Susan LaffertyCrowds. Criss-crossing street intersections. Train stations. Shopping malls.
In multiple directions.
Pressing up escalators. Hiking staircases. Moving ever forward into trains. Onto sidewalks. Through subways.
Crowds. In your face. Up close. Yet often silent. Solitary.
Eyes on their phones.
Looking down. Or away. Staring off into the distance.
They hear about this man. News travels fast along trade routes. Rumors fly down country roads.
And suddenly, here he is. Walking into their village.
They stand at a distance. Ten men. Diseased. Desperate in their pain and isolation. Unclean.
“Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.” They say it loud. Across the divide.
This past week, the stories surface. Continually. Through emails. Personal posts. Press releases.
Believers holding on to the confession of our hope.
I’m watching for this. The declaration. The profession. The holding fast of Hebrews 10:23. “Let us hold on to the confession of our hope without wavering, since He who promised is faithful.”
And all week long, I hear them.
Their confessions affirm what is real. True. We are sure of what we hope for. Certain of what we do not see.
