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The light of the day was waning. Darkness was on the eastern horizon and working its way across the sky.

In the west, there was a brilliant blend of orange, red, and pink. This time of day was, for the old man, a time of prayer and contentment. That he had lived through another day he was thankful for. Still he wondered why.

“Father, it is beautiful.” The child was standing by the monk gazing toward the illuminated horizon.

“Yes, my child, it is truly beautiful.” The monk took a deep breath, ever thankful the evening would again be cool. The old man marveled how the Lord had balanced the heat of day with the night’s refreshment. The day’s cycle led to anticipation within man’s heart of the Divine, knowledge that He was coming as surely as the sun would rise in the morning.

“Father, I have a question.” At this the old man could only smile, the child always had the five words close by.

“Yes, yes…what is it you want to know?” The old man had long since started his kindling. He now sat, ever so slowly, beside the small fire and began to feed it.

“Tell me about the crucifixion.” With this question, the monk nodded. He laid a small branch across the fire.

“Crucifixion was a death sentence for the accused. It is a most horrific form of punishment.

“You’ve seen the icons at the monastery and images in books?…well, do not trust your eyes and what you see.” With this statement the boy looked surprised. The monk continued, “Oh the Christ was crucified, in that sense the icons and book images are correct. But what you see is barren, devoid of the massive blood letting, the stench of death, and the agony and pain suffered by man and our Christ.

“What you see in the icons and book images have been considerably,” the old man searched for words, “considerably cleaned up so that we can focus on His death – the death of the Christ for you and me. And, in this regard, it is good; but it is not enough.

“My child, crucifixion was not simply the hanging of a man on the cross; no, no…crucifixion is a process culminating with the hanging of a man on the cross and his eventual death. What we see in icons and books is the final event, not the crucifixion process.

“Crucifixions were the most extreme form of punishment that could be inflicted by man on man. Crucifixions were reserved for the most heinous of crimes – for rebels, murderers, and some thieves.

“When a man was sentenced to be crucified, long before the actual hanging of the man on the cross, the convicted person was subjected to indescribable torture. The convicted found himself with his hands tied by rope to an upright pole or pillar, stretching his body to the point of pain, with his shirt removed, and then whipped.

“The whip was not an ordinary whip. It consisted of a short stick to which were tied many leather straps. The end of each strap had a piece of metal woven within it. As the straps lashed the convicted, the metal pieces slowly broke the man’s skin. At first the body fluids and blood would ooze from the man’s back. As time and more lashings occurred, blood would begin to freely flow as the veins, arteries, and capillaries across the man’s back were ripped open.”

The child winced at the telling of the story. Noticing this the old man asked, “would you rather I not speak any more of this?” The child shook his head from side-to-side and so the monk continued.

“The whipping of the man’s back could continue for hours until the man was finally in a weakened state, praying for his death and relief from the agony. But the soldiers would not and could not let him die. Severe dehydration and shock would set in for the convicted. By now his back was a bloody mess with skin tissue hanging from his back and his underlying muscle structure exposed.

“The soldiers could not let the convicted die…no, this would have not reflected well on them. The entire crucifixion process existed for the local populace to see. The crucifixion process was intended to be observed by the public, only then would the process have meaning – as a deterrent against future criminal actions, and to keep the populace subservient and compliant with the ruling army.

“Blood flowed freely. It was everywhere. The convicted’s tissue would often hang off the whip and be laid across the ground. Still, he could not be permitted to die.

“The next phase of the crucifixion process was for the convicted to carry a cross or heavy wooden cross beam through the town to his final place of death. Often the cross or beam was tied to the convicted’s shoulders and across his back – the rough wood touching open wounds.

“The man was then forced to walk through town for everyone to see him. The soldiers would ensure there was a good audience present along the streets. You see, the soldiers would enter the shops and homes along the parade route and compel the people to watch the spectacle. Should the people hesitate, they would be whipped into submission.

“Humiliated, bloodied, in pain, and near death, every time the convicted fell, the rough wooden beam would gouge into his exposed back. The pain was unbearable.

