In my long days of scholarship and study, I have stumbled across a collection of writings that I found stuffed in some old book encrusted with much dust and neglect. These miscellaneous scribblings were in some sort of Latin/Greek hybrid language that confounded my peers, and I have taken great pains to translate them. So far, they appear to be a collection of letters. The identity of the sender and receiver is unknown at the moment. However, for the time being, I have taken to name them "The Theophilus Letters," based on the pen name of the sender. Here is the translation of the first one. I hope to have more translated soon, if (and when) I find a moment to breath between my other pending scholastic projects. (-Prof. Douglas Ulysses Hightower)
"In that day, the Branch of the Lord shall be beautiful and glorious...." Is. 4:2
Theos,
May it be the real Thou to whom I speak, and may it be the real I who speaks. There is a wonder I must tell and a joy that I must express.
In the day of desolation, Your glory and beauty shine brighter, shine fairer, fiercer, faster. Without pause or hesitation, for fire feeds every soil in which You plant Yourself. In the furnace You spring forth like a tree, a tree of might, whose fruits feed thousands, and whose canopy will cover the world. The sun will make Your leaves glorious with light: they will shimmer like an emerald sky, and every flower in bloom will flair like jewels housing hidden flames.
The roots of Your glory will grasp the earth with a strong hand. They shall grip the very heart of the world, and dig deep and deeper still, filling all hollowed-out holes with Your infinite substance. Neither crack nor crevice will remain unfilled. All shall be filled, and all manner of things shall be filled with fire and fruit and life and song. There will be shade without night and warmth without day. There will be neither cowering nor withering but growing, a growing of all souls made fat on Your fullness.
Your branches shall grow throughout the universe, stretching forth like fierce fingers, full of terrible kindness, and every world and corner of creation will know Your fruits and feast. What ear has only heard, eye will now see. We shall all see You. In the day of fire You will rise. On the wings of desolation Your glory rides. On the wings of a storm, You unfurl Your purposes: after the thunder and the terror comes the rain and the inevitable, unstoppable harvest that shall show forth Your goodness. In that day, the last day, a day tremors and quakings and unspeakable violence, we will taste and see that You are good.
This is the victory of Your ultimate love. May my life sing it back to Thee.
Love (with sincerity),
Theophilus
-Jon Vowell (c) 2012
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