A message for you traveler who’s not traveled so long
Some tidings I bring you, and present them in song
Soon the road takes a turn, and the turn grants a fork
You will need choose a path, a difficult work
You may choose the direction that is journeyed by most
You’ll find plenty of company, ‘A fine path’ they all boast
Or instead you may choose the path overgrown
Rare will be company, you shall go mostly alone
But a word I must give you, I advise you to heed
The outcome of the paths and the direction you lead
Young lad please consider, think carefully with haste
For one is toward life, and the other toward waste
If you choose the direction, where most have tread feet
The passage will be broad, it will be steady and mete
You’ll face little challenge and the adventure will be ease
Flattering tongues and wise men, will be not in the least:
“The journey you’ve set on, and now just begun
Will face good times many, in not long we’ll be done
There’ll be merriment and gladness and smiles to grin
There’ll be laughter and happiness and plenty of sin”
“The path is long approved, so join in the feast
Take life easy and lightly, let us revel like beasts!
Here take a drink and some meat, then a maiden or two
Soon we will be at journey’s end, and all will be through”
Little do they know that their way leads to sure death
They come closer and closer, as they draw each blind breath
There is anguish that way, I dare not speak of their fate
For O how wide is that road, and how broad is that gate!
But if you should choose the path so less often tread
The journey will be difficult and much harder to stead
There you shall find twists and there you shall find turns
No doubt there will be wounds and cuts and bruises and burns
You may find a friend, who will be more like a brother
As you stumble and tire, you must hold up each other
He will not flatter you, and you must speak truth to him back
You shall protect one another, and defend from attack
The journey will seem long, and the sun less often seen
You’ll get dirty and cold, and you’ll wish to be clean
Don’t misunderstand me, joy and contentment descend
But it comes down mostly, when fixing both eyes on the end
Then young lad don’t despair, don’t let your courage diminish
With each step you draw closer, with each breath towards the finish
And there you’ll find Him welcoming, to your Eternal abode
Through the small gate, at the end of the long narrow road
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Jesus spoke of a horrible place called the Valley of Hinnom. By his time it had become a trash heap, used to burn unwanted waste, such as animal carcasses. The place was continually burning in order to keep disease from spreading, and provided a picture of judgement Jesus used to describe 'hell'.
But the Valley of Hinnom, or Gehenna, had a notorious history to it. Before it became a trash heap it was a center for the worship of the pagan god Molech. The things that went on there would be enough to make even the most insensitive squeam. Fathers would offer their children to be burned alive as child sacrifices. Of course what father could stand and listen to the horrifying screams of the child he offers up? But the priests had a solution to this problem. They would bang drums to drown out the screams of the innocent. It is enough to give you nightmares. The deafened fathers, the cold-hearted priests, the screaming babies. You can almost hear the sound of the drums...drums...drums.
What a crazy society. Isn't it great that we have progressed so far from such a savage world? Such a thing is unheard of today. Not in America. No way.
Wait. Not so fast. The drums are still banging, and the screams of the sacrificed are still being drowned out. This day 3,700 children are sacrificed before they even see the outside of the womb. 3,700 abortions. 3,700 child sacrifices in America. Molech would be more than satisfied. Though they are not offered to him. They are offered to a much greater god, the god of Self. A much greedier god. Where are the screams of these innocent children? Could the fathers bear such screams? No, they must be drowned out. They are drowned out by the priests of Self. Drowned out by the drums. Can't you hear the drums? 'The right to choose', 'women's lib', 'unwanted teen pregnancies', 'planned parenthood', 'down syndrome babies'...drums...drums...drums.