We Lift Our Hands
Me again. (I usually start letters off with something like "How are you? I am fine." But I'm not going to do that this time because...well...you're God, and I guess I can pretty much assume you're fine. Cause if you were sick, you could just fix you. Not that you'd actually get sick...) Damn. I digress.
Something really strange happened today, Lord. And I'd really like to talk with you about it.
Our church has just turned 90. And there was a big celebration. There was an orchestra. There were prayers. There were people talking about You like crazy. And there was FAITH everywhere.
And it's faith I want to talk to you about today, if that's okay. Faith. What a word!
I was sitting at the front of a building full of people who believe in someone they have never physically seen. There were thousands, reaching up to you (should that be "Y"ou? I'm never sure...) even though you've never touched them with an actual finger. No chariots of fire. No parting of Lake Wabamun. Nada.
These people regularly get together to sip the surrogate blood and eat the pretend flesh of a man who died 2,000 years ago and freaked the whole world out when he (He?) didn't stay that way.
But the link between that man, and the piano man in this picture is as tangible as a band of steel. Never mind elapsed time. Time didn't matter to him...or You I guess.
He was singing and he raised his hand reverently to You. He certainly didn't know I would take his picture...this is just a frozen moment in time. His hand rose in pure worship. It was an act of faith.