More Than Meets the Eye: 21st Sunday in Ordinary Time
Homily for the 21st Sunday in Ordinary Time
Final Draft. Audio version will be posted on the St. Aloysius web site by Tuesday, August 29th.
When was the last time you had to “get past something”
in order to move on?
Maybe you had to “get past” someone’s outward appearance
in order to appreciate the person beneath the outward appearance.
Or, maybe you had to “get past” the way your teenagers expresses themselves
in order understand what they are trying to say.
Well, that’s similar to what’s taking place in today’s gospel reading.
Some of Jesus’ own disciples are saying,
“This kind of talk is hard to endure.”
What kind of talk is hard to endure?
The kind of talk that is “hard to endure”
are the words of Jesus himself when he insists
and keeps on insisting:
“My flesh is real food, my blood is real drink.”
As Catholics, you and I have been taught all our life
that the bread on the altar only looks like bread
and the wine in the chalice only looks like wine.
But, when you step back from what you taught,
and you hear these words in all their rawness
stripped of centuries of tradition and reverence,
they are, in fact, hard to endure, hard to understand.
How can we say and believe that the powerful God
who whirled the galaxies into existence…
this Incomprehensible Energy is present
present beneath the appearance of ordinary Bread and Wine?
How can we say and believe that
the Holy Savior of the wounded children of God,
Christ himself, the Rescuer of the desperate human race
is present here in this church,
not symbolically but in all His fullness: Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity…
how can we grasp this?
Let me tell you how.
Or, at least, let me tell you how to begin to love and appreciate this gift
more fully.
It starts with the willingness to see more than meets the eye.
It begin with cultivating the ability to look beyond the appearance of things.
Let me give you an example.
Last Wednesday night
I gave a talk to a group of volunteers
at a therapeutic riding center just north of Indianapolis.
It was a pleasant evening.
We shared stories about horses.
We share stories about people.
And some of the stories had the word “miracle”
stamped all over them.
I learned about a four year old autistic boy
who never said a word until he sat on a horse.
After four years of silence, the sound of “Whoa”
echoed in that barn and filled his parents with joy
they thought they’d never know.
Another child was unable to chew solid food.
But after watching the way a horse ate an apple
from his mother’s hand
(you know how a horse chews),
Charlie learned to chew.
“Charlie, they said, chew like Buckeye.”
Well, the boy started to chew.
Now, most of these volunteers were middle aged, suburban women.
They appeared completely ordinary,
no different from people in a checkout line at Kroger’s.
When meeting was finished,
one of the woman in the group
(somewhat past middle age)
offered to give me a tour of the facility.
Her name was Cheryl.
She founded the riding center twenty years ago.
As we made our way through the barn,
she mentioned that the center
had its start in a terrible tragedy.
I asked what it was and she told me that
she and her husband had lost their daughter.
She mentioned that she herself
had also been hurt in the incident.
“Did you lose your daughter in accident?” I asked.
“No.” She hesitated.
Finally, she said.
“She was murdered by her estranged husband.”
As we walked along,
Cheryl went on to describe the events of a horrible night
in which the man came into her home with gun in hand.
Cheryl was the first one to get hit.
Before he went into the next room
where her daughter was hiding
and a one-year-old baby was sleeping,
he stood over Cheryl, ready to fire a second time.
Cheryl looked at him and said,
“Bill, before you kill me,
I want you to know that God loves you
and I forgive you.”
He sneered and shot again,
but the bullet was not fatal.
Cheryl heard him go into the next room.
She heard more shots.
She heard him take the baby
and flee the house.
It all took place 16 years ago.
As I listened to this mild-manner woman
with the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen,
I realized I was in the presence of someone
filled with the Spirit of Christ.
Think of it.
She looked her would-be killer in the eye and said,
“Bill, I forgive you.”
Do those words sound familiar?
They should because they echo down to us
from the day we call Good Friday
when a Savior covered in blood cried out,
“Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they are doing.”
Cheryl went on to forgive the man who killed her daughter.
(I’m sure it wasn’t easy and personally, I can’t imagine how.)
Cheryl and her husband have raised that man’s son--their grandson--
and they did so in a home imbued with love and mercy,
a home free of bitterness and resentment.
Hard to believe anyone could do that.
