From The Desk of David

It is said that all heroes are destined to fall

writers like Shakespeare and Hemingway don’t discriminate when they write

all their heroes fall in the end.

I’ve never liked this idea – of falling heroes

heroes are supposed to make all feel safe and secure

but if they fall in the end, who is safe from them?

Romeo and Juliet with the ultimate victims of their ultimate love.

It was never the poison or the dagger that led to their demise

but rather they drink the obsession of their love

infatuated with one another and possessing no regard for others

it’s what led to the dagger driving them away from life.

I’ve always hated the fact that despite the hero’s ability to overcome the obstacles of life,

they always fall to the obstacles within their hearts.

Ego. Lust. Drunkenness. And even bloodlust.

They all fall victim to their own tragic flaws.

I’ve always hated this part about literature – the fact that heroes are destined to fall.

We have turned the demise of our heroes into a beauty like a falling star.

We watch in wonder as our heroes burn.

Why do we have this sadistic desire?

Why are we obsessed with falling heroes?

I suppose it is the fact that when flaws of others are exposed

our own hearts feel protected from the heat of our tragic flaws.

We buy into this lie that we’re better off than all the rest

and if we’re not falling, we become our own heroes.

I’ve never liked the idea of falling heroes.

The Ultimate Author hates this idea Himself.

He hates seeing heroes fall.

That’s who we were created to be – the heroes in His eyes.

Created to overtake the monster of loneliness and to give The Author relationships.

It’s who we were meant to be.

We were His favorite.

However, the enemy, one who is infatuated with the falling of heroes,

decided that all heroes will have to fall.

So he invited himself into the story

and like naïve children we legally laid a feast for the intruder, and let Him play his twisted game in broad daylight.

Like, naïve children, we joined right in,

now were frothing at the mouth with sin.

The venomous lie coursing through our veins – that we are our own heroes and there is no need for someone to write our stories.

But The Author says there is no fate, it is Not too late,

the infection hasn’t reached our lungs yet.

Like an insect who can’t avoid a murderous light,

we kept on playing the intruders game.

The Father cannot stand to see us play the twisted game any longer.

So he played the serpent’s game.

He sends His Son to a virgin from the line of Abraham.

From Isaac and Jacob and Judah, error to King David’s throne,

He’d spend a season in Egypt before returning home.

Immanuel – God with us would escape and infanticide.

And the messenger coming before Him would prepare a way for the light.

A rejected Nazarene prophet bringing light to Galilee.

Speaking in parables and touching sick that they would be made healed.

A King praised by children and then betrayed for silver.

Spat on and struck and silently hung with criminals.

He’s be given vinegar to drink, singing holes in hands and feet.

The perfect hero would fall so that we didn’t have to anymore.

The love the Author had for us rivaled anything Romeo and Juliet ever had.

He came and knelt down so that all the Macbeths and Othellos no longer have to be falling heroes.

He came to that we could stop playing the intruders game.

He did all of this so that we might have hope.