Extension cords
Commentary
Object:
Our family moved into a new house recently. I am not fond of the moving process, and so I do not look with delight on the many tasks associated with a move. I am amused, though, by the little things that one takes for granted in the "old" home until one finds them missing in the "new" home. One of those common little things, in my experience, is the accessibility of electrical outlets.
Traditionally, electrical outlets are scarce in older houses, while they veritably dot the walls of newer construction homes. Whenever we move to a different house, we have to acquaint ourselves with the different availability and locations of outlets. Consequently, shortly after moving into our latest home, I had to run to the local hardware store to pick up a couple of extension cords.
The extension cord is a marvelous invention. There is, after all, ample power available to run all of the appliances, light all of the lamps, power all of the devices, and charge all of the batteries in our home. While there is ample power, it may not be readily accessible to each appliance, lamp, and device. Hence, the extension cord. It bridges the gap between the source and the need.
Which brings us to the Christian.
For all of humanity and for all of the universe, the source is God. There is ample power with him -- as well as ample love, mercy, grace, wisdom, kindness, compassion, and so on -- for all that we need and more. The reality, however, is that a gap often exists between the need and the source. If only there was some go-between. If only there was some spiritual version of an extension cord -- something that could run between the source and the need.
That's where you and I come in.
Acts 8:26-40
If you had to assign a subtitle to this particular story from the book of Acts, how would you phrase it? We might casually refer to it as the story of the Ethiopian eunuch. That is perhaps the easiest way to thumbnail it in a way that distinguishes it from every other story in the Bible. And yet it is the story of so much more than just than one man.
Within its larger context in Acts, it is also the story of Philip. After the stoning of Stephen, Luke reports the persecution of the church spearheaded by Saul of Tarsus. One by-product was the scattering of believers beyond Jerusalem, at which point we are introduced to Philip's work in the nearby region of Samaria (Acts 8:4-13). His story gives way briefly to an episode involving Peter, John, and a magician there in Samaria, but Luke returns promptly to the story of Philip's work in the passage that is before us today. While no details are given about Philip's work from Azotus to Caesarea, the concluding reference confirms that the whole chapter is meant to be an accounting of the ministry of Philip. Accordingly, we will give him a bit more thought below.
Yet it is more than just the story of Philip; it is the story of the Holy Spirit. Anyone familiar with the book of Acts -- or, more generally, with Luke's theology -- knows how central the work of the Spirit is to this book. Some have suggested that, rather than calling it "The Acts of the Apostles," it might be better called "The Acts of the Holy Spirit." And this brief series of episodes from Philip's life surely illustrate that point. The Spirit directed Philip to speak to the eunuch, while the Spirit was clearly already working in that Ethiopian's heart and mind. It was exactly the kind of serendipity that so often characterizes the Spirit's work. And when the work was done, the Spirit miraculously moved Philip to a new location for a new assignment. The scene gives new meaning to our phrase "spirited away."
Finally, the episode is also the story of Jesus. Admittedly, Jesus is not one of the people physically present in the event. He has no lines and no actions are explicitly attributed to him. Yet, beautifully, we discover that Jesus is actually the central character in the story. It is the message of Jesus that Philip lives to share. It is the news of Jesus that the Spirit is eager to have communicated. It is the story of Jesus that Isaiah had anticipated and recorded eight centuries before. And it is the truth about Jesus that the curious eunuch was so eager to hear.
1 John 4:7-21
I'm picturing two different kinds of family trips. The one family is going "out West," and they have a dozen sites they want to see along their itinerary. Each night is in a different city, a different motel. The other family, meanwhile, is going to New York City. They also have a dozen sites they want to see, but they'll be able to unpack and settle into one hotel for the whole itinerary.
The first family, you see, is taking a linear journey, from A to B to C to D, and so on. The second family, on the other hand, has more of a hub-based journey. They start each day at Point A and they return there each night. From that single hub they can reach B, C, or D, and so on.
John does not offer linear journeys in his writing. And those of us who like a train of thought to move from A to B to C and so on will be frustrated by him. But we observe in this lovely passage that John functions with a single hub, and he reaches all of his various destinations from there.
The hub is love. Specifically, the love of God. Everything stems from and traces back to that love. That fact by itself makes this scripture passage into a scripture lesson for us, for the sheer organization of the text embodies an important truth.
