Monday, September 30, 2013


With but a couple of chapters of that Brian McLaren book yet to be digested, it almost seems like the author has been with me the past few days, the focus of his reasoning emerging in my life via both the Wednesday evening Bible class and that request given me by my young Catholic friend to read the Pope’s interview. Sunday evening service was powerful. I’m not sure it had been pre-designated over the internet as especially given to prayer for the sick, but some had driven great distance to be there and worship had brought the congregation to a point of great expectation. It is part of who we are in Pentecost. The reality of God’s Spirit healing, delivering, and moving in our midst is a matter witnessed many times over more than four decades within such ranks; but it is also true that the freedom allowed within the sanctuary can be abused, indeed, in my opinion, in more ways than one. On the other side of that coin, yesterday morning was our scheduled visit to the Youth Detention Center, no music but one song shared with the help of an accompaniment track, my son-in-law doing a couple of solos on his saxophone. It was an hour of testimonies and story-telling, our hope of reaching these kids with the message of “Christ in me” believed better received this way, the sixty minute sermon on “You’re Going to Hell!” employed by the fellow who bequeathed me this ministry not where I wanted to go. This is not “church”, though, not in the sense of a common doctrinal belief or a corporate bonding of an internal faith. Those who sit in this arena have little permission to move or speak at all, the Holy Ghost “restricted” (for lack of a better term) and any Spiritual connection established identified only by this “changed look” you can see on their face, a tear forming in a corner of their eye. Whether sitting in the balcony and watching where my bunch has taken evangelism or talking to incarcerated kids held prisoner in a gymnasium, though, it all comes down to “touching the hem of His garment”. It is He who puts “life” into living, grace into our humanity, reason into that which sometimes makes a man wonder about it all. That much hasn’t changed since I found Him forty-one years ago in my own living room, His peace a well restored unto my soul……

Friday, September 27, 2013


The homosexuality issue that came forth in Wednesday evening’s Bible study was birthed out of a woman having read an article in Time magazine concerning a recent interview with the Pope. As it was, the young Catholic fellow who supervises our Special-Ed unit had just encouraged me earlier that day to examine the same interview, but he was persistent in his request for me to do so via America magazine rather than the other. The news media any more, of course, is biased and much like buying a book. Whatever the subject, it’s not hard to find one that feeds you the “facts” flavored to pamper your own personal perspective. After digesting both sources, however, like my buddy, I prefer the latter, it simply giving you the dialogue in its original state, injecting no political comments and leaving me to draw my own conclusions. My friend at church determined it “signs of the end”, the Vatican turning liberal and vacating what few things she might have held in common with them. What I heard was a man pursuing the mind and heart of God, bold enough to stand in faith, admitting his unworthiness and willing to trust Him for what was beyond his inability to know. If he pronounced no judgment on the matter, it is just as true that he gave it no pardon, merely proclaiming believers might be better off searching for the voice of God in their own life than standing on some corner with a bullhorn shouting hellfire and brimstone on all those who don’t line up with their group’s view of the Book. No; I haven’t abandoned my Pentecostal roots. I’m not lighting candles. I’m not singing in their choir. Do they have choirs? It just seems to me that what we’ve got here could well be the Holy Ghost, the Spirit speaking to all of us; and it might profit us to at least take it to prayer before we pronounce “anathema”……

Thursday, September 26, 2013


Wednesday evening Bible study was about as good as it gets, the only thing missing being some point where the Spirit overflowed the vessel we provided, His presence manifesting itself giving concrete evidence of that fact. That’s not to say He wasn’t there, only that the “fourth man in the fire” chose to remain incognito on this occasion. Neither is it meant to suggest that our class was without error, in this old man’s opinion. The teacher was using Acts, Chapter Fifteen, for a focus on “the leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees”, pointing to Christ having equated the doctrine of those religious Jews to being filled with yeast, and asking if Christianity today wouldn’t be found guilty of the same charge. All were agreed in the affirmative, discussion not just involving what we considered such matter within other members of the ecclesiastical body, but within Pentecost as well, mostly, however, looking at the latter’s view of “holiness”, not so much its interpretation of the Word. Funny how, when it comes down to “translating the Covenant”, we think ourselves infallible. This, for me, was made quite evident when, near the end of our ninety minutes, Steve asked us to list what we considered to be concrete Scriptural demands regarding salvation. While he was fishing for the “ye must be born-again” answer, what he got was several other items like “giving grace to others”, “a valid recognition of just who the Holy Ghost is”, and (of all things) “homosexuality is sin”. I gave no comment concerning that last one, agreeing with the statement, at least in so far as it not being part of God’s original plan, but was pleased that another spoke of her own learned manner of dealing with those individuals was to “just be Jesus”. Humanity will remain humanity, both in and out of the sanctuary; but, when you boil it all down, surely there is no better way to put it than that……

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

"Send in the Clowns......."

