Pastor Brian has admitted that Jesus has a habit of loitering at Haywood Street. So far, I’ve not been given reason to disagree.
Bouts of profound sadness are not foreign to me and a couple of weeks ago, I was struggling. I sat in Wednesday Worship, sans-tissues, mascara making all kinds of a mess. Do you ever get to one of those spots where you don’t even know what to pray for? That’s where I was at. So, I asked for an angel. “God, I’ve got no specifics, just send and angel and please send quick.”
Within moments, there was a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see one of our sweet Haywood Street friends. I hadn’t seen him in weeks. He’s got one of those million-watt smiles that immediately makes you feel alright. Oh…and his name is Angel.
God does loiter here. Unapollogetically. God sleeps in the pews and smokes cigarettes in the garden. God is at the table when we are joyfully breaking bread and he shows up when we are crumbling–tapping us on the shoulder, beaming and letting us know we’ll be just fine.
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