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.

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 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!

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!

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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

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

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.

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?

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.

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.

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!

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,

His questions will make his faith stronger in the end.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

clothes.

You pray. And you allow the Lord to be your strength. Remember—the Lord doesn’t give you strength, Hezekiah. He is your strength.

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

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.

Yahweh never promised that your life would be without problems. But meditate on what He has promised. Let it be your strength. God will never leave you or forsake you. He commands you not to be afraid, so to be fearful is to doubt God. And that is a sin.

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.

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.

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’.

The woman's experience in the Song of Songs brings out the deep structure of the human soul. The Sehnsucht that C.S. Lewis describes is not an allegory of our need for love and ultimately for God; it is an expression of it. A passing glimpse of glory one may catch when looking at the heavens, or when listening to music, or when reading the words of an epic poem is a breaking out of this deep yearning for that which is good, beautiful, and loving. When people experience love, joy, freedom, and intimacy on any level, they are experiencing something that redeems human nature. Knowing God is therefore the ultimate experience of redemption; every other redemptive experience is real but limited, like a foreshadow.

On the plus side,” Ben said, “have to give those kids credit for knowing which way the wind’s blowing, even if they’re a little misguided. The planet’s already lost. There’s no shame in joining the winning team.” Nice as Ben was, I couldn’t help but imagine him happily informing on his neighbors in Nazi-occupied France instead of taking up arms with the resistance. I couldn’t say a damn thing, though. It wasn’t like I had a moral leg to stand on.

Watch your mouth,” Emma said. “I can’t…I can’t even deal with you right now. Go to your room. We’ll discuss this in the morning.” “Mom, c’mon—” I could see Emma’s eyes flash copper from across the room, glowing like orbs of pitch and fire as her voice went guttural, dropping too deep for any human throat. “To. Your. Room.” Melanie didn’t need to be told twice. She vanished up the hallway. Emma straightened her blouse, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. When she turned back to face us, she was perfectly tranquil. “Sorry about that,” she said. “Kids,” I said, shrugging. I wasn’t sure what else to say.

She just sometimes forgets that she has some…special challenges to face that her friends don’t. Things she needs to remember to do, and things not to do.” “Like not downing a couple of beers and flashing her real teeth at a panhandler,” Emma said, in a tone that suggested it wasn’t a hypothetical situation. “Or necking with her boyfriend, getting excited, and clawing his back so badly he needs stitches. Hushing that up was the highlight of my week, let me tell you.

You sound confident.” “I have faith,” Emma said, and then she was gone.

Cook yourself some bacon or something.” “Pfft. Rather have the beer.” “Not while I’m standing here,” I said. “You’re underage.” She puffed air up against her fallen bangs, making them flutter. “Aren’t you, like, a thief or something?” “Or something, sometimes.” “But you won’t let me have a beer,” she said. “Nope. A man’s got to have standards.” Melanie pulled a sealed package of turkey bacon out of the fridge and reached for a frying pan. “Ooh,” she said sarcastically, “the code of the criminal underworld, just like in the movies. Like you won’t shoot women or kids, right?” I shrugged. “I try not to shoot anybody if I can help it. If I’m put in a position where I have to, though, their gender or their age doesn’t have a whole lot to do with it.” “And let me guess, you never steal from your boss?” “Depends.” “Depends?” she said. “On how much of an asshole he is.” “That happen a lot?” “Working for assholes?” I said. “You have no idea.” She laughed.

Problem there,” I said, “is Lauren’s a strategist. A damn good one. If she’s not thinking about the long term…” Harmony finished my thought. “Then there isn’t going to be a long term.

I pretended to think, stalling for time. “Something you want, something you…oh, right! It just arrived. A big pile of ‘fuck you’ with your name on it.” I gave him the finger. Sullivan frowned. “What?” I said. “Not your size? I’m sorry, all fuck yous are final.

You know the Honeydew? It’s a no-tell motel that rents by the hour, and the management has a permanent case of cash-induced amnesia.

Was that…was that some kind of demon?” he said. I looked over at the bottle and shook my head. “No. No, that was just a major-league asshole.

Well, the only person I really have to impress is Sullivan, and from what I heard he wasn’t keen on spending too much time having a deep conversation with the guy. Hopefully he’ll overlook it.” “And if he doesn’t?” Harmony asked. “Then he tears me into itty-bitty pieces and scatters my body parts all over the desert. And this officially becomes the worst plan I’ve ever had.

She arched an eyebrow. “You already know?” “I stole his soul, lost his soul, exorcised his soul from another person’s body, stuffed him in a bottle, pulled a short con, and now the Choir thinks I’m Gilles de Rais.” Pixie just stared at me. She rested her palms on the tabletop. “You have got,” she said, “to do a better job of keeping me in the loop.” “It’s been a really busy couple of days.

