...ENOUGH

Add to your believing deeds that prove it true ---

Knowing Christ as Savior, make Him Master too;

Follow in His footsteps, go where He has trod,

In the world’s great trouble risk yourself for God.

---Bryan Jeffery Leech, 1975

…In the world’s great trouble, risk yourself for God. Risk yourself for God. Risk yourself.

When I think of the term ‘risk’, what come immediately to mind are conventional things. I think of things the world would call risky --- speeding, unsafe sex, day trading, touching raw poultry…you get the picture. Way down on my list would be taking the risk of following in Jesus’ footsteps. What kind of risks might there be in following Jesus’ leadership out in the ‘real world’? 

How about standing with the outcast? Standing up for love in a world where hate is a gut reaction and ‘staying out of things that don’t involve you’ is considered, well, magnanimous enough? Turning the other cheek…going the second mile? Tipping over the tables of the moneychangers on a raking-it-in-hand-over-fist-type day? Saying "ENOUGH, for God's sake!" to the body count that rises higher than the temperature on an Alabama July day?

Things like that could get a person in trouble…

Risk yourself.

...bound too long

Lo! the hosts of evil round us scorn thy Christ, assail his ways!

Fears and doubts too long have bound us, free our hearts to work and praise.

Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, for the living of these days.

---Harry Emerson Fosdick, 1930

Careful now. Before we go seeing monsters under every bed, and bogeymen around every corner, let’s be clear-headed. When the hosts of evil scorn Jesus and his ways, what ways exactly are they disregarding? What are Jesus’ defining ways? I am going to go out on a limb here, and say that anytime you saw Jesus speak for the voiceless, stand with the invisible, lift up the lowly, welcome the outsider, or free the oppressed, it was then you were seeing the ways of Christ.

And if that be true, the hymn’s next line is put into beautiful, and perfect, and fearsome context for us. Because, my friends, I have been afraid. To speak up in the face of hate or disregard. I have doubted. Whether I was strong enough to stand up. Whether it would be worth it. Even (God forgive me) whether my stand would be fully understood and appreciated. Fears and doubts have silenced my speech and frozen me into inaction. I have not walked in Jesus’ ways.

Well, I checked, and there is no way Harry Emerson Fosdick, the prominent progressive pastor who penned this hymn, and John Mayer, popular singer-songwriter, could have been best friends. The dates just don’t line up. But, folks, let me tell you, I think they would have shared a groovy moment of synchronicity over some of their writing and personal philosophies. Because here is a verse of Mayer’s song Say:

            Even if your hands are shaking

            And your faith is broken

            Even as the eyes are closing

            Do it with a heart wide open

            Say what you need to say

Grant us wisdom, grant us courage. To say what we need to say.

...let's make something!

The love of Jesus calls us in swiftly changing days,

To be God’s co-creators in new and wondrous ways;

That God with men and women may so transform the earth,

That love and peace and justice may give God’s kingdom birth.

---Herbert O'Driscoll, 1989

“Let’s make something!” These are the words, this is the invitation, that sets things in motion. At my friend’s home, you can bet the end result will be sweet and sticky, jam or muffins, cake or cookies. At my house, there might be music to be made, with everyone’s voice or instrument playing a part. In some homes, in some places in Alabama, quilts are being pieced. At your house there might be a puzzle to be put together, or a craft project, or an object d’art, a play to be staged, or a tale to be spun. At your place, goody bags for the weekend backpack program might be stuffed, or items for Christmas jail boxes might be gathered and shoeboxes might be wrapped.

In this hymn we are reminded that Jesus calls us to ‘make something’ together with God---to be co-creators of a new realm where love and justice and peace are the guiding lights. Wait. We…are co- creators…with THE Creator? How in the world is that supposed to work? What could you or I make that could stand alongside God’s work? That, I think, is part of what makes the Good News good---our creation doesn’t have to stand up to God’s…it stands with God’s, as part of a beautiful whole, every person’s contribution to the creation of this new world consecrated by its dedication to our co-Creator.

Let’s make something! It will be glorious.

...losing your grip

You call us, Christ, to gather the people of the earth.

We cannot fish for only those lives we think have worth.

We spread your net of gospel across the water’s face,

Our boat a common shelter for all found by Your grace.

---Sylvia Dunstan, 1991

Tell a good enough story, you never know who might show up!

