Creeds and perspective

There is no escaping the indelible time stamp of 80s pop music.

It can be remixed, redone and rerecorded, but underneath all of that there's still that inherent earworm quality. During that seemingly inescapable decade, a particular genre of music sang about being warriors. With lines like, "Satan, bite the dust," and "The warrior is a child," there was a collective and culture theme of struggle and self-identification with ongoing battle. It was real, it was raw- albeit coated with newly discovered sound effects, post production and synthesizers - and we loved it.

Flashforward almost 20 years.

There was only half an hour left. The story had built - tension and intrigue layering - until this moment, and only 30 minutes were left for everything to right itself. Sitting there, safely sheltered from the persistent rain, a niggling whisper started to make itself known.

There's no way this can be made right.

No way for him to be reunited with his wife. His baby. His men.

This is not going to end happily.

And, as it has so many, many times, honor and valor won their tragic victory over self-preservation, and he did what needed to be done. There was no other choice, explained the narrarator. Nothing else for it. It was the mission first, his men (and wife) second, and himself last.

And so she honored his memory, his sacrifice, and buried him. What remained of his men were in attendence; his lieutenant weeping, wishing it had been him. And the mission continued, continues.

As does ours.

"So God led the people around by the desert road toward the Red Sea. The Israelites went up out of Egypt armed for battle." 

Desert roads, flawed people, and a world coagulating in sin mix to an unpleasant jambalaya, but our objective remains the same. We march - or crawl - onward in weak obedience, regardless. Like Marines who define themselves by their willingness to embrace the tasks that would make others flinch, it's ours to "Embrace the Suck."

The difficulties we face are far from a pop culture ideology; our roles are not synthesizer-toned pleasantness. Rather, we face difficulty because it is our job description.

"In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."

The grave is empty, and the battle decided.

The only easy day was yesterday. So further up, and further in.

Garden movement

Walking through the story, each new station brings the mental picture to life with another shade of color.
the physicality of it - walking and stopping - the wind and the slight chill to the air bring a different, literal feel to the familiar story.

the mockery of a trial concludes and He's sentenced, events in motion an eternity in the making.

here He falls. There, rises again.

and the etching of His mother knocks me back like never before.

Did she scream? Did she have to be held back? Was she silent? Surely there were tears. I would have screamed until I collapsed.

And still he walked on, his footsteps echoing through time to the conclusion in the center.

I round the corner and feel as though all the air has escaped.

Death.

Even though I half-catch the looming figure in the center, grace just one turn out of range, all I can see is Dies and the horrible picture of His body cradled by his friends.

How his mother must have cried.

The last corner is rounded and the central figure is finally in full sight.

A marble slab, cracked. And graveclothes lying in a disheveled heap, rock solid in their uselessness.


Death is conquered.


The grave is empty, cracked and abandoned.
He is not here.


All that remains is the useless stone that once spelled destruction.


amen.