If all goes well, I’ll see you at the banquet. If I don’t show, scrub the job and get out any way you can.” “Why wouldn’t you show?” Ben asked, nervous again. “Because,” I told him, “that means I’m dead.

You were going to betray me!” Sullivan roared, slamming his fist on the table. Lauren bared her teeth. “You were going to betray me!” I jumped up onto my chair and climbed onto the dinner table, standing in the heart of the powder keg. “Ladies! Gentlemen! You’re both right! You were all about to betray each other. Congratulations and welcome to Las Vegas. If I could have the floor for a moment?

The fact is, it just wasn’t meant to be. Crazy rich lady who wants to blow up the world, crazy demon asshole who wants to invade hell…I know, you had high hopes, but this relationship just wasn’t going to work out.” “I am going,” Sullivan seethed, “to kill you.” “Not if I get to him first,” Meadow said.

My goal, on the other hand, was to convince you to meet me somewhere remote. Somewhere I could finish you off without fear of interruption. So I prepared a—” “I know,” I said. “The book’s a fake, and you let me steal it.” He blinked.

I could see the sorrow in her eyes as she gently brushed his hair aside and kissed his brow. Then she snapped his neck. Ben’s corpse tumbled to the floor. Emma sank to her knees beside him, mute. She brushed her fingertips along his lifeless arm. If this was an action movie, that would have been her cue to say something badass. But this wasn’t a movie. It was just a stupid dead man and a grieving widow and a gulf of pain I couldn’t imagine.

A sharp crunching sound echoed across the cramped office. Pinfeather’s eyes went wide, his body rigid as a steel pole. He looked down. Caitlin’s hand was buried in his chest up to the wrist. A rivulet of blood guttered from his mouth as he tried to speak. Caitlin put her lips to his ear as her fingers curled around his pounding heart. “Like you said, this is Vegas,” Caitlin whispered. “And in Vegas, the house always wins.” She yanked her hand free. Pinfeather crumpled to the carpet, a look of surprise frozen on his face. She dropped his dead heart onto the ruins of his chest and went to find a bathroom where she could scrub her hands. Caitlin hummed as she strolled away from the empty church, thinking about what to buy for dinner. Daniel was coming over, and for at least one night, they could relax together in peace. She supposed things had worked out just fine.

And for the record, yes, a Taurus Judge probably WILL blow a demon’s face off at close range.

From the looks on his follower’s faces, I’d done a decent enough job of creeping them out. Two of them looked nervously at the duffel, as if they’d just found out I’d brought a piñata stuffed with anthrax to the party.

I could see the smudge of a pistol in his reflection’s grip, aimed right at my back. “I’m pretty good at reading people,” I said calmly, not turning around. “Figuring out their motivations. What makes them tick.” He didn’t say anything. I could almost hear him breathe. “You’re thinking, right about now,” I said, “that I’m the straw that’s breaking the camel’s back. That if you took me out of the picture, your life would be a whole lot simpler and safer. I don’t blame you for that. If I was in your shoes, I’d feel the same way. But I’m going to ask you a question, Gary. Just one question.” Still no reply. I imagined his finger curling around the trigger, a gentle squeeze from doomsday. “Gary, you know my name. And you’ve read Harmony’s file on me. The crime scene reports. The speculation and the rumors. You’ve seen the pictures of the bodies. Or what’s left of them. Do you believe what’s in that file, Gary?” His voice was almost too soft to hear. “I do,” he whispered. “You’re a fucking monster.” “Good. Then I want to ask you another question. You’ll get one shot, Gary, just one shot…so what do you think will happen if it doesn’t kill me?” His reflection’s arm wavered, then dropped limply to his side. I let myself out.

I didn’t murder Carl Holt, but to be fair, I had been planning on it. My girlfriend got to him first. She snapped his neck and left him dead on his partner’s kitchen floor. I just burned the house down when she was finished. Nobody should have been able to connect me to that mess, though. Nobody.

Carl Holt,” I mused, fighting to keep the surprise from my voice. “Oh, I remember him from the news. Wasn’t he that corrupt cop who was killed with his buddy, the Satan-worshipping porno director?

Your traveling companion is a highly successful narcotics dealer.” I held up a finger. “Point of order. She was arrested for marijuana possession twice, growing it once, and all three times the charges were dropped. She’s never seen the inside of a courtroom.” Harmony’s lips curled into a pert half-smile. “And that, Mr. Faust, is why I call her ‘successful.

