Redemption Song Quotes

Some birds are not meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.

A good act does not wash out the bad, nor a bad act the good. Each should have its own reward.

But in another city, another valley, another ghetto, another slum, another favela, another township, another intifada, another war, another birth, somebody is singing Redemption Song, as if the Singer wrote it for no other reason but for this sufferah to sing, shout, whisper, weep, bawl, and scream right here, right now.

Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery. None but ourselves can free our minds

Oh, you've outdone me twice now, you queen of forgiveness. The ring's a promise of peace and I'm greedy with hope. It's a song that we sing in a tongue that we share. And though you say it's a gift from a king to a king, I say it's a sign from a queen to a queen.

You pray. And you allow the Lord to be your strength. Remember the Lord doesn't give you strength. He is your strength.

Some birds are not meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild.

Won't you help to sing these songs of freedom?

Anyway, as the old barrelhouse song says, My God, how the money rolled in. Norton must have subscribed to the old Puritan notion that the best way to figure out which folks God favours is by checking their bank acounts.

If I had one night, I'd hold you in my arms, Find redemption, no more contention, Keeping you close. Too long, years gone, Wasted away. One night, our night, Remember this. I won't forget you, No I won't forget you.—Red-Eyed Loons

I will look at the past, but I will not stare at it.

you can apologize, but don't ever be sorry!

You should be warned, though, whatever else you take from this, that knowledge is always carnage. Power is a siren song, bloodstained and miserly hoarded. Forgiveness is not a given. Redemption is not a right.

If the world is full of monsters, someone has to be keeping us safe. Someone has to be fighting for us out there.

She loved dogs, New York, television, children, friendship, sex, laughing, heartbreaking songs, marijuana, farts, and cuddling.

a person has to go through a lot of pain to get to comfort!

And yet somehow that lodged in the mind as a crime beyond mercy. There will be no mercy for a song now silenced. No redemption for killing hope in the darkness. I know you. You

without a vision, people perish!

when you search for romance you often find disappointment!

Gloria watched the swollen white orb of a hot-air balloon rising over Navy Pier and knew she had to break it off with Oliver, for he was the type who would never enjoy hot-air balloons, Van Morrison songs, or mess, whether from orgasm or otherwise. But who was she to be dreaming about mess today?

When we feel unworthy in His presence it’s because we glimpse His holiness.

It’s too easy to believe in our own importance when we’re surrounded by our own creations all day.

I love working with fanatics. You just wind them up, and off they go.

...the Pope vigorously upholds the real power of redemption to liberate the human heart from the domination of lust, calling men and women to a new "ethos.

When you fell into my life, I was shattered beyond repair. But as the shining angel of redemption, you didn’t seem to care. While the tempest swirled around me, you led me to solid ground. You’re the purest, deepest love a man like me has ever found. There is a fire that burns within me that only you can ignite. You’re the light that fills my soul in the darkest, bleakest night. You’re the balm that cures the wound; the lifeline in the storm. You are the song of my heart, the music of my soul.

I have done it,' she says. At first I do not understand. But then I see the tomb, and the marks she has made on the stone. ACHILLES, it reads. And beside it, PATROCLUS. 'Go,' she says. 'He waits for you.' In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood, like a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun.

As long as you continue to seek Him, son, your love will continue to grow. And as you express your love for Him through obedience, He’ll reveal more of himself to you.

TAKE CARE OF THE CHILDREN WHO DON'T HAVE ANYONE TO TAKE CARE OF THEM

truth only comes when you're ready to face it!

According to Caitlin, he’d been on the throne since Hannibal discovered elephants, and he was so slippery he would orchestrate assassination plots against himself when he got bored, just to keep his wits sharp.

Alliances with other nations lead to bondage," Zechariah explained. "Joseph started out as Pharaoh's trusted advisor in Egypt, but later generations ended up as slaves. And wasn't it Ahaz's so-called alliance with Assyria that led to our present slavery?