Here are the different destinations -- theological and ethical -- that John can reach from the starting hub of love. (Meanwhile, because I do tend toward linear thinking, I will unpack John's itinerary in a somewhat different order than he chooses.)
First, there is the principle that is summarized in John's statement that "God is love." Removed from its context, we might dismiss such a statement as trite and sentimental. In fact, however, it is a profound theological affirmation that John makes. The passage we have before us begins to get at the dramatic implications of that affirmation. Love is God's very nature -- his essence -- and so it stands to reason that everything should spring from that.
Next, there is the relationship between God and his people. This is a relationship predicated on love and, specifically, it is predicated entirely on his love. Our salvation and our life in him stems from his love for us. We did not love him first but rather he loved us first. It was his love for us that prompted him to send his Son to save us.
That brings us to the work of Christ. John does not elaborate on the subject much here, but the reference he makes is significant. By his logic, the whole "Christ event" (a phrase some like to use in order to capture everything from the incarnation to the resurrection) is motivated by love. Love is the reason Jesus came and the motive behind all that he did. Love is the great cause: everything else about the gospel story is the effects.
Then there is the relationship between us and other people. This is really where our passage begins, though in my particular way of thinking it has to be built upon reasoning that actually comes later. The logic is that we ought to love other people, but not because they are necessarily loveable, and not because they necessarily love us. Rather, our love for other people is a function of the fact that God is love and that he has loved us. This principle resonates nicely with Jesus' new commandment (John 13:34).
In turn, that leads to the next principle: namely, that love becomes the chief proof of who we are and whose we are. Again, that principle is anticipated by Jesus' teaching in John's gospel (13:35) and simply echoed here. Because God is love, love is necessarily the hallmark of the people of God. If we don't love, then we must not be related to him.
Finally, John also makes an intriguing connection between love, judgment, and fear. We might associate judgment and fear with each other naturally enough, but love seems like a subject from some parallel universe. Yet John sees the relation between the three, contending that love enables us to "have boldness on the day of judgment," love is fearless, and "perfect love casts out fear." The implications are so varied and compelling, yet we don't have the space to explore them all here. Suffice it to say, though, that if love is God's nature, and if love has been perfected in us, then we are truly on the same page with God. And once that happens, indeed, there is naturally boldness rather than fear.
John 15:1-8
One of the hallmarks of John's gospel is the seven "I am" statements of Jesus. Over the course of the book, Jesus identifies himself as the bread of life; the light of the world; the resurrection and the life; the good shepherd; the gate; the way, the truth, and the life; and now this: the vine.
Some of those identifications of Jesus do not carry with them direct counterparts for us. That is to say, when he says that he is the resurrection and the life, what does that make me? If he is the truth, what am I? These seem to be roles without obvious human counterparts.
In other instances, however, his role directly defines our role. In other words, inasmuch as he is the shepherd or the gate, you and I are the sheep. In the case of this particular teaching, his identity as "the vine" leads naturally to our identity as "the branches." Furthermore, in this one instance, the "I am" statement of Jesus also assigns a metaphorical role to the Father: he is "the vinegrower."
These are essential details, for if we are clear about who he is and who we are, everything that follows will make sense. Furthermore, at a practical level, if we are clear about who he is and who we are, then we should make certain corresponding decisions and that is very much the spirit of the passage.
The bottom line implication of the two identities -- i.e., Jesus' identity and ours -- is the relationship that is required. We must remain connected to him -- "abide in" him -- in order to remain vital. Whatever life we have is merely an extension of the life that flows to us through him. To disconnect ourselves from him, therefore, is to cut ourselves off from our source.
In light of this, it is perfectly logical for Jesus to say, "Apart from me you can do nothing." For as long as we kid ourselves about our autonomy and independence, we will try to live life without that essential connection, that must-have relationship. But that is futility.
Meanwhile, the apostle Paul emerges as the patron saint of this principle. We see that he stands at the other end of the spectrum from the fool who tries to go it alone, apart from the vine. Instead of the branch who can do nothing apart from Christ, Paul declares, "I can do all things through him who strengthens me" (Philippians 4:13). Paul knew his source, and he was limitlessly enabled because he was connected to a limitless provider.
