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Our actions bear fruit. In all that we do, we hold a basket of fruit into which we and the others around us make an offering. It is the spiritual food off of which we survive.
We never grasped, in our bruised white innocence and sentimentality, that harmony is easy – justice is not. We should’ve been praying not for harmony, but for endurance.
God is not above the troubles we experience but is with us in them and beyond. Even in the storm, God’s power gives us the strength we need.
The world’s raging tumult may feel like a disruption to our lives – and it is – but it is also a constant in our lives, more predictable than we might prefer to acknowledge.
Sometimes it’s hard for us to reconcile the God who shatters the earth in bolts of lightning with the God whose eye is on the sparrow.
I’m no stranger to crying out to God when I’m in crisis, but I’m still learning to pray as a way to be in consistent discernment about my life beyond crisis points.
It’s comforting to pretend to know. It gives the illusion of control. If I know, maybe it won’t hurt so much. I can be prepared. I won’t have to rely on anyone else.
The Antichrist is not some mythic being. It’s the fist-pumping conviction that nothing is as sacred or heroic or as worth defending as me, myself, and I.
There is more than enough Spirit to go around. Because a people empowered can always do more together than the most gifted leader. We can’t do it all on our own.
Does God see and care for the fates of smaller lives as well? Field mice? Worms? Fleas? Does God’s regard extend all the way down to ... viruses?