Dark clouds boomed overhead dimming the sky like mud in a
puddle. Underneath them stand 300 men, all beaten and bleeding; most unable to
stay up without the aid of a comrade. There was an eerie silence about them. Each soldier clenched his sword in one hand, and held his shield in the other. Cool air embraced them as it was scooped from a nearby ocean. The natural silence was broken as a dark mass appeared in the
horizon. On the men’s left and right are two tall towers of rock climbing into
the clouds. Behind them, all of their loved ones hide in their homes. The men are the only gate stopping the quickly approaching mass from destroying their town.
Without their blood, the blood of their family members would be shed. They knew
the debt that they had inquired when they marched into battle. Each soldier began
white-knuckling his sword as the mass could be separated into thousands of men.
A tall bearded man stood before the group. His dark eyes pierced through his
half broken helmet and penetrated into them. They knew what he was about to
do; it was the only option. With one swift motion he raised his blade and
shouted in Greek “MOLON LABE.” He
then turned, lifted his dented and scratched shield from the dust of the earth,
and ran bravely into the attackers. As swords were thrown, and blood was shed,
the Spartans all took their final breath in the name of sacrifice.
Fast forward 2316 years and another group of men are sitting
under equally dark clouds. Blood stained sand surrounds the boots of each
soldier. Friends lie motionless in the corners of their fort as a raging army
continues its attack. The fallen soldiers final breathes were taken days ago. Their
sacrifices were well noted, but the outside attack was not quenched. The only
thing keeping the cannon fire and bullets from ripping through them is the
crumbling walls of an old church. Only three days ago 186 men stood inside the
garrison. Now there are barely 40 who can walk, talk, and fire a rifle. In
the heart of the church stand two men, one holding a large serrated knife, and
the other wearing a faded coon-skin cap. Both have leathery worn down faces,
but their eyes pierce through the hearts of everyone still alive. The intensity
of gun fire outside the weakened church walls began to increase, and everyone
inside could hear the attacking army quickly approach. Death was imminent, but
if these brave men did not fight the approaching infantry, then all of their
loved ones would suffer a similar death. The man in the coon-skin cap set his
rifle in the bloody dust and leaned down to pick something up. From the ground
he lifted a flag and held it above his head. Across the fabric of the stained
banner was the image of a cannon and the phrase “Come and take it.” Without a
word he began running to the partitions of the church still holding the flag
high. As dozens of enemy soldiers climbed over the walls the soldiers at the
Alamo took their final breath in the name of sacrifice.
Everyone knows the stories about the 300 spartans and the
Alamo, but few people know that they died saying the same thing. “Come and Take it.” All great acts share
a similar characteristic that people admire. It’s not that people are forced to
appreciate them, but that there is a global moral code that everyone, no matter
how lost they are, abides by. The idea that a man or a woman can bid their life
for the life of another and bravely cry Molon labe, or come and take it, is
universally awe-inspiring.
Do you know why? It’s
because human nature is, fundamentally, geared towards keeping oneself as safe
as possible. The idea of putting yourself in the position of non-safety is
scary, but the idea of putting yourself in the position of non-safety to ensure
the safety of someone else is counter-cultural. And we love things that are counter-cultural.
Even the first Christian martyr, Stephen, died to exemplify
the idea of Christ whom he loved. As he was dragged from the tabernacle by
aggressive persecutors and stoned to death he cried to God, “come and take my spirit.” Come and Take
it. But it doesn't stop there?
Jesus was captured by the roman army after a night of
sweating blood. He was then dragged before merciless men to have blood brutally
beaten out of him. Finally, he was NAILED to a cross where he bled the last of
his blood onto the sins of mankind. And when he took his final breath he raised his
head and said, “Father, come and take my
spirit.” Come and take it.
All great stories have the same message. Molon labe, come and take it, means more than how it sounds. These are the
words of a man who will not stop until he has fallen for the final time. It
takes blood, a lot of blood, to keep a true hero from uttering this phrase.
So why do I tell you this story? Because, the only people
who will finish reading this post are the ones who have an ounce of desire to
die for a cause. A lot of people will shrug this off as an attempt at a
motivational speech, but it’s not. I can’t motivate you to die for something; I
can only motivate you to try something. This post is for people who already
have the character to sacrifice for someone/something. All I ask is, when the
time comes, will you make that sacrifice, and is that sacrifice for the right
thing?
Just think about it.
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