Love for God is never instant. It has to grow and mature just like any other kind of love. The struggle is always with our will.

I tell her how sorry I am, and as I speak my words feel inadequate and pathetic.

when we are open to face the true value of an object or person, we can sometimes be disappointed!

destiny is what we think of as life, while life is the process of destiny!

Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.

You can never out-give God. Don’t ever forget that.

She had personal details about my relationships that only my close friends should have known. “So you’ve got a stalker,” I said to my reflection in the rearview mirror. “And she eats people. Great.

The only way to grow in faith is to put your faith to the test. You must place yourself in His hands and let Him prove himself faithful. Unless you make up your mind to trust Him, you’ll never know that Yahweh is faithful.

Then rely on your judgment and forget all this.” Zechariah scooped up the scroll with a sweep of his hand. “But don’t try to do both. It won’t work. Either your faith in God is absolute, or it’s worthless. There’s no way to compromise.

God created woman as a Warrior. I think about the tragedies the women in my life have faced. How every time a child gets sick or a man leaves or a parent dies or a community crumbles, the women are the ones who carry on, who do what must be done for their people in the midst of their own pain. While those around them fall away, the women hold the sick and nurse the weak, put food on the table, carry their families’ sadness and anger and love and hope. They keep showing up for their lives and their people with the odds stacked against them and the weight of the world on their shoulders. They never stop singing songs of truth, love, and redemption in the face of hopelessness. They are inexhaustible, ferocious, relentless cocreators with God, and they make beautiful worlds out of nothing. Have women been the Warriors all along?

At the time that this book is being written, I am single. If you've ever heard that song by Beyoncé, "Single Ladies", I am one of the people she's singing about. I have to be, because she sings, "All the single ladies." If she didn't mean to include me in that, then she really needs to choose her words more carefully.

Love will require mutual trust, opening your hearts and lives to each other. It takes work to build a true relationship. The same is true of Yahweh.

Our love was sweet and tart like lemonade on a sun-scorched day or the sweat that runs down your lover's face. It was bittersweet, more bitter than sweet.

Cause what good is this freedom, if I ain't free to love you?

Truth was, I was afraid to be. I was afraid that my joy would bring back more bad.

The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.’” “Amen,

just as good as admitted your guilt, we’ll know

Sounds ominous,” I said. “Do you get a cool code name, too?” “No, but I have handcuffs—” “Kinky.” “—and a gun.” I shook my head. “There you go, ruining the mental image.

He held out his hand. “Give it to me,” he hissed as his fingernails lengthened into claws. “If you insist,” I said. Then I shot him in the face.

Change never come without a fight. And you should know by reading this that joy never come without pain.

If music can ever restore a lost past, then this was the moment. Redemption! We do crave it. But music is different: we tolerate songs without redemption.

don't start no sh wont be no it

His questions will make his faith stronger in the end.

You see,” she said, “maybe you are stronger than me. But it doesn’t matter, and I’ll tell you why: because I’ve always been smarter than you.

In The Last Front, Juniper Song misses an excellent opportunity to excavate a forgotten history and instead uses the suffering of thousands of Chinese laborers as a site for melodrama and white redemption,

The world is full of good men who make bad decisions,” I told her. “Sometimes it works out. Sometimes it doesn’t. You just have to figure things out the best you can. Make the best choices you can. Choices you can live with.

Pix?” I said. “Pretend for a second that I’m not a hacker.” “I’m a jobber in a tag-team cage match against John Cena and The Rock. My partner just got laid out cold with a folding chair, and the referee is looking the other way.

Do you have the soul? Where is it now?” she asked, a little too urgently for my liking. “Stashed someplace safe,” I told her. That someplace was the trunk of my car parked out in the driveway, but I didn’t feel like sharing that much.

If you’ve ever heard that song by Beyoncé, “Single Ladies,” I am one of the people she’s singing about. I have to be, because she sings, “All the single ladies.” If she didn’t mean to include me in that, then she really needs to choose her words more carefully.