This teaching of Jesus, however, has a word of sober warning in it. To be a branch is not a passive business and it is not meant to be an end in itself. The branch exists to produce fruit. Any branch that is properly connected to the vine will "bear much fruit." Those that do not abide in the vine, however, are inevitably fruitless and withered. And, in the undeniable logic of the metaphor, such branches are worthless and therefore "gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned." It's a grim reality. But it is not the final word, for the passage concludes with the perfect will of God "that you bear much fruit and become my disciples."
Application
All three of our passages this week lend some insight into our role as spiritual extension cords. In each instance, we discover some way in which we are called upon to bridge the gap between the source and the need -- that is, between God and this world.
In the first instance, Philip is a living example of the extension cord principle. God wanted to reach the Ethiopian eunuch, and Philip was ready, willing, and available to be plugged in there. It was through Philip that God was able to extend the gospel and salvation to that seeker.
In the second passage, we are reminded that the primary thing that flows from God is love and that we are meant to be natural conduits of that love. If we do not love, then we must not be plugged into God, for God is love. But if we know him and belong to him, then we know and have his love. If we know and have his love, then we are called to love to the world around us -- not as an endorsement of ourselves, but as an extension and reflection of our God.
Finally, in the gospel passage, Jesus offers an organic image for the very same principle we are exploring at length. Rather than speaking of extension cords, Jesus identified himself as the vine and his followers as the branches. The fundamental truths remain the same, though: we have nothing of life and power flowing through us if we are not connected to the source. But if we are plugged into him, then all that comes from him will flow through us.
Alternative Applications
Acts 8:26-40. "Do I Have Any Volunteers?" Other characters in scripture are better known for their virtues. In many cases, those virtues seem flashier. We think of the legendary faithfulness of Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. There is the faith of Abraham, the patience of Job, and the boldness of Elijah. We think of the supernatural work that is done by God through Moses, Elisha, and Paul. But I am here today to say a word for Philip.
As we noted above, Luke devotes Acts 8 to the story of Philip and episodes from Philip's ministry outside of Jerusalem. Admittedly, Philip's stories don't have the kind of pizzazz that others' do. He is not miraculously feeding 5,000, bringing a valley full of dry bones to life, proclaiming God's word to monarchs, or even healing beggars at the temple steps. But he exhibits for us one of the most important attributes a servant of God can have -- and one of the most useful -- availability.
Jesus told Nicodemus, "The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit" (John 3:8). And so it is with Philip. If the Spirit blows like the wind, Philip is the one who has put his sail up to be moved wherever the Spirit chooses.
One moment Philip is with the rest of the apostles in Jerusalem. Then he is doing the Lord's work in Samaria. Then the Lord sends him toward Gaza. And when his work is finished along that road, the Spirit "snatched (him) away" so that "Philip found himself at Azotus." And what did he do as long as he was there? "He proclaimed the good news to all the towns until he came to Caesarea."
What an exemplary instrument of God!
John Wesley famously prayed, "Put me to what thou wilt."1 Surely that must have been Philip's prayer each day. For who awakens in the morning with such an attitude of availability for whatever God has in mind? We are so committed to our individual calendars and lists of things to do that I doubt God could ask most of us, at a moment's notice, to head over to Gaza or Azotus. But Philip evidently lived to serve his Lord and that makes him a saint for us to admire and to emulate.
1 John 4:7-21. "The Nature of My God." In our consideration of the passage from 1 John above, we noted that John identifies love as God's essential attribute. If he had written that God is loving, then we might add that somewhere on the long list of other characteristics of our God -- holy, powerful, just, merciful, all-knowing, and so on. But since John wrote that God is love, his chosen grammar suggests that this attribute is not just one of man. Rather, love is God's essence: his very nature.
Furthermore, as we illustrated above, the fact that God is love is expected to have practical ramifications in the lives of God's people. That is actually the central point of the passage. And so the fact that our God is love means that we, in turn, should also love.
That bit of logic prompts me to try some reverse logic. If the fact that God is love should manifest itself in the loving lives of his people, then does it stand to reason that you can tell who a person's god is by what is manifested in that person's life? In other words, does my life demonstrate to the rest of the world that my God is love? Or could it be that my life suggests my god is power, or pleasure, or convenience, or ambition, or status, or some party, affiliation, hobby, or cause? It might be worthwhile to lead our congregations through this sort of exercise: Does my life confirm that my God is love?
