Monday, July 18, 2011


There was but two girls this Sunday morning at the Detention Center, one less that what occupied the bench along the rear wall last weekend. The same twelve year-old boy was there among the male majority, a group that included as well a large, husky, African-American who looked like he could easily wipe up the floor with any six guards who might take issue with him about whatever. I was but “extra fodder” for my friend, six of us present on this occasion, me only by an open invitation, and, in reality, my making it a crowd in terms of there being only an hour’s worth of space between us. Nonetheless, as it happened, the other five, each with their own “shot of the Holy Ghost”, flowed in a witness that somehow led to me standing before the kids with a good twenty minutes left on the clock. It hadn’t been planned that way. This was Chris’s group. The visit was his to close. The Spirit decided otherwise. Building on my previous message, in truth, simply stepping into that which the others had already plowed, I spoke to them of love, of it being God-given, tangible in the sense of our being accepted even though He know us in all that we are, an assurance of a bond that will never be broken, a voice that says to each of us “I believe in you”. We were one in that room, from beginning to end, from the front to the back, young, old, guards as much as anybody else. This, for me, is "church", not the location, but that temporary unification reached in Him.....

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