yesterday i was barefoot, barely clothed and bawling for confessions on the streets of salem.
since my role as carnival barker* required me to perform a lot more clowning and calling than confessing** i did not have the opportunity to get much off of my chest. so, please bless me by sitting still for one more moment and hearing what i have to say.
i don't like being a fool for Christ, but a fool is undoubtedly what i am. i usually cannot believe all that i hope in, but continue to preach. i rarely choose to bless those who curse me and usually curse more often than i bless. nine times out of ten i not only eschew the prayer closet but also find it hard to opt for silence instead of morning edition.
i am not worthy of Christ, but have been wholly subverted by his grace and though he alone is my righteousness i seem to imitate him less and less. i am as confounded by Christ as godric, as compromised as the whisky priest and duplicitous as jacob. yet, for some unknown reason, every time He cues the song i start to stumble forward.
send in the clown.
* which fits me a little better than say, martin luther, the role pastor phil talked me into playing on friday night.
** dr. james reports that my actual ratio of clowning to confessing was 67.5 to 1.
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