Thursday, November 23, 2006


Beat it, but it will not be dead. Crown it with acacia thorn twisted through torn flesh, pink with revenge, but it will not be dead. Trample the tired old testimony of truth, grind it with the sole of your arrogant boot, kick its ribs until the last crack, but it will not be dead. Eternal, the Christian rises from the blood stained dirt. The glory of God transcendent, alien like, on all fours up truth gets. ("My kingdom is not of this world... for this reason I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth."Jhn 18.36-37)

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