she stood sideways. she peered under the pulpit. she raised eyebrows.
she herself understood the whoredom of her own heart, and the devout faith of her soul.
she longed to belong.
somewhere past the hyper-mega church production extension of the youth group jumping like massai warriors to prove they are excited about God.
somewhere past the pews, stuffiness, holier-than-thou facade of yesteryear’s hymnals where bigotry, elitism and nationalism reign king.
somewhere that beer, smoke, and holiness mingle where cursing is just a lament.
we cry out, our brothers and our sisters have remorse over the rape of our brothers and sisters.
a place of confession
somewhere that we see each other as fallen humanity but keepers of the Imageo Dei. A place where we admit failure, and not at the risk of being castigated. A location where the perfect image cult is banished. An area where true communion exists. A place where our idols melt down and run away in the presence of God.
My coffee: better after having dribbled down my liberal t-shirt staining me with my reality. Hoping the statue of Image-based worship teeters and crumbles. The resistance redesigned the monolithic marble head with its spray of prayer bullets and protesting. We see the walls falling down. for we are not pedestaled gods, but we are the sons of god, the servants of Christ, and the imageo-dei inside of messy coffee spilt t-shirts.
A sacred and unsacred awareness where the body comes together over social justice.
An arbor of trees over the heads of freedom
I think I resolved some inner conflict at the goose. I drifted back and forth about staying in my denomination. After all the way I think is out side of the box. But I was not outside of any boxes at WildGoose. Seemed instead, I was among a circle that just continued. My chats with cool peeps from all over sensing the same reformation/revival/paradigm shift or as Phyllis says ‘garage sale’ invigorated my clumsy heart. I had some punch at the patheos r.v. and apparently told Richard Twiss I would put his card in my butt. I mean butt pocket. It was just awkward. So I smiled, told him I was walking away, and stumbled down the star light cow field speaking praise to ISSA. The great thing about all these peeps was a genuine humility. Like I met some super stars of the new revival: Brian , Tony, Doug, Nadia, Peter and Jay. and they were straight up there to bless others. Some awesome saints. It was so much different from the leadership conferences my own denomination held. The ones where the “big guys” looked like peacocks on stage before being lured away to the green room to eat french cheese and crackers. This conference impacted me because it seemed many were over their hurt and offense. they just came together. I even found another pentecostal there. crazy. I found a place where liturgy merged with art and soulful music. I found that safe place for even me, an overweight tatted seminarian and soon to be church planter. I met great contacts from Atlanta. I held babies. Drank Wine. read the Bible. Saw Vince Anderson move with an “anointing” and watched as so many “outlaw preachers, in-law preachers, hippy preachers, hipster preachers, and gypsynomad urban tribal preachers” worshipped in Unity. I wanted to hear more from Samir. I wish I could have been omnipresent at many times. Late night talks with Justin, Terry, Connie, Josey and New friends like Hugh, Steve, Matt and Troy. What a great event. Even the port-a-potties remained quite Divine come the fourth day of blaring sun.