We come now to the threshing floor, to the One whose winnowing fork is in his hand. The wind of the Spirit blows upon us, separating the wheat from the chaff.
We have sought fame and acceptance, hiding our fears behind words like: grace, mercy and tolerance. We have made idols out of denominations, doctrines and tradition. Idols without mouths and no word of the Lord upon their lips. Without hands, lest we be shaken from our slumber. Without feet, lest we be moved away from our apathy. The word of the Lord has suffered in the hands of idolatrous children who merely rise up to play, and lay down to rest.
We come now to the threshing floor, to the One whose winnowing fork is in his hand. The wind 
of the Spirit blows upon us, separating the wheat from the chaff.
We have planted vineyards of our own design and have become poisoned by the grapes of our own desires. “New wine, new wine.” the Spirit cries. But we harden our hearts against his voice, for we are drunk with our own beauty and our own glory. The holy vine has been strangled by the twisting vine of the world, and we resist the pruning shears of the Husbandman who would set us free.
We come now to the threshing floor, to the One whose winnowing fork is in his hand. The wind of the Spirit blows upon us, separating the wheat from the chaff.
We speak of unity and love, but view each other with suspicion. There is one bread from which we all partake and one cup of blessing from which we all drink. But we lay sick and dying for we have sinned against the Body. True communion has been sacrificed on the altar of carnal allegiances.
So now we come to the threshing floor, to the One whose winnowing fork is in his hand. As Ruth came to Boaz, we come softly and lay at your feet. You are our Redeemer. Humbly we pray that the wind of your Spirit would blow upon us, removing from our midst those things which grieve your heart. We would be wed to only you.
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