The Inquisition

  When Jesus walked the earth, all those many years ago, he spoke with rich and poor, men and women, even little children, calling them all to himself.  He reached tenderly to the hearts and met the needs of so many with grace and piercing insight.  Yet he was a man without a home, with no place to lay his head.  He placed a good deal of emphasis on the good soil of a person's heart, for though he spoke to the hard-hearted many times, it is clear that for most it was "easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God."

  Riches and hard hearts go hand in hand in Jesus' teaching, indeed, throughout most of scripture.  There are the exceptions: David, Zacchaeus, Matthew, Solomon, and some others.  But for the most part it appears that riches have a hardening effect; it is like wealth sucks the moisture from the soul leaving it dry and hard.  So what about me?  I am rich, at least, when compared with so many around me.  I live in a nice apartment with plenty of food and toys.  I have air conditioning and my children go to a private school.  I have money saved up for retirement, a fair chunk.  Are these riches hardening me?

  Would I even know?  Does the ant trapped in amber know it will soon be forever encased while it struggles?  I fear that my eyes are not as open as I think.  My lord and master focused on the poor, those who know their need for a saviour, who have so little to hope for.  And yet here I am, focusing my time on the rich.  I have most of my life.  It is my calling, I say, for do they not also need a Saviour?  Surely, but success has been so scarce.

  In this time of enlightenment and free speech, I can speak of my Lord, his death and resurrection, without fear of retribution.  So then why is it such a rare speech on my lips?  Oh sure, I acknowledge his role in every facet of my life, to anyone who lends an ear, but....but....is that enough?

  In Cartagena, my family and friends were taken on a tour of the Governor's Residence, which shared walls with the residence of the Inquisition when it was in town, so many years ago.  This was an extension of the Spanish Inquisition of legend, those who tortured people so cruelly in the supposed attempt to exonerate their soul.  At that time, all it took was an accusation, based in truth or lie, to put them to the tongs.  A simple offense could place you in the rack if you did not amend it in time.

  The cost for speaking of Jesus as Lord as one you know personally, apart from the Church and its traditions, would certainly put you in danger of being purified.  Would I have spoken up then?  Would I have placed my family and myself at risk, simply to pledge myself to an unseen Lord?  I don't think so.  Then as now, I would have followed the prescribed method of speaking carefully and in the right times and places, of applying tact to my own beliefs.  I would have hidden the Light within me within my layers of amber as counseled.

  Am I any different now?  It is no longer the rack or the stocks but the derision and scoffing that threaten me with so many feathery strokes.  Watch me disappear and speak silent words, living in a dead hope of my own traditions and excuses.  See me keep my family healthy and well fed, provided for with so many powerless words.  Look to the future, where I raise children and support a wife that adapts to the world we live in.

My Saviour died for the world.  I hide for it.