Given Presence

Until We Sin No More

2009-07-03T14:31:00.003-05:00

What comes from above, death within love, is hardly what we expect. Yet the Beyond tears down,in redemption’s resound,the towers we erect. And just as it eludes our toiling hands, the hubris claimed essential. Grace grows like a baby waiting in bloom, abounding in potential.Until defeat like Destiny without nod or wink, becomes the undertow, Swirling us into a saintly song until we sin no more

Lot's Hell Bent

2009-06-04T22:24:00.003-05:00

Assuming a place where our time never ends, us with our family and all of our friends, but without pain or death or undesirable change, this it seems, is paradise, no lives rearrange. And we are on Holiday, the feast of our famine, the Will to Power, Thanksgiving Heaven. But considering the nature of our depravity, how between our action and will lies great disparity, this eternity of changeless now must be sown, not as the heaven above but the hell below. Salvation from without must thus be sent, because sad as it is, we together, all and alone are a little less than God but Lot’s hell bent.

Halosination

2009-02-22T19:26:00.015-06:00

National insecurity reinforces the mythic frame: We are God’s holy city on the hill and our manifest destiny is of covenantal proportions, even to the ends of the earth. But God is not an American. We are not his people. This is not the promised land. A Halo Sin Nation. Yet our fortune has been to live rather than to die if only for a season in Rome. And in this way a juxtaposition of gifted grace and assumed fate mark the making a hallucination.

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