Brian McLaren, in “A General Orthodoxy”, defines missiology as study within theology, the latter being a discipline within Christianity, one wherein the church is on a mission reflecting its message, its identity, and its meaning. If those last three items equate to the reality of Christ “in” me, then surely it can also be said that all too often we fall short of our mission, our humanity surfacing enough to obscure the picture we proclaim. I say that, not in some accusation of hypocrisy, but merely expressing the situation as it is. People remain people, regardless of a born-again experience, the real factor in this a matter of that which Jesus spoke to the woman at the well: they that worship God must do so “in spirit and in truth”. It’s okay for us to exist in the image that He created just as long as we are willing to “pick up that cross” and make an honest effort to become a vessel through which He might make known His marvelous grace unto others. In my opinion, it is not so much our flawed condition that builds a wall between us and the Almighty as it is a hard-headed refusal to face Him with the facts. While “neither death, life, angels, principalities, nor powers” (and the list goes on) can separate us from His love, yet we, ourselves, possess free will to reject that which is freely given; and such be the case whether “we” be individual or corporate. Grace continues to amaze me, in both scenarios. It is, though, just a journey, a story unfolding, one where, in the end, we all kneel before Him to examine our performance; and, in that day, the real prize remains what it always was: Did we really know Him or merely a theology we, ourselves, pieced together out of the Book?....

Sunday, September 22, 2013


This past Thursday was “Picture Day” at school, our Special-Ed unit, in hopes of catching a good pose before panic set in, directed to the gymnasium to be among the first to face the camera. Assembling all six kids in a corner of that location while the teacher handled the paperwork, in spite of there being two kindergarten classes also going through the process and a heavy rain pounding on the roof above us, I managed to keep tranquility until they called us to the photographer nearest the entrance. Noises affect our bunch, though, and only a curtain divided us from gym students enjoying some sort of game on the other side, loud music, rather than a whistle, being utilized as a timer. It all proved too much. One boy is quite big for a Fourth Grader, was obviously upset, sat for us on the stool, but exhibited more panic than a smile, and then lost it just as I was about to lead him away. In frustration more so than anger, he grabbed both of my wrists, digging fingernails deep enough into my flesh to draw blood. My response was to merely cover his ears with my hands, calm his emotions, and withdraw him from the chaos. The incident was just another day in the neighborhood, part of learning to see things from their perspective, learning to love the spirit trapped within the physical circumstances. It’s not always easy. These are yet youngsters with little self-discipline in their life, reaction often coming when they don’t get that which they want along the way. Nonetheless, we become a small “family”, rules established and enforced, a bond between us growing as we go. Beth and I left the hospital the other night, having gone there after dinner to see a friend, my clothes still the same ones worn all day and, as we walked down the hallway, she behind me at one point, she asked what was all over the back of my shirt. Immediately an image of that same fellow popped into my mind, him having a habit lately of approaching me from behind when I’m stooped down tying someone else’s shoelaces or picking up an object dropped on the floor, giving me a hug and laughing as he buries his head between my shoulders. It goes with the job. Getting out of the Navy after ten years was merely “coming home”, the change in life-style never regretted. Retiring from the railroad after three decades was like walking out the door and never looking back, a position occupied to pay my bills. This one, however, is different. It will be hard next June to drive out of that parking lot knowing I’m leaving it all behind me for the last time. This one…has been fun