You see, here’s the word for man—and the word for woman. All the letters are the same except for these two. And if you put those two letters together, they form the name of God. If you share a love for each other and for God, His presence will dwell in your midst.

Once and for all, let us speak the paradox aloud: "We have been force-fed for so long the shudders of a thousand graveyards that at last, seeking a macabre redemption, a salvation by horror, we willingly consume the terrors of the tomb...and find them to our liking.

Above him, floating in a bright cloud, he saw human figures, silhouetted against the sky. He counted twenty-one of them. They were singing the sweetest song he had ever heard. Louie stared up, astonished, listening to the singing. What he was seeing and hearing was impossible, and yet he felt absolutely lucid. This was, he felt certain, no hallucination, no vision. He sat under the singers, listening to their voices, memorizing the melody, until they faded away. Phil had heard and seen nothing. Whatever this had been, Louie concluded, it belonged to him alone.

Forgive an old lady preaching to you, but I want you to believe what I do, that you have so much more to offer the world than you give yourself credit for. Yes, you have encountered a run of bad luck and made mistakes in the past, but so have we all, so please do not make the bigger mistake and allow yourself to be defined by these things. 'Pick yourself up and fight another day' is as good a motto as any in my experience.

Renunciation isn't a moral imperative or a form of self-denial. It's simply cooperation with the way things are: for moments do pass away, one after the other. Resisting this natural unfolding doesn't change it; resistance only makes it painful. So we renounce our resistance, our noncooperation, our stubborn refusal to enter life as it is. We renounce our fantasy of a beautiful past and an exciting future we can cherish and hold on to. Life just isn't like this. Life, time, is letting go, moment after moment. Life and time redeem themselves constantly, heal themselves constantly, only we don't know this, and much as we long to be healed and redeemed, we refuse to recognize this truth. This is why the sirens' songs are so attractive and so deadly. They propose a world of indulgence and wishful thinking, an unreal world that is seductive and destructive. (142)

It’s you, Pix. You and everybody like you. Everybody who reaches out a hand when they don’t have to. Everybody who helps somebody get up on their feet, or gets in the way of a fist so somebody weaker doesn’t have to take the pain. Everybody who stands up in the face of evil and says ‘no more.’ Everybody who does what they can to make this shithole of a planet a little less miserable for everybody else. You are who’s fighting for us.

It throbbed and pulsed, channeled by elemental forces of fear, love, hope, and sadness. The bow stabbed and flitted across the strings in a violent whorl of creation; its hairs tore and split until it seemed the last strands would sever in a scrape of dissonance. Those who saw the last fragile remnants held their breath against the breaking. The music rippled across the ship like a spirit, like a thing alive and eldritch and pregnant with mystery. The song held. More than held, it deepened. It groaned. It resounded in the hollows of those who heard. Then it softened into tones long, slow, and patient and reminded men of the faintest stars trembling dimly in defiance of a ravening dark. At the last, when the golden hairs of the bow had given all the sound they knew, the music fled in a whisper. Fin was both emptied and filled, and the song sighed away on the wind.

There’s no council of wizened wizards overseeing the world of magic, no hidden academies where bright-eyed and precocious youths learn the secrets of the unknown. What we do have is a collective desire, as a community, to keep anyone from fucking up our action. One of the first things any fledgling sorcerer is taught? Keep your mouth shut about magic, or someone will shut it for you, probably with a bullet or a corrective curb-stomping. Now

And what we learn in the Song of Songs is that a marriage shaped according to this gospel of grace, forged over years of hard-earned trust and forgiveness, can be an unsafe place for sin but a very safe place for sinners. In a gospel-centered marriage, when two souls are mingled together with the Holy Spirit’s leading, we find confirmation after confirmation that grace is true, that grace is real—that we can be really, truly, deeply known and at the same time really, truly, deeply loved.

