The Simplicity of Christ
The Catholic Church is such a complex mixture
of Christianity and Paganism that many have looked into her eyes
and found her impossible to escape.
She is like a strange, exotic lover whose
mystique is irresistible.
She is a Byzantine labyrinth of idols, saints, and spirits, of
purgatory, heaven and hell, queen and king, father and son, and
holy spirit, of mediators, saviors, and deities.
Her swirling ornaments glitter hypnotically, seductively saving
all who would resist Her.
Her library excels with manuscripts of wisdom and knowledge, arts
and prayers, Popes and intrigues. A treasure-trove of tradition.
Glorious melismas proceed from her lips.
The chambers of her praises resonate with alleluias and hosannas,
glorias and credos, Kyries and Agnus Deis.
She is a master of multiplicities. She leads the processions.
She officiates the weddings. She entombs her living dead.
Her wardrobe excels with vestments from afar. As the ambassador
of gospel she is well suited to all her suitors. From Indonesia
to America, from Mexico to Italy, from Peru to France, from South
Africa to Spain, she is impeccably adorned for every occasion
Her pantry is full of bread and blood. She entertains her guests
with life and death. The bouquet of Her wine blossoms forth as
the oil of red roses.
We nurse at her breasts. We drink of her milk. We ride upon her
hips. She is our warmth, our heat. She is a flame of fire, a magnificent
flame of fire, a towering torch, a blinding light. She is the
Sun, and we are her kindling.
She is a cathedral of worship of saints and angels, of icons,
of gold, of fine tapestries, of pillars of swirling marble, of
gems, of incense, of perfumes beyond compare. She is glorious.
She is exalted. She is the Queen of Heaven with her high priest
and red cloaked ministers. Pontiff and Cardinals perched upon
the power of Rome. Humanity flying with the wings of Lucifer.
How highly she is exalted. How mightily she rules the earth. She
is magnificent, she is bewitching, she is beguiling, she is cunning,
she is philosophical, she is understanding and comforting, she
is charitable, compassionate, and loving. She is our Messiah.
She is our God.
But I fear, lest by any means, as the serpent beguiled Eve through his subtlety, so my mind should be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ.
She is a house of mirrors, of trap doors, of dead-end hallways
and secret compartments. A temple of deception. A masterpiece
of man's humanity and Satan's artifice. She is the Mystery of
Iniquity. She is Death.
By Charles G. Marlowe 2001