[blockquote align=”left” variation=”orange”]The fuel of desperation compels us to open up our closets, or treasures, our secret wounds, our addictions because pride is no longer an option for us.[/blockquote]

There once was a church upon a hill
where everything was fine until
the paint inside was getting old
and peeling in some spots, I’m told.
The pastor called a business meeting.
And after the preliminary meeting,
The deacons cried, “Come one! Come all!
What color should we paint each wall?”
They gathered in the sanctuary,
each determined and contrary.
Sister Gail said, “What do you think
about a very chartreuse pink?”
Brother Dave said to the crowd,
“Isn’t that a bit too loud?
I prefer a subtle blue.
It makes the walls look clean and new.”
Six women rebuked, “We wanted gold!”
It seems much warmer. Blue’s too cold!”
The pastor said, “I’m here more than all of you.
I agree with Dave. The walls should be blue.”
From that point on their voices grew stronger.
Each emotional plea became longer and longer.
Then a voice of strong and stern love
silenced the church as it spoke from above.
“You wonder why you can’t hear My call
when your greatest struggle is paint on the wall.
Paint your church the pale color of skin,
for you let no other races come in.
Paint your church a wealthy green,
for you ignore starvation that you’ve seen.
Paint it white and clean as uncalloused feet,
for you refuse to share My joy in the street.
I agree that your walls could be painted in blue,
for your hearts so cold are given to few.
You give many renditions of church as a game,
but you fail to give water in My Holy Name.
You pray using eloquent thees and thous,
and yet you forget about the heres and nows.
You struggle to be an earthly saint,
but My love must not be covered in paint.

Lord Have mercy…

On the lost in foreign lands
On the hopeless needing helping hands
On the broken- desolation’s child
On the unwed mother’s lonely mile
On the blind who stumble in the dark
On the ones who miss the mark
On the hungry, void of bread
mourners ’round their loved one’s bed
On secret shame, remaining still
On those embattled for Your will.
On an outcast soul’s despair
When broken hallelujahs fill the air
Amidst the wreckage, You are there
May we be angels unaware.

Why is God so interested in money and time? The answer is simple: it determines where our heart’s desire really is.

In the middle of our mess we here a message.

The following is a sermon based of David’s experience of desolation and failure in a place called Ziklag.

It’s hard to know where the seed of bitterness began
Perhaps before the dawn of man
When an angel of light,
Heaven’s delight
Wasn’t satisfied with reflecting someone else’s might.
And in bitterness he shook his fist at his Creator
Satan born
Now the author of scorn.
And in bitterness he roams the face of the earth
Killing…
Lying…
Hating…
Defying…
Bitterness snaked its way into the soul of nations,
Defiling God’s most precious creations.
Bitterness- born out of shame
for justifiable reasons of so it seems
“She left me without a word.”
“He broke my spirit.”
“My father never loved me.”
“No one listened to my side of the story.”
“Someone stepped in and took my glory.”
“The decision was made and I didn’t get a choice.”
You were deflected, neglected, corrected
And the resentment brewed in a putrid still
Intoxicating your life
With anger, backbiting, sorrow,
Tainting every hopeless tomorrow
With bitter nights
You drink your own poisonous nectar
You fantasize your moment of sweet revenge
Flames of rebellion begin to singe every moment of the day.
Resentment spoils every part of the road.
Instead of running to the healer
We find a place with a killer

Bitterness toils[blockquote align=”right” variation=”yellow”]Tainting every hopeless tomorrow With bitter nights You drink your own poisonous nectar You fantasize your moment of sweet revenge[/blockquote]

It spoils
It recoils
It paralyzes fathers and mothers
Incites wars between sister and brother.
Instead of churches and an agent of grace
We choose nails and thorns and spit on Christ’s face
That’s what we do when we huddle in anger
The devils our father and Christ is a stranger
And runs through the church
Crushing every beautiful thing God blesses
Turning holy moments into public messes
Bitterness doesn’t care
Resentment grows in an insatiable feasts
Killing the bride
And feeding the beasts
of gossip, evil declaration
an unmerciful generation
it settles in our homes
it crushes our bones
it leads wives into despair
it kills children unaware
of the toxic venom
that settles within them
Bitterness breeds shame
It says, I’ll never trust again
It exiles pure joy to the wilderness
Making pain out of a marriage of bliss
You see it was bitterness and pride that sent Jesus to the cross
And yet we listen willingly to it, no matter the cost.
And there is bitterness in this room.
You might not see it right now
It’s like a dormant disease
Waiting for the command of demons
It can bring a church to its knees
And families stand before the gallows
Of opened wounds
What once was alive nested in the tombs.
All because of bitterness.
It took root.
Malice and rage are its scornful fruit
While well-meaning Christians stand and salute
the furious, unfettered rise of scorn
Born from the seeds of bitterness.
Still there’s another path God has given us
It’s a journey toward the bread and the cup
It’s offer of freedom
And blessing
And peace
It’s an offer to turn
An offer of release
From the bitterness that’s stealing every part of your life
From the sin you’re concealing – your anger and strife
The table has been set.
The offer is here.
To let go of regret.
And in peace draw near.
That’s the meaning of this wine, this bread and this time.
Banish your rage inside of you.
Return to the one who makes all things new.

In a culture of stark cynicsim and impossible statues, He pulled the rug out from under of the palaces of religion. His hands were busy in the workhouse of mercy. His eyes turned toward the desperate. His feet stepped toward the outcast. His voice uttered grace and truth. Every step was questioned by those in power.

He was the bartered reward of the betrayers. He fed the poor and welcomed our questions. He was a storyteller who turned away perceptions of what is valuable. He held a mirror before the constructs of humanity and felled the trees of falaciious theories. He called men away from their trusted vineyards and into the new wine of divine celebration. He feared no opinion, despot, crisis or consequence because He knew that death held no certain finality.

And still today, [pullquote2 quotes=”true” align=”left” variation=”orange”]He is the shepherd strutting through the wilderness calls each of us by name. Walls crumble at the sound of His oration. The despairing widows, the fatherless children, the ruination of humanity run toward Him as the Hope of Glory.[/pullquote2]

Jesus, the greatest revolutionary of any and every generation, shaped the economy of grace under the buckling burden of this world’s ancient folly.

He will never know defeat. This gallant warrior srounds my soul and I am captivated by His perfect love.

He came to His own, and His own did not receive Him. But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, to those who believe in His name. 
John 1:11-12