Yet, here she was, as ordinary as could be,
as a close a stranger in line with me at Kroger’s.
As Jesus says in today’s gospel,
“The flesh is nothing, the Spirit is everything.”
Cheryl’s appearance was as ordinary as a summer day,
but inside her lived the Spirit of Christ.
What’s this tell us?
It tells us that, when it comes to perceiving the presence of Christ,
we do well to hone the talent of looking beyond the appearance of things.
At this Eucharist today,
look beyond the appearance of the Bread,
look beyond the appearance of the Wine.
See in them the gift of incredible forgiveness.
See in them the gift of God’s Son.
Second Draft.
The discussion at last night's homily reflection was lively. The parishioners found the story about Cheryl moving but, after I gave more details, the group encouraged me to include more of the facts in the homily, particularly as they pertained to the act of forgiveness.
There was also discussion about other people they knew who radiated the presence of Christ. I considered adding some of these local examples but fearEd the homily would be come too lenghty.
Read it and let me know what you think.
Fr. Jim
(jms48@fuse.net)
When was the last time you had to “get past something”
in order to move on?
Maybe you had to “get past” someone’s outward appearance
in order to appreciate the person beneath the outward appearance.
Or, maybe you had to “get past” the way your teenager expresses himself
in order understand what they are trying to say.
Well, that’s what’s taking place in today’s reading.
Some of Jesus’ own disciples are saying,
“This kind of talk is hard to endure.”
What kind of talk is hard to endure?
The kind of talk that is “hard to endure”
are the words of Jesus himself when he insists
and keeps on insisting:
“My flesh is real food, my blood is real drink.”
As Catholics, you and I have been taught all our life
that the bread on the altar only looks like bread
and the wine in the chalice only looks like wine.
But, when you step back from what you taught,
and you hear these words in all their rawness
stripped of centuries of tradition and reverence,
they are, in fact, hard to endure, hard to understant.
How can we say and believe that the powerful God
who whirled the galaxies into existence
is present beneath the appearance of ordinary Bread and Wine?
How can we say and believe that
the Holy Savior of the wounded children of God,
the Powerful One who rescued the desperate human race
is present in midst, hidden beneath the appearance
of Bread and Wine?
How can that be?
How can we possibly believe that?
Let me tell you how.
It starts with the ability to see beneath the appearance.
It starts with the willing to perceive more than meets the eye.
Let me give you an example.
Last Wednesday night
I gave a talk to a group of volunteers
at a therapeutic riding center just north of Indianapolis.
It was a pleasant evening.
We shared stories about horses.
We share stories about people.
And some of the stories had the word “miracle”
stamped all over them.
I learned about a four year old autistic boy
who never said a word until he sat on a horse.
After four years of silence, the sound of “Whoa”
echoed in that barn and filled his parents with joy
they thought they’d never know.
Another child was unable to chew solid food.
But after watching the way a horse ate an apple
from his mother’s hand
(you know how a horse chews),
Charlie learned to chew.
“Charlie, they said, chew like Buckeye.”
Well, the boy started to chew.
Now, most of these volunteers were middle aged, suburban women.
They appeared completely ordinary,
no different from people in a checkout line at Kroger’s.
When meeting was finished,
one of the woman in the group
(somewhat past middle age)
offered to give me a tour.
Her name is Cheryl.
She founded the riding center twenty years ago.
As we made our way through the barn,
she mentioned that the center
had its start in a tragedy.
She and her husband had lost their daughter.
She mentioned that she herself
had been hurt in the incident.
“Did you lose your daughter in accident?” I asked.
“No.” She hesitated.
Finally, she said.
“She was murdered by her estranged husband.”
Cheryl went on to describe the events of a horrible night
in which the man came into her home with gun in hand.
Cheryl was the first one to get hit.
Before he went into the next room
where her daughter was hiding
and a one-year-old baby was sleeping,
he stood over Cheryl, ready to fire a second time.
Cheryl looked at him and said,
“Bill, before you kill me,
I want you to know that God loves you
and I forgive you.”
He sneered and shot again,
but the bullet was not fatal.
It all took place 16 years ago.
As I listened to this mild-manner woman
with the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen,
I realized I was in the presence of someone
filled with the Spirit of Christ.
She looked her killer in the eye and said,
“Bill, I forgive you.”