“Once the parade reached the final destination, the convicted either had his upper arms tied to the cross beam and he would hang from there, or he would find himself nailed through the wrists or hands to the cross beam.

“The convicted would then have his feet or ankles nailed to the vertical beam, usually with his legs bent at the knee. This would cause further suffering since the convicted could not straighten himself up to relieve his discomfort without causing immense pain.

“With all that had been done, the agony was just beginning. In the slumped position, the convicted’s lungs would begin to fill with fluid. The convicted could take in a breath, but he could not fully exhale. Poisonous air would fill his lungs; he was slowly suffocating.

“Fluid would begin to build around the convicted’s heart, applying more pain, pressure, and stress. If the convicted was fortunate, he would lose consciousness. If not, the suffering was beyond description. Finally, the heart would stop…its beating would cease…and the crucifixion process would be over. ‘It is finished.’”

“My child, crucifixion is a process – not a single event. We, in looking at our blessed icons and book images, must look beyond the moment of His death and recall the entire sequence – the entire crucifixion process – the gruesome torture and suffering that preceded his ascension on the cross.

“Our Saviour endured the most terrible and indescribable of tortures – for us. If we focus solely on the image as we see it, His death, we miss too much. This is what the demons want us to do, to forget about the entire crucifixion process. Only in succeeding can the demons raise questions about the Christ’s actual death and cause doubt in the heart of man.

The old man’s voice cracked. “My child, never forget the suffering.” Both the child and monk had tears flowing down their face.

The fire cracked releasing the brightest of embers into the evening sky.

“Father, I have a question.”

“My child, where have you been?”

“Over there.” The boy pointed toward the meadow and flowers. Again he said, “Father, I have a question.”

“Yes, what is it my child?”

“Weren’t you a bit hard on Basil? I mean, he is a good man. Yet, you called him a coward.”

The boy could not have been at the meadow, thought the old man, if he was asking such a question.

Nevertheless, the monk answered, “You are correct, Basil is a good man. Yes, I was tough on him. But, my child, Basil is sick, plagued by the same illness that affects so much of mankind. He has forgotten who he is.

The boy interrupted, “He’s forgotten he’s Basil?!”

The monk laughed. “No, no. Basil and much of mankind have forgotten their relationship to God.

“God, the Creator, is infinitely good and in His infinite goodness He made man in His image and likeness – wholly capable of good and wholly capable of love. God created man. Man did not create God.

“After making man, all that was required of man was that he love God. This is why Matthew tells us that the Christ said, ‘He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me. He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.‘

“If we truly love God first and wholly, then how much more can we love our father, mother, son or daughter. If, however, we love our family first, than we cannot reflect God’s love within us upon or to our family. Our love will be man’s love, a very imperfect love.

“The Christ also goes on to say ‘he that findeth his life shall lose it.‘ What the Son is saying is that if we love ourselves first and foremost, then we will lose our life because our life will be, by definition – devoid of the fullness of God and very imperfect,. We will be incapable of complete goodness possess an imperfect love. My child, it would be man defining what is good and what is love – not God.

“Yet the Christ continues, ‘he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.‘ In other words, if we give our life completely and wholly to Christ, then our life will be defined by and filled with God’s infinite goodness and love.

“This is what mankind has forgotten; this is what Basil has forgotten. This is why Basil needs to confess his sins – to realign his relationship with God by acknowledging His infinite goodness and love. He needs to do this publicly before God’s priest, in accord with God’s directions.”

“Why has man forgotten the Christ’s message?” the child asked.

“He has forgotten because he is ill. And when man is ill, we must give him the strongest medicine we have to cure him quickly. We cannot afford to let the illness linger lest man become more ill and die an eternal death.

“My child, my toughness with Basil was the strongest medicine I could offer him. Basil is a very strong man and only responds to the strongest of medicines.”

The old man was now in prayer…he had to meet with Basil again and soon. The monk then turned to seek out the child only to see him skipping amongst the flowers, all of them blue.

The two old men sat down on the ground. As they did so, one labored because of age, the other did so with painful discomfort.

