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Okay, first watch the short video, then let’s talk.
This is an adaptation of a story Henri Nouwen used to tell. Voice, illustrations, direction by Allen Weathers…
Before the dawn of time as we know it, God foresaw. [click to continue…]
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For Sale: Parachute. Only used once, never opened, small stain.
You and I were created in a stainless image. Our first parents appeared on the outside as what they were on the inside – innocent in the likeness of their Creator.
Then came the Stain.
Soiled and discolored, we instinctively knew something was wrong. We tried soaking it out and scrubbing it out. But the Stain never went away. Like silver is discolored simply by exposure to the air, we were forever tarnished by the choices we made, and those made upon us:
Passion stains. Anger stains. Gluttony stains. Pride stains. Fear stains. Rejection stains. Deception stains.
Pick a role, we’ve tried it out. [click to continue…]
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Rag. Now there’s an every-day word.
Unsophisticated, earthy, almost guttural – rags are blue-collar, made-for-dirt, hidden-from-company kind of stuff.
We all have them, but some people go to considerable lengths to deny it.
“It’s not a wash rag, dear. It’s a wash cloth.”
“Oh. Yew not from around heah, are ya’?”
That t-shirt or those shorts you’re wearing? Rags in the making.
I grew up with wash rags, shop rags, shoeshine rags, snot rags (my dad’s term), and dust rags. “Dust cloths” were the property of Yankees and people from other parts of town. [click to continue…]
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Sometimes people do profound, powerful, healing things because they see the light. Sometimes they do it because they feel the heat.
Imagine for a minute that you’re part of a crew of thousands, sent by no less than the king of a global power, to do the most important assignment of your life. Your job is to rebuild the temple of God.
For seventy years your people have languished. All your life, you’ve heard the stories.
The land.
The promise.
The covenants.
The city. Oh, the city!
And there on a mount called Moriah, you’ve heard about the most splendid, most glorious instrument of the worship of God. Envisioned by the Sweet Psalmist of Israel, and built by his son, the wisest of kings ever to occupy the planet, this masterpiece was destroyed.
Your fathers came clean with you. They owned up: they’d screwed up miserably. And there was nobody to blame but themselves.
But today’s a new day, [click to continue…]
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