Picture this. You’ve got this great product, and you want to get the word out. But. You want to practice a little targeted-demographic marketing. You only want to attract a certain kind of clientele. So you shape your message, subliminally almost, choose your media carefully, vet your messengers---all in the hope of building the kind of customer base you have in mind. Great plan.

But something goes awry. Maybe there are leaks in your marketing. Maybe your media shifts at the last minute. But the story gets out---wide. And people have been waiting for this. The---crowd---goes---wild! Everybody wants in on what you are offering. That exclusive demographic? Fugeddaboudit. You have just lost your grip on your brand.

Sometimes good news is like that. It goes where it wants, not where we plan. Thank God. Because, friends, our plans are never as grand as God’s. Our vision is never as long as God’s. And our reach is never as broad as God’s. So, although letting go of the marketing plan can be a little scary (‘The Spirit is on the loose!’ says a friend of mine gleefully, only half-joking), trusting God’s story to do its work in the world and welcoming all who come is a pretty good plan all on its own!

Let’s see who shows up!

---Leigh Anne

...the morning after world

Where yearning hearts dream, though no joy appears,

and burning hopes gleam through crystalline tears,

O spirit, pray for us still, give wings to our fears.

And all shall be well.

And all things shall be well.

---Mary Louise Bringle, 2002

'Weeping may linger for the night,' says the psalmist, 'but joy comes in the morning.'

But what if it doesn't? What if morning dawns, and the only sound is the ragged breath of weary weeping, the only feeling the soggy pillowcase under a head that has tossed and turned through a sleepless night? Or friends, what if the sounds morning brings are the ones that greeted crime scene investigators in Orlando Sunday morning---their own shoes beginning to stick to the congealing blood on the killing floor, and the incessant ringing of cellphones in the pockets of slain loved ones as their families try in vain to make sure they are safe?

Will joy come that morning, or any morning? Is there anything left but fear? Fear of this world; fear of cheap, throwaway life; fear of those who live differently; fear of those who pray a different way; fear of guns; fear of someone taking the guns; fear of whatever is other?

As we gaze at the morning-after world through our tears, what is left us, after all? Anything at all?

Well, it may not be joy, friends; not yet, not yet. And it may not be joy for a while. Joy might come, on some morning, when our wounds are not so fresh, and just the thought of the pain no longer makes us wince and cower. Some glad morning, joy might just sneak up on us.

But hope. Burning hope. Not just a wishing kind of hope, sitting around twiddling its thumbs and sighing. No, friends. The kind of hope that gets up off its tail and does something. The kind that reaches out to welcome another to the task of rebuilding this broken world. The kind that kicks butt and takes names. The kind that sends fear fleeing into the night. Burning hope.

With that kind of hope, Julian of Norwich's words just might start to whisper truth to the fear that has shouted through the night:

    'All shall be well.

     All shall be well.

    And all manner of things shall be well.'

...seeking that city

In haunts of wretchedness and need,

On shadowed thresholds dark with fears,

From paths where hide the lures of greed

We catch the vision of your tears.

---Frank Mason North, 1903

What a privilege we have today, to experience this hymn, just over a century old. It presents a great contrast between two cities --- one earthly, one the city of God. In this verse, I can almost feel the dank walls of the city closing in on me: narrow alleys with doorways leading to shadowy rooms; streets crowded with strangers passing, eyes down; threat of danger holding in the stale air like a threadbare blanket. Wretchedness, greed, fear, the noise of selfish strife, lurk around each corner and haunt each boulevard.

But there is another city, another city than the one we manage to create when left to our own devices. This city is inhabited with love, and the streets are paved with the footfalls of Jesus; walking in them, living in the atmosphere of love, we put our hands to the wheel to co-create the Kingdom with our Savior. The cup of cold water still holds the freshness of grace; we tread the streets together, Christ among us, on his face “strong compassion.”

Seeking that City…

...like mothers do

The Lord is never far away, but through all grief distressing,

An ever-present help and stay, our peace and joy and blessing;

As with a mother’s tender hand He leads His own, His chosen band:

to God all praise and glory.

---Johann Jakob Schutz, 1675

The hardest place in the world to be. Is it stuck in a rip current? At the beginning of a final exam for which you have neglected to properly prepare? Sitting in the doctor’s office and no one will meet your eye? At home watching the clock, waiting for a child out long past curfew, again?