“Tell me about confession old man.”

The monk glanced at Basil and said, “To begin with, it is called the Sacrament of Repentance…not confession. One confesses at the sacrament and you are decades overdue.”

The monk continued, “You can only blame yourself. This, you cannot blame on the priest; you may not lay it on his shoulders. It is your cross. It is the only sacrament that you, Basil, can initiate; the only sacrament that can be initiated by the laity.”

“The sacrament exists for you because of and as a reflection of God’s compassion and love for mankind. The sacrament, as are all sacraments, were given to us by our Lord God & Saviour Jesus Christ.”

Basil interrupted, “But why must I confess to the priest, I don’t even like him! Why can’t I confess to God Himself?”

One more harrumph from the monk was emitted, “I know I taught you better. You do not confess to man; you confess to God, in front of His representative – the priest-man.”

“It would be too easy, no humility would be required, particularly if man was merely to confess to an invisible God whom he might well doubt exists. And this would only further man’s self-delusion in this fallen world.

“Let me start at the beginning my dear Basil.” This was the first affection shown by the monk and Basil silently took note of it; yet, neither acknowledged it.

“With regard to God, there are three types of confessions: praise, faith, and repentance,. We confess our praise of God…our glorification of God via the psalms, songs, and prayers.

“We confess our faith when we recite the Nicene Creed daily. Tell me Basil, you do recite it daily?”

Basil, half listening, said, “Oh yes…yes, of course, daily.” The old monk shook his head slightly.

“Then,” the old monk said, “you have no problem publicly confessing your praise of God and faith in Him?”

“No, no…of course not. I do this daily.” The old monk’s eyes rolled up and back in his head.

“Then why would you have any problem publicly confessing your sins before the priest whom He called?”

“But that is different.”

“Different, how? You mean you can celebrate your joy publicly, but your ego keeps you from confessing your sins? This is about you and your ego, right?

“So, Basil, you are a coward.” Another harrumph came from monk as he stated a conclusion.

At this Basil’s spine stiffened. “I’m not a coward.”

The monk could not let this opening pass him by, “If you’re not a coward, then prove it.”

Basil said nothing.

“You see Basil, this is not about the priest you do not like…it is not about any priest. It is about you and your decision to ignore the Tradition and teachings of the church. It is about your decision to become a god – to define what is right and wrong, to decide what God believes.

“This, Basil, is an illness of mankind – an illness of the spirit and soul. This illness is the result of man’s ego and unwillingness to publicly humble himself before God and His representative, your priest.”

Basil interrupted, “I am willing to humble myself, but I would rather do it alone, with God.”

“And how do you know God will forgive you?”

Basil, now regaining his wits, said, “Because He is a good God, He will forgive me.”

“Prove it Basil.”

“Abba, you know I cannot.” For the first time in the conversation Basil admitted the monk’s spiritual leadership; both took note of it, yet neither admitted such.

“I can prove it.”

“How?” Basil’s eye’s reflected surprise and hope.

“The priest, who witnesses your confession, can, as member of God’s holy priesthood, pray:

May our Lord and God, Jesus Christ, by the grace and mercies of His love for mankind, forgive you all your transgressions.

You see Basil, the priest prays to God that He may forgive you; the priest, himself, does not forgive you. The priest is your warrior and advocate – the priest is your gladiator. In publicly repenting of your sins you are enlisting the priest’s support. Basil, in repenting you are repenting to the same God to whom David repented, the same God whom Peter denied 3 times, and the same God whom the apostles abandoned in His hour of need – all of whom died believing in and for our Lord. But the priest can only say this prayer if you are not a coward, if you repent in his presence, and enlist his support.” The last words were forceful.

“Abba, I’m not a coward.”

“Then go and prove it, repent of your sins to your priest…then I will believe in you my dear Basil.”

“Father, a man is approaching.” The child was pointing toward the monastery. The old man looked eastward and could discern a figure walking toward their location. The monk’s eyes were failing him; he could only see the man’s gait. From the walk, the hunched back, and the man’s struggling legs, he readily noted, “Its Basil. What could be bringing the old man out here?”

