In Syria, pastors are frequently dealing with the loss of life around them and even within their own congregations. Christians are caught in the crossfire of the fighting between the Syrian government’s troops and the rebels in Syria.
One Syrian pastor shared about one of his church members who lost his life in the ongoing war…
“Last week we lost [another] young man. He left a wife and two young children. He had become a believer because of his friendship with one of the members of our church. As a soldier [in] the Syrian Army he was fighting not far from Damascus. We hear that he was killed in these fights. We, as a church, now have the big responsibility of continuing to take care of the family. Before, they were already supported by the church The man was only 29-years-old.”
Sadly, the remaining Syrian Christians continue to be surrounded by war, persecution and death. Please pray that the Lord will comfort the young widow and her children after having lost a husband and father. Pray too for continued strength and refreshment for the Syrian Church as they support and comfort those who have lost loved ones.
Thank you for praying with our brothers and sisters in Syria!
I am sick. And. Tired. Of. You. Fake. Woke. Keyboard. Warriors. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Culture appropriation is not when a person wears/ owns/ does anything from a different culture, there is more to it than that. Culture appropriation is when a person who has no association and or understanding of the culture that they have stolen from attempts to rebrand it as their own/ wear it as a costume/remove all context behind it etc.
For example, Martin wears a native American head piece for halloween, this is culture appropriation because he has taken all meaning& importance of the headdress away by not understand what it is for, ontop of wearing it as a costume.
And on top of that can we please get it out of our minds now that culture associates only to race, because it doesn’t, culture comes in sub genres and as progressive as our times have become things such as popular culture and styles of clothing are much more fluid and are by-products of cosmopolitan integration. You just have to keep in mind there are just some stuff groups of people do not want you to alter or use however you like.
It is really not that hard for you to wrap your head around, so stop and think before shouting bloody appropriation left, right and centre
You know what's gonna happen don't you? In 10-20 years when Trump is super fucking discredited, people in the left are gonna always bring up the fact that Jared and Ivanka are Jewish, I mean I keep seeing right wing assholes push the idea that Milo (long hard to spell fake Greek last name) is "Jewish" as a reason why he just CANT be a Nazi, so in 10 years when the alt-right is dead everyone will make sure to mention he's Jewish, like the right always does with Marx and Trotsky
Yes, this is a major risk. People are going to be “counting noses” in the Trump Admin / movement for years, when it comes to payback. It has already begun.
Milo Yiannopoulos’ mother’s mother was Jewish; that means that halachically both his mother and him are Jews, though they both were raised Catholic. There is no Jewish observance or culture in his upbringing. Now - TO BE CLEAR - the children of Jews are Jews and are deserving of a welcome as such. Anyone from an interfaith background should bear that in mind for the next few sentences:
Milo has rejected Judaism. Explicitly. Violently. He only ever mentions his background in order to misappropriate innocence and Jew-wash his antisemitism. There were plenty of Nazi troops who had the same degree of ancestry as he did. He describes himself as a “warrior for Christ,” trafficks in Nazi memes and iconography, and says Krystallnacht made him happy because Jews are vipers and the synagogue of Satan.
We would have welcomed him. But he doesn’t want us. He seeks our destruction.
None of that matters, they will indeed just count him as a Jew to clear his name and use him against us.
“The breaker is come up before them.” Micah 2:13 Jesus Christ the Breaker has gone before us. He has conquered every foe that obstructed the way. Cheer up now you faint-hearted warrior. Not only has Christ travelled the road, but He has slain your enemies. Do you dread sin? He has nailed it to His cross. Whatever foes may be before the Christian, they are all overcome. There are lions, but their teeth are broken; there are serpents, but their fangs are extracted; there are rivers, but they are bridged. The sword is already blunted. God has taken away in the person of Christ all the power that anything can have to hurt us. You may go joyously along your journey, for all your enemies are conquered beforehand. All you have to do is to divide the spoil. You shall often engage in combat; but your fight is with a vanquished foe. His head is broken. Your victory shall be easy, and your treasure shall be beyond all count. Spurgeon
I just want to say how incredibly thankful I am for my friends @confidentlysuiteheavydirtysoul and @ohnxghtingale and how I’m seeing God working in their lives. I’m grateful how God is using me to speak into their lives to strengthen and encourage them, and my friend @gods-little-punk who is an inspiration to me and a warrior for Christ! Keep fighting, girl! You all are blessings in my life!
The thick darkness of the bitter autumn night was broken by
a modest fire, revealing a trio of weary travellers set about the task of not
pondering the miles that lay before them the next day. It was late in the year,
so the three men lay close to the fickle heat of the burning twigs at their
centre. Around them on three sides sat the crumbled ruins of an old farm house.
