OZmosis

Walking down the old “Roman Road” just wont do for those who have taken the yellow-brick road to Oz, and now reside somewhere over the rainbow.

In an ever undulating culture, only the Wind of the Spirit can communicate the steadfast reality of life in the Son.

Reciting a list of God’s attributes does little for those who, having seen through the sterilized facade of our dead religion, attribute to us no relevance at all.

Is it because we do not truly know Him ourselves that we doom a generation to invent heresies which provide them with the communion and intimacy they so desperately seek?  It’s so hard to tell them about Someone we don’t really know.

Have the “Cross” and the “Blood” become mere nails we use to secure our institutions against the intruding winds of change? It’s the Cross and the Blood which are to reveal the very love and life of God, not provide a manual by which we construct impenetrable religious strongholds where we hide safe from the chaos of the world.

Aunty Em is standing on the front porch pleading for Dorothy to come back home, but Dorothy Gale has been mystified by Professor Marvel and his crystal ball.

In a world inundated with parlor tricks, only the Power of the Spirit can demonstrate the reality of an almighty God.

Repeating the sinner’s prayer does little for those who, having seen through the hypocritical veil with which we cover our own sin, pray that we simply go away.

Is it the preoccupation we have with the lust of our own flesh that will doom this generation to a hell which we ourselves will barely escape? It’s so hard to tell the world about the beauty of holiness when we’re no different than they are.

Have “Sanctification” and “Righteousness” become nothing more than pharisaical labels used to keep out those “undesirables”? It’s the Church clothed in garments of white that is to invite an on looking world to glorify God, not push them away as if we’re afraid they might get us dirty.

“Better get under cover, Sylvester. There’s a storm blowin’ up – a whopper, to speak in the vernacular of the peasantry. Poor little kid, I hope she gets home all right.”