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Some of you may recognize the imagine beside this post. You may have read the book yourself. Or have seen its image on a website. Since you're reading this, I would venture a guess that you likely realize that I have borrowed it as my avatar image.Trivial facts, in the end.
After much breathless, nail-biting anticipation since June, when I first came upon its release date and read the excerpt provided in the back of ADAM, I finally found myself with a copy of Ted Dekker's Sinner in my hands.
Picture this: me, a petite California surf chick, sitting in the hairdresser's chair, foil in my hair to enhance the blonde. Black apron covering my jeans and turquoise T-shirt. A Starbucks iced drink with only the ice remaining freezing my right thigh.
And on my lap, Sinner.
I think I startled the hairdresser with my squeal of excitement when Mom re-entered the room, book in hand. We had already had a lengthy discussion about family and funny age misunderstandings, and I highly doubt she was quite ready for the mature, serious, yet playful disposition I have to fall away at the sight of a mere book. Grinning wide, I poured gratitude over my mother even as I was flipping pages. I had already read the first four chapters. I wanted to read the rest!
And so I threw myself into the world of Sinner, into the universe of the Books of History, Johnny Drake, Billy Rediger, and Darcy Lange. And Black. Marsuvees Black.
Two and a half hours later, the tale had finished, leaving me to slowly return to reality.
The reality of our world. Which isn't so different from that of Sinner.
[*SPOILER WARNING*]
Imagine. The year is 2033. Thirteen years after Project Showdown. A year after the emergence of Saint, and the rebirth of Johnny Drake. Tolerance is the new religion of the United States of America. To speak of your religion is akin to speaking of moles located in indiscreet places. Not forbidden, but sure to earn you askance looks and strange faces. None except certain officials in the government know of the events that brought Johnny Drake back into the world and drove him into hiding in the desert.
Not even his siblings in the power. The power of the Books of History. Billy Rediger, and Darcy Lange.
All three are equipped with power terrifying in its possibilities.
By the middle of the book, the First Amendment has been rewritten to forbid "hate speech" against other races or religions. Forbidding one from claiming that his or her path is the only true source of enlightenment, and the only path to God and Heaven.
Rewritten to freeze the tongues of Christians.
By the end, Paradise has seen the fulfillment of a showdown that the rest of the world remains clueless about. All they know is that three thousand diehards joined a man named Johnny Drake, and the town was bombed as a result. No casualties, bar one.
No one knows the truth.
[*END SPOILERS*]
I won't say more. Read it for yourself. I'm still trembling. The book was gripping for the story. But I think what sets a buzz through my fingers is how probable Dekker's portrait of a not-too-distant America is.
Tolerance has already makes its apperance in our country. It is already seeping into our culture, winding its tendrils around the hearts and minds of those in positions of authority. We see it every day. Children told not to pray in school, for fear of offending those of another belief system. Christian business owners being sued for refusing to photograph a lesbian couple's wedding, because of the "intolerant attitude" behind their decision.
My tongue...is tied. God, free it!
The need to take a stand has been highlighted by certain circles for some years now. The instution of See You At the Pole, for example. Christian school children gathering around the flagpole, in front of their entire school.
In the name of tolerance, the school board cannot deny them it.
In the name of tolerance, it could very well be banned.
Light in the midst of darkness. Tolerance, like the Raison Strain, like Marsuvees Black itself, is a disease that is darkness at its very core. Hate speech is never okay. Jesus said himself to love.
But love sometimes requires telling someone a painful truth that can be misconstrued as hate. Tolerance is not love. It's the state of the lukewarm. When one is slave to tolerance, what is left? How can you speak out against murder, stealing, and rape? For all you know, the purpetrator might have formed his own religion around what you consider vices. In the name of tolerance, how can you then condemn him? It is the path of the middle ground. Of plastic smiles and falsified laughter.
Tolerance has been disguised as love to cover its hate and true purpose. But love is supposed to free. Tolerance enchains.
Christ is love. He is also the Way, the Truth, and the Life. He is God. Messiah. Rabbi. Abba.
He is the exclusive inclusive. Exclusive, because only He is Truth and the Path. Inclusive, because all can come and know his Life.
Satan, like Black, knows the power of light and love. He knows the power of truth. For only God and the angels know how long, he has been fighting this war. The battle is already lost. Satan's tactic now is to see how much of a narrow victory he can make it. How many of God's precious children, lovingly, carefully formed and nurtured, he can steal away before the Judgement Day.
Tolerance is already strangling our tongues. Soon, if left unattended, it will murder our freedom and try to kill our light.
Darkness tempted Paradise, and it fell. Only to rise as a Kingdom of Light.
A Kingdom of God.
Johnny, Billy, Darcy.
Faith, Hope, and Love.
Welcome to Paradise. To Light. To Love. To tongues unhindered by tolerance.