Saturday, September 21, 2013


Early Saturday morning here, daylight a wet, gray image outside my front door, a drizzly rain owning this area at the moment. Beth and I, after having dinner at Cracker Barrel, drove across the river to Cincinnati last night, finding all the traffic trying to escape the inner-city worse than the rush hour madness encountered on the Interstate. It’s been more than a decade since our last visit to University Hospital, the surrounding area having changed in many ways and my locating it once again a matter of navigating a vehicle-packed maze. A friend, however, was in a recovery unit, having survived his motorcycle accident Thursday (not wearing a helmet), but first reports not giving great promise about his future. Finding him awake, cognizant, and holding an intelligent conversation in spite of what the doctors’ expectations had given, therefore, was a pleasant surprise, something like Rhoda, I suppose, finding Peter knocking at the door while the group inside were praying for his release from prison. In truth, life is a mystery, even “in” Christ, the weather outside presently reflecting the facts: seasons come; seasons go; what we get in this is an anchor-line if we are but willing to accept it and trust it as security for our soul. I’m re-reading Brian McLaren’s “A Generous Orthodoxy”, the subject matter an attempt to unscramble the theological mess we have created in the Church, his efforts failing, as far as I’m concerned, humanity remaining humanity and religion being religion. A journey of more than four decades within this has taught me that following Him is “from faith to faith”, a walk through the fog, a stumble corrected by an occasional encounter with the hem of His garment. It’s kind of like enjoying a pleasant time of worship this past Wednesday evening with the men at the mission, His Spirit there in our midst, but me, nonetheless, in a bit of a funk driving to school on the morrow, feeling dry and void of Him, unworthy of ministry, my “everyday” not always a victory achieved. Somewhere in the middle of my mood, though, an old Andre Crouch tune came up out of my inner depths and there, alone in my old Toyota, the old man began to sing: “I thank God for the mountains, I thank Him for the valleys, for every storm He’s brought me through…” Tears ran down my face; two became one; and, while still voicing the lyrics, a thought ran through my mind: “This point, this well, this fountain”. Never mind all the questions, all the chapter and verse images we have created to contain Him, all the unknown ahead of us, around us, a history we regret and can’t explain. The connection, once established, removes all doubt. Amazing grace……

Thursday, September 19, 2013


Turning seventy-two in about three weeks hasn’t slowed me down much in so far as “being a participator”, involving myself in activities other than vegetating in front of the television. It is true that a nerve problem, lately, has affected the ease with which I get in and out of a car, giving me the appearance of Walter Brennan for a few moments after an exit. Otherwise I’m still active, completing a Five-K walk against breast cancer with two of my daughters this past weekend. This is my twelfth year working in an Elementary Special-Ed unit, but admit to seriously thinking about retirement, at least from this sort of physical exercise. Our visits to the Youth Detention Center and the rescue mission remain a passion. We go tonight to the latter. Most certainly, life is not without change, but surely each day is new and waiting to be met. It irritated me a bit, therefore, when, after “Bill Nye, the science guy” finished his portion on “Dancing with the Stars” Monday evening, the two male judges slaughtered him with obvious sneers on their face and words that embraced no grace at all for his having accepted the show’s invite in the first place. The roster always has included an elder celebrity of some sort along with a few others who realize, going in, that their chance of surviving a week or so in such competition is minimal. None expect no more than a kind word or two for their courage to step out on that floor. Thankfully, Carrie Ann, the female member of that panel, ended the moment with her deep-felt appreciation for his efforts, her remarks bringing life back into the old gentleman’s face, his eyes giving evidence of spiritual resurrection. Within me, however, is left a “growl”, a wish for revenge, a hope the two acid-tongued men might somehow reap what they sow. Not good. It merely makes me what they are and accomplishes nothing other than that. Better to chalk it up to “humanity as it exists” and work on my own membership in that community. Yep. Feeling better already……..

Tuesday, September 17, 2013


Beth and I spent most of the evening last Friday with an alcoholic friend whose ability to think had been reduced to nonsense. After sitting through two meetings that people attend in their fight with such addiction, we took her to the hospital in hopes of accomplishing the first step toward a recovery; but, no more than we left, she refused treatment and left. Raised in church, one of the teens this old man taught in school thirty years ago, somewhere along the way she wandered too far off course. Now, even though screaming for help, it was a “quick fix” she sought, not a hard journey down the long road back; and it makes me wonder. Within our own group of believers, the Gospel message has always been presented as a sudden transformation, instant victory over all that holds us, the only thing required to achieve it being a man’s faith. It preaches well; and, if reality falls short of such claim, error is always on the individual who fails to muster enough grit to grab the brass ring, never on the church that distorted truth in the first place. Does Christ still heal? Is there actually an Indwelling with whom we can connect and know, not just a peace in the midst of the storm, but a delivery from the human condition? God doesn’t lie! What we do with the Word, however, in teaching our own formulated thinking instead of a resurrected Savior who abides therein, can often do damage when life proves otherwise. I’m not dismissing our own accountability for the choices we make; but I am saying that, while theology is certainly a part of maintaining a relationship with divinity, it ought to be a commodity always under construction, a matter of realizing the puzzle will never be completely solved just because we’ve got a Book…..

