl looks at me like I'M the one at fault with this expression that said, "If you're trying to listen, you should go somewhere else."

These things seem to happen more! I listen to the pure cacophony of sound that fills sanctuaries between Sabbath School and the Divine Service. I behold the frustration as leaders attempt to quell the masses in order to BEGIN the service. I watch after church, and children run through the sanctuary as if it is their personal playground...running, shouting, walking on and jumping over the pews. I hold my peace, I know not how.

What is wrong with our churches? What is wrong with us? Am I just showing up to the wrong places at the wrong times, or have you beheld the same? Does it vex you? What have you done? What can you do? What will you do?

I commented to a friend last night that a famine is coming...not a famine of bread, nor a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the LORD (Amos 8:11). This must be the famine. The result of the famine is always hunger, but how much longer, brothers and sisters, must this famine continue before we fully hunger and thirst after righteousness? What has happened to us? Why have we not hungered more? I speak as one guilty.

How long, oh Lord, how long?

Though it were but a few moments ago, a most phenomenal, unprecedented event has just transpired. I report. On today, Thursday, September 16th, in the year of our Lord, AD 2010, I, Benjamin Alan Middleton, consumed three (3) meals in a period of less than 24 hours. Mark it on your calendars, save it in your palm pilots, blackberries, iPhones, and other random devices. In 20-30 years, your kids will want to know where you were and what you were doing when this happened. And you can give them the inside scoop...

(Inside Scoop)

I awakened this morning with a strange thought. What if I ate? It was odd because I had the same thought yesterday morning. I even tried it, just to see if it was a worthwhile endeavor. I concluded it wasn't because it had no apparent, measurable effect on my day. But, I figured I had nothing to lose, and the oatmeal in my pantry was just going to waste anyhow, so I ate before I went to work. Midway though the day, I had another strange thought....why not eat again? Now this was purely insane. Eating twice before a day was anywhere near over? Well, why not. Worth a try, yes? And off I went, apprehending a second meal. Just a short while ago I entered my abode and was startlingly hit by the same thought, for an unprecedented THIRD time! And I ate...again.

For those of you who do not believe me, I do have a witness, Calvin Chuang, who was not only present to observe all three periods of eating, but probably had something to do with putting the thought in my mind. BLASTED INCEPTION!

(The Worst Part)

Now I'm having these strange thoughts about going to sleep. I have no idea what to do with myself anymore. How does that work?

It's like
having a disease, or thinking you have one, but you're not sure, and if you are sure, perhaps just not knowing if there's a cure.
Like a child, perchance, sick with the plague, grasping at the air, in need of something, but unable to find it anywhere.
Like there's an enchantment that keeps them in the safe place to be, yet some few souls are drawn in, thinking they have the remedy

It's like
having a dream you know is a dream, but it's too real for you to wake, or it IS real, but how it feels, and smells, and tastes, you think it's fake.
Like a tear you cry, but not sure why. Are you joyous? Are you blue? Emotions lie, or at least they try. But do you know what's true?
Like a laugh, light upon your lips, but without cause or provocation; you think to laugh, not knowing why. And now the hesitation.

It's like
having eternity seated upon your shoulders, awaiting your command to move ahead and summon worlds you cannot even understand.
Like a future, full of light, and life, with-child now, and to give birth, and you can give the final push, to change the course of all on earth.
Like a past you can't forget, a sun that sinks but never seems to set, with its faint rays still shining back all the joy and deep regret.

It's war.
It's peace.
It's night.
It's day.
It's every rise and fall.
It's all of this, but no, it's not. It's none of this at all.

It has been an excessive amount of time since I've blogged here, and thus my return will be properly random.

Losers.

People are losers. Have you noticed? It's not their fault, perhaps. It must be in their blood or something. Before you haste to object with the retort that The Middleton is a human and thus a loser as well, trust me, I thought of that and have already embraced it. The fact that you wanted to make sure that I knew I'm a loser makes you more of a loser.


Language.