1. "A Covenant Prayer in the Wesleyan Tradition," United Methodist Hymnal #607.
Traditionally, electrical outlets are scarce in older houses, while they veritably dot the walls of newer construction homes. Whenever we move to a different house, we have to acquaint ourselves with the different availability and locations of outlets. Consequently, shortly after moving into our latest home, I had to run to the local hardware store to pick up a couple of extension cords.
The extension cord is a marvelous invention. There is, after all, ample power available to run all of the appliances, light all of the lamps, power all of the devices, and charge all of the batteries in our home. While there is ample power, it may not be readily accessible to each appliance, lamp, and device. Hence, the extension cord. It bridges the gap between the source and the need.
Which brings us to the Christian.
For all of humanity and for all of the universe, the source is God. There is ample power with him -- as well as ample love, mercy, grace, wisdom, kindness, compassion, and so on -- for all that we need and more. The reality, however, is that a gap often exists between the need and the source. If only there was some go-between. If only there was some spiritual version of an extension cord -- something that could run between the source and the need.
That's where you and I come in.
Acts 8:26-40
If you had to assign a subtitle to this particular story from the book of Acts, how would you phrase it? We might casually refer to it as the story of the Ethiopian eunuch. That is perhaps the easiest way to thumbnail it in a way that distinguishes it from every other story in the Bible. And yet it is the story of so much more than just than one man.
Within its larger context in Acts, it is also the story of Philip. After the stoning of Stephen, Luke reports the persecution of the church spearheaded by Saul of Tarsus. One by-product was the scattering of believers beyond Jerusalem, at which point we are introduced to Philip's work in the nearby region of Samaria (Acts 8:4-13). His story gives way briefly to an episode involving Peter, John, and a magician there in Samaria, but Luke returns promptly to the story of Philip's work in the passage that is before us today. While no details are given about Philip's work from Azotus to Caesarea, the concluding reference confirms that the whole chapter is meant to be an accounting of the ministry of Philip. Accordingly, we will give him a bit more thought below.
Yet it is more than just the story of Philip; it is the story of the Holy Spirit. Anyone familiar with the book of Acts -- or, more generally, with Luke's theology -- knows how central the work of the Spirit is to this book. Some have suggested that, rather than calling it "The Acts of the Apostles," it might be better called "The Acts of the Holy Spirit." And this brief series of episodes from Philip's life surely illustrate that point. The Spirit directed Philip to speak to the eunuch, while the Spirit was clearly already working in that Ethiopian's heart and mind. It was exactly the kind of serendipity that so often characterizes the Spirit's work. And when the work was done, the Spirit miraculously moved Philip to a new location for a new assignment. The scene gives new meaning to our phrase "spirited away."
Finally, the episode is also the story of Jesus. Admittedly, Jesus is not one of the people physically present in the event. He has no lines and no actions are explicitly attributed to him. Yet, beautifully, we discover that Jesus is actually the central character in the story. It is the message of Jesus that Philip lives to share. It is the news of Jesus that the Spirit is eager to have communicated. It is the story of Jesus that Isaiah had anticipated and recorded eight centuries before. And it is the truth about Jesus that the curious eunuch was so eager to hear.
1 John 4:7-21
I'm picturing two different kinds of family trips. The one family is going "out West," and they have a dozen sites they want to see along their itinerary. Each night is in a different city, a different motel. The other family, meanwhile, is going to New York City. They also have a dozen sites they want to see, but they'll be able to unpack and settle into one hotel for the whole itinerary.
The first family, you see, is taking a linear journey, from A to B to C to D, and so on. The second family, on the other hand, has more of a hub-based journey. They start each day at Point A and they return there each night. From that single hub they can reach B, C, or D, and so on.
John does not offer linear journeys in his writing. And those of us who like a train of thought to move from A to B to C and so on will be frustrated by him. But we observe in this lovely passage that John functions with a single hub, and he reaches all of his various destinations from there.
The hub is love. Specifically, the love of God. Everything stems from and traces back to that love. That fact by itself makes this scripture passage into a scripture lesson for us, for the sheer organization of the text embodies an important truth.
Here are the different destinations -- theological and ethical -- that John can reach from the starting hub of love. (Meanwhile, because I do tend toward linear thinking, I will unpack John's itinerary in a somewhat different order than he chooses.)
