contemplating falseness

Dearly Beloved and I recently watched a fictionalized account of Joseph Smith and the beginning of the mormon religion. It was very eye opening for us. For Anonimo, the comparisons to experience were staggering. For me, I felt a deep sadness at what we do when we do not take God at His Word.

Men throughout time have sought to serve God and in this seeking have only found their own preeminence. Somewhere along the journey they lost sight. They could no longer hear. Their hearts beat slowly, and time became their own and not His.

These men have always been what is often called charismatic. Charis: Grace. What they are is false grace. What irony. They are blind to the charis of Him and take a false charis upon themselves and project it onto and at others.

Again what irony that it is this false grace that draws people to them...people who truly desire true grace. But these men stand in the way of true vision, true understanding. They put themselves in the place of God. Oh grief.

When we stand and speak forth "stop!", they will not listen, they no longer hear. They are so in tune with their own truth that Truth sounds like lie to them. In love we speak the truth and it is returned with spit and gnashing.

I hold out my hand , palm upward, and offer the very smallest mustard seed. They brush it aside and over run me with their words. My tiny seed is not lost in the dust of their activity and so I gently pick it up and offer it once more. The exhalation of their disgust and exasperation blows my seed into the wind.

I say "You yourself have said 'faith alone'. Why do you not honor my tiny seed?" And I am dwarfed in the presence of their anger and astonishment. "How dare you....how dare you! question me!" And their interpretation is held up as a golden serpent when all I can see is a wooden staff.

My tiny seed has blown into the wind and I spread my arms wide and shout "behold!behold! that which was but a tiny speck is now towering strength. Can you tell me? Please tell me...how did something so small become so big?"

And they look in bewilderment at the sturdy tree which overshadows us both and they cannot answer...so they banish "away with you, you bitter wormwood. If you will not listen and obey MY voice....AWAY."

And they turn to those who are silent watchers and standing as tall as they can in there false charis...they begin to admonish" Take heed my brothers and sisters, take heed of this one who dared to question. See what falseness she speaks. See what bitter poison runs from her mouth. Take heed and see her no more. Her words you will not hear. Turn away from this reviler...she is that which I have warned you of." And his spit flies from his lips as his eyes glaze. I see it, they do not as they sway under his words and false charis.

My tree shades me. I sleep. I am exhausted. My dreams take me far away and at the same time terrorize me with images of the men who preached falsely.

When I awake I see others sitting nearby....their clothing covered with scars of shouted words "bitter! striving! carnal!!" Spit drips where it has fallen on their faces.

Some clench a tiny seed, others nurture a seedling. Still others lean against the protection of mature, beautiful trees.

Far off we see the false men marching. Many are following. We gaze into the sky and shade our eyes from the sun. We look back down and yet are so blinded we can no longer see the crowd that is marching away. Perhaps they do not exist? Maybe they never existed.

But then the blindness subsides and they are clearly seen again. Marching, marching and we see their destination and we cry out in a loud voice "WAIT!, Wait...listen." But they will not hear, they cannot hear.

Should we follow? Do they need us? What should we do?