Have you noticed how the things that people say make absolutely no sense, and yet these things are randomly adopted into full usage by the masses. My conclusion: Grammar will be extinct in the next century. It's presently endangered, and certainly by reason of one factor....TEXT MESSAGING. Texting is a scourge to the English language. The language is utterly slaughtered daily by texts. I speak as one guilty. I am guilty of the following offenses: sux, yeh, tht, hav, u, hbu, and a few others on a regular basis. The sad thing is, as I mentioned before, texting affects speaking, and now people say this:

"I know, right?!"

What does that even mean? It's like a declaration of personal understanding followed by an inquiry as to whether the said declaration is true, and the MEANING of this is attempting to convey, "You are correct." Come on people, is this the best we can do to affirm understanding?


Example:
Me: "What's with everyone saying, 'I know, right?!' all the time? What does that even mean?"
(friend): "I know, right?!"

Yes. True story.


Travel.

I just set a new personal record for travel. Over 3,600 miles driven in 4 consecutive weekends. Most recently I was in Alabama doing sales after Pastor David Asscherick spoke at Madison Mission Church. 1,200 mile roundtrip. It was well worth it though.
- I finally saw, with my own eyes, the hall on Oakwood University's campus named after my great-grandfather, Otis Bernard Edwards Sr. Awesome feeling of wonder at the great things my forefathers accomplished.
- I saw Lilena Walker, whom I had not seen in 2 years--back in the days we both lived in Ohio. It was like a mini-New-Life-reunion. We've just got to crank that Lion King again.
- I met Michaelle Alexandra, after so long a time. I'd seen her enough times, and spoken of her (and the family) with mutual friends enough times, there was this strange, slight familiarity that I don't often have with people I've never met. And, I am still indebted to you, Micky, for your help. Thank you.
- I hunted down Victor Walker. Tell me how I could be in the same vicinity as you, and your slothful self would hibernate throughout my visit? But I got you, I did. I saw that Lincoln, with the Ohio plates, and the "Turbo" magnet on the back. There's only one of those in the US of A.
- I also got to see Sarina Goulding, whom I had not seen in over a year--back in my West Virginia days. The air-bass is still killing me. Stay well, yes, please?


Sanity.

I'm not sure I have any left. It might be overrated anyway. Is anyone feeling me on this point? Is it just me, or is someone else on a quest for normalcy, which seems futile at times? Then I start thinking, if your existence is defined by its lack or normalcy, wouldn't the lack of normalcy become normalcy because it's the norm?


Sleep.

Do people do that anymore? I'm not sure if I am in tune with the general population, but it seems the people that I talk to either can't sleep even though they want to, or they don't sleep for any number of reasons, or both of these, or some other random reason. Tell me please.


Peace out.

This is the part where I leave.

As a cacophony of thoughts rage through my mind, I skeptically seek a measure solace by attempting their utterance forthwith.

Yesterday someone told me that the recently popular song, "Break Your Heart," by Taio Cruz is "my song." That is to say, it is the song that best describes me. The implication being I am a heart breaker. I was initially somewhat taken aback by this, as I've never worn such a label before. Then I thought through life, and indeed, I have broken a number of hearts. As I consider those instances, a startling common denominator emerged.

In almost every case, the reason I broke someone's heart was because I was concerned about doing what was right--doing God's will as He revealed it to me. Then I questioned, is right-doing is most often the cause of immediate pain and suffering? The more I consider it, the more I begin to think so. Interestingly enough, in the times when I have been most concerned about doing what is right, I have broken the most hearts, while alternatively, when I am least concerned about right-doing, few if any broken hearts fall in my wake. Am I to conclude the more care I take, the more hearts I break? It would appear so.

As I am now only consciously considering this, I turn to look at the past few weeks of my life to discover that my subconscious mind has already considered it and taken a "remedial" course of action. I find myself caring less, restraining myself less, and consequently breaking hearts less. Problem solved?

No.

While it would appear that everyone is happy now, appearances are deceitful. The conscience remains active and vocal. I attempt to silence it with arguments, but it will not be hushed. The voice that speaks within me asks me who I am. Since when have I been one to travel the course of least resistance? Since when has apathy been a foundational element of my life's philosophy? Never. So why now?

Am I truly happy?

I don't know. I try to reconcile doing what's right and hurting others, or not caring, and everyone being happy, and ask myself what the responsible thing to do is. No answer comes. What say you?