Friday, September 13, 2013


The question of whether or not our thoughts are linguistic is yet with me, not that words aren’t a part of the process, but more along the lines of wondering if the usage isn’t simply a communicative function learned along the way. Our mentality often responds to stimulus. Someone throws a snowball and we duck without any need for conversation. Can it be then that, as the author suggested, in connecting with others we simply use that which was taught us and the practice has evolved into a piece of who and what we are? We talk to ourselves, topside, seemingly, the brain figuring into it in some manner? I’ve long thought of us as having a “computer” in our head, available to our spirit, but not always utilized to its full potential by that part of who we are. Jesus referred to men owning eyes, yet living without vision, as possessing ears, but giving no evidence as actually hearing what was being said. In our Bible class the other week, at one point we spoke of existing with a certain mind-set, life as it comes to us held in a certain perspective gained along the way and each day consumed through our own personal explanation of events. Do any of us really see any farther than the end of our own reasoning? Is it true, in a sense, as Descartes once put it, “we are only here because we think we’re here”? For me, Christ is a “resurrected Truth” who has re-connected with me via the Holy Ghost, an “anchor-line” rod-and-staff directing me in my stumble down the path. The Bible surely factors into that, but in no way do I assume myself having conquered the message in its entirety, the big question being “Faith? Faith in what?” The journey has taught me well just how much this old man can trust his own thinking. Assurance is in the next step, the next visit at the oasis in a meeting with Him……

Thursday, September 12, 2013

""The Real Deal....."

“Why don’t people leave off being lovable, or thinking that they are loveable, or wanting to be loveable, and be a bit elemental instead? Since man is made up of the elements, fire, and rain, and air, and live foam, and none of these is loveable, but elemental, man is lop-sided on the side of the angels… I wish men would get back their balance among the elements and be a bit more fiery, as incapable of telling lies as fire is. I wish they’d be true to their own variation, as water is, which goes through all the stages of steam and stream and ice without losing its head… I am sick of loveable people; somehow they are a lie.”….D.H. Lawrence, “Elemental”

The above sentiments were found, in some sort of poetic format, over at “Whiskey River” (link on my sidebar), the author unfamiliar to me before a Google search revealed him British, not all that well received by his own countrymen initially, his collected works, as evidenced here, often reflecting on humanity’s flaws. This particular quote, however, speaks to me, the idea that we all tend to “reinvent ourselves”, at least to some degree, not so far-fetched, in my opinion. Whether being “loveable” is really the focus of his objection here, though, is debatable, it seeming to me a matter of his simply looking for honesty in others; and, in truth, there is a point there where even that can be annoying. Personally, I find life more interesting, challenging, and filled with all the unknown when the other guy remains an unsolved mystery, the variation adding a bit of spice to things. If what comes forth is “genuine”, not some sloppy attempt to be what we are not, surely God can work on the rest as we go, the real solution to the whole mess being a decision for each of us to put ourselves into His hands. Just my opinion, for what it’s worth; and that brings me to the other quote discovered, this one giving me a laugh, seeing myself reasoning likewise:

”We don’t think in words. The temptation to equate thinking with language is because words are more palpable than thoughts. After all (I’m thinking), if I couldn’t talk to myself, how would I know what I was thinking?”….Edward de Bono

Wednesday, September 11, 2013


When September eleventh became ate forever burned into America’s memory, I was working the day shift at the ramp, directing the railroad crew in assembling our most important train and overseeing all the necessary administrative computer input concerning billing. While everybody else in the office was able to watch the tragedy unfold, indeed glued to the television set that suddenly appeared in our midst, this fellow had little choice but to attend to the task before him. Details came in snatches, a momentary glance now and then as someone would gasp or cry in horror, conversation otherwise at a minimum, it being too much for the mind to put into words. Whether such forced detachment is responsible for how I’ve always viewed the attack, I know not; but, in truth, it was never considered in my mind as Muslim oriented, the terrorists no different to me than McVeigh bombing the Federal Building in Oklahoma. If religion was involved, surely it was a misguided faith, a warped mass rather than one individual, but no less an insanity in either commission; and, in realizing that, it gives me much concern to learn Islam is growing in this country faster than Christianity, already outnumbering several denominations. Can we trust such change if it enters into our politics enough to eventually control our government, conquering us in D.C. without a shot, no weaponry whatsoever other than the ballot box? Far out? Maybe; but not so much that it couldn’t happen and who’s to say it’s not the very thing needed to awaken the Church at large, persecution having served it well in the beginning. Food for thought to those who have ears to hear……