In my experience, the hands-down hardest place in this world to be is alone. Almost anything I can think of can be faced down successfully with an ally beside you. And almost anything can seem insurmountable when you feel that you are facing it by yourself. Jesus himself seemed to understand the human craving for “with-ness”, for his promise recorded in John 14:18 is this: I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.

In this text, hymnist Johann Schutz imagined God as ever-present and tenderly guiding as the mother of a toddler, continually offering a hand to steady, to guide, to reassure; never more than an instant away, so that the stresses and dangers of life, its hurts and heartaches, need not be faced alone, but in the loving presence of One who bore us and loves us fiercely. And tenderly. Like mothers do.

And won’t let us go it alone.

...the darkness hide thee

Holy, holy, holy! though the darkness hide thee,

though the eye of sinful man thy glory may not see;

only thou art holy; there is none beside thee,

Perfect in power, in love, and purity.

---Reginald Heber, 1826

It has been a little while (ahem) since I last studied child development, so this week I did a bit of refreshing on the concept of ‘object permanence’. The theory behind object permanence is this: once human comprehension develops to a certain level we can grasp the idea that objects can exist, even when we cannot see them. I was imagining that the age for developing this sense might be a year to 18 months old, and was surprised to find that current research supports a range of three to eight months as the time frame for this understanding to emerge. Imagine how terrifying a game of peekaboo would be for a young child with no sense of object permanence --- when you cover up your face, you are actually gone!

Though we would all agree that God is not object, this hymn suggests that a sense of object permanence is necessary in visioning Godself, individually and as a people. At times both the shadows of this world --- hate, violence, disregard, presumption --- and the shadows of our own souls --- hurt, fear, envy, pain, disappointment --- keep us from laying eyes on the glory, the evidence, of God’s presence with us. None of those shadows, though, none of them, keep the reality of God’s presence from us.

As we, then, whatever our stage of human or divine development, seek a sense of communion with Holiness, may we remember: seen or unseen, hidden or revealed, speaking or silent, God is with us, close as breath, holy.

...breathe in, breathe out

Breathe on me, Breath of God, fill me with life anew,

That I may love what Thou dost love,

And do what Thou wouldst do.

Breathe on me, Breath of God, until my heart is pure,

Until with Thee I will Thy will,

To do and to endure.

---Edwin Hatch, 1878

There is a holiness about a small child, snuggled under your chin, sleeping soundly. There is a deep, even, peaceful breathing that is like no other sound or sensation on this earth; and before you even realize it, you have fallen under its spell. Your breath pattern speeds or slows, shallows or deepens, and matches the child in your arms. In an elemental way, in that moment, you will what that child wills. A holy moment.

I wonder if perhaps hymnist Edwin Hatch had experienced such a high holy moment, whether he called it to remembrance as he penned these words. Imagine, if you can, matching your breath to the very breath of a living God. Breath that would enliven, empower, inspire, embolden. Breath that would draw you into communion with a God Who has been in love with you since the beginning of time, wanting nothing more than to breath in unison with you. Breath that would fill you like that. I could use some of that.

Breathe on me, Breath of God…

...God in a box

The church of Christ cannot be bound by walls of wood or stone.

Where charity and love are found, there can the church be known.

---Adam M. L. Tice, 2005

When Sarah was a young child, she wore out a CD of kids’ Christian songs---knew every word on every track, and often sang them at the top of her lungs. Lucky for me, the music was fine (mostly) and the theology had some meat on its bones. One of the songs on the CD was ‘If You Tried to Put God in a Box’. The first little bit goes,

            If you tried to put God in a box, how big would the box have to be?

            How strong would you make it? How long would it last

            If you tried to put God in a box?

The answer to this child’s riddle, of course, is that God will not be boxed in by any construction of human hand or mind. The irony, of course, is that we, most of us, spend our lives trying mightily to build that box. And to get our version of a greatly diminished God to jump on in. How foolish, to strive and strive to remake our Maker over in our own image---to fit our box. Ah, but fear not. God has no intention of being confined to any space we can imagine.

Thank God.

And here’s the other thing. The Church? The Body of Christ? We were never meant to be bound by the geometry of the cube. What draws us inward is only to energize and strengthen us to burst every boundary that separates us from a weak and wounded world. What pulls us close is to prepare us to fling light into the shadows and shower love on disregard. Those were never walls---they were bridges, for God’s sake.

Thanks be to you, O God. For you never met a box you didn’t break. Embolden your Church to live/love with the same reckless abandon.

...in our best moments

Like a mother with her children You will comfort us each day,

giving guidance on our journey, as we seek to find our way.