First, there is the principle that is summarized in John's statement that "God is love." Removed from its context, we might dismiss such a statement as trite and sentimental. In fact, however, it is a profound theological affirmation that John makes. The passage we have before us begins to get at the dramatic implications of that affirmation. Love is God's very nature -- his essence -- and so it stands to reason that everything should spring from that.
Next, there is the relationship between God and his people. This is a relationship predicated on love and, specifically, it is predicated entirely on his love. Our salvation and our life in him stems from his love for us. We did not love him first but rather he loved us first. It was his love for us that prompted him to send his Son to save us.
That brings us to the work of Christ. John does not elaborate on the subject much here, but the reference he makes is significant. By his logic, the whole "Christ event" (a phrase some like to use in order to capture everything from the incarnation to the resurrection) is motivated by love. Love is the reason Jesus came and the motive behind all that he did. Love is the great cause: everything else about the gospel story is the effects.
Then there is the relationship between us and other people. This is really where our passage begins, though in my particular way of thinking it has to be built upon reasoning that actually comes later. The logic is that we ought to love other people, but not because they are necessarily loveable, and not because they necessarily love us. Rather, our love for other people is a function of the fact that God is love and that he has loved us. This principle resonates nicely with Jesus' new commandment (John 13:34).
In turn, that leads to the next principle: namely, that love becomes the chief proof of who we are and whose we are. Again, that principle is anticipated by Jesus' teaching in John's gospel (13:35) and simply echoed here. Because God is love, love is necessarily the hallmark of the people of God. If we don't love, then we must not be related to him.
Finally, John also makes an intriguing connection between love, judgment, and fear. We might associate judgment and fear with each other naturally enough, but love seems like a subject from some parallel universe. Yet John sees the relation between the three, contending that love enables us to "have boldness on the day of judgment," love is fearless, and "perfect love casts out fear." The implications are so varied and compelling, yet we don't have the space to explore them all here. Suffice it to say, though, that if love is God's nature, and if love has been perfected in us, then we are truly on the same page with God. And once that happens, indeed, there is naturally boldness rather than fear.
John 15:1-8
One of the hallmarks of John's gospel is the seven "I am" statements of Jesus. Over the course of the book, Jesus identifies himself as the bread of life; the light of the world; the resurrection and the life; the good shepherd; the gate; the way, the truth, and the life; and now this: the vine.
Some of those identifications of Jesus do not carry with them direct counterparts for us. That is to say, when he says that he is the resurrection and the life, what does that make me? If he is the truth, what am I? These seem to be roles without obvious human counterparts.
In other instances, however, his role directly defines our role. In other words, inasmuch as he is the shepherd or the gate, you and I are the sheep. In the case of this particular teaching, his identity as "the vine" leads naturally to our identity as "the branches." Furthermore, in this one instance, the "I am" statement of Jesus also assigns a metaphorical role to the Father: he is "the vinegrower."
These are essential details, for if we are clear about who he is and who we are, everything that follows will make sense. Furthermore, at a practical level, if we are clear about who he is and who we are, then we should make certain corresponding decisions and that is very much the spirit of the passage.
The bottom line implication of the two identities -- i.e., Jesus' identity and ours -- is the relationship that is required. We must remain connected to him -- "abide in" him -- in order to remain vital. Whatever life we have is merely an extension of the life that flows to us through him. To disconnect ourselves from him, therefore, is to cut ourselves off from our source.
In light of this, it is perfectly logical for Jesus to say, "Apart from me you can do nothing." For as long as we kid ourselves about our autonomy and independence, we will try to live life without that essential connection, that must-have relationship. But that is futility.
Meanwhile, the apostle Paul emerges as the patron saint of this principle. We see that he stands at the other end of the spectrum from the fool who tries to go it alone, apart from the vine. Instead of the branch who can do nothing apart from Christ, Paul declares, "I can do all things through him who strengthens me" (Philippians 4:13). Paul knew his source, and he was limitlessly enabled because he was connected to a limitless provider.
