Blind to the Truth?

NCMESLLesson1

Because the common backyard mole spends most of its time underground, this animal does not need to see very well.  Its eyes are very small, and in some species, its eyes are completely covered with skin. 

Some people are like that.  They burrow through life with a carnal mind, and--give them credit-- they do in fact manage to keep from being eaten by dogs or being run over by garbage trucks and-- let's be fair-- they do in fact manage to dig up a little garden variety success in life, and therefore they think they don't need spiritual eyes to see.

A referent has that which corresponds to it, but man twists the truth and calls good evil and evil good.  Man was created upright but he has gone after many schemes.  As for the Word, however, man has no natural taste for it.  The Book is straight but the reader is crooked.  Spiritual words must be spiritually discerned.  And even if one understands something, it is quite another thing to be CONVICTED.  The word "conviction" means "cause to see."

G-d has to open our spiritual eyes for us to see that we are sinners going our own way.  As long as we in our unteachable pride stubbornly assert that we see, we are in fact blind. You cannot have the spirit of the world and the Spirit of G-d. 
 

In my heart there is a Masjid, a small prayer room.  Small but commodious,
stretching
out like Ibrahim’s Tent into eternity.  There I meditate day and night.
  I invite you to look around this Masjid of my soul.
   You will see first a raised platform, a Minbar, and that Minbar is where the free prayer is made
lying face down, under the holy light shining.

  One day in this Masjid of the heart, I heard
a soft rapping at the door.
   I looked at the door and saw that sacrificial blood
had been  struck against the uprights.
    I looked at the latch.
What would happen if I opened it?  I had been
meditating
  on the door standing open in heaven.  I was thinking about heaven and the Bar Enosh (Whom All Will Serve as Deity)
coming to the Ancient of Days on the clouds of heaven.  I wanted
  the Spirit to lift me up and take me in visions of the Holy One far above my
dark racing
thoughts which are vain.  My eyes examined the Blood on the lintel.
  I seemed to know that my dark vain thoughts must be at all times
 
expiated by the
Blood of the lintel, lest the Evil one defile my innermost Masjid.
     On the table of that Masjid is a candle which
is a lamp unto my feet and an Injil Scroll which is a light unto my path, that
the Holy One might be with me and that my thoughts might be acceptable in

His sight.
  Again, I heard a soft rapping at the door.  I knew whoever knocked was
standing
behind the wall.  And I looked, and, behold, the glory cloud filled the Masjid.
The door was locked.  But I sensed my soul under scrutiny.
      Again I heard the soft rapping at the door.
     In my heart there is a Masjid, a small prayer room.  Small but commodious,
stretching
out like Ibrahim’s Tent into eternity.     From that vantage point there is another Comforter, the  Holy Ruach.
And also the Bar Enosh Masih and the Ancient of Days.  
Three.
    In the Torat, Ibrahim looked out the entrance of his Tent and saw Three.
  Yet His Name is One.
     But when the door opened, there was only a Lamb.  The Lamb
was standing.
  It had the appearance of
  having been slaughtered.  Its throat was cut and the bloody mortal wound
was a sign
  that the desolating plague had skipped or passed over my door.
  Then I heard the Voice.
     “If anyone will invite me to come in, I will come in.”
     In the darkness of my soul, I reached toward the Light of the World that was shining.
    His glance fell on the Injil Scroll like a laser,
lighting every Letter
and every fiery place which speaks of him in every Word.    
As far as this Masjid is concerned
and also my dark thoughts,
  things are rising brighter now
since Isa al-Masih pbuh entered the Masjid of my heart.