When we walk through fiery trials, You will help us take a stand;

when we pass through troubled waters, You hold out Your tender hand.

---Jann Aldredge-Clanton, 2000

Motherhood is often a balancing act. When to insist on vegetables first at dinner, when to sneak a little dessert in? When to stretch that last bedtime story to two (or three, or…)? When to let the baby cry it out, when to gather her up in your arms and tuck her in beside you? When shorts pants and knickers, when blue jeans and khakis? When to protect, when to challenge? When to comfort, when to brush off? When to support, when to caution? When to hold on, when to let go?

The same could be said of fatherhood, I’m sure (don’t know, never been a father). The thing is, this holy dance of parenthood is a weaving, the weft and warp that colors the character of our children. And God, in whose image we are created, and our pattern in all things, models for us both the compassion and the courage of a mother or a father for us.

For God offers both comfort and guidance, each in appropriate measure and at appropriate time. And when flood waters or trial fires rise around us, God’s hand is reaching out --- ahead of us, to rescue us; or at our backs, to urge us on to our own brave action. Because, in our best moments, that’s what mothers, and fathers, do.

We can hear You gently saying, “Do not worry, do not fear;

for I’ll always go beside you; every moment I am near.”

...red Alabama dirt remembers

The red Alabama dirt remembers, in gashes only now beginning to heal. Five years ago, and it was yesterday, and it was forever ago. 

Where were you when the earth changed? This date always takes me back, and I return to this old post, and add a thought or two. And remember...

...

On this day four years ago, storms of fierce intensity ripped through Alabama, making it one of the largest outbreaks of super-tornadoes in state history. Indeed, the period of April 25-28 marked one of the most violent super-tornado outbreaks in recorded US history. On that day, the earth changed, very literally; but more than that, perhaps, peoples' psychic topography was forever altered. There was a seismic shift that day in the way many of us viewed security, permanence, and the future.

The question, then, becomes, 'Where do we turn when the earth changes?' Apparently circumstances may seem new, but questions are not, for the Psalmist looks up from the ruins of a changed earth and seeks what help may be found, a refuge and strength, a help, in a still-mysterious 'God'. We still may.

I am drawn and re-drawn to Psalm 46 when my earth changes. This post originally appeared on September 11, 2013.

God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear,
though the earth should change...
     ---from Psalm 46

The world of Psalm 46 is fearsome --- full of natural disasters, the man-made disaster of war, and, most of all, 'change'. When has the earth changed for you? Was it tsunami, wildfire? The Gulf War Syndrome or traumatic brain injury that have followed our fighting men and women home from war? The day we remember today, when terrorists flew planes into the twin towers of the World Trade Towers? The day 50 years ago when cowards in Birmingham set off bombs that took the lives of four little girls, and dogs and fire-hoses were unleashed on the youth of the city? Or has your earth changed more privately? Beloved friend or family member wasting away with cancer? A child wandering away from you? A failure at work or in marriage?

Obviously, our belief in God didn't protect us from these disasters of circumstance, of nature, of hatred, of gaps in medical knowledge; nor were we protected from our questions about how these things happen to 'good' people in God's world.

In this 46th chapter of the Psalms, though, God is described as 'refuge', 'strength', 'help', 'presence', 'with us'. Right here, right now, amid our troubles, God is present with us. When the earth changes, God is with us. When the whole world seems to shake with the portent of evils now or yet to come, God is with us.

Be still; acknowledge God's presence. When we need to hide from the changes and be quiet, God is here --- refuge, strength, help. God is here with us.

...what light does

Live Your Light within and through us,

dawn in us eternal day.

Tell us, as we brave the darkness,

when to speak and what to say.

---Terry W. York, 2006

If you learned the song as a child, I bet you’ll have trouble not acting out some of the motions right now, where you sit---

            This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine,

Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!

            Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m gonna let it shine!

            Won’t let Satan {whuff} it out! I’m gonna let it shine!

Did I see you with your finger up, “letting it shine?” There is such a good message for us in this simple song---the message to live our truth boldly in the world, unashamed of the love we profess, refusing to let the not-love quench the flame. I want to live this way, I do; and some days I get closer than others.

But here’s the thing. If the Source of Light is in us (and It is, oh, It is), we. just. shine. Not because we’re shiny every single day. Not because we produce any light in and of ourselves. But because the Source, the Light of the World, is in us, lighting the world through us. All we’ve got to do is get out of the way and let the Light do…what Light does, for Heaven’s sake.