There is power to be taken if you wish to seek it. Knowledge to be gained if you really want to know. You should be warned, though, whatever else you take from this, that knowledge is always carnage. Power is a siren song, bloodstained and miserly hoarded. Forgiveness is not a given. Redemption is not a right. It eats away at you, the things you know. The price you pay, and it will be costly, is yours to bear alone. For all you cast aside for glory, what prize could ever be enough? Which is not to say stop seeking. Which is not to say stop learning. Make the next world better. Take the next right step. Though, as a matter of professional courtesy, one last cautionary tale from a dying man: the power you have will never be enough compared to the power you’ll always lack. Do you understand? Are you listening?

Preludes of science. — Do you really believe that the sciences would ever have originated and grown if the way had not been prepared by magicians, alchemists, astrologers, and witches whose promises and pretensions first had to create a thirst, a hunger, a taste for hidden and forbidden power? Indeed, infinitely more had to be promised than could ever be fulfilled in order that anything at all might be fulfilled in the realm of knowledge. Even as these preludes and preliminary exercises of sciences were not by any means practiced and experienced as such, the whole of religion might yet appear as a prelude and exercise to some distant age. Perhaps religion could have been the strange means to make it possible for a few single individuals to enjoy the whole self-sufficiency of a god and his whole power of self-redemption.

I learn this: “The word Ezer has two roots: strong and benevolent. The best translation of Ezer is: Warrior.” God created woman as a Warrior. I think about the tragedies the women in my life have faced. How every time a child gets sick or a man leaves or a parent dies or a community crumbles, the women are the ones who carry on, who do what must be done for their people in the midst of their own pain. While those around them fall away, the women hold the sick and nurse the weak, put food on the table, carry their families’ sadness and anger and love and hope. They keep showing up for their lives and their people with the odds stacked against them and the weight of the world on their shoulders. They never stop singing songs of truth, love, and redemption in the face of hopelessness. They are inexhaustible, ferocious, relentless cocreators with God, and they make beautiful worlds out of nothing. Have women been the Warriors all along?

There's a widespread misconception that biblical literalism is facile and mindless, but the doctrine I was introduced to at Moody was every bit as complicated and arcane as Marxist theory or post-structuralism.... In many ways, Christian literalism is even more complicated than liberal brands of theology because it involves the sticky task of reconciling the overlay myth—the story of redemption—with a wildly inconsistent body of scripture. This requires consummate parsing of Old Testament commands, distinguishing between the universal (e.g., thou shalt not kill) from those particular to the Mosaic law that are no longer relevant after the death of Christ (e.g., a sexually violated woman must marry her rapist). It requires making the elaborate case that the Song of Solomon, a book of Hebrew erotica that managed to wangle its way into the canon, is a metaphor about Christ's love for the church, and that the starkly nihilistic book of Ecclesiastes is a representation of the hopelessness of life without God.

Oh, I was but a wounded Beast Oh, I was but a wounded Beast Teeth gnashing from a brutal feast Wolfing down with others; consuming every bite Eating every poison laid before my sight I dined upon Iniquity’s endless shelf Blindly feeding, greedily…on myself Oh, I was but a wounded Beast Expiring with every taste of yeast Belly puffed and sour with death A haunting shutter with every breath Full of nothing but vanity Dipped in pleasure and tragedy Oh, I was but a wounded Beast As the West is far from the East I charted the lust of mine own eyes Thus, in my folly…I was sure to die My soul knew nothing of sacrifice Instead I danced with every vice Oh, I was but a wounded Beast You found me broken and utterly fleeced Naked, abandoned and truly alone You nurtured the wounds to which you sewn You gave me bread, You sang me a song And touched my wounds with a loving balm Oh, I was but a wounded Beast Yet, You taught me wisdom’s leash So I walk with you…dawn through night Quenched by your fount of love and light No darkness, no hate not a selfish bone Can feed this fiend that You’ve atoned Oh, I was, but a wounded Beast! ~Jason Neville Versey

