Those poor crowd-sculpted equestrian figures. High horse and pedestals and all that jazz. Until recently I was dishonest with myself about putting certain people on a pedestal and projecting them places they cannot possibly measure up to. Now quite frankly I admit it. Not so much with negative connotations though. It would neither surprise me nor discourage me if one of these heroes or heroine were to "disappoint." In fact, I know they display fallibility in the same way I know God created the universe. I cannot possibly fathom it, because it has not happened on my senses, but I know it is a fact of life. Truth be told, the chances are high that in the instance they did become dethroned, I would still hold them in the same esteem. My sanity and my stability are a product of grace, not of endurance or strength. Woe be to me if I don't grant the same to my fellow man. I find the denial of grace to be heathenistic, heretical, and horrific. I realize such a statement puts me in an imperative position to be tested. So be it. I cannot and will not go on with this hypocrisy. If God is capable of this amazing feat, and I am on relative terms with His Spirit, and sent-Comforter, and earthly manifestation, then I have no excuse in not participating in the act of forgiveness. Right now it seems mighty easy to forgive. I don't know if this is some sort of inexperienced deception or not. But if I've been wrong or let down, life will go on, and so will my love. This is the power of the almighty God in us. This gift is real and potent. I am repulsed by sin, and will mourn for those who fall temporarily to its arsenal, but I will never, ever have esteem for someone in a moment and disdain in the next. God help me, it was be a crime in itself. I cannot judge lest, Heaven forbid, I be judged. If one falls, they are tortured enough, be gentle in your rescue, I implore you readers. Half our heroes are just ragamuffins. Those that Brennan Manning speaks of: "the bedraggled, beat-up, and burnt out, the sorely burdened still shifting the heavy suitcase from one hand to another. The wobbly and weak-kneed who know they don't have it all together..." or those named "legion" that C.S. Lewis speaks of that look at them selves and see "a zoo of lusts, a bedlam of ambitions, a nursery of fears, and a harem of fondled hatreds." To often we are proudly pounding the gavel and haughtily and often dishonestly saying, "May God have mercy on your soul." May God have mercy on all our souls. Grace, Lord, grace.
