Susan LaffertyIn season and out, His servants speak. Of living hope.
And hope breathes. The bright air of the Kingdom making its way in. Countering air heavy with lies of the enemy.
The spoken gospel speaks. Moves. Reveals the power of God to make alive what is dead.
“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Because of his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead…” (1 Peter 1:3).
The temple is dark. Noisy with chants. Crowds press through. Men, women, children bowing before multiple idols.
Shiny cloth drapes several of these gods. Gods of stone and clay and metal.
I watch a father guide his young son from one graven image to the next. Showing him how to bow, what to say, where to place the offering.
A way of life. Inherited. Passed down from one generation to the next.
Standing there in the dark, I feel the weight of it.
We move across the world. Connect with new cultures. Plant our lives in soil so different from what we’ve ever known before.
Where is home?
The question crosses our minds. Simmers. Hangs in the air.
If we put down roots here, what happens to the other places we’ve called home?