With the light of Christ in you---I dare you not to shine.

...the not knowing

Green pastures are before me, which yet I have not seen;

bright skies will soon be o’er me, where the dark clouds have been:

my life I cannot measure, the path of life is free;

my Savior has my treasure, and he will walk with me.

---Anna L. Waring, 1850

The not knowing. Is there a more helpless feeling than not seeing the path that lies ahead of you, not being certain of what the future holds for you? How are we to plan, to plot our course, to steel ourselves against the possibility of future injury or harm without the knowing?

Let go. Let go of knowing. Let go the stress of needing to be in control of a future that was never yours to begin with. Trust that your pathway will wind its way through green pastures, under bright skies. Trust that the Savior holds what is truly treasure for your life.

And know this one thing: the steps you take, wherever your path leads, are walked beside your Savior. Every step, in shadow or sun, through green pasture or shadowed wood---never alone.

...flashlight, not floodlight

Oh, how sweet to walk in this pilgrim way, leaning on the everlasting arms;

oh, how bright the path grows from day to day, leaning on the everlasting arms.

---Elisha A. Hoffman, 1887

Path. Way. Journey. Through the years, these expressions of spiritual life have come to ring truest in my ear, and resonate most soundly in my soul. While I am not always positive about my destination, and my goals change, and sometimes finish lines seem frustratingly movable, feeling called to the journey is a constant. If day breaks, there is a path, and even when I may not be totally sold on the reason, my feet will be on it, because that is what feet, and paths, are for.

In this little bit of late-19^th cent. poetry, the hymnist speaks of the path growing bright from day to day. My mind travels to the memory verse from Bible Drill---“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.” (Psalm 119:105) And the thing is, I’ve walked on some dark paths in my life (yep, literal and metaphorical), and I know how lights work. That flashlight? Even a good one, with the batteries you remembered to replace before you packed it up for the campout? It illuminates the path only a few steps ahead.

God’s presence? Right there with us on the path, every step of the way. But that light it throws? It’s a flashlight, not a floodlight. We were always meant to walk leaning on God, steps at a time, waiting for the light to shine up ahead.

Wow. Light for the journey, and an arm to lean on. On the path with Jesus.

...the God-pitched tent

Love divine, all loves excelling, joy of heaven to earth come down,

Fix in us thy humble dwelling: all thy faithful mercies crown.

Jesus, thou art all compassion, pure, unbounded love thou art;

Visit us with thy salvation; enter every trembling heart.

---Charles Wesley, 1747

You a camper? I am…was…have been…wouldn’t mind being again. I grew up camping with my folks and brother, both in tents and in a way-cool pop-top VW van camper that seemed in my teen years to have all the comforts of, well, almost-home. For those of you familiar with the groovy contraptions, my sleep spot was the hammock hung over the front seats (because I sleep curled up anyway---perfect). Tim slept in the pop top. We have slept in that van in every sort of weather (including a surprise tropical storm), and even in someone’s front yard by mistake (another story for another day)! Our longest trip was a 5 week jaunt out west, as far as Glacier National Park and back, most of the trip toting a genuine tumbleweed (don’t ask) that took up much of our precious free space. Dad even drove straight through the night to get us from Oklahoma to the AHS parking lot in time for Mr. Goff’s band camp to begin (‘cause didn’t nobody miss band camp).

Shortest camping trip? A bit shorter. Counting car time, it lasted 4 hours. Henry and I were the parents of a toddler, and looking forward to passing on a joy of camping adventure to Sam. The itinerary went something like this: plan, pack, check for approximately 2 days; load up the car with tons of stuff (camping, little kid, pregnant lady, etc.); drive just across the state line to FDR; unload tons of stuff in the dark (yeah, those of you who camp, or have kids, or watch comedy movies, or read Greek tragedies---you know where this is going); set a lit kerosene lantern safely (haha) out of reach on the picnic table while assembling the 347 pieces of the new family-size tent; listen in horror as prized first-born son screams in agony after grasping the hot kerosene lantern; cuddle child, bandage hand, sing songs, hang lantern on tree, mutter under breath, try to continue with the joy of camping adventure; give the whole thing up; do everything in reverse; arrive back home---4 hours later. Even with this less-than-stellar start, we enjoyed some good times in the woods over the years following.

