As I attempt to teach in Clairvaux Manifesto, we have to remember rightly in a right way. We can remember rightly in a wrong way; typical of the human condition. But, we can never remember wrongly in a right way; typical of demonic intent. To make the wrong seem and appear to be right… The host of hell would not only erase all memory of the Good, they would superimpose their own twisted longings over everything Good, poisoning every deep well of truth. Sorry, not on my watch!!!

Jericho isn’t so far from Jerusalem; Golgotha from Zion. Which comes first, the going down or the coming up? Or is it coming down and then going up? Is it both and? Is it just symantics? Is it all in the timing? Is time more important than space? The interplay of history and geography, who wins? What’s the point of remembering it all anyway? I’m not sure I know any answers, but I perpetually end up in the flow of the river of such rememberings.

For example, while in London, a breakfast appointment didn’t show up at a place called St. John. I didn’t set up the meeting, but there I was waiting at St. John’s. As I waited, I thought of the Hospitaller Knights. When my breakfast appointment didn’t show up I walked and walked… and found myself in St. John Gate noticing all the historical benchmarks; no coincidence being there, amidst the twelve-pointed Maltese crosses everywhere.

The next day, after my rescheduled morning meeting at the same St. John, a friend and I walked the City of London in prayer. We met up with another friend over lunch, directly across the road from All Hallows by the Tower, though at that time I had no idea of the name of the church, or it’s significance.

Throughout our lunch appointment, I kept looking out the window at the cross on top of the church, and it reminded me of Malta. I had just been in Malta, and had seen limestone saints carrying crosses made of two logs tied together with wood… not beams, logs. This came to mind at lunch while staring at this church I knew nothing about.

After lunch, my friend and I stood outside the Tower of London speaking about the kingdom of God and Malta and London (our other friend had a business meeting). We began walking by the church. I noticed something in the distance saying, “That can’t be a huge limestone rock can it?” My friend replied surprised, “And is that a Maltese Cross!?”  And there we stood dumbfounded at the Siege of Malta memorial; Malta again!

The memorial was outside the church, and my friend said, “Maybe it’s here associated with the church somehow.” I grinned, “Well, let’s go in and check it out.” We entered All Hallows having no idea it was the oldest church in London; having no idea what was next.

Upon entering the church, a Benedictine monk asked us to help him rope together the large cross he was creating out of two large logs; down the rabbit hole we go!!! A huge cross of logs roped together. A Benedictine monk. So now we’re into something profound. The Benedictine tells us the history of the church. He gave us a guided tour. He unlocked doors with keys he had in his possession and showed us profound things up close and personal… among other things, the church of the reconnaissance corp (which I mention in Clairvaux Manifesto, their insignia in the stained glass).

Then our Benedictine friend took us down into the crypt, onto Roman road excavated from the 3rd Century… and quietly up to a limestone altar at the far end of the underground chapel; a limestone altar I notice has a Maltese cross carved into the front of it. Our guide tells us it dates back to the time of the crusades, it’s nearly 900 years old. Legend says Richard the Lionheart brought it back from Palestine with the Knights of the Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem, the Hospitallers, eventually the Knights of Malta.

The next morning, a business leader I’d never met before set up a meeting with me in a coffee shop of his choosing, near his own offices … directly across the road from the Maltese Embassy (of all places), a location I mention near the end of Clairvaux Manifesto.

Now, back home in Canada, I’ve been reading more of the history of All Hallows Church and Barking Abbey and William the Conqueror and the Knights of Malta, and my researching my way through the kingdom of God has more geographical and historical coordinates.

Don’t think for a minute that history doesn’t matter… that it’s all about the future while we forget everything else. No, history is about all people and their longing for redemption as well. Jesus knew why Abraham rejoiced at the thought and reality of seeing Jesus’ day. Jesus knew why David saw the cross and resurrection in Psalm 22. Jesus knew Moses and Elijah… The prophets searched and still search with care, due diligence, working hard to get it right, to remember rightly in a right way, to see it coming and explain it on the way, and to speak it out, clearly, directly and simply… precisely because of their years and years of due diligent study, research, and prayerful obedience.

I don’t want a teacher who has never truly studied. I don’t want a shepherd who doesn’t love sheep. I don’t want an evangelist who doesn’t proclaim what is good. I don’t want a prophet who doesn’t say it as HE is. I don’t want an apostle who hasn’t walked along beside the wounded feet of Jesus, at HIS pace.

I don’t want anyone showing me something, telling me anything, leading me anywhere, if it’s not into the glory of God revealed in the face of Jesus Christ. There is too much at stake! There are voices echoing in eternity! There are know-nothings who babble endlessly. Yet, there is only One who is Faithful and True. He has been Faithful and True, I believe it! And He’s the only One who can declare a Just and Fair WAR.

A King of Kings can do that you know!!! He gets to say when it all comes down, and when it all goes up. He alone comes and goes freely. He hushes the gathering crowds as he approaches. He sets the protocols. He sings wide the gates. He alone lifts the needy up from the ashes!!!

He was never a phoenix, a cursed thing going down and up. He only went down once, briefly, yet HE never became ashes… his human body never went to dust. He’s embodied now. He’s the firstborn. He’s alive and well in a whole new way for all of humanity.

Give Him what is rightfully HIS… your very life, your every breath… This is where everything in you becomes poetry, a song. As I penned worship into Clairvaux Manifesto, “Our breath from your lungs is poured. Our hearts beat with blood from yours. Drenched in mercy, we stand in YOUR river. Compassion gives us faces, as we worship YOU.”

From T.S. Elliot’s Ash Wednesday:

Wavering between the profit and the loss
In this brief transit where the dreams cross
The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings

And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling plover
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates

And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth
This is the time of tension between dying and birth
The place of solitude where three dreams cross
Between blue rocks But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away
Let the other yew be shaken and reply.

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