Chapter 47 Where Possibilities are Endless

The sky is healing from the heat of the day as curled scoops of raspberry sherbet clouds dominate the horizon. While I wait to exhale, an expectation fills the air and it belies the coming night.

Deep within this dusk is a vivid space to discover, where hope lasts until morning and defenses are down; where possibilities are endless and colorful. It is a place where dreams dance and gravity exists merely as an option.

The remaining blush of the sun will soon be setting with it, so I must be vigilant. My time is limited, for the darkness will usher in doubt and fear and before long I'll reduce this faith to some architect’s design -- a destination of brick and mortar, of stained glass and empty promises. It is regrettably there where I'll mandate a shrinking of humanity into some manageable, fleeting charity.

Somewhere amidst this bated breath and vivid changing of the horizon He waits, for this beauty finds no other source. There must be a doorway, some portal, and I will enter in -- eagerly, quickly, before I miss it altogether.

Arriving there, I suspect I'll have no religion. I won't cocoon myself with tidy rules nor silence the voices of the neglected and the modern day lepers, the very ones who cry from the alleyways in my town and yours, in need of a simple touch. There, I’ll check no bylaws before I act, nor will I seek some territorial, denominational advantage.

My only affiliation will be with the one true Christ.

It is deep within that sunset where earthly prospect will be sustained by the supernatural and the Divine, where the die of anticipation and limitless opportunity will be cast -- yes, for He will turn and lower His ear to hear the cries of the beloved, the rhythm of the weak and the weary, audible even from this soil upon which we tramp.

A rhythm that is the Church, I think.