Do those words sound familiar?
They should because they echo down to us
from the day we call Good Friday
when a Savior covered in blood cried out,
“Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they are doing.”
Cheryl has forgiven the man who killed her daughter.
Cheryl and her husband have raised his son--their grandson--
in a home imbued with love, hope and mercy,
a home free of bitterness and resentment.
Hard to believe anyone could do that.
Yet, here she was,
as a close a stranger in line with me at Kroger’s.
Her appearance was as ordinary as a summer day,
but inside her lived the Spirit of Christ.
Sometimes is necessary
“to get past the appearance”
in order to see the presence of Christ.
Earthy appearance is nothing,
the Spirit of God is everything.
At this Eucharist today,
look beyond the appearance of the Bread,
look beyond the appearance of the Wine.
See in them the gift of incredible forgiveness.
See in them the true presence of Christ.
See in them the gift of God’s Son.
FIRST DRAFT:
“This kind of talk is hard to endure.”
What kind of talk is hard to endure?
The words that are "hard to endure"
are the words of Jesus himself:
“My flesh is real food, my blood is real drink.”
As Catholics, you and I have been taught all our life
that the bread on the altar only looks like bread
and the wine in the chalice only looks like wine.
In reality, beneath the appearance of bread and wine
is the true presence of Christ, the full reality of his Body and Blood
and that it means to draw near the Creator of the world
and the Holy Savior of the wounded children of God,
the Powerful One who rescued the blind and desperate human race
of which you and I are one of trillion billion members.
How can we say that the Divine Presence that whole world calls God
is indeed present here in our midst, hidden beneath the appearance
of ordinary bread and wine?
How can that be?
How can we possibly believe that?
Let me tell you how.
It starts with the ability to see beneath the appearance.
It starts with the willing to see more than meets the eye.
Let me give you an example.
This past week the Holy Spirit led me to experience
something incredible and completely unexpected.
Last Wednesday night
I gave a talk to a group of volunteers
at a therapeutic riding center just north of Indianapolis.
We shared stories and some of the stories had the word “miracle”
stamped all over them.
They mentioned a four year old autistic boy
who never said a word until he sat on a horse.
After four years of silence, the sound of “Whoa”
echoed in that barn and filled his parents with joy
they thought they’d never know.
Another child was unable to chew solid food.
But after watching the way a horse ate an apple
from his mother’s hand,
Charlie learned to chew.
“Charlie, they said, chew like Buckeye.”
(You know how a horse chews)
Well, the boy started to chew.
Now, most of these volunteers were middle aged, suburban women.
They appeared no different from people in a checkout line at Kroger’s.
But once the meeting was finished,
I came to realize, almost by accident,
that I was in the presence of an extraordinary person,
an extraordinary saint.
Her name is Cheryl.
She founded the riding center twenty years ago.
She’s somewhat past middle age.
A woman with gray hair, a soft voice
and soft eyes…eyes that are so kind and peaceful
you have no choice but stop whatever it is you’re doing
and engage this person in a bit of conversation.
She gave me a tour of the facility.
As I was getting ready to leave
she mentioned that the therapeutic riding center
had its start in a tragedy.
She and her husband had lost their daughter.
Cheryl herself had been hurt in the incident.
“Did you lose your daughter in accident?” I asked.
“No,” said. “She was murdered by her estranged husband.”
Cheryl went on to describe the events of a horrible night
in which the man came into her home with gun in hand
an living nightmare began to unfold.
It all took place 16 years ago.
In the intervening time,
Cheryl have forgiven the man who killed their daughter
and have raised his son--their grandson--
in a home imbued with love, hope and mercy.
The tone of this conversation
was as casual as could be.
But the power of her words
were more than I could fully grasp.
She forgave the man who murdered her daughter.
She set her heart on raising a child
in a home free of bitterness and resentment.
Hard to believe anyone could do that.
Yet, here she was,
as a close a stranger in line with me at Kroger’s.
Her appearance was as ordinary as a summer day,
but inside her lived the Spirit of Christ.
Appearance is nothing,
the Spirit is everything.
So, at this Eucharist today,
look beyond the appearance of the Bread,
look beyond the appearance of the Wine.
See in them the gift of incredible forgiveness.
See in them the gift of mercy.