“And behold, a leper came and worshiped him, saying, Lord, if You will, You can make me clean. And Jesus put out His hand and touched him, saying, I will; be clean! And immediately his leprosy was cleansed.” – Matthew 8:2, 3 (MKJV)

Leprosy was considered the curse of God. All who had leprosy were believed to have committed some great sin for which God was punishing them, and they were banished from contact with their families, friends, and all who did not have leprosy. The stigma associated with the disease must have had a dejecting influence on any person who contracted it.

The Bible doesn’t tell us how long this man who Jesus healed had leprosy, but no matter how long he had suffered from it, certainly he was tormented night and day by thoughts of the sins of his past just as he was tormented by the pain of the disease that ate his life away. Then he heard of Jesus. Many said that not only could Jesus heal the sick, but He could forgive sins. Oh, the struggle that raged in this leper’s mind. He knew that he could receive healing for his body and forgiveness for his sin, but he wavered.

For so long he had felt the revilement of people who looked at him, judging him a sinner and shunning him from their presence with shouts and stones as if he were some kind of rabid animal. Would Jesus be the same way? Jesus was so holy, so righteous, and so pure. Would Jesus even have anything to do with him? When finally he determined to let nothing stop him, he at once sought Jesus. So determined he was that the insults, curses, and stones hurled at him by the crowds did not stop him as he hastened to the place where Jesus was. He stopped wavering, went directly to Jesus, and knelt, begging for forgiveness, cleansing, and purity.

Many, today, waver in the same way. They think that their sins are too great or that their conditions are too revolting. They see Jesus, the pure, holy, righteous one, and they hear of how he changes lives, making wrongs right and forgiving the past. But having dealt so long with unforgiving, judgmental people, they question whether or not the love of Jesus will be extended to them—especially if they have already been forgiven and have fallen back into sin. If these poor souls will only determine to bring themselves to Jesus, to fall to their knees in prayer, and worship Him, saying, “Lord, if You will, You can make me clean.” They will hear the voice of Jesus say, “I will. Be clean!”

A few weeks back, I was reading the words of 1 Peter, which I've done before, but from a different translation (special thanks to Donovan, for one of the best birthday presents I've received in a while). I was reading from "The Message" translation, and something completely jumped out at me.

One easy way that we could sum up one of the key points of 1 Peter is that, as Christ suffered, so shall we. Keeping that in mind, here's what Peter says about Christ's suffering:

1 Peter 1:10
"The prophets who told us this was coming asked a lot of questions about this gift of life God was preparing. The Messiah's Spirit let them in on some of it--that the Messiah would experience suffering, followed by glory."

These words resonated so strongly with me. Suffering, followed by glory. Chapter 3 goes on to talk about suffering, and chapter 4 touches on glory. I highly recommend that you take a few moments to let those words marinate into your heart.

Keeping that in mind, bring to remembrance the words of Paul in 1Corinthians 4:17. "For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." The word affliction could be replaced with suffering. Though I've heard and read this verse many times, I saw something new. What does Paul mean by "weight" of glory?

Take a moment to compare the terms that are being juxtaposed here: "suffering/affliction" and "glory," and also "light" and "weight." Now does it make more sense? Paul is speaking of a comparative weighing, as on a scale. The suffering we experience is light when compared to the heaviness of the glory we are going to experience. Suffering, followed by glory.

Let us, day by day, call to mind that suffering is not just suffering. It is suffering, followed by glory.

Rare circumstance indeed, I was faced with one. The challenge: Fill a moment of free time. The thought: Inspire yourself. The result: Conviction.

I grabbed The Message and sat down for a few moments of peace, thumbing through the pages, thinking to find some words of strength to help in time of need. The words of the Master, oh, how often they inspire! And such I was in need of, especially at this time. My mind mused over the changes. Uprooting from one state to another, moving farther from the family into which I was born, leaving the family that I gained where I was, and traveling to what looked to be another wilderness--of the flatter variety than West Virgina. Still fresh in my heart were the tears I had witnessed in the eyes of those who loved me. How were they now? No answer. Hard days and nights of work, attempting to create regularity and form healthy boundaries, were too familiar already. "Inspire me," I thought to God.

