Wednesday, August 10, 2011

The Devil and the Holy Seed



Kill them! Kill them all--
The better, the more--
And don't forget the best!
We must, we must kill the best.


This has been the devil's theme
Throughout our generations.
He hates the holy seed.

Satan, his unholiness,
Has attacked the seed
Has hacked at the seed
With deadly creativity.

He ordered the killing of
All male babies
Among the Hebrews in Egypt.

He set himself as a king:
A hungry Moloch god
Who loved to smell some babies burn.

Then his sandalled soldiers
Dashed the children on the rocks
Or ripped them from the womb
Or brought starvation
Until mothers ate their own.

Foul Herod filled Bethlehem's streets
With holy babies' blood.

Now he's still at work,
Wiping out the godly seed--
With gay pride days (no babies there)
And family planning clinics
That think of children as a disease
That swift dismemberment will cure.

His hosts pollute with porn
Promoting childless pleasures
And offer drugs the morning after--
Insecticide for infant infestations.

The devil hates the godly seed.


Sons are indeed a heritage from the Lord,
      children, a reward.
Like arrows in the hand of a warrior
      are the sons born in one’s youth.
Happy is the man who has filled his quiver with them.

--Psalm 127:3-5a, HCSB

6 comments:

dfish said...

He convinced Eve to sin knowing it would cause death, and Cain killed Able because of his efforts. The whole world was filled with violence before the flood. This poem hits right at the heart of the matter. Satan doesn't love his people, he will kill however many of them it takes to kill God's. As you look at terrorist groups, the same attitude is apparent, revealing the their origin.

Jim Swindle said...

dfish, yes, the terrorist groups show how much Satan hates even his own people.

Ρωμανός ~ Romanós said...

Horrible words, yet the world is reflected here, and so you have done well to put them down, but still, horrible words.

This morning in a waking dream I had a vivid experience of witnessing two young boys severely, maybe mortally, injured by an explosion.

I don't dream things like this, so I plunged immediately into prayer for these boys, if they are real and if this has really happened to them. Then came the realisation that at almost every moment, some act of cruelty and hatred is taking place somewhere in the world, and so I prayed for mercy to the victims.

In my dream, which was very strange, the two boys lay there on a pile of rubble. They were about 6 or 7 years old. One boy was flat on his back and unconscious. The other boy had his mouth over the one of the other's eyes, and there was liquid coming from somewhere. Then the boy removed his mouth from the other boy's eye and the eyeball was not there. The lower part of the second boy's face was a blue-gray color and he looked like he was going to pass out. Then I awoke, and started praying.

Sorry to tell about this dream, but this poem made me remember it.

As mankind comes to the threshold of the most amazing scientific accomplishments, his cruelty and self-destructive behavior escalates as well. We cannot be trusted, in our natural state, with our own 'perfections', which are not perfections at all but only more liabilities.

No matter where I look, there is no hope, no love, no wisdom, no accomplishment, no perfection outside of Christ, only death, death, death. They say we are escapists to have faith in the only-loving God, and that salvation is a mercenary incentive, that if God were loving and good, He would accept us all as we are, perfect and imperfect. Do they really know what they are saying?

Only human perfection could be that incredibly stupid, not to know that heaven, or hell, is in our pockets, depending on which we have put there.

This is one of those moments for me where with Isaiah I want to cry out, 'Oh that You would tear the heavens open and come down…' but I must confess that I cannot. Isaiah could cry out because the Christ had yet to appear. As for me, He is standing outside my door daily, knocking to be let in. Always, and already, here. No waiting. No one in the line ahead of me, only the old man. Why can't he just get tired of waiting and leave the line. Then, I would be next. And the One at the wicket would not put up a sign, 'Next window please.'

Again, brother, thanks for this poem.

Jim Swindle said...

Romanós, your waking dream is terrifying. I read it a day ago; am pondering it again. The devil's always destroying.

I didn't fully understand your final paragraph. I think you're saying that the old, fleshly man waits, as Jesus waits, and won't leave you alone. That's true. Yet the old man slowly grows weaker (though not better). We open and keep opening the door to our Savior's voice, and we wait for the day when the old man will be fully dead and we'll be fully alive.

Ρωμανός ~ Romanós said...

You understood my final paragraph essentially right. I am at fault for mixing metaphors in one paragraph, first making reference to Christ 'standing at the door knocking,' and then throwing in the unbiblical metaphor of waiting in a line like at a bank teller or a ticket booth.

In the first part, I was just saying that Isaiah could cry out as he did, calling upon God to tear the heavens open and come down to save His people and judge the world, because for Isaiah, though he could see it coming, it didn't happen in his lifetime. On the other hand we (you and I and every Christian) can't cry out like Isaiah, as if the Lord hadn't torn the heavens and come down, because He did, in the first coming of Jesus Christ, who was rejected because He didn't come in a way that the people of Israel were taught to expect.

In the second part of my last paragraph, changing the metaphor to 'waiting in line' for salvation, I was just saying that for any of us who live in these days of the New Covenant in Christ's Blood, if we liken it to waiting in line, then we must also say that from Christ's point of view, we're next, we're at the head of the queue, and so we have no excuse but to 'meet the receptionist' and enter right away into the Kingdom of Peace; but no, our old man always tries to push in front of us, and to prevent us from receiving what Christ wants to give us, salvation, eternal life, and divine sonship.

Sorry to have to mess up your poem with all this explanation, and the rest. As my waking dream was terrifying, your poem points out a horrific truth about our world.

Pray, pray, pray, and work for the good, not to earn salvation which cannot be bought by any sacrifice of ours, but only by Christ, but still work, just as Jesus did, and still does, when He told the Jews, 'My Father goes on working, and so do I,' and 'greater things than these you shall do, because I am going to the Father.'

Thanks, brother, for being my friend and prayer partner (which I know you are, in Christ) and co-laborer and witness for Jesus. Let's be found among those of whom our Lord said, 'blessed are the merciful, for they shall be shown mercy.'

Jim Swindle said...

Romanós, you didn't mess up my poem. You added depth by your comments. And forgive me for praying for you far less than you deserve, and far less than you think I do. I'll try to do better in that area. I know your pilgrimage through this world is sometimes lonely. There's so much empty fun and so little truth and joy.