See in the gift of God’s Son.
Final Draft. Audio version will be posted on the St. Aloysius web site by Tuesday, August 29th.
When was the last time you had to “get past something”
in order to move on?
Maybe you had to “get past” someone’s outward appearance
in order to appreciate the person beneath the outward appearance.
Or, maybe you had to “get past” the way your teenagers expresses themselves
in order understand what they are trying to say.
Well, that’s similar to what’s taking place in today’s gospel reading.
Some of Jesus’ own disciples are saying,
“This kind of talk is hard to endure.”
What kind of talk is hard to endure?
The kind of talk that is “hard to endure”
are the words of Jesus himself when he insists
and keeps on insisting:
“My flesh is real food, my blood is real drink.”
As Catholics, you and I have been taught all our life
that the bread on the altar only looks like bread
and the wine in the chalice only looks like wine.
But, when you step back from what you taught,
and you hear these words in all their rawness
stripped of centuries of tradition and reverence,
they are, in fact, hard to endure, hard to understand.
How can we say and believe that the powerful God
who whirled the galaxies into existence…
this Incomprehensible Energy is present
present beneath the appearance of ordinary Bread and Wine?
How can we say and believe that
the Holy Savior of the wounded children of God,
Christ himself, the Rescuer of the desperate human race
is present here in this church,
not symbolically but in all His fullness: Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity…
how can we grasp this?
Let me tell you how.
Or, at least, let me tell you how to begin to love and appreciate this gift
more fully.
It starts with the willingness to see more than meets the eye.
It begin with cultivating the ability to look beyond the appearance of things.
Let me give you an example.
Last Wednesday night
I gave a talk to a group of volunteers
at a therapeutic riding center just north of Indianapolis.
It was a pleasant evening.
We shared stories about horses.
We share stories about people.
And some of the stories had the word “miracle”
stamped all over them.
I learned about a four year old autistic boy
who never said a word until he sat on a horse.
After four years of silence, the sound of “Whoa”
echoed in that barn and filled his parents with joy
they thought they’d never know.
Another child was unable to chew solid food.
But after watching the way a horse ate an apple
from his mother’s hand
(you know how a horse chews),
Charlie learned to chew.
“Charlie, they said, chew like Buckeye.”
Well, the boy started to chew.
Now, most of these volunteers were middle aged, suburban women.
They appeared completely ordinary,
no different from people in a checkout line at Kroger’s.
When meeting was finished,
one of the woman in the group
(somewhat past middle age)
offered to give me a tour of the facility.
Her name was Cheryl.
She founded the riding center twenty years ago.
As we made our way through the barn,
she mentioned that the center
had its start in a terrible tragedy.
I asked what it was and she told me that
she and her husband had lost their daughter.
She mentioned that she herself
had also been hurt in the incident.
“Did you lose your daughter in accident?” I asked.
“No.” She hesitated.
Finally, she said.
“She was murdered by her estranged husband.”
As we walked along,
Cheryl went on to describe the events of a horrible night
in which the man came into her home with gun in hand.
Cheryl was the first one to get hit.
Before he went into the next room
where her daughter was hiding
and a one-year-old baby was sleeping,
he stood over Cheryl, ready to fire a second time.
Cheryl looked at him and said,
“Bill, before you kill me,
I want you to know that God loves you
and I forgive you.”
He sneered and shot again,
but the bullet was not fatal.
Cheryl heard him go into the next room.
She heard more shots.
She heard him take the baby
and flee the house.
It all took place 16 years ago.
As I listened to this mild-manner woman
with the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen,
I realized I was in the presence of someone
filled with the Spirit of Christ.
Think of it.
She looked her would-be killer in the eye and said,
“Bill, I forgive you.”
Do those words sound familiar?
They should because they echo down to us
from the day we call Good Friday
when a Savior covered in blood cried out,
“Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they are doing.”
Cheryl went on to forgive the man who killed her daughter.
(I’m sure it wasn’t easy and personally, I can’t imagine how.)
Cheryl and her husband have raised that man’s son--their grandson--
and they did so in a home imbued with love and mercy,
a home free of bitterness and resentment.
Hard to believe anyone could do that.
Yet, here she was, as ordinary as could be,
as a close a stranger in line with me at Kroger’s.