September 19 “The LORD thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with singing.” Zephaniah 3:17 WHAT a word is this! Jehovah God in the centre of his people in all the majesty of his power! This presence alone suffices to inspire us with peace and hope. Treasures of boundless might are stored in our Jehovah, and he dwells in his church, therefore may his people shout for joy. We not only have his presence, but he is engaged upon his choice work of salvation. “He will save.” He is always saving: he takes his name of Jesus from it. Let us not fear any danger, for he is mighty to save. Nor is this all. He abides evermore the same; he loves, he finds rest in loving, he will not cease to love. His love gives him joy. He even finds a theme for song in his beloved. This is exceedingly wonderful. When God wrought creation he did not sing, but simply said, “It is very good;” but when he came to redemption, then the sacred Trinity felt a joy to be expressed in song. Think of it, and be astonished! Jehovah Jesus sings a marriage song over his chosen bride. She is to him his love, his joy, his rest, his song. O Lord Jesus, by thine immeasurable love to us teach us to love thee, to rejoice in thee, and to sing unto thee our life-psalm.

The ghost of Merle Haggard kept Sophia trapped in her house for two weeks. Every time she went to the door she’d see him standing on her lawn, clutching his guitar and wagging a disapproving finger at her. She knew her medication would probably make him go away, just like she knew the real Merle Haggard was alive and well in California, but she hated how the pills made her feel. Stuffy, slow, like scratchy wool was wrapped around her brain.

To this point in her life, Sarah has associated opera with Bugs Bunny in braids, PBS, overweight men wearing tunics, shrieking women, and shattering glass. She’s never understood, certainly because she’s never seen a live opera but also because she’s never heard a half-decent performance, not even in part, on TV, that opera, in fact, is the highest redemption of longing. That it’s her own anguish, salvaged by music. The victorious army’s fight song, in defense of her mute, savaged heart.

Strummer’s father’s profession of career diplomat didn’t arise from any position of privilege—quite the opposite, in fact. “He was a self-made man, and we could never get on,” said Strummer. “He couldn’t understand why I was last in every class at school. He didn’t understand there were different shapes to every piece of wood, different grains to people. I don’t blame him, because all he knew was that he pulled himself out of it by studying really hard.

one of his first creative contributions on linking up with Mick Jones was to change the title of a love song called “I’m So Bored with You” to “I’m So Bored with the USA.

I’ve got a big problem: Mick was right about Bernie [Rhodes].” He had finally realized he had been manipulated. He caught a plane to the Bahamas, where Mick Jones was on holiday: an ounce of grass in his hand, he sought out the guitarist’s hotel, and presented him with this tribute, asking to get the Clash back together. But it was too late: Jones had already formed a new group, Big Audio Dynamite; although Joe Strummer ended up coproducing BAD’s second album, his own plans came to nothing.

talk to Rat Scabies, former drummer with the Damned. He tells me he and Joe had been working together in 1995 on the soundtrack of Grosse Pointe Blank, but that they fell out over that hoary old rock ’n’ roll chestnut—money. “I was stupid,” he admits. “I thought I knew everything from playing with the Damned. But working with Joe was like an entirely new education. He understood how to trust his instincts and go with them every time. I couldn’t believe how fast he worked.

So I sat there and listened and started disintegrating. This has happened twice before. The first time was in the Tiki Room at the Bombay Oberoi, listening to a Bengali play guitar and sing 'My Way.' The second time was in a Zapatista village in the mountains of Chiapas, listening to a young woman from Montana play guitar and sing 'Redemption Song.' Both times I was left in little pieces that took a long time to push back together. And there along the river, listening to our music, all about yearning for freedom, I again felt overwhelmed by the same juxtapositions and ironies.

