Author: ppadmin

Oh, Sweet Surrender, inviting our companionship along the road
 of righteousness,

Hear the thankful hearts gathered in this tent of meeting.

You—Honor of the Humble and Restorer of Faithfulness,

In the midst of great pain the Beloved spoke these words to the Apostle Paul: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

Grace is always sufficient when crops are abundant and food is plentiful; when benefit-laden jobs can be had; when crushing illness and death’s visitation are distant and anonymous;

When pin-striped, silk-tied pirates no longer plunder tomorrow’s dreams; when young ones have all that is needed for healthy bodies and vigorous minds; and when old ones need not fear being burdensome or abandoned.

After the mad dash from Egypt’s sweatshops and migrant labor camps—and after the Prophet Miriam led the people in songs of liberation—the People of Exodus trudge through the wilderness of privation and discontent, where dreams of the Promised Land of Plenty grow distant and dim. Unrelenting thirst overtakes them. Cotton-mouthed complaints grow louder.

Is the Lord among us or not?

First at the pool at Marrah [bitterness] then the land of Massah [testing] and Meribah [quarrelling], the Beloved responds.

Drenched by Jordan’s buoyant power, confirmed by dove’s anointing perch, conformed to Heaven’s sundering plow, bewildering days now beckon.

Spirit-led and Spirit-fed, off to the famishing wilds now tread.

To face the full force of the Tempter’s enticements: Can the river’s wet mark endure wilderness heat?

Attention,
all you spiritual shoppers.
There are no discounts. No sale prices.
No fifty percent off summer specials, no bonus miles,
no pre-inventory clearance or back-to-school savings.

There are no shortcuts to faith, no money-back guarantees, no lifetime warranties or last-minute deals.

There are no wading pools. The depths are deep and
turbulence is standard. Every minute is your last.

In seasons of dark desire eyes strain for Eden’s refrain and flickered light ’mid the fright of earth’s travail. Oh, Beloved …

Unleash your Voice of Pardon from wrath’s consuming reign. Speak peace to the hungered of heart.

Spring from the ground, hope-soaked, heeding Glory’s approach and steadfast love’s embrace. Oh, Beloved . . .

As the nations rage, as the memory of bitter blood stains our hearts, we languish on the porticoes of pain, near to the healing water’s stir. But who dares carry us to the resurrection pool?

We remember today, fifty years since past, the buoyant life of Denise McNair, age 11, caught up in the deadly virtue of bomb-laden revenge.

The blind, the lamed, the halt and shamed assemble to ask: Who can take me to the water?

Come to the Mercy Seat, to hear
the Word of gracious entreaty:
Life is more than bartered goods;
more still than hedged funds
                 and market share.

Come to the Mercy Seat, to hear
the Word of gracious appeal:
Faith is more than philosophical posture;
          more still than fondling guarantee.

Come to the Mercy Seat, to hear
     the Word of gracious insistence:
Hope is more than risk aversion;
     more still than fingers crossed
           or fanciful dreaming.

Revel in the Beloved’s presence, every day and every way. Organize every nerve in your body to help you stay in touch with God’s nearness.

Shower encouragement everywhere you go.

Fretfulness and anxiety are like monsters in the closet. Get up, go over and throw open the door, yelling “AM-SCRAY!” Get lost!

Beloved, we give thanks:
For those who plow and plant,
those who harvest
and those who harbor
the promise of the day when all shall eat and be satisfied.

We give thanks:
For the day when all go out in joy
and are led back in peace,
the hills bursting in song, the trees in applause.

On that day no backs
shall bend in stress,
no arms ache or hands callous,
nor shirts drench in sweat,
with the bounty bound for the tables
of those whose eyes already swell out in fatness.