As Jesus says in today’s gospel,
“The flesh is nothing, the Spirit is everything.”
Cheryl’s appearance was as ordinary as a summer day,
but inside her lived the Spirit of Christ.
What’s this tell us?
It tells us that, when it comes to perceiving the presence of Christ,
we do well to hone the talent of looking beyond the appearance of things.
At this Eucharist today,
look beyond the appearance of the Bread,
look beyond the appearance of the Wine.
See in them the gift of incredible forgiveness.
See in them the gift of God’s Son.
Second Draft.
The discussion at last night's homily reflection was lively. The parishioners found the story about Cheryl moving but, after I gave more details, the group encouraged me to include more of the facts in the homily, particularly as they pertained to the act of forgiveness.
There was also discussion about other people they knew who radiated the presence of Christ. I considered adding some of these local examples but fearEd the homily would be come too lenghty.
Read it and let me know what you think.
Fr. Jim
(jms48@fuse.net)
When was the last time you had to “get past something”
in order to move on?
Maybe you had to “get past” someone’s outward appearance
in order to appreciate the person beneath the outward appearance.
Or, maybe you had to “get past” the way your teenager expresses himself
in order understand what they are trying to say.
Well, that’s what’s taking place in today’s reading.
Some of Jesus’ own disciples are saying,
“This kind of talk is hard to endure.”
What kind of talk is hard to endure?
The kind of talk that is “hard to endure”
are the words of Jesus himself when he insists
and keeps on insisting:
“My flesh is real food, my blood is real drink.”
As Catholics, you and I have been taught all our life
that the bread on the altar only looks like bread
and the wine in the chalice only looks like wine.
But, when you step back from what you taught,
and you hear these words in all their rawness
stripped of centuries of tradition and reverence,
they are, in fact, hard to endure, hard to understant.
How can we say and believe that the powerful God
who whirled the galaxies into existence
is present beneath the appearance of ordinary Bread and Wine?
How can we say and believe that
the Holy Savior of the wounded children of God,
the Powerful One who rescued the desperate human race
is present in midst, hidden beneath the appearance
of Bread and Wine?
How can that be?
How can we possibly believe that?
Let me tell you how.
It starts with the ability to see beneath the appearance.
It starts with the willing to perceive more than meets the eye.
Let me give you an example.
Last Wednesday night
I gave a talk to a group of volunteers
at a therapeutic riding center just north of Indianapolis.
It was a pleasant evening.
We shared stories about horses.
We share stories about people.
And some of the stories had the word “miracle”
stamped all over them.
I learned about a four year old autistic boy
who never said a word until he sat on a horse.
After four years of silence, the sound of “Whoa”
echoed in that barn and filled his parents with joy
they thought they’d never know.
Another child was unable to chew solid food.
But after watching the way a horse ate an apple
from his mother’s hand
(you know how a horse chews),
Charlie learned to chew.
“Charlie, they said, chew like Buckeye.”
Well, the boy started to chew.
Now, most of these volunteers were middle aged, suburban women.
They appeared completely ordinary,
no different from people in a checkout line at Kroger’s.
When meeting was finished,
one of the woman in the group
(somewhat past middle age)
offered to give me a tour.
Her name is Cheryl.
She founded the riding center twenty years ago.
As we made our way through the barn,
she mentioned that the center
had its start in a tragedy.
She and her husband had lost their daughter.
She mentioned that she herself
had been hurt in the incident.
“Did you lose your daughter in accident?” I asked.
“No.” She hesitated.
Finally, she said.
“She was murdered by her estranged husband.”
Cheryl went on to describe the events of a horrible night
in which the man came into her home with gun in hand.
Cheryl was the first one to get hit.
Before he went into the next room
where her daughter was hiding
and a one-year-old baby was sleeping,
he stood over Cheryl, ready to fire a second time.
Cheryl looked at him and said,
“Bill, before you kill me,
I want you to know that God loves you
and I forgive you.”
He sneered and shot again,
but the bullet was not fatal.
It all took place 16 years ago.
As I listened to this mild-manner woman
with the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen,
I realized I was in the presence of someone
filled with the Spirit of Christ.
She looked her killer in the eye and said,
“Bill, I forgive you.”
Do those words sound familiar?