When I read the line in this verse of today’s hymn---‘fix in us thy humble dwelling’---I can’t help but think back to those years of pitching tents in the woods with little kids in tow. There was a time in our faith memory where pitching a tent figures pretty prominently, too. When the people of Israel wandered in the wild places, they packed the ‘tent of meeting’ with them, inviting God’s presence among them even in (or especially in) their wandering.

For us today, the cry of our hearts is that the God of Love would pitch a tent in us---among us, and within us. Imagine the ways we might experience transformation, with the tent of love fixed in our souls.

Visit us with your salvation, Divine Love. Fix your dwelling in us.

...it's Sunday...but Monday's coming

Soar we now where Christ has led, following our exalted Head;

Made like Him, like Him we rise; ours the cross, the grave, the skies.

Alleluia!

---Charles Wesley, 1739

Here we are at Easter, the simplest day of the year to follow Jesus! Soaring where Christ has led, rising like him…feels pretty wonderful, right? And we need a day like Easter, because the rest of the year is sure to follow. There was a popular poster when I was younger (Kids, we used to unroll these big paper pictures with groovy sayings on them and hang them on our bedroom walls! They were like the memes of a bygone generation!) that featured a cross dramatically backlit, with the text, “It’s Friday…but Sunday’s coming!” Well, I need a poster (but I’d just as soon have a good meme) that says It’s Sunday! …but Monday’s coming. #wompwomp.” We live in a Monday world, friends, where the cross and grave, and busyness and inattention, and a hundred tiny everyday cruelties are always with us. We need a little Easter every now and then. We are promised that if we follow Christ by owning the cross, and the grave, that we will also own the skies with him.

Made like you, to follow you, we turn with expectation toward a future that includes the cross, the grave…and the skies. Alleluia!

...see it, say it, raise it---like a kid

All glory, laud, and honor to Thee, Redeemer, King,

To whom the lips of children made sweet hosannas ring.

Thou didst accept their praises --- accept the praise we bring,

Who in all good delightest, Thou good and gracious King!

---Theodulph of Orleans, c.821

Count on a kid to tell it like it is. Maybe this is the reason for the old adage, “Children should be seen and not heard.” Over the course of our lives we develop the ability to filter our thoughts before they become words. We become polite, refined, and maybe just a wee bit fake. We also sometimes lose the child’s ability to see things as they are, without expectation or preconception. We accept nothing at face value, examining each comment and appearance for inflection, shading, nuance. Kids? They see it like it is, and say it like it is.

In today’s text, hosannas stream from the lips of children. They were onto Jesus, and seemed attracted to him without reservation. They saw what they saw, and liked it, and joyously praised Jesus. May we today be like children…no filters, no prejudices, no reservations about praising our redeemer, Jesus Christ.

Let at least one of those hosannas be mine, Lord.

...life interrupting Life

Praise yet our Christ again, Alleluia, Amen!

Life shall not end the strain; Alleluia, Amen!

---Christian H. Bateman, 1843

Singing praise to God is an important part of our weekly worship services, and should be a part of our lives during the rest of our week. I don’t know about you, but too often my life seems to interrupt the song of praise. Jobs need doing, family and friends need our attention, all sorts of media surround us with wall-to-wall sight and sound. Life itself threatens to end the ‘strain,’ or song, of praise I desire to offer to Christ. This hymn reminds me that even my busy, distracted life doesn’t have to drown out the offering of praise I want to give to God. 

Let us embrace with a sense of joyful awe the sacred responsibility of calling each other to the faithful living of our lives as a gift of praise to our Guide and Friend, Jesus.

Alleluia, amen!

......sinking sand

In Christ alone my hope is found; He is my light, my strength, my song.

This cornerstone, this solid ground, firm through the fiercest drought and storm.

What heights of love, what depths of peace when fears are stilled, when strivings cease.

My Comforter, my all in all, here in the love of Christ I stand.

---Keith Getty and Stuart Townend, 2001

In about 1834, Edward Mote wrote this familiar refrain:

            My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.

            I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

            On Christ the solid Rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand.

A century and a half later, Stuart Townend and Keith Getty voiced these thoughts that echo those of Mote. The truth in the text shines through --- there is one rock, one foundation, one source. My hopes placed on anything else --- person, institution, tangential belief --- are misplaced.

Nothing else, no one else, can be the Rock in our lives. And, as much as we try, we cannot be the Rock in our lives. It is too much to ask or expect of any but Jesus.

In Christ alone…