Living Like I Worship in the Catacombs

When I’ve died and breathed my last

and you search for my memory,

the essence of me--

bones or no bones--

will be found in labyrinthine passageways,

frequenting twists and turns in silence.

The catacombs.

I will sing so loud, but so soft,

joining the oppressed and the true.

And my essence will be tinged

with guilt, for though my passion rings true

and my desires align with theirs,

my body remains unscathed,

my heart unscarred,

and my mind was never destroyed

by those who fear what we are.

Perhaps I lacked in courage.

I should have been more bold.

And my insides quake at the thought

of roaming through Rome,

risking a body broken.

But a broken body

and willing heart

warrant clean, white robes,

tiny rock in hand,

a feast of surreal abundance,

more than conquering in the end.

Search for me in the catacombs.

I want to know what it is like

to risk all for the kingdom.

I think about this so often. There are days when my confidence fails. I feel completely discouraged. I think about the culture in which we live--the ways that it shapes children, the ways that it provides stumbling blocks for men, the ways that it plants seeds of inadequacy in the minds of women. I wonder, how can we stand against such a mighty beast? One that scorns that which we claim and spits at our feet when we declare that there is Truth. And that Truth is real. My mind travels to dark places and chooses to dwell there, hampering my ability to emit a sweet fragrance in the midst of those (those who are the culture) who need to smell something that is sweet.

At the end of days like these, when I pull out my journal and Bible and prepare to fully enter the presence of the Lord, I feel ashamed. I’ve never lost my father to the arena. I’ve never had to travel to secret places to worship in hushed tones. I do not walk the streets and see my brothers and sisters hanging from crosses because of what they claim to believe. And my spirit is so weak that when I listen to five minutes of the six o’clock news I am ready to wave my white flag...?

No. I close my eyes and think of Ephesus. I think of Smyrna. I think of Pergamum, and Thyatira, and Sardis, Philadelphia, and Laodicea:

“I will give the victor the right to eat from the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God.”

“I will give the victor some of the hidden manna. I will also give him a white stone, and on the stone a new name is inscribed that no one knows except the one who receives it.”

“The victor and the one who keeps My works to the end: I will give him authority over the nations....I will also give him the morning star.”

“In the same way, the victor will be dressed in white clothes, and I will never erase his name from the book of life, but will acknowledge his name before My Father and before His angels.”

“The victor: I will make him a pillar in the sanctuary of My God, and he will never go out again. I will write on him the name of My God, and the name of the city of My God--the new Jerusalem, which comes down out of heaven from My God--and My new name.”

“The victor: I will give him the right to sit with Me on My throne, just as I also won the victory and sat down with My Father on His throne.” (Revelation 2:7, 11, 17, 26-29; 3:5, 12, 21 NIV).

I read these and I am reminded that I can engage this culture. I can be in it, but be not of it. Not only that--we are called to be in it, but not of it. We can be bold and courageous. We should take some risks. We can handle some hard knocks . . . Ephesus, Laodicea, Pergamum . . .

There is no defeat of those who have already conquered.

Our God of mercy:
Remind us daily that the victory is ours. Compel our spirits to boldness. Give us confidence, because we know that you have given us a new name. We desire to live in the newness of that name everyday, according to Your purpose. Jesus, we love you. We thank you for being the victor and sharing your victory with us. Holy Spirit, fill us up and guide us as we strive to be light in the midst of a culture of darkness. May our essence be that of humility. And through Christ alone we say,
Amen.

Erin Daugherty

Stephenville, TX