Pauline Epistles? No, a Gospel just now, but which? And there was Matthew, but where? And there was the 27th chapter:

Thirty Silver Coins
027 In the first light of dawn, all the high priests and religious leaders met and put the finishing touches on their plot to kill Jesus. Then They tied him up and paraded him to Pilate, the governor.
Judas, the one who had betrayed him, realized that Jesus was doomed. Overcome with remorse, he gave back the thirty silver coins to the high priests, saying, "I've sinned. I've betrayed an innocent man."

Stop.
Who was this Judas? Who did he think he was? Betraying God in human flesh? What was his problem?

Judas.
Oh how easy to find fault with the traitor. But how could a traitor have stolen so close to the master undiscovered? If the truth be told, the greatest of traitors are the ones who you least expect--the ones who appear most loyal.

I know this Judas.
This was the Judas of whom it is said, the disciples recommended him to Jesus. He was the most greatly acclaimed, unanimously by the followers of the Master. This Judas--a finely educated man. A man among men, and a gentleman. His brow was not furrowed and marked by darkness. No, his hands were not clutched tightly together with the satirical posture of a traitor. If any would betray Christ, it would have been Matthew, the tax-collector, or Thomas, who never believed anyway, or Nathaniel, who was already prejudiced by the Christ's background, or Peter, who always had something to say--and who was wrong more than right. But not Judas. Judas? No, to him was entrusted the welfare of the group. Into his hands was committed the summation of monetary possessions of the group.

Judas.
Educated. Shrewd. Astute. Impeccable. Dependable.
Or so it seemed.

But this same Judas, having won the confidence of all, was the one who, unbeknownst to all but God Himself, contrived a plan to force the hand of the Great Almighty. Having been acclaimed for his wisdom, he was certain he knew how things should go, and an earthly kingdom of domination over all oppressors and overthrow of Roman tyranny was best. No one but Judas knew that he was pocketing donations to the Master. No one but Judas knew that his intent was to rise by any means necessary. No one knew but Judas. Judas, and God.

Betrayed with a kiss.
Who would do such a thing? Coming close enough to the face of God as to kiss it, not just whilst holding in the heart a determination to turn away from the plainly declared will of God, but moreover, whilst committing the act that his heart had plotted in direct defiance of Divine authority. Gall--unmitigated gall. The heart of a traitor.

But a far worse revelation was yet to unfold in the seconds following the condemnation of Judas. Judge not lest ye be judged.

I am Judas.
Highly acclaimed by my peers as one who would do well in God's service. Well trained, finely educated, and refined. To whom has been entrusted the Divine assets. The least suspected of betraying the Master who chose me. I am Judas.

Outward pretenses are beautiful, but what can be said of the heart? Deceitful, and desperately wicked. A heart that would plunder the Divinely entrusted resources to use for personal power and pleasure. None would think me a traitor, and for my high reasoning ability, neither would I, until it was too late--until I betrayed an innocent man. But God. Though I may deceive others, though I may deceive myself, none can stand before the eyes of God and maintain anything hidden. And before His eyes I stood. He saw my heart, and begged me to change my course of action.

Betrayed with a kiss.
Dear friends, could it be that each of us is Judas? None would believe us to be a traitor, even as we near the Master, giving the most flowery and intimate of greetings, while holding in our hearts our own unsurrendered, unsanctified desires? Have we conspired against the Lord in any capacity, yet daily come before His presence as if we are pure? We may deceive others, and we may deceive ourselves, but none can deceive the Everlasting God.

Search your heart, and return to your God before you too have finally betrayed innocent blood because you were blinded in seeking your version of God's reality.

It was only yesterday...the coming of the end.
Sorting, packing, throwing out. My heart began to bend.
Lifting voices into song, drowning our emotions.
No, that didn't work for long. Their tears could fill the ocean.

One by one they said goodbyes, trying not to let it show.
Clinging tightly to my frame, trying not to let me go.
Countless pens and papers passed; Promised I would try to write.
Eyes and voices haunting me, I sat alone that night.

My shirt, still stained by all their tears. "I love you." I still hear.
My arms, still weak from giving comfort, holding them so near.
My eyes, still fighting not to cry. My children weeping, "Daddy, why?"
And it was only yesterday...I still can't say goodbye.