The Glorious Befitting of the Religion of Christ

Only in Christianity is the whole person and experience of mankind revealed and felt. The mystery of man begetting himself to another generation, father to son, passing down everything that he is—this great mystery is seen in the Father begetting the Son. And yet, the circle of the family is completed, and the sanctity of the sexes fulfilled when the holy mother brings forth new life by the birth of the baby Jesus. But this life is new life, life that can only come from God, showing us that our instinct that this life is not what it should be, nor all that there is—this instinct for a greater type of existence and life is a true instinct for there is new life in and by God.

At the cross we see all our pains, and sicknesses, and sorrows, and sins, and finally our death shown in such a way that only could come from man. Never more clearly are our sufferings realized then by gazing at this bloody cross. And yet, at the very same time, right alongside this great tragedy, we see the obedience, the faithfulness, the heroism that man was made for. The heroism that is shadowed by a soldier dying by obeying orders, or the fireman rushing into the face of certain death to save a burning child, the sacrifice of one for another—this heroism is fulfilled and translated at the cross. By gazing at the passion, our suspicion that man is both a tragedy and a hero is confirmed. Our instinct that makes us homesick even when at home, this instinct that man was made for something else  different from this life of pain is completed.

But yet, just as our sorrows and pains and death are experienced and seen at the cross, even more at the resurrection of the dead do we find our hopes, our desires for peace and long life, our joy—only here do we find our dreams fulfilled. Here our greatest desire is shown to be true and to be something that will be met. Death will be overcome by Life. The Light will extinguish the Darkness. In the end, past all our sorrows, past all our sickness, and even in the midst of our deathbed, Evil will not prevail, but our hope of a life beyond this life of tears will come to pass, a greater existence awaits.

And finally, at the Ascension of the Worthy One, our fears that chaos rules all things, and that we are alone, and that we are merely creatures of dust floating on a dust ball guided only by chance and at anytime our arbitrary existence can come to an end—these fears are shown to be the only truly false instincts we possess. For there is a King above all things. There is a Being of Will who sits on the throne of creation and who guides all things by his Will. And beyond this reality of sovereignty, rising above it like glorious smoke from ashes, is the awesome truth that this Being is Love. So finally our greatest need to be loved is realized, and the only worthy Object of our Love revealed.

None of the religions of history or of today can even begin to hold a candle to how Christianity fulfils the being, existence, and holistic experience of man. Even if all religions were false and there truly were no God. Even if we truly are alone, and our desires and dreams are meaningless. Even if that were the case, still on a qualitative level, none of the other religions can even approach the mountain on whose mountaintop sits the Great Religion of Christ.


Poem: What is a Man!

What is a man!

O, how wondrous is a man, a vessel of so many experiences, beliefs, and decisions!

Eyes which have looked upon the world with awe and amazement, and which have shed tears of sorrow at the tragedy beheld.

Ears which have heard sounds for the first time, and which have been closed at the most important times.

Hands that have conquered the large world of one’s own backyard, and then have taken from the forbidden tree to eat its fruit thereof.

Fingers that have wiped away the tears of many eyes, and have brought tears to many more.

A spirit so heroic it would charge to certain death upon command, so wicked it can not give itself for the sake of another.

A mind so creative it can build a world, and so deprived it can forget it.

A will so strong it can never be conquered, and so weak it can never conquer itself.

His laughter echoes through the hall of ages, and his cries water the desert.

His thoughts tower far above the earth, sinking him beneath it.

He realizes beauty for the first time through the smile of a girl, and ugliness through her lies.

He remembers the beginning of time, and so quickly disregards the end.

He spends his youth longing for older age, and his old age longing for youth.

Oh how wondrous is a dead man—a broken pot from which spills so many experiences, beliefs, and decisions!

Is he a tragedy, or a comedy? A love story or a murder mystery?

Perhaps there is no genre that can define him, for he is a man. A mixture of predator and prey—both angel and beast; the only one who can decide to rise above, and the only one who chooses to fall beneath.


Praeter unum, qui superat, et resurrexit, et ascendit