They should because they echo down to us
from the day we call Good Friday
when a Savior covered in blood cried out,
“Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they are doing.”
Cheryl has forgiven the man who killed her daughter.
Cheryl and her husband have raised his son--their grandson--
in a home imbued with love, hope and mercy,
a home free of bitterness and resentment.
Hard to believe anyone could do that.
Yet, here she was,
as a close a stranger in line with me at Kroger’s.
Her appearance was as ordinary as a summer day,
but inside her lived the Spirit of Christ.
Sometimes is necessary
“to get past the appearance”
in order to see the presence of Christ.
Earthy appearance is nothing,
the Spirit of God is everything.
At this Eucharist today,
look beyond the appearance of the Bread,
look beyond the appearance of the Wine.
See in them the gift of incredible forgiveness.
See in them the true presence of Christ.
See in them the gift of God’s Son.
FIRST DRAFT:
“This kind of talk is hard to endure.”
What kind of talk is hard to endure?
The words that are "hard to endure"
are the words of Jesus himself:
“My flesh is real food, my blood is real drink.”
As Catholics, you and I have been taught all our life
that the bread on the altar only looks like bread
and the wine in the chalice only looks like wine.
In reality, beneath the appearance of bread and wine
is the true presence of Christ, the full reality of his Body and Blood
and that it means to draw near the Creator of the world
and the Holy Savior of the wounded children of God,
the Powerful One who rescued the blind and desperate human race
of which you and I are one of trillion billion members.
How can we say that the Divine Presence that whole world calls God
is indeed present here in our midst, hidden beneath the appearance
of ordinary bread and wine?
How can that be?
How can we possibly believe that?
Let me tell you how.
It starts with the ability to see beneath the appearance.
It starts with the willing to see more than meets the eye.
Let me give you an example.
This past week the Holy Spirit led me to experience
something incredible and completely unexpected.
Last Wednesday night
I gave a talk to a group of volunteers
at a therapeutic riding center just north of Indianapolis.
We shared stories and some of the stories had the word “miracle”
stamped all over them.
They mentioned a four year old autistic boy
who never said a word until he sat on a horse.
After four years of silence, the sound of “Whoa”
echoed in that barn and filled his parents with joy
they thought they’d never know.
Another child was unable to chew solid food.
But after watching the way a horse ate an apple
from his mother’s hand,
Charlie learned to chew.
“Charlie, they said, chew like Buckeye.”
(You know how a horse chews)
Well, the boy started to chew.
Now, most of these volunteers were middle aged, suburban women.
They appeared no different from people in a checkout line at Kroger’s.
But once the meeting was finished,
I came to realize, almost by accident,
that I was in the presence of an extraordinary person,
an extraordinary saint.
Her name is Cheryl.
She founded the riding center twenty years ago.
She’s somewhat past middle age.
A woman with gray hair, a soft voice
and soft eyes…eyes that are so kind and peaceful
you have no choice but stop whatever it is you’re doing
and engage this person in a bit of conversation.
She gave me a tour of the facility.
As I was getting ready to leave
she mentioned that the therapeutic riding center
had its start in a tragedy.
She and her husband had lost their daughter.
Cheryl herself had been hurt in the incident.
“Did you lose your daughter in accident?” I asked.
“No,” said. “She was murdered by her estranged husband.”
Cheryl went on to describe the events of a horrible night
in which the man came into her home with gun in hand
an living nightmare began to unfold.
It all took place 16 years ago.
In the intervening time,
Cheryl have forgiven the man who killed their daughter
and have raised his son--their grandson--
in a home imbued with love, hope and mercy.
The tone of this conversation
was as casual as could be.
But the power of her words
were more than I could fully grasp.
She forgave the man who murdered her daughter.
She set her heart on raising a child
in a home free of bitterness and resentment.
Hard to believe anyone could do that.
Yet, here she was,
as a close a stranger in line with me at Kroger’s.
Her appearance was as ordinary as a summer day,
but inside her lived the Spirit of Christ.
Appearance is nothing,
the Spirit is everything.
So, at this Eucharist today,
look beyond the appearance of the Bread,
look beyond the appearance of the Wine.
See in them the gift of incredible forgiveness.
See in them the gift of mercy.
See in the gift of God’s Son.
posted by BlueCollarPreacher at 4:04 PM
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