I was talking with Kea. We do this more right now, because I am at home: there are things that are needful for me to do, but I need to have more certainty than I have right now to act on them. As Kea says, I’m thinking of how to do them fairly constantly.
Although I have a certainty that the will of God will be seen, right now it is not fun. I am too frequently angry: my mate Mick would say that I’ve got a sufficiency of Irish fighting with the Scots in me. To pray for one’s enemies may be commanded. It is needful. But it is a sheer act of will. It is only in forgiving them for the sins they have done and the faults that they gleefully plan that I can move forward to peace.
In this time, being at home, staying quiet, and deeply seeking beauty, particularly in music, helps. Talking to Kea helps. Prayer helps, but too often it is driven away by exhaustion and emotion.
But there is nothing new about any of this. If you do things, if you lead, if you do anything worthwhile the wormtounges will seethe. They would rather you remained unable to do a thing, shamed, fearful, and therefore not to be accounted for.
As if we are objects. As if we were not made in the image of God. As if Christ did not love us enough to be incarnate. As if the cross and redemption did not exist. Any man or woman who seeks God will deeply offend our new woke cadre.
And if we walk away from their playgrounds they will chase us to where we talk. But there is the church, and there lives the Spirit of God. They do not know with what they deal.
25 To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul.
2 O my God, in you I trust;
let me not be put to shame;
let not my enemies exult over me.
3 Indeed, none who wait for you shall be put to shame;
they shall be ashamed who are wantonly treacherous.
4 Make me to know your ways, O Lord;
teach me your paths.
5 Lead me in your truth and teach me,
for you are the God of my salvation;
for you I wait all the day long.
6 Remember your mercy, O Lord, and your steadfast love,
for they have been from of old.
7 Remember not the sins of my youth or my transgressions;
according to your steadfast love remember me,
for the sake of your goodness, O Lord!
8 Good and upright is the Lord;
therefore he instructs sinners in the way.
9 He leads the humble in what is right,
and teaches the humble his way.
10 All the paths of the Lord are steadfast love and faithfulness,
for those who keep his covenant and his testimonies.
5 Now concerning the times and the seasons, brothers, you have no need to have anything written to you. 2 For you yourselves are fully aware that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. 3 While people are saying, “There is peace and security”, then sudden destruction will come upon them as labour pains come upon a pregnant woman, and they will not escape. 4 But you are not in darkness, brothers, for that day to surprise you like a thief. 5 For you are all children of light, children of the day. We are not of the night or of the darkness. 6 So then let us not sleep, as others do, but let us keep awake and be sober. 7 For those who sleep, sleep at night, and those who get drunk, are drunk at night. 8 But since we belong to the day, let us be sober, having put on the breastplate of faith and love, and for a helmet the hope of salvation. 9 For God has not destined us for wrath, but to obtain salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ, 10 who died for us so that whether we are awake or asleep we might live with him. 11 Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing.
When Christ comes it will be obvious. Very obvious. There will be any question about it. You will not be able to cover it with reality TV, false scandals, and the Masked Singer. Until then, the aim of the opposition is to keep the normalcy bias going. We have moved into a medical form of apartheid, with every step applauded, because of a set of lies. A narrative. It is broken.
Which implodes when you don’t believe in it. Frances Berger got it correct.
And through all of this we miss the obvious – the narrative has already collapsed. Perhaps not at the collective level, perhaps not en masse, but certainly at the level of the individual – within the hearts of individuals scattered throughout the world. In this sense, God has already brought an end to it all and often in the blink of an eye.
From the seemingly narrow confines of our individual lives, the collapsed narrative seems trivial, almost meaningless. Our personal awareness does not appear to affect anything, let alone exert any force on the ever expanding ball of superheated lies engulfing the world.
Rather than provide reprieve, the collapsed narrative becomes a burden. It drives us into proverbial self-exile and distances us from others. We find it increasingly impossible to play along, and we find it even harder to find people with whom we can share truth.
At times, we might even wish we could go back to believing the narrative again, but we know we cannot. We cannot un-see what we have seen. We cannot un-think what we are thinking. We cannot un-discern what we have discerned.
So with a sigh, we return to headlines and concentrate our hopes on the next spark we detect. Surely, this will be it, we whisper the moment a much-awaited glint catches our eye. This will be the thing that brings it all down. It is too undeniable. Too true. Too real. Even the blind will see it. Even the brainless will understand . . .
What we don’t get is that we don’t need the blind to see it or the brainless to understand it. We don’t need something to bring it all down because the very fact we don’t believe it has already brought it all down.
The narrative is not Reality, it is merely an eclipse of Reality. A shadow cast over Reality does not negate Reality, nor does it replace Reality anymore than the shadow of the moon replaces the sun during a solar eclipse. The sun appears obliterated, but it remains behind the moon, shining brightly despite everything.
When the narrative collapses within us individually, not only are we are able to see the sun behind the shadow, but we become a little sun on the opposite side of the shadow shining up through the murk.
When you know that Vanity Fair has been set alight you get the hell away from it. You want to be somewhere safe. Well away from power, status. You live plain, drive plain. Any luxury is hidden.
I’ve said many times that we are in a crisis right now. The rancid rainbow, the weaponization of free speech and tolerance, has imploded. Consider this: about 1 in 20 people in NZ are gay, lesbian or something transgender. However, between 1 in 10 and 1 in 4 are not false vaccinated, and we praise the former minority and despise the latter.
If you consider Hildegarde of Bingen, we are moving into the final phase. (I note her only because when you look at predictions and prophecies, you seek unity over time and throughout the church).
There will be a scattering of the church. I think (I do not know, but I’ve read enough soviet history) that the arrest of dissenting pastors, such as Brian Tamaki, is a start. This will not lead to the triumph of the socialist and the woke (they are now merged) but instead a revival. Because the narrative is broken, and this will become obvious.
I pray that I am wrong. I pray that we will regain sanity, turn from header to the homeless to Christ, and return to praying God Defend New Zealand.
But that is not what I’m preparing for.