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BRUTE

BRUTE

The wind from passing cars whistled like sirens that chased the silence of nothing happening away. Bags rolled away like desert tumbleweed, flipping and flopping into the streets from the elevated sidewalk. Distant stampedes trampled across the asphalt grand canyon’s floor, …and across from me stood a man.

He stood there at the corner waiting to cross to my side. No one knows if he was going to work or to meet a friend. Maybe he was simply out for a late morning constitution. Nonetheless, he just stood there waiting for a light to change, when out of nowhere, he was attacked!

He was being beaten.

I could not see who was hitting him. I could hear only the loud crashes of a man’s voice. …deep, resonant, angry: like the sound of a plane high above repeatedly breaking the sound barrier. I could not hear the bruises being met. I could not see the pummels landing. I did not hear the man cry out. No streams or lakes of tears flowed. I saw maybe a wince and perhaps a single tear drop in the topography of his old rugged face.

The only sound I could understand in the barrage of other man-made noises was one word; “God!” I kept hearing “God!” Again and again! I didn’t realize, though, until I was close, that those were the blows.

See? The man being beaten was a different kind of man, …and the man doing the beating? He was a man of God, and the Hand with which he held the other man down wielded a sleeve from the word of God. He didn’t pummel the man with a hammer. He didn’t fire off shots from a gun. He didn’t slice the man with a sword. No. His weapon of choice, the arrows he slung; they came from…the Book: the BIBLE.

 

So, what kind of Christian are you?

Are you THAT kind of Christian?

Are you a Christian who uses the bible as a weapon… or as a tool?

 

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