The walls were thick with creeping plants reaching for the now absent roof, and
all about the floor lay a dense carpet of wild grass. The three were likely the
only living men to have stayed within the walls in living memory.
One man had propped his head against the mossy surface of a
fallen piece of masonry. He was staring at the flames, watching the delicate
fingers dance around one moment and then vanish in the next. Fascinated, he
never broke his gaze. The other two were content to lie on their backs, wishing
for sleep that never seemed to arrive.
The fire watcher became overwhelmed by his fascination and
reached out his hand. The faintest whisper of a flame reached out a finger-like
tendril towards the palm of his hand, separating from the body of the fire. The
disembodied flame began to trace circles around the man’s fingers, tracing slow
and beautiful shapes in the air. The man pulled his hand close to his face. The
flame sat neatly on the palm of his gloved hand, and he continued to stare into
the orange glow. His eyes were illuminated, revealing mismatched irises of
brilliant blue and deep emerald green. He was unshaven, with a fair face
showing only a neutral expression. With a twist of the bare fingers poking
through the ends of his leather gloves the flame grew in intensity, but always
kept its delicate and controlled shape.
A voice revealed that he had gained an audience.
“Who are you Bartholomew?”
He closed his fist, and the ember was extinguished
“A lunatic.” The fire watcher responded. “With the knowledge
of the sanest of wise men.”
Sir Edmund sat up from his place on the floor.
“I’ve heard of the old saints.” He said, his voice as soft
as the flames before him. “I’ve heard of what they could do. They told us all
about it back when I was training, they gave be a tome the thickness of the
length of my thumb and made me study it until my eyes grew stale. It was
incredible really, what they could do. But you. I’ve never heard of you, yet
what you can do is beyond anything I have ever read about.”
Bartholomew looked over at Edmund. From the dismal light he
could tell he had the Knight’s fullest attention.
“I like my anonymity.” He said. “That way I stay my own man,
and not the pawn of anyone looking to use me for any cause that isn’t my own.”
“But Miracles, by their very nature, are no easy feat.”
Edmund pressed on. “Back at Haven, I saw some of the monks, most of them over a
century old, heal the wounds of the injured in just a few days. I can make the
steel of my armour, already a formidable shell, damned near close to
unbreakable when I concentrate, and on a good day I might be able to get a
small fire going without any flint. But you. There seems to be no limit to what
you can do.”
“I have my limits.”
“You don’t seem to. You can do anything it seems to me. I mean,
Hell, the first time I met you I stabbed you through the heart, and within a
few minutes you were walking around again.”
Bartholomew didn’t speak for a few minutes. He was stuck in
thought, pondering how best to respond to a question to which he didn’t truly
know the answer. He continued to stare into the flames, perhaps searching for
his answer then. When he spoke, he did so calmly and slowly, thinking over each
word as he uttered it.
“Have you ever heard of the Holy Wars?” He asked.
“Every young boy grows up hearing the stories of the Old
Knights, and how they fought all those centuries ago carrying The Lord’s
banner, rather than their own heraldry.” The speaker was John, Edmund’s largely
mute squire. He was a youthful yet tenacious man with fire in his past.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of chivalry, of the gracious
Knights conducting gentlemanly war. The Holy Wars were different. They have
been remembered as war in the name of religion and reverence to Christ, but at
the time, they were far from that.”
“What do you mean?” John asked, skewing his head slightly to
“Initially, the wars were no more about ideology than any
other war. Sure, there was the added level of antagonism that was conflicting
methods of worship, but it was still no more than an attempt to increase the
power of the very mortal lords that left from France. The ideology was merely a
means of bringing their followers with them.”
“This is touching, Bartholomew, but what does this have to
do with anything?” John was obviously irritated with having his beliefs about
history being rewritten.
“Let me speak and then I’ll tell you.” Bartholomew shot John
a look of equal irritation. “There was, however, a serious turning point for
the warriors out in the lands far to the East. One group, led by the living
legend that was Bohemond, Prince of Taranto, reached the ancient city of
Antioch. The idea was to capture the city on their way to their ultimate goal
that was of course the Holy city of Jerusalem. When they arrived, however, it
became immediately clear that the Christians were too few to break into the
walls of the city, and those within were too few to rid themselves of the
Christian invaders. Months passed, and the food ran out. The Christians
resorted to the worst possible measure in order to simply survive. People died
in their thousands of starvation. The rich could afford to eat, but the poor.
Well, they survived however they could.
Then Christmas came, and Christians did what would have
seemed absolute insanity to anyone else. They fasted.”
“What?” John exclaimed.