Build me up like a tower on the heights of your sanctuary, And set me like a seal upon your heart. Make me drunk with the blood of the foe on the day of war And satisfy me with his flesh on the night of redemption. Place the cup of salvation upon my right hand That my tongue may give voice in joy to a song of love. For nearly a thousand years I have declared my sorrow With many tears and with fasting,—will You not answer me?

Theology is all about knowing how to sing the song of redemption: to know when to shout, when to mourn, when to be silent and when to hope. But in order to enjoy the song and sing it well, we must learn the words and the music.

Oh, wow, your glasses!” I heard Justine cry. “They’re amazing! You’re, like, a hipster. And hipster is totally dead as a fashion statement, which makes it ironic, which makes you totally hipster!

Paradoxically, the musical Merrily is both very faithful yet rather untrue to its source. To repeat: in the musical, we lose a substantial piece of information about why the hero is so determined to achieve financial independence: to protect himself from the kind of beating he took during his first marriage. No one, we almost hear him cry, will ever own me again! But the musical also improved on that hero, trading the somewhat high-strung Richard Niles for the more fascinating Franklin Shepard, a wonder boy on whom everyone needs to project his or her fantasies. He’s a savior, yes—but of no redemptive power whatsoever, because he’s too self-absorbed to relate to others. Is that why he gave up the very creative vocation of composer for the bureaucratic post of movie producer? Like so many Sondheim shows, Merrily We Roll Along raises more questions than it answers. But raising questions is the theatre’s mandate. It may be that we’re never going to know what drives Franklin Shepard, just as we never quite understand the Franklin Shepards we meet in life. The better we know them, the more they confuse us. One Merrily lyric runs, “It started out like a song.” It always does, doesn’t it?

anyone who thinks different is sniffing unicorn farts.

We can’t fight a war with brave songs and good intentions, Siris. You’re our weapon. They forged you, yes, but we can use that.

I ain't the man in the silver screen, Got more scars than what can be seen. I walk a line that's thin and frayed, With every step, a price is paid. 'Cause I'm not perfect, I've got my demons, They dance in the shadows, they fight for reasons. But I stand tall, through the trials I roam, I'm not perfect, but I'm finding home. In the mirror, the truth stares back, A life of color in a world of black. I've made mistakes, I've told some lies, But redemption's song is my reprise. 'Cause I'm not perfect, I've got my demons, They whisper doubts, and plot their treasons. But I stand strong, in the light I bask, I'm not perfect, but I'm up to the task. The road is long, the night is deep, But I've got promises to keep. For every demon that I face, There's a grace that I embrace. So here's to the fighters, the broken hearts, To the dreamers playing their parts. We're all just trying to find our way, In the story of our own play. Yeah, I'm not perfect, I've got my demons, They rage like storms, through all the seasons. But I stand brave, with hope in my soul, I'm not perfect, but I'm on a roll. So let the music play, let the chorus ring, In the heart of the imperfect, let the truth sing. We've all got demons, but we've got love too, I'm not perfect, but I'm here with you.

clothes.

I name you Avisiéth. The Unsung Song. Redemption’s Dawn.

