The heat of summer is loosening its oppressive grip. Autumn is gaining traction, and its true colors are beginning to show. It gives great respite to the body, but this too will pass. The crescendo of autumn is not found in its peak colors, but rather in the glorious events of its past.
As October begins I can hear a faint sound carried by the winds of time. It is like an echo, only it grows louder by the day. Weeks pass, and it becomes clear that this is the sound of a hammer being put to nails. When I gaze down the corridors of history, I see that it is not the hammer strikes of a carpenter, but rather those of a lowly monk. This monk pounds furiously, as what seems to be a long list of propositions is nailed to a castle door. The monk is waging war, but not like one might think. His weapon is not his hammer, but rather the words of his pen.
“But why such fury in this peculiar monk?” I ask myself. “What great injustice must there be?” As I look around at those beginning to gather by this door, I notice something common to them all. All but the monk are confined to shackles. These are not shackles of the hands and feet; nay, these are shackles of the mind and heart. Yet to my amazement, those who draw near to the door are able to loosen their irons. The words they read become like keys to locks of those terrible chains.
More begin to make their way towards this great commotion. Some have just returned from a neighboring town- downcast and impoverished. For they, knowing not their error, have tried to purchase this freedom, but have obtained it not. Have they not heard, “Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price!” The humble monk has nailed a declaration of liberty- boundless and free. Now those who were once in darkness have seen a great light, and this light can no longer be hidden by the spells of men. Even this list, which hangs loosely on that great door, cannot be moved. For it has so impressed itself upon the hearts of men, that even the fires of inquisition will not overtake such truth.
By Mr. Brady Erickson, 5th & 6th GradeTeacher