Christendom

She lost her Christ when taking up the mantle of good intentions.
Drawn to knowledge, but without sincerity her feet wander upon the fickle cobblestones of Inquiry only to find no rest. She is one always pursuing the questions and all the time possessing the answers (but not the truth). Indulgently she wears her right opinions with eager certainty, but they clothe her in the tawdry rags of ignorance and despair. The ignorance of not possessing truth or knowledge, and the despair of pretentiously setting upon the voyage without humility.

Now she sits, shipwrecked, on a self-made island of political dogma and theological assumption schizophrenically dancing with society but in her mind not apart of it. No, in her mind she is a bearer of Christ's truth, but her actions tell of a woman who stands for nothing because she cannot stand. A tempestuous wind, she bears her notions as the truth by a darkened mind. This is what she is! She is but a fruitless tree in late autumn, twice dead and uprooted. Her spirit is like a wild wave of the sea, foaming up shameless deeds. Everything she is wanders like a wayward star which in word screams of light yet still the deeds performed by her sultry heart scream truer the gloom of a nameless dark. The Truth is far from her, and she is far from the truth.

Hearken, you weary sleepers! Arise from the dead and Christ will give light to you!