Who was Jesus, really? Was he really the God of Sunday morning rituals, or was he the lover of fragmented creatures in a fallen world?
We were created immortal…Eternity echoes in our hearts…Don’t we all long to be more than mere creatures made of dust? Don’t we all burn to change the world?
Time has a strange way of reminding us that we’re broken, that we are in a fallen world, and that we need God. Time reminds us that we have an eternal soul thirsty for the Eternal.
Is it possible that our rebellion against the spiritual (call it god, faith, whatever you like) actually proves that a spiritual authority exists?
What if we, in our frail humanity, are invited to find strength and healing in the scars of Jesus?…Scars healing within the shelter of scars.
What if we are asking too little of God? What if we are answering life’s complex questions with our own simple answers, mostly because we expect Him to remain silent?