Tuesday, September 10, 2013


My pastor’s Sunday morning sermon reached from the birthing of the early Church to a “State of the Union” address concerning where we sit today. Where he got his calculations from is beyond me, but supposedly, once the Apostle Paul started evangelizing, Christianity quickly conquered 50% of the known world. Putting that, however, into Biblical perspective, his message proposed that, in “these latter days”, we would once again know such growth, but it would come only by experiencing the same persecution suffered by those saints. Indeed, as he saw it, believers needed to place themselves under what he called “the Spirit of restraint”, a phrase self-manufactured, but arising from that verse in 2nd Thessalonians where the writer speaks of “the mystery of iniquity” already being afoot and “he who now letteth will let, until he be taken out of the way”. I can agree with his identifying that latter portion with the Holy Ghost and have no problem with labeling the Comforter as a means of defense against the evil presently rampant among us; yet when he isolates the whole affair in terms of people achieving some state of “holiness” via an abandonment of “worldliness”, I find him coming up short on what it means to “held in check” by the inner connection we possess in Christ. He, and He alone, sanctifies me, empowers me, and guides me in the next step; and, in times like this, when all around us multiple voices shout in the wilderness proclaiming their own version of “truth”, His anchor-line is the salvation of my soul. If I’m hearing His voice above all else out there, the details will work out as we go……

Monday, September 9, 2013


My daughter has enlisted me again to join her team that will be participating in the annual five kilometer jog/walk raising support for the battle against breast cancer. She was lucky to have discovered its attack on her early enough a few years back, a month or so of treatments plus regular check-ups giving her hope of a long life. Others were not so fortunate, death not the only threat this disease imposes. In reading a friend’s blog recently, a woman with a tale to tell concerning her own journey down this path, I took note of some advice shared from a book just devoured. The author presented three “facts”, theories developed from childhood, but still being shaped through experience, a crisis of any sort tending to make us re-examine the evidence. The first, the idea that we’re in our present calamity alone, whatever it may be, speaks truth to me, at least in the sense that “free will” is more than just a relationship held with our Creator. Nobody else can manipulate our mind. The choice is always ours to make, although it does appear that some of us are more easily led than others. Her next two points seemed, to me, linked together, suggesting that identity is always under construction, living better accomplished by forging a future rather than dwelling in the past. Within the context of such thought, though, was a reference to “generous people, true practical saints, some of them boring as root canals” who are always eager to advise your best path. I’ve known a few of those well-meaning types and no doubt, along the way, at one time or another, have fallen into such classification, this journey, for all of us, a lesson learned as we go. It might help, however, if the Church better taught its flock that ministry is more than being an “imitation” of Christ. We are vessels meant to produce the “real deal”, His Spirit alive within us, flowing from us, and accomplishing the task at hand. He, alone, is the Balm of Gilead……

Sunday, September 8, 2013


Discussing politics is not where I usually go with my thoughts, although my wife lives with Fox News almost always invited into our living room. Bill O’Reilly, Hannity, and The Five are like family. Usually a book and the recliner have my attention. If it turns into Jerry Springer, though, my computer is on the other end of the house waiting to rescue me from heated debate about the present state of this nation. It’s not that I don’t care, more like I want intelligence, not argument between a lawyer, some celebrity, and a party-minded politician. It seems to be where cable has taken us, however, National Enquirer on every channel, choose your personal slant on things and one or the other will provide it. Even sadder: the subject that feeds this mess, our government, as it exists today, is void of much that originally provided balance. One wonders if the foundation will hold. A man could point his finger in any direction and declare delirium, of course, his target but depending on personal opinion, his voice just another loud noise coming forth out of the mass; so I speak here only because occasionally the stupidity just overwhelms me. Surely the situation in Syria has our attention. What humanity does to humanity gives question as to how much higher than other animals do we really think ourselves to be. Any intercession on our part, nonetheless, will achieve nothing to remedy the chaos, the Muslim mindset in that part of the world strongly locked in its own agenda. Then, again, when I hear Secretary of State, John Kerry, tell Congress that we’re not “going to war”, we’re merely “dropping a few well-placed bombs” on appointed sites, it makes me wonder how much of the brain our own elected officials utilize. Would we, I ask myself, view it from the same perspective if some foreign body pin-pointed two or three selected sites here for destruction? Who puts these people into office? The only thing that gives me peace is an inner sense that nothing is beyond His ability to control. My wife just walked through and I asked her if she had any idea for a good sentence to finish this. She suggested “This is the end”; and, actually, it could be as close to the truth as it gets……

