Kindle the Fires of Hatred
That's not a phrase you hear Christians say very often.
Not often enough as far as I'm concerned.
I just got back from the local fire hall where our local Relay for Life is being held. The Relay is an American Cancer Society event that takes place in virtually every city in the country. People get sponsors and walk a track all night long to raise money to search for a cure for cancer.
Just a few years ago, my family watched a very good friend of ours slowly succumb to brain cancer. He left behind a wide and three young children. Since then, his surviving family, my family, and many others have participated in the Relay.
One of the events that takes place is that people light luminaries for all those loved ones who have died or struggled against cancer. The little white paper bags containing little white candles line the perimeter of the track we walk. Well tonight, we lit luminaries for our friend who is now with the Lord. And we thought of all those we love who have fought cancer: an aunt, my parents, the list was long. And as I let my eye wander around the track, following the endless line of little white paper bags illuminated by little white candles, I became angry. When my small children and our friend's children wept by the candlebag our our friend, I became incensed. Hatred kindled inside of me.
Hatred of Sin.
Now, don't misunderstand me. I know all those who have died because of cancer did not get cancer because they sinned. I understand the Biblical account of Jesus where his disciples saw a sick man and wondered who sinned that he should be so sick--the sick man or his parents? Jesus knew better and responded that it was so that God's glory could be shown when Jesus healed the man.
I have sinned far more than thousands who have died from cancer. This I know, and yet, I go on living. But one thing is certain: if it were not for all sin, there would be no cancer. The world would not be fallen, stained, and cursed. I don't blame Adam or Eve. Had it been me, I'd have probably eaten a bushel of apples and passed them out to all my friends. But sin happened. They sinned. I have sinned. All have sinned. And look at all the suffering in the world.
I was convicted that I contribute all too often to the misery of the world. Every time I sin, it's like feeding a monstrous force of sorrow, pain, and death. And I know, some sins are pervasive and terribly difficult to shake. But there are others sins that we all know we can beat--with God's strength in us, we know we can. Little white lies, rationalizing, manipulations disguised, selfishness dressed up to look like something better...the list goes on. We Christ followers are called to be like Jesus--putting off the old self, HATING SIN in all of its forms.
So I issue a call to all who might read this: Kindle the fires of hatred--hatred of sin. And as much as you can, with all your might, with all God's power in you--be holy. Say to the enemy, "In the name of Jesus Christ, GET OFF ME!! I am free to choose not to sin!"
Remember the pain that sin causes. Remember the sorrow. Remember the little white candles. And let those small flames, kindle a new fire in you.
The wall was fairly unremarkable. It was stone; simple, gray stone. But there was something that the old man was interested in, for he ran his finger down the crack in front of him with a perusing gaze, trying to find something. There was not much to be heard; A mouse here and there, but whoever this man was, he was alone in a rather unsettling, dusty, narrow hallway.
He breathed in through his nose and tilted his back a little, causing his tweed cap to fall over his eyebrows. The man reached into a pocket inside his jacket and pulled out a small blue crystal, and then fitted it into a crack where four stone blocks met.
The crystal started to shine, reacting to the miasma in the air in the hallway, and then burst, breaking down the wall. The man brushed some dust out of his white mustache, and proceeded through.
Beyond the opening was not much, only some old copper pipes in a space the size of a small room. The man wasn’t too happy that he used one of his crystals to only make it to a maintenance room.
“Where are you…” he mumbled to himself, putting his hand to the stubble on his chin. He stood there, contemplating his situation, and then turned his back to explore further down the hall. Once his back was parallel with the wall he had just broken, a rush of air flew past him, with a sound like a giant breathing in. Light, too, drifted past him, and a shadow drifted forth from the room he had just left.
This man knew what was happening, and quickly turned around to see a figure of shadow.
“Johannes Wächter, not this time,” exhaled the figure of shadow, growing ever more solid, but it was still translucent, it was still the thing that Johannes had come here to find: a ghost.