For a decade, I have shouldered my Templar Mantle prior to each Templar event and worn it with a solemn pride that is difficult to put my finger on. Sometimes I think it is because I am deeply honored to carry on the tasks in this century that were formerly borne by my remarkable forefathers living within the very shadow of Solomon’s Temple. Yet, other times I am likewise honored by being part of a fellowship that is first and foremost all about honoring the same Christ and His perfect Kingdom – the core focus of Templar life for nearly a millennium.
But as I sit wrapped in the smooth white fabric of my mantle, it is the large vermillion red cross that boldly emblazons it that always finally captures my fullest attention. To me, that cross is the brilliant remembrance of everything Templar – of all that I am sworn to be undertaking for the Great Kingdom of Love and Light.
The red cross pattée of the Templar’s history is embedded within that vermillion cross, for it has symbolized the commitment to a life of service to God’s Kingdom, granted to us in 1147 by Pope Eugene III. It has become known as the cross of martyrdom, as our Lord Jesus Christ first modeled on the Cross of Calvery – a martyrdom that every Templar vows to emulate by expending our lives for the cause of the Great Kingdom –either in battle or on the long road to Zion’s eternal gates.
Often, as I am musing on these weighty things, my fingers will brush the red cross of commitment just to remind me it is there. I sense the extreme change in fabric from the smooth white of my mantle representing the purity of my avowed Kingdom purpose to the ridge of the cross with its own distinctive feel.
The transition from representative purity to the willing shedding of my life’s blood is always dramatic to me. Sometimes I find myself contemplating whether this is real or just symbolic, to which the Holy Spirit prompts me to consider whether the Kingdom of God is real to me or just symbolic – for therein certainly lies the clear and unambiguous answer.
It is a little embarrassing to be schooled by the Spirit of the Living God in such a way, for He knows my heart much better than I do. And He knows that to me there is nothing in or about the Kingdom of God that is merely symbolic. Indeed, God’s Kingdom is more real and far more authentic than anything of the physical world that I can see and feel.
In this exchange of wisdom from God’s heart to mine, from the white fabric to the red, I learn a most worthy life lesson. I do not wear the mantle of the Templar. I never have. For, rather, I have been granted its grace through the privilege of allowing it to cover me.
And it is not my fingers that touch the red cross to which I have vowed my life, my time, my treasure, and my reputation…
For it is the cross that touches me.