Ending the Year in Praise Praise the Lord! Praise God in his heavenly dwelling; praise him in his mighty heaven! Praise him for his mighty works; praise his unequaled greatness! Praise him with a blast of the trumpet; praise him with the lyre and harp! . . . Let everything that lives sing praises to the Lord! Praise the Lord! Psalm 150:1-3, 6 What a way to end the year—praising the Lord for his mighty works, his unequaled greatness. This psalm, also called the last hallelujah, invites us to join the praises to God in the holy place. The praise is not half-hearted; it is full-force praise with musical instruments—tambourine, stringed instruments, the lyre, the cymbals—and dancing, praise from everyone. When we offer God praise, we’re doing what we were created for, even if we’re not the best musician or dancer. All of us can raise our voices singing hymns, choruses, and new songs to the Lord. How has God blessed you, your family, friends, or church this year? What mighty works has he accomplished? What progress have you made in an area in which you’ve struggled? What prayers has God answered? What new attributes or aspects of God have you discovered or experienced in the past year? Lift up your voice or whatever instrument you play, and praise the Lord for these specific things as you pray this psalm aloud.   LORD, I join those in your heavenly dwelling to worship you for your mighty works. I praise your unequaled greatness. I praise you with my whole heart for how you’ve sustained me in the year that is ending, for your faithfulness, love, and provision. Thank you for how you’ll be with me each day in the new year. Let everything that lives sing praises to the Lord!   TO THE EAR OF GOD EVERYTHING HE CREATED MAKES EXQUISITE MUSIC, AND MAN JOINED IN THE PAEAN OF PRAISE UNTIL HE FELL, THEN THERE CAME IN THE FRANTIC DISCORD OF SIN. THE REALIZATION OF REDEMPTION BRINGS MAN BY WAY OF THE MINOR NOTE OF REPENTANCE BACK INTO TUNE WITH PRAISE AGAIN. Oswald Chambers (1874-1917)

The Bible reads like a collection of books about people caught up in exodus and exile. It is a book that shows the destruction of imperialism and war. It shows how innocents suffer. The climax of the book is the suffering innocent saviour crucified on a tree. But, God is not done there, it is also a story of resurrection, redemption, and hope. It is the story of people with good news to share by words and action. It is counter-culture and more relevant now than some may realise. In an age of wars and rumours of war, an age of refugees in exile and mass exodus, it speaks of the need for love and compassion. The early followers of Jesus were famous for love and not hate. So while the extremists, the religiously ignorant, the politically cold, the divisive nationalists and the greedy arms dealers fuel the world's problems, and beat the war drums, let us the people of new birth be lights in the darkness and voices in the wilderness. Let us live and sing the song of love, for truly His banner over us is love. It is to that beat we march and in His name, not the gods of hate and war, but the God of love, the Prince of Shalom (peace). Soli Deo Gloria. Amen

Ehrlich does not believe that the Israelites were ever slaves in Egypt. He feels that he could support his view with: (1) None of the prophets, except Micah 6:5, mention the enslavement. (2) Micah 6:5 has a different version than the Five Books of Moses. It states that God sent Moses, Aaron, and Miriam to redeem the Israelites. The Five Books state that only Moses was sent, Aaron was only an assistant to Moses, and Miriam had no role in the redemption other than gathering the women to sing praises that the Israelites were saved at the Red Sea. (3) Scholars say that the song in Deuteronomy 32 is a very old composition.

The Reality of Heaven: The Hebrews sermon often speaks about heaven’s reality. The pastor reveals it’s the place where God keeps his throne; to be in heaven means to be in God’s very presence; in it are the names of everyone whom God calls his own; and it is the place where our ultimate redemption and atonement took place. This last revelation of heaven is especially important, because Hebrews explains the old religious order of rules and rituals is no longer necessary because of the final sacrifice made for all people. All God commanded under the first covenant on earth became obsolete and disappeared thanks to what Jesus accomplished in heaven! The heavenly temple is where our ultimate salvation was accomplished, of which the earthly one could not.

Real insights are more than a shelter to all the children of the world. My real insights are more than one song of redemption!

Hallelujah! For the Lord our God the Almighty reigns. Let us rejoice and exult and give him the glory” (Rev. 19:6–7). On into eternity the song echoes. It is the celebration chant of the redeemed. And one day we will join that multitude, no longer looking forward in hope but looking back with the security of redemption accomplished, and with the angels and the saints of old we too will sing glory songs about Jesus forever and ever and ever. Yes, it is true: that night the angels began a song that will never ever end.

Live your life that the fear of death can never enter your heart. Trouble no one about his religion. Respect others in their views and demand that they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and of service to your people. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide’.

When you’re surrounded by enemies, don’t rely on man-made fortifications or military power. Trust God.

understand. I understand.” She was only dimly aware that it wasn’t Hezekiah holding her, but his