The old monk turned around to look for the child. He was no where to be seen.

Basil waved to the monk and said, “Old man what are you doing out here in the sun?”

“Who are you calling old man, old man?”

To this came a gruff retort, “You are an old man, old man. Did you not baptize me?”

“I did, but you look older than I, no doubt because of your many sins.” The monk could not resist the opportunity to chastise his friend of many years.

“Ah…,” and Basil waved his hand in the air in a dismissive manner, “please don’t add to my burdens old man.”

Now that Basil was close to the monk, the worry on Basil’s face was evident. The monk said, “Basil, you look older than ever! What is the matter?”

“Thank you old man for the compliment. I did not walk all this way to receive such compliments as you offer.”

“So, what is wrong? Why did you walk all this way in the noonday sun?”

Basil was quiet for a moment, chewing on a stem of grass in the hopes of partially quenching his thirst. He then turned to the monk and said, “I came to speak with you about…” and his voice trailed off. Finally, “I came to speak with you about my sins.”

“Oh?!” The monk firmly planted his staff in the ground raising a small cloud of dust. “We do not have enough time left in the day to speak of your sins – they, no doubt, are many.” At the last words, the monk leaned his head forward to Basil as if to place additional emphasis. “Perhaps you should come tomorrow morning, early just after sunrise, and we can spend the next couple of days…or perhaps weeks…listening to your confession.”

“Ah…,” and Basil again waved his hand dismissively, “why are you so hard on me?”

The old monk stood as tall as his small stature would permit him to do and said, “Because you were a good child…and I believe you had a calling…and you chose,” here the old monk placed a very hard emphasis on the word ‘chose’, “you chose to defy God and go your own way – to bear your own beliefs.”

“Did I not help you every time you asked? Did I not help the people when they needed help, when you asked me to help? Did I not treat people with honor? Did I not pay my debts?” And then it was Basil’s turn and he leaned forward into the old monk’s personal space. “If I cheated anyone, did I not pay them back four-fold?”

The aging monk harrumphed and said, “You are not a tax collector.”

There was silence between the two old men.

Finally, Basil said, “Old man, I am dying.”

Again silence prevailed as both men looked toward the horizon, one deep in thought, the other in prayer.

“I am dying. I may die soon. I may not die for many months. The doctors do not know. Who knows, I may be around a long time to call you old man.” Basil smiled slightly as he said ‘old man.’

Again silence.

“I want to know about this…this confession thing. What is it? And why must I confess to you?”

Again silence

They’d been walking in silence for quite a while when the boy said, “Father, how can man bear life’s burdens?”

The old man nearly stumbled at the child’s voice. Startled as he was and but for his staff he certainly would have fallen. “What do you mean my child?”

“Well, if man is frail, how can he withstand the burden’s of this life?”

“My child, let me tell you a story. When the Christ was tried – scourged, beaten, spat upon, and finally condemned – His physical body, His very human body, was about to give out on Him. His mortal endurance was at an end. And then the Romans made Him carry a heavy cross, a cross upon which He was to be crucified and die.”

“The cross, we know, was made of heavy timber, since it would have to support the weight of a man.”

“His burden was beyond description. The timbered cross would have made any normal man struggle under its weight; but a man who’d already been tortured beyond description, whose back had been beaten until His flesh had been ripped from Him, a man whose loss of blood had already weakened His very essence, would never make it to Golgotha.”

“The Christ struggled…He stumbled and fell…He got up…walked further…stumbled…and fell again.”

“He could go no further. Perhaps He was to die there on the stone path in Jerusalem. Had He died then and there, the prophecies and His destiny would never have been fulfilled.”

“It was then that an unknown person was forced to help the Christ. That person was Simon. We do not know where Simon was coming from or where he was going to. We do not know what brought him to that spot where the Christ was to fall at that particular time. We know little about him. All we know is that he was there – he was present.”

“Simon probably saw Him fall. But Simon was just another man amongst many, who were lined along the streets and alley ways, who happened to be present at the moment the Messiah being whipped in an effort to keep Him moving along toward Golgotha. Simon probably withdrew, he stepped back, when the Saviour fell in front of him, the heavy cross across his back.”

