The substance of things hoped for. The evidence of things not seen.
It strengthens the weak. It quenches the violence of fire. It stops the mouths of lions.
It builds nations. It shatters cities. It rises, undaunted and undefeated, above the blood and misery of this life.
It walks, singing praises, into the jaws of Death.
It saves lives. It destroys evil. It upholds, uplifts; it loves, it lives. Temptation, stoning, sawing asunder, destitution, affliction, torment, even death itself cannot triumph over it; it burns not like a candle but like a wildfire.
It parts seas and brings walls thundering down amidst the dust of their sinfulness. It washes the sinner in blood and brings him out clean and sparkling, a new man. It abides forever.
It is everything to me.
It is my life, my breath; it is the reason why I get up in the mornings and lay my head down fearlessly at night. It is the reason I ever have the strength to do anything. Before I had this, I have no idea how I even stayed alive.
It is my joy. It is the means of living, of laughing; without it there would be no reason to sing or dance, to leap or love, to walk, to run, to scream with the wonderfulness of the world.
It has been condemned. It has been thrown to the lions, beaten, nailed to a cross; it has been ripped apart by greedy hands, it has been squashed by cowards, it has been pierced through and through, hacked asunder by swords. Most recently, it has been trampled on, spat on, ripped and torn by that sharpest of all blades, words. It has been renounced. It has been deemed fit only for idiots and small children. With fossilised bones and fossilised hearts, even the intelligent men have screamed defiance against it, have cast it aside like nothing.
It has never been defeated, nor will it ever be. All this will pass away; the sky will fall, the earth will fail and they, still clinging to their fossils, will watch their world crumble around them. But those who have it will hold their hands up to the clouds and sing their joy, for it is the promise of something better. For it will last forever.
They call it stupidity. They call it myth. They call it foolishness.
We call it faith.
For Daily Prompt: Un/Faithful