potpourri of the incongruous
Another plane missing. Overwhelming sadness, a devastating age in which to live out life that seemed so good becomes hatred and indiscriminate senselessness. Kyrie eleison, but of course Kyrie does not eleison. Or maybe Kyrie is eleisoning and we don’t get it: Obadiah Redivivus and we are not mom’s pet as we imagined but the hairy red beast.
How to resume a dream and capture the escapee this time round?
Wednesday evening at my church is the event of the week, overrun with eager children and young parents; the Episcopal Church should live so long, but it has. Try free cheeseburgers, all you can eat. Try agápē.
Love that centers on how you treat others.
In the second, minute, hour, day, week, month, year, decade that follows, experience is no longer reality but history. If experience is in the mind, and a dream is in the mind, does predicate nominative make a dream reality, is the question.
Closing hymn last evening:
Heal me, hands of Jesus, and search out all my pain: restore my hope, remove my fear and bring me peace again.
Cleanse me, blood of jesus, take bitterness away; let me forgive as one forgiven and bring me peace today.
Know me, mind of Jesus, and show me all my sin; dispel the memories of guilt, and bring me peace within.
Fill me, joy of Jesus, anxiety shall cease and heaven’s serenity be mine, for Jesus brings me peace!
I’ve felt preached at before, but never felt sung at until last night.