No Man

There is no man so righteous

that he does not feel the pull of sin within his bones.

No preacher so seasoned,

so gifted,

so seemingly unshakable,

that his feet cannot slip upon the narrow way.

Every Christian, no matter how strong,

no matter how seasoned in the faith,

is a war-torn soul,

a pilgrim still learning to stand,

still bearing the scars

of battles seen and unseen.

For none of us has yet reached glory.

Even the brightest saints still cast shadows,

and the strongest among us

still feel the groan of weakness within.

So place no leader beyond the struggles of the human soul,

for even the shepherds still fight the flesh within and wolves without.

And if the one you trust most is yourself,

Then you stand at the edge of a cliff,

where pride gives way to ruin

and self-confidence opens into the dark abyss.

For the devil prowls,

a roaring lion with patient hunger.

He waits in the quiet places,

in the tired hour,

in the wounded heart,

in the moment when vigilance gives way to ease.

Sin stalks the edges of every day.

It whispers before it wounds.

It flatters before it devours.

The battle does not cease

until our final breath gives way to glory.

So stand firm, brothers and sisters.

Stand when your knees tremble.

Stand when your heart is weary.

Stand when the night feels long.

Do not loosen your grip upon the shield.