This teaching of Jesus, however, has a word of sober warning in it. To be a branch is not a passive business and it is not meant to be an end in itself. The branch exists to produce fruit. Any branch that is properly connected to the vine will "bear much fruit." Those that do not abide in the vine, however, are inevitably fruitless and withered. And, in the undeniable logic of the metaphor, such branches are worthless and therefore "gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned." It's a grim reality. But it is not the final word, for the passage concludes with the perfect will of God "that you bear much fruit and become my disciples."
Application
All three of our passages this week lend some insight into our role as spiritual extension cords. In each instance, we discover some way in which we are called upon to bridge the gap between the source and the need -- that is, between God and this world.
In the first instance, Philip is a living example of the extension cord principle. God wanted to reach the Ethiopian eunuch, and Philip was ready, willing, and available to be plugged in there. It was through Philip that God was able to extend the gospel and salvation to that seeker.
In the second passage, we are reminded that the primary thing that flows from God is love and that we are meant to be natural conduits of that love. If we do not love, then we must not be plugged into God, for God is love. But if we know him and belong to him, then we know and have his love. If we know and have his love, then we are called to love to the world around us -- not as an endorsement of ourselves, but as an extension and reflection of our God.
Finally, in the gospel passage, Jesus offers an organic image for the very same principle we are exploring at length. Rather than speaking of extension cords, Jesus identified himself as the vine and his followers as the branches. The fundamental truths remain the same, though: we have nothing of life and power flowing through us if we are not connected to the source. But if we are plugged into him, then all that comes from him will flow through us.
Alternative Applications
Acts 8:26-40. "Do I Have Any Volunteers?" Other characters in scripture are better known for their virtues. In many cases, those virtues seem flashier. We think of the legendary faithfulness of Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. There is the faith of Abraham, the patience of Job, and the boldness of Elijah. We think of the supernatural work that is done by God through Moses, Elisha, and Paul. But I am here today to say a word for Philip.
As we noted above, Luke devotes Acts 8 to the story of Philip and episodes from Philip's ministry outside of Jerusalem. Admittedly, Philip's stories don't have the kind of pizzazz that others' do. He is not miraculously feeding 5,000, bringing a valley full of dry bones to life, proclaiming God's word to monarchs, or even healing beggars at the temple steps. But he exhibits for us one of the most important attributes a servant of God can have -- and one of the most useful -- availability.
Jesus told Nicodemus, "The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit" (John 3:8). And so it is with Philip. If the Spirit blows like the wind, Philip is the one who has put his sail up to be moved wherever the Spirit chooses.
One moment Philip is with the rest of the apostles in Jerusalem. Then he is doing the Lord's work in Samaria. Then the Lord sends him toward Gaza. And when his work is finished along that road, the Spirit "snatched (him) away" so that "Philip found himself at Azotus." And what did he do as long as he was there? "He proclaimed the good news to all the towns until he came to Caesarea."
What an exemplary instrument of God!
John Wesley famously prayed, "Put me to what thou wilt."1 Surely that must have been Philip's prayer each day. For who awakens in the morning with such an attitude of availability for whatever God has in mind? We are so committed to our individual calendars and lists of things to do that I doubt God could ask most of us, at a moment's notice, to head over to Gaza or Azotus. But Philip evidently lived to serve his Lord and that makes him a saint for us to admire and to emulate.
1 John 4:7-21. "The Nature of My God." In our consideration of the passage from 1 John above, we noted that John identifies love as God's essential attribute. If he had written that God is loving, then we might add that somewhere on the long list of other characteristics of our God -- holy, powerful, just, merciful, all-knowing, and so on. But since John wrote that God is love, his chosen grammar suggests that this attribute is not just one of man. Rather, love is God's essence: his very nature.
Furthermore, as we illustrated above, the fact that God is love is expected to have practical ramifications in the lives of God's people. That is actually the central point of the passage. And so the fact that our God is love means that we, in turn, should also love.
That bit of logic prompts me to try some reverse logic. If the fact that God is love should manifest itself in the loving lives of his people, then does it stand to reason that you can tell who a person's god is by what is manifested in that person's life? In other words, does my life demonstrate to the rest of the world that my God is love? Or could it be that my life suggests my god is power, or pleasure, or convenience, or ambition, or status, or some party, affiliation, hobby, or cause? It might be worthwhile to lead our congregations through this sort of exercise: Does my life confirm that my God is love?
1. "A Covenant Prayer in the Wesleyan Tradition," United Methodist Hymnal #607.
