Salvation

Of Cowboys

Salvation

Of Christians

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

            I’m looking for something everlasting.

            Something pure and simple that never fades, never cuts deeply and never destroys. Something that makes me better. Something that speaks gently and remains unconditional. Something that forever remains young and vibrant. Something that expects the most out of me but responds in kind. Something brutally truthful and honestly simple. Today is certainly the most important day of the year for such thoughts isn’t it?

Indeed, Blessed Easter has arrived.

Of Cowboys

We should have met on a high point and watched the sun come up this morning.

Our mounts should have been there with us. Ranch horses they are. Part of our lives they are. We could have remained mounted looking eastward or we could have dismounted and knelt as the first rays of sun broke over the horizon. In respect, our hats should have been removed and held. Somebody who felt moved should have offered the first prayer. Most of us would have agreed that silence would have also sufficed. The immensity of what lay in front of us spoke much louder than words.

Even though organist Ruth might have disagreed, we would have been inclined to sing In the Garden. Such immensity of emotion that song always is to me. The genesis of its impact is one very important human being in my past. It has always been part of my life as long as I can remember. It also mirrors the life we live and the garden we tend.

We would have sung Amazing Grace, too. A thousand years of tending this garden is promise beyond all hope and its sidekick, dreams.

If we were all together, representatives from all regions, adherence to strict tradition would be important. The puncher creases, swell forks, the batwings, the grazer bits, the absence of much accoutrement and refinement, and ropes tied fast and hard would suggest our brethren had ridden in from points east.

Our brothers from the south would be identified by their sombreros, half chaps or tailored, snug chaparreras, naked swells, braided reatas, rein chains, and more good horses. They were the first ashore, and they taught us many things.

From the western slope, the buckaroos would be mounted on slick forks with long, slapping tapaderos. Their 60’ ropes would have served two or even three of us just fine. With flat hats, Garcia bits, Ortega bosals, and chinks, they would stand out, but they would easily be identified as our brothers.

From a line drawn due north from the Potrillos to the eastern slope of Alberta and buffers for several hundred miles east to west, our dress, traditions, and our ways would be a blend of influences of our forefathers. Up until today, those of us in the south would have worn our felts knowing that tomorrow marks the annual right to start wearing fresh straws if the winds allow. Four-ounce shotguns would likely fit us all. We will drink morning coffee while the northerners might drink tea and would, for sure, keep their felts or even Stormy Kromers on a bit longer, but we could all be inclined to share a bottle of something stronger.

Sitting on that point watching this sunrise, though, would unite us. The immensity of it all would get our attention as it does in every range we ride because it isn’t just what we do.

It’s who we are.

Of Christians

Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, didn’t promise us a rose garden, did he?

His gift of Salvation is our uniting factor. When all else is considered what more can there be?

Nearly 2000 years ago on Friday He died on the Cross to fulfill his promise and his mission for us. He was as real as we are today. In those days, there were no Iphones or Intel chips, but He was hardwired into a much greater power.

Through the centuries, scholars and others have devoted unending efforts to discount scripture and his existence, but after all this time He survives in the hearts and the minds of his true Christians followers.

In fact, we are told that Christianity continues to grow in numbers. The highest growth is where it might be most unexpected. China and Africa are the hotbeds of modern growth. Where persecution and strife are most severe are the fertile grounds of the emergence of Christians.

The promise of eternal life manifests itself when strife is greatest.

A comparison is unavoidable. As Christians, we should have gathered on that high point and watched the sun come up this morning. Our shields should have been with us. Bibles they are. Part of our lives they are. We could have stood awaiting the morning sun, but then knelt as the first rays broke over the horizon. Somebody who felt moved would have offered a first prayer. Most of us might have agreed that silence would have also sufficed, but our Bibles would have reminded us that shouts of thanksgiving are also appropriate and proper even though what lay before us spoke as loud as any words.

Even though organist Ruth (or Jackie) might have disagreed, some of us would have insisted on singing In the Garden. Such immensity of emotion that song always elicits.

We would have sung Amazing Grace, too. A promised thousand years of tending this garden would hold rapt attention.

Of course, it would have been followed by Lift High the Cross with the last verse reverberating across the plain and toward the mountains in front of us. The words would have all been mixed through the throngs of brothers and sisters gathered, but the tune was all the same. It is hardwired into our souls, our hearts, and our being.

Sitting on that point watching the sun rise would bring us all closer because it is who we are and what we believe … He is Arisen!

Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “Blessed Easter!”