“It was then that a Roman soldier reached into the crowd and grabbed Simon by the arm and threw him to the ground next to our Saviour. I believe it was at that moment that Simon and our Saviour exchanged glances – they looked into each others eyes for a brief moment. One man’s eyes were filled with fear. The other’s with love. In that brief moment, they sustained each other.”

“The Roman soldier barked out an order to Simon, telling him to lift and carry the cross for the Saviour…enabling the Saviour to fulfill the prophecies and answer His calling. A human supported the man-God. A human enabled the Father’s plan for mankind to be fulfilled. Simon carried the cross for the Saviour to Golgotha.”

“My child, as did the Saviour, we all have a Simon to help us carry the cross, our cross. That is how we bear life’s burdens.”

“The question, my child, is this: ‘Do we know who our Simon is?’”

“Father, what is prayer?”

The old man was deep in contemplation, leaning on his staff, and did not hear the child.

The child tapped the monk’s staff with a stick, a short stout stick. The child, too, had been carrying his own staff as he walked beside and imitated the old man. The monk was stirred by the tapping and somewhat annoyed, until he looked into the child’s eyes.

“Yes my child, what is it?”

“What is prayer?”

“Prayer? Well, prayer and praying is communing with God. Prayer should always be a petition for our salvation because we are frail and sinful.”

“Some people pray for their earthly needs, but this is a waste of time since God knows what we need.”

“All prayer should be: for others; for God’s mercy; an understanding of His calling for each of us; and for His wise and benevolent counsel, and sustaining strength during our life’s trials.”

“Whenever we pray, we should give thanks to and glorify God. In doing so, we will be communicating with Him in humility.”

“Prayer, for most of us, comes in three phases – the public prayer we learn from our parents and in church; private prayer comes as we spiritually mature; and within our hearts as our interior life grows. It is in the latter phase that we begin to raise our hearts to God in the hope that He might enter and grace us with His divine teaching.”

“You see my child, prayer is beyond mere words. Oh, words are necessary to train our minds and heart. We will always read prayers out of books, as the priests do at Divine Liturgy. But words are only the beginning.”

“Words, you see my child, are limiting. We can never have the vocabulary of our Lord. His knowledge is beyond our comprehension. Therefore, while our words are inadequate – they are a beginning.”

“It is with our words that we must begin to commune with God as a child begins to speak with his parents.”

“And, as a child grows, he can begin to show and return his love for and to his parents…so, too, can we, as God’s children, begin to do the same with the Lord.”

“As we grow in our prayer life we must transcend our limited vocabulary and seek union with God – not with words, but with our very being, our life. Our life must become a prayer. When this happens only then can we pray unceasingly.”

“My child, you asked ‘what is prayer’ – prayer and praying are a journey beyond words encompassing our entire life.”

Satisfied he had answered the question, the old man looked for the child who lay sound asleep beneath a dogwood tree.

“Father, tell me about the other faiths.”

“The other faiths? There are many other faiths.”

“The other faiths besides our faith.” The child never seemed to be standing still when asking questions. This time he was hopping on one foot around the old man.

“There is not much to say.” The monk stopped and gazed at the child who was now staring at him with inquisitive eyes. “Okay…let me think for a moment.” The old man continued walking with the aid of his staff.

“All of the faiths have a history,” the old man felt as though he was being tested, “and all of the faiths are unlike Orthodoxia.”

“Buddhism is a religion of no-religion…it has no god…and it believes man can be reincarnated forever until he achieves nirvana, liberation from continuous rebirth.”

“Hinduism is a religion of life, a way of life, without dogmatic structure. There are many schools of Hinduism as there are many gods – Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva, Krishna, Ganesh…oh, too, too many to remember.”

“Islam is the youngest of the faiths. The members of Islam believe it is the successor faith to Judaism and Christianity…in other words if Islam is right, then the Jews and Christians are wrong. The god of Islam is not the God of Christianity, despite what the scholastics might say. Islam denies the divinity of the Christ and our belief in a Trinitarian God…therefore, our God is not the god of Islam.”