Saturday, September 7, 2013


My return to school has, as usual, reduced the frequency of how often this space reflects my thoughts, putting them down in print, for me, not just some Facebook post announcing my location and current activity. In truth, I’ve attempted at least two different paths this past week only to discard the subject entertained, all sense that it might be of interest to anyone else having dissolved along the way. Truth, it seems to me, anyway, is a rather “middle-of-the-road” item, a line so thin it’s nearly invisible, the slightest step to either side taking you a degree off center. God, only, is absolute. The best any of us achieve, in any attempt to pursue Him, is a stagger. Even so, I go. Dante, the author of “Inferno”, wrote of coming to himself “in a dark wood where the direct way was lost”, a fear “scarcely less bitter than death” gripping him at some point in his life and he having need to tell the whole story, the good and the bad, if he was to tell it at all. He was Italian, Catholic, I assume, and his faith a matter not known to me. This old man lost “fear” when Christ stepped inside my existence, but the idea of yet questioning one’s position, of yet questioning the journey in so far as your own humanity, the Church at large, and the world around you, is a daily matter. I walk with caution, trusting in the anchor-line provided. “Self”, however, too often has proven unreliable. That squirrel recently encountered crossing four lanes of expressway in panic yet remains mentally framed, an image of him having conquered that stretch, but now with his back to the wall, hands glued to that divider and trying to determine what to do next for some reason amusing to me. The tale, no doubt, will go with me on both of our next ministry outreach visits. Who among us hasn’t, at one time or another, known such predicament? “Grace”, though, is stuck in my brain, another word for the Holy Ghost, as far as I’m concerned, its Greek New Testament roots translated in the rear of my Bible as “the divine influence upon the heart and its reflection in the life” and its reality, for me, a point of encounter, a promise given if connection is maintained. That “hook in my belly” holds, having proved itself to me again and again. It’s not taken for granted, this space but one form of prayer closet where the details of the moment are examined……

Wednesday, September 4, 2013


Monday morning I stood in Bob Evans talking with an acquaintance known to me only through our mutual habit of dining in that particular restaurant. The entranceway was packed with people waiting to be seated and, he being the pastor of a small Baptist church, about forty members to be exact, conversation turned to life within an ecclesiastical community. It lasted no longer than about ten minutes, not enough time for us to cover such subject in detail; but, people being people, the scenario doesn’t change all that much, whether membership is counted by tens or ten hundreds. My own experience has known three different assemblies during the course of over four decades, one an inner city outreach in the “ghetto” area of Cincinnati, one a refuge attempted for ten years when my spirit festered from various issues encountered over time through a relationship held with the third. How Catholicism works is beyond my perspective; but even if the overall picture isn’t quite the same, humanity remains humanity. Whether immersed or sprinkled, Christ “in” me in no way eliminates the condition. ”Church”, however, from the beginning, was never about super saints gathered together under one roof, unity somehow accomplished through a common credo, personalities and character instantaneously erased, conversion equating to a complete make-over. The work ordained by the Cross and the subsequent resurrection is a renewing of the original schematics, a covenant wherein we are once more vessels with an inner connection. We are “new creatures” only in the sense of having acquired that “hook-up” with the Holy Ghost and any “change” otherwise is an on-going project, a matter of His rod and staff going with us down the path. What we need to learn, if the world is to be convinced of His reality, is that an outer veneer self-manufactured out of denominational righteousness to represent the Gospel does not come close to simply walking in truth, allowing the Spirit, Himself, to emerge and be manifested in our everyday affairs. If Jesus truly conquered the grave, if God now indeed inhabits His people, the evidence should speak for itself, living water overflowing to reach beyond the sanctuary……