Yeah.” Gary nodded. “She said that too, that it was your gun. Said this whole thing was your idea.” My eyes narrowed to slits. Rookie technique. Make me think Jennifer was in the other room, rolling on me, so I’d do the same to her. One problem: Jennifer was my sister. Not by blood, people like us don’t mark our family lines by blood, but she was my sister. She’d put a noose around her own neck before she’d put one around mine. I looked at Harmony. Harmony looked at Gary. She knew he’d overreached and blown it. So did Lars. Only Gary himself was too dumb to figure it out. I cleared my throat. “Agent Black? Maybe you could send this kid back to his mommy and daddy, so we could have an adult conversation?” “Sure. Let’s have a conversation,” she said,

I looked at Harmony. Harmony looked at Gary. She knew he’d overreached and blown it. So did Lars. Only Gary himself was too dumb to figure it out. I cleared my throat.

There was a modern family for you. Demon mom, human dad, cambion kid. Just like Caitlin and me, minus the kid and the wedding rings. Wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

How about you, Dan? What do you do for a living?” Well, Ben, until recently I was a hired wand for the biggest gang boss in Las Vegas, but we had a falling-out, so mostly I just run short cons and sometimes busk on Fremont Street doing sleight-of-hand tricks for spare change. I guess you could say I’m sort of a criminal bum. “I’m between jobs right now,” I told him. “The economy being what it is.

Hey, you don’t have any financial background, do you?” “I robbed a bank once,” I said, and Caitlin kicked my shin under the table. To their credit, Emma and Ben favored me with polite chuckles. Melanie smirked. I liked the kid. “Daniel is too modest,” Caitlin said.

So, Emma. Where are we on the ranch project?” “We’re signing tomorrow. Things couldn’t be running any more smoothly.” “Ranch project?” I asked. Emma beamed at me. “It’s a coup.” 4. “What kind of coup, exactly?” I asked, though part of me thought I might be happier not knowing. Damn my curiosity.

She tapped her iPhone and showed me the screen. An aerial photograph looked down over a sprawling, dusty desert ranch. I half expected to see a tumbleweed rolling down the main thoroughfare, or maybe a couple of cowboys out for a high noon showdown.

It’s not all sex work, of course. Any business of that size needs support and grounds staff—” “Gee, Mom.” Melanie’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Can I get a summer job there? I’ll be the best jizz-mopper ever!” “Melanie!” Emma snapped. I quickly shoved a forkful of prawn in my mouth, trying to keep myself from laughing, but I couldn’t hold a straight face. Melanie grinned at me, sensing a kindred spirit at the table. “Language,” Caitlin told Melanie, then looked sidelong at me and muttered, “Don’t encourage her.

She doesn’t dare come after us head-on, not now.” “We did,” Caitlin said with a faint murmur of pleasure, “slaughter most of her associates.

She arched one eyebrow, incredulous, and tilted her head. “Daniel? Did you forget who I work for?” In retrospect, it was a dumb question on my part.

The problem with doing magic under pressure is that the pressure drowns out the flow, the rhythm. It’s like trying to play jazz with a gun to your head.

If you want to be human, you’d better go buy a house in the suburbs, play golf, and cheat on your taxes, because that’s the closest you’re ever gonna get.

The gun was an equalizer, but only when it came to the cambion. Sullivan would just swallow the bullets and spit them back out at me.

Redemption Choir. Half-demons who want to be human,” I said. “So they’re the good guys.” “No,” I said. “They’re nuts, and they just kidnapped a priest. They’re the bad guys.” “Who’s AB?” “Special Agent Harmony Black. FBI agent, trying to bust Nicky Agnelli. Honest cop, as far as I know. Straight shooter.” “So she’s a good guy.” “No, because she also wants to bust everyone who Nicky’s ever done business with, including me, and Lauren Carmichael’s pulling her strings. So she’s also a bad guy.” “Who’s S?” Pixie asked. “Sitri. Demon prince.” “Definitely a bad guy.” I sighed. “No. My girlfriend works for him, and she just helped save the world.” “So let me get this straight,” Pixie said. “Some of the bad guys are bad guys, some of the bad guys are the good guys, and there aren’t any good good guys.” “That’s right.” “Hey, Faust?” “Yeah, Pix?” “You ever think,” she said, “your moral compass might be just a little bit fucked up?” “Every damn day.

The Nook was in a perpetual state of slightly organized chaos, like it had been hit by a tornado followed by a slightly mad librarian with bold new ideas about the Dewey decimal system.

I nearly dropped my fork. “Say that again?” “Human servants, so we can go where—” “No, not that, the second part. The stupid part. You guys are actually Satanists? Like real, no-kidding, play your heavy metal album backward and bark at the moon Satanists?” Mack blinked. Zeke looked like he was fantasizing about killing me. “It’s not stupid,” Mack said. “We have a place of high honor awaiting us—” “Yeah, it is. It really is. So this is how Prince Malphas ropes you dopes in. Don’t suppose he’s told you that nobody’s even seen Lucifer in over a thousand years? He took a walkabout and never came back. Hell had a civil war when he left, geniuses. How do you think the whole feuding-courts thing came about?” “That’s not true,” Mack said.

