Author: ppadmin

With good pleasure, in the beginning, the Beloved aspired all that now breathes. Then again, in the Lovely One, even Christ Jesus, the Wind of Heaven confounds the wail of rancor.

Come, heaven! Come, earth! With mercy so tender, adopted in splendor, all bloodletting malice shall melt into praise.

Riches of grace are lavishing still—breathlessly awaiting the fullness of days, when all will be gathered and richly arrayed.

God’s glory is on tour in the skies,

Divine handiwork is visible on every corner.

Is this work a struggle?

In the face of endless aggrievement and obstinate bereavement, despite hope-contempting fear on display in every mother’s tear,

Let us go, let us go to the hallowed abode of the One who brings solace and cheer.

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem, where Abraham’s children contend; pray, too, for the peace of Asheville, each fracture and failure amend.

In the book by his name, Job is addressed directly by the Lord God: “Gird up you loins, oh human one! I have questions for you. See if you can answer.

“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Who laid its cornerstone, when the morning stars sang together and all the children of God shouted for joy?

“Who shut in the sea with doors when it burst forth from my womb and fashioned its garment with clouds?

Jesus said to his disciples:
     Want to travel the Way with me?
     Then get over yourself, step out on the road,
     get in the way of every hostile host,
     and follow my lead.

Gonna get on the Way, walkin’ every day, no matter what
     they say or think, we’re gettin’ in the way.

Oh, but couldn’t we just believe in you, Jesus? We’ve got
     lots of books on that, and bumper stickers to spare.

And after they had eaten, Jesus took his disciples, walking east, away from the Old City of Jerusalem and its Temple Mount, descending through the Kidron Valley, and up again to the Mount of Olives and a garden named Gethsemane. Maybe he was tempted to keep on going.

But he stopped. To watch, to wait, to pray.

And the text says he was sorrowed and sad, anxious and anguished, troubled and tried and tempted to run.

Picture this, if you can: The Lord God of Hosts stands at the church house door, at the pulpit, at the communion table, maybe even at the potluck dinner counter, hands perched on hips, lips pursed and brows furrowed, voice wavering with a parental mixture of broiling anger and urgent affection, saying:

What in heaven’s name has gotten into you dimwitted people of the Promise, you ninny-headed, shallow-hearted sucklings of the Most High God!

From the lofty perch of Creation’s spire, your presidents and parliaments, your bankers and barons—they all look pretty puny to me.

One: The mighty One—Blessed be the Name!—speaks and summons the earth, from the rising of the sun to its setting.

All: Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty, God shines in brilliant radiance.

One: The Beloved comes and does not keep silence; a devouring fire lights the way, and a mighty tempest marks the moment.

Merciful One, for You alone does my soul wait in silence. Our only hope comes from Your presence.

I believe. Help my unbelief.

You alone are my rock and my salvation and my fortress. I shall not be shaken. We shall not be moved.

For what do we hope?

We hope for the Beloved’s Promise to overtake the world’s broken-hearted threat.

For what do we long?