“They cured endemic starvation by fasting?” Edmund was equally
“Not directly.” Bartholomew replied. “But in the days of
fasting everyone became equal. They marched around the camp, shaving their
heads and wearing sack cloth. Priests stood and delivered sermons every hour of
every day. They cast out all the whores, they hanged all of those that had done
even the slightest wrong in the eyes of God and men alike. All of their time
was dedicated to reverence and prayer. They prayed with the righteous temperament
of the most dedicated of followers, and at the end of it all they redistributed
their resources. Everyone had shared in their torment, but everyone had shared
in their rebirth, a rebirth that was fuelled by worship. They cried out to God
to beg forgiveness from all their past deeds and swore to dedicate themselves
to the task of liberating the Holy Land.
And then, everything changed. Against all odds, the
Christians stormed the walls and for the first time in months, they had stone
walls around them rather than the exposed plains of the desert landscape.
Within a few days, however, reinforcements arrived at the
city, intent of slaughtering every last Christian that had stepped foot on
their lands. The Christians were outnumbered, chronically malnourished and
almost completely without any horses or equipment. The day was surely lost,
were it not for the astonishing Miracle performed by a common priest in their
You see, even in Christ’s lifetime Antioch was an ancient
city. After his death, it was widely rumoured that the lance used to pierce his
side after he expired on the cross was carried to Antioch. As it happened, a
priest found this legendary weapon. At first the warriors of Christ didn’t
believe him, so he gave them a demonstration. Clutching the lance in his hand,
he walked across a roaring path of fire, braving the inferno with nought but
the cloth robes of a monk to protect him. Yet when he emerged, he did so completely
untouched by flames. Then the men knew in their hearts that Christ was with
The next day, the reinforcements were utterly defeated,
leaving the Christians as the absolute victors and conquerors of Antioch. They
were outnumbered, outclassed and outmatched in every way except one; their
Silence fell over their campsite. Edmund shuffled for a
moment, John scratched the back of his head.
“It’s a nice story Bartholomew.” John said. “But I’m afraid
you’ll have to explain it to me.”
“Scripture makes a very fine point of saying that Christ was
killed by crucifixion at the hands of the Roman soldiers, and that the man who
stabbed him was a Roman Centurion. Roman’s didn’t use lances as we know them
today. They were shorter, and used as javelins. The points were long and weak
so they could not have been thrown back by their enemies. The shaft would have
long since rotted away and even if the tip had survived, all that would have
been left was a thin piece of steel that would have been weathered by over a
thousand years of exposure. Whatever the priest found was not the Holy Lance.
It was just some spear, probably very common in its design so as to sell the
myth. As for the fire, the priest was a known mystic back in France. It would have
been difficult, but certainly not impossible using illusionary tactics to make
it seem as if he were travelling unscathed through the inferno.
But those soldiers. They did fight against certifiably
impossible odds. They fought, and they died, but when the dust had settled and
the day was done they stood tall. Because, John, in that moment, everything had
come together from the last few months to create the perfect scenario for them.
Belief is the very essence of power, and at that moment their power was far
greater than anything they had ever experienced before. In that perfect moment,
they simply could not have lost, because they had all of the power that they
could have possibly wanted and more.”
The trio fell silent once again. It was quiet without their
speech, with only the lightest breeze flowing over them soft and gentle as a
whisper. The fire had become somewhat dim, making it next to impossible to see
each other’s faces.
“You’re saying that your power comes from your belief? But
not belief in Christ, you’ve made it clear you are no orthodox follower of his.
Your power comes from your simple belief in the fact that you are capable of
performing whatever Miracle you choose?” Asked Edmund.
“I believe it is, and so it is.” Bartholomew replied.
“That’s an interesting theory.” The Knight replied.
“How does soldiers winning a battle equate to you being able
to cast Miracles?” Asked John.
“The difference is the fact that where once we could only
perform Miracles, now we can cast them at will, under the right circumstances.
Nothing has changed in their mechanics, it’s just that now belief is more…” He
paused for a moment. “…Literal.”
“The priest.” Said Edmund. “The one who supposedly found the
Holy Lance. What was his name?”
Bartholomew smiled. The others couldn’t see it through the darkness,
yet somehow they could hear that he was smiling through the tone of his voice.
2 Timothy 2:24-26 24 And the Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome but must be kind to everyone, able to teach, not resentful. 25 Opponents must be gently instructed, in the hope that God will grant them repentance leading them to a knowledge of the truth, 26 and that they will come to their senses and escape from the trap of the devil, who has taken them captive to do his will. (NIV) How do you like these verses? They reminded me of your blog and how you handle yourself. Peace :)
I read these verses with joy. They are wisdom and truth. I know I handle myself with great integrity. Not all the saints have handled every encounter with this in mind. Warriors for Christ like mother Angelica and Fulton sheen and st. Augustine and even Christ himself the true imitation of God not always used sheepish tones and depictions. We are all trying to initiate Him and His ministry.
Have some charity with me, we aren’t perfect.