Artifacts of a Life Once Lived

Devotion of the Crucifix The crucifix, a symbol of sacrifice; the greatest sacrifice, the sacrifice of the divinity of God himself. The mystery of the the cross finds its theological, and thus human significance in this very fact, that God, rather than humanity, offered the sacrifice; in fact it was the sacrifice of his only Son Jesus Christ. Christ's death and suffering, as scripture and the church teach, bore the infiniteness of my sin, and all the sin of those who find salvation in the Christ. The mystery of the crucifix finds its strength in the reality of the event that it calls the penitent to remember. As a present reality of a real past I find freedom to share in the sufferings of Christ, I find comfort and hope for I know the resurrection of the Savior. My sufferings, which cannot compare to Christ's, are contented when I remember the shame of the cross. To find help I reach to hold his pierced and bleeding hands, for I cannot find help except by the power of his hands

In my circles: What good is your education, when your education alienates you from those your education is meant to serve? Those whom you intend to serve fear the education you have received. Batman Returns said it best, "We fear what we don't understand." It's not supposed to be this way. My education has provided me with the "tools" necessary to encounter a theological and biblical world, but my education forgot to build the "bridge" that was necessary to carry my "tools". I suppose its not entirely the fault of the school. I guess there are opportunities to learn to build that bridge. Yet, education often takes place in a vacuum. It takes place in a theoretical world of minutia, theories, and categories of thought that never quite fit as nicely in the "experiment" as they do in the "textbook." Maybe it's not even the fault of the school. Maybe it's that world in which I was born. A world of divisive bante

My God, I am dry. Thirst weakens the body; memory dims at the struggle for life; eyes grow heavy at the beating of the exhausting sun; hands cannot grasp life as the forsaking power of death steals my grip. I stagger through a weary land, a land abandoned of compassion, a land of deceiving promises; fervent fiery winds hasten my desperation; the rivers once flowing and deep are now desolate and bare, there is no shade, no tree, no green living thing; all have melted; all have sunken deep into the sands of my fraudulence. Living water, revive my soul that I may return to your merciful land of bounty, into the care of your gracious hand. Grant life into my death through the breath of your moving spirit. In the deserts of self I have wandered long and aimlessly in search of pleasures so futile; only loneliness accompanies my way for I seek my own rather than the kingdom of Christ. In contemptuous pride I have mocked the wisdom of your Word; words that free from the bondage of my own arrog