“Judaism is a faith of shared genealogy going back to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, patriarchs of the the Hebrew people. Judaism has become split between those Jews who are Jewish by culture and those who are observers of the religion, followers of the Torah.”

“There are many other faiths…each faith, my child, is to be respected; but know this, each faith has truth only insofar as the Holy Spirit is working within it and its people.”

When the old man finished speaking, he turned to look for the boy, who was no where around.

“My child, where are you?” The old man was gazing toward the tree line. His eyes were failing him.

“Father, I have a question.”

The old man was surprised and in his turning about to follow the child’s voice he nearly lost his footing. But for his staff with which to balance himself, he might have fallen. “Where have you been my child?”

“Father, I’ve been here with you.”

“Oh yes, I suppose you have been. But don’t go to far away…my eyes are failing me and I cannot see you.”

“You see well Father. I have a question.”

“Yes, yes…ask your question.” The old man was slowly lowering himself to the ground next to a tree. It was time to settle down for the evening.

“Father, is our faith Greek or Russian?” With these words the ire of old monk began to rise. Why did the child have to ask the question at this time of the day?

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, the old monk said, “My child, all Orthodox are Greek, but not in the sense of the country or people, but Greek in the sense of being Eastern – from the eastern empire of Byzantium…this is from where our faith emanated.”

“You see, of the five historical patriarchates – Rome, Constantinople, Alexandria, Antioch, and Jerusalem – only one was in the West, Rome. The remaining four were in the East. And Greek was the predominant language of the four.”

The old man paused, thinking, and then continued. “All Orthodox are also of Semitic heritage. Our religion and our religious culture and customs have roots within the Jewish faith and people.”

Then, with his staff extended before him on the ground, the old monk gave a firm push on the staff driving it forward into the soil creating a small trench in the ground. At this point he firmly said, “The Holy Orthodox Church does not belong to a nation; it is neither Greek or Russian or belonging to any country or ethnic group of people. It belongs to God and God alone.”

“It is a curse of the devil to say that a nation or ethnic group of people are more Orthodox or more correct than others. It is a curse of the devil for Orthodox people to be judgmental toward other Orthodox brethren. When this happens, only the devil wins. When our Orthodox brethren deny God’s love to other Orthodox brothers, they are acting on behalf of the devil.”

“This is a vile and shameful curse.” The staff again went forward into the ground digging an even deeper furrow.

“Too many Orthodox worry about ecumenism when they do not have ecumenism within their own church.” The emotion in his voice was but a precursor to the tears in his eyes.

“My child, our Holy Orthodox faith is not unlike any other faith. Yes, we are the true faith – the only true and apostolic faith and a right review of history and facts always prove such. But like all other faiths we have our pharisees with their phariseeism, our own fanatics with their fanaticism, and fundamentalists with their fundamentalism. This, my child, is never good. These people have learned nothing from the Christ and His battles with them.”

“Our Holy Orthodox Church is Orthodoxia – the true Christianity, the true Church. It is God’s church – not man’s church. It is, therefore, not subject to man’s rationalization and intellectualization. Our church and faith is, as is God, subject to apophatic and cataphatic understanding…there are things we know and things we cannot know. Man should be careful in defining God and defining the Holy Orthodox Church.”

“My child, all of the national and ethnic Orthodox churches are but rooms in the same house, God’s house. And it our responsibility to keep our rooms clean.”

“Dad…Mom…can we talk?” The young girl was obviously nervous, somewhat rigid, and most uncomfortable. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes.

Her parents exchanged glances. They knew something was wrong. The girl’s mother held out her hand to touch her daughter’s shoulder only see a momentary recoil.

The young girl sat on a chair. Her posture was perfect. Her face was pained. Her parents sat on the couch opposite their daughter. They said nothing. Silence prevailed and, yet, the noise was deafening.

Instinctively, mother and father held each other’s hands. They knew they had to comfort each other.

