The Shroud

There is this blackness, a cloud, murky vision and heavy feelings of misery, depression and silent anxiety that follows me. This is a relatively new phenomenon. Perhaps the sophistication of the affliction grows increasingly more, sophisticated. Perhaps as the sophistication of my faith grows, so too must the sophistication of the attack?

I'm reading a paper by Vincent Cheung. It's Awesome. It's self-titled Systematic Theology. One of the opening propositions is, "Theological reflection is the most important activity a person can perform". I find this to be true and what is striking about that, is, I am reminded instantly of a time when this was not true, though I may have stated in an abstract manner that I 'probably' agreed and believed that it was. Self deception is such a nasty disease, the old question begs; if you're confused, how would you know?

The depths of this shroud, as I call it, are seemingly limitless. The doubt, anxiety, anger and discouragement that overtake me are so strong, that at times I can barely breathe. That's not hyperbole.

Though my nightmare appears to have no end, there is in fact solace and comfort in the Lord. He is my portion in the land and not just aesthetically or intellectually. No, in reality. I find that when I'm plumbing the depths of the Euphrates, where the Angel of Destruction is waiting to be released, I can run to my Comforter. The scriptures are the Holy, Inerrant, Infallible breathed words of God himself; He is my creator, my God and my Master. It is when I open the crackling pages of the best selling book in the history of man and when I read His words that the supernatural takes place. The shroud is taken up like a stage curtain and what was one desperately black, deep and stifling as now revealed a wonderful picture to fix my gaze on. I see Christ, I see God and I know the Comforter and I am again free to worship is the spirit of peace and rest. God is real and I'm really his adopted son!