At this range, a gut shot from a .32 probably won’t kill me. Oh, I won’t be loving life, but I’ll be alive and conscious enough to squeeze this trigger twice. Now, you take a blast from my piece? You’ll be lucky if your spine’s still intact.” “He’s bluffing,” Zeke said, but it came out more like a question than a statement.

Help me?” I shouldn’t have looked, but I did. The silhouette of a bloated man cowered in the dark, extending a fat, trembling hand with half its fingers gnawed to stumps. “Please,” he wheezed. “I can’t stop eating, and they keep bringing me more—” “Sorry,” I said, shaking my head and moving on.

Redemption Song Featuring Ziggy Marley Lauryn: Oh Pirates yes they rob I Stole I from the merchant ships Minutes after they took I From the bottomless pit But my hand was made strong By the hand of the Allmighty We forward in this generation Triumphantly Won't you help to sing these songs of freedom 'Cause all I ever have Redemption Songs (x3) Ziggy & Lauryn: Emancipate yourself from mental slavery None but ourselves can free our minds Have no fear for atomic energy 'Cause none of them can stop the time How long shall they kill our prophets While we stand aside and look Yes, some say it's just a part of it But we've got to fulfill the book Won't you help us sing Another song of freedom 'Cause all I ever have Redemption Song (x3) L. Boogie Lauryn: Yo, If they can stop this fruit They would pop this route Chop this fruit Treat us like a prostitute Knock this youth See me in my cocky suit God's recruit From fallin even God's salute Tribal truth Ja people can't be mute Share my youth to Babylon can't regroup Sing, to Babylon can't regroup Sing, to Babylon can't regroup Lauryn & Ziggy: Emancipate yourself from mental slavery None but ourselves can free our minds Have no fear for atomic energy 'Cause none of them can stop the time How long shall they kill our prophets While we stand aside and look Some say it's just a part of it We've got to fulfill the book Won't you help to sing Another song of freedom, yeah 'Cause all I ever have Redemption song (x 5)

Lament is always voiced in the hope that redemption is possible. Psalms and songs of disorientation are always rooted in a failed orientation and long for the time when we will be able to sing new songs of reorientation. Lament keeps us alive with hope when the temptation is to surrender to a defeated numbness.[273]

Of course he was there, a removed audience of my redemption songs from beyond the grave, the way Kafka and his father continued to shadow-box, long after they quit staring at each other at the dinner table.

America cannot mend if its wounds are constantly covered and not treated.

The only thing that can win over evil is love. Learn to love, strive to love, cause we ain’t got time for nothing else.

Ronald Reagan once said the nine scariest words in the English language were, “I’m from the government and I’m here to help.

Easysauce,” she said.

I wasn’t superstitious about these things. Bad luck was something I gave to other people.

the smoke-faced men

Corpsman might be Navy, but they had Marine hearts, and they weren’t going to take shit from anyone.

Listeners: listen theologically to the music of the Divine Service, recognizing that it is present as part of a tightly integrated whole, where word and music, speech and song are united in one purpose—to point us to Christ and His redemptive work, to the One who has come that we “may have life and have it abundantly” (John 10:10).

What I wanted to hear was “The Rose,” a song of fear and the redemption of love: “It’s the heart, afraid of breaking / That never learns to dance / … It’s the one who won’t be taken / Who cannot seem to give.” She could make me laugh; she could sing and make me cry. One of the people in the world I felt closest to.

The last song tonight is “Moment of Surrender,” a hymn of suffering and redemption, a confession and plea, a very Bono mash-up of religion and mysticism, delivered as a hypnotic chant. I am mesmerized.

Sorry, kid,” I told him. There wasn’t anything else worth saying. I left him to die. I forced my feelings into a little box in the back of my mind. Guilt was a luxury for later. Right now, I couldn’t afford to think about anything but survival.

What do I always tell you about good, clean, fair fights?” I grinned. “No such thing. Fair fights are for suckers. Always fight dirty.

So let me get this straight,” Pixie said. “Some of the bad guys are bad guys, some of the bad guys are the good guys, and there aren’t any good good guys.” “That’s right.

You are standing,” I told him, “between me and my chance, my only chance, to get my life back. So I want you to ask yourself a question, and I want you to look me in the eyes when you do it. Do you know my name? Because I am Daniel fucking Faust, and you should know what happens to people who stand in my way.” The guard hesitated for a moment. Then he unlocked the door and stood aside.

“I don’t know. What?”

Not since Alex Haley’s Roots has there been a history of equal literary quality where the writing surmounts the rhythmic soul of fiction, where the writer’s voice sings a song of redemptive glory as true as Faulkner’s southern cantatas.

The best