The young girl truly believed her life was coming to an end. She could not find the words to speak.

Finally…

“Mom, Dad, I’m pregnant…” Her words faded as the tears erupted. She buried her face in her hands as she leaned forward sobbing. She knew she had failed her parents and wished her life would come to an end. She could not bear to look at them.

Her mother started to rise only to be see her husband motion to her; she remained seated with tears flowing down her cheeks.

The young girl’s father could only mange to shake his and take a deep breath. He, too, remained seated on the couch.

Neither parent knew what to say at the moment. The shock seemed unending.

Thoughts raced through their minds: “What does a parent say at a moment like this?…All of their dreams were shattered…their dreams?…All of their dreams for their daughter were broken?…their dreams?…How could their daughter do this to them?…to them?…How could their daughter betray them?…them?”

“What about their daughter’s future?…What about her education?…What about her life?…She is too young!…She has not had a chance to grow up?…Her life will never be the same?…What will she do?”

The father keep taking deep breaths, holding back, trying to control his emotions. The mother was wiping her tears, trying, unsuccessfully, not to cry…she could not believe what she had just heard from her precious child – still a child in her mother’s heart.

Unexpectedly and without warning the youngest child, a five year old boy, came into the room. Actually, he came running into the room with an airplane in his hands. He was full of life, filled with noise, and footsteps that would rival thunder. Before anyone could react, the child read everyone’s face, stopped in his tracks, and said, “What?” His mother reacted with an intent to tell the boy to leave the room when his father said, “Uh, we’re talking…”

The boy interrupted, “About what?” The boy then approached his sister and said, “What’s wrong sis?…why are you crying?” The moment was touching considering the little boy had managed to spend every walking moment of his life pestering his sister. She took a breath to gain her composure. “Sis, what’s the matter?” The boy’s concern was genuine.

“Sis?”

Before anyone could react, the sister said, “I’m pregnant.”

Her brother looked at her with a tilted head, mimicking that of a confused puppy, and said, “What’s that mean?”

Father, mother, and sister looked at the little boy realizing the moment was beyond his comprehension. Finally his sister said, “I’m going to have a baby.”

The boy’s head rocked back for a brief moment as he took in the words, then he erupted, “Cool!” Next, with all the seriousness a five year old could muster, he stepped up to his sister, placed his hand on her arm, and said, “Please…no more sisters!”

The boy then turned to his parents, who by this time could not help but laugh, and said, “A baby!…That’s great!” And the airplane continued on its thunderous flight path into the kitchen.
…

It was, is, and will always be all about the baby.

“Father, why do we venerate martyrs?”

“My child, martyrs have been venerated since the beginning of time. The Jews of the Christ’s time held Kiddush Ha-Shem, the Sanctification of the Divine Name, to be essential to life and faith.

“But the legalism’s and tensions of the Jewish faith may have confounded the Jews of the time. Deuteronomy 6.5 contradicted Leviticus 18.5 and there seemed to be no clear answer. But even with the contradiction, amongst the Jews, there was a broad consensus that martyrdom was preferable to idolatry – the worship of idols. Martyrdom was also preferable to unchastity and if one was going to be compelled to commit a murder. In other words it was better to give up one’s life than to break the sacred vows of one’s relationship with Yahweh.

“Now my child, I tell you this because the same belief regarding idolatry carried over into early Christianity. As Jews were martyred because they refused to engage in idolatry, so, too, were many Christians.

“But for Christians, to be a martyr was to be a witness – meaning that the early martyrs were witnesses to the life of Christ and His resurrection.

“As time passed, the word martyr took on a new meaning. The second generation and later martyrs, although they were not witnesses to the life of Christ and His resurrection, were sharers in Christ’s suffering since many, if not all, underwent torture and painful deaths. In their dying, these martyrs willingly went to their death knowing they would, as the Christ did, defeat death – the Devil’s sentence for mankind.

“What is important to understand is that our early Christian martyrs were not living and dying for this world, but to this world. The early Christian martyrs serve to remind us how we should be living. This is why we venerate the martyrs – they are unparalleled examples of the faith.”