There is a song sung by Francisco Ortega called “Now that you’re Gone.” It’s a song about a brother lost, and of a mourning sibling; the world spins without meaning, now that he is gone. Spins without meaning, has this happened to you? It is amazing, how one’s worldview, one’s value system, forsake their meaning–providing function and betray our trust. It’s as if a mean trick has manipulated us, or has been fooling us all along. It wounds us, it strikes down our high place of safety and repose. It sabotages in a moment what has been built over many years perhaps. We spin, and spin. An essential element, a vital piece of the puzzle, an every day visitor suddenly is missing, and we have no answers. We turn to God. But shockingly we find this event has no prior reference in our conceptualized view of God. Our phony world…
Tag: <span>mercy</span>
Events can lead to another kind of pressure. “Who is responsible? Doesn’t anybody have to pay?” The sense of fair play in all of us is what drives us to at last get some closure. I say that with sarcasm. Isn’t it funny how that one may never be happy unless someone pays? A person may be driven to anger over whose fault it is and never feel at peace until a settlement is reached. This may be a road on which we choose to explore, but to use a biblical text “the end thereof are the ways of death.” This justice driven road carries a very strong feeling. We have been slighted, hurt and violated. Who is to blame? …out of the blue came these words to my inner man, ” I’ll pay you back.” I was astounded and began to tear up.” Could this be God talking?” I…
The quality of mercy is not strain’d. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest: It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. What all includes the results of mercy? It, for certain, escapes the earthy. Divine favor, yes Divine, I say, it multiplies, a gathering of honey, dripping comb wide. Rain, like that which soothes the hard day’s scorch, And more; topsoil and clay both absorb, Blood is our sprinkle, water the shower, But what’s the filth for wash this hour? A hideous substance, a lingering debris, It identifies me, and will not let me free. It drags me to turn, hangs over the shoulder, It lurks in corners, and makes me feel older. It opposes spontaneous, it inhibits free, It clings so sooty, it covers the knee, Moistening tear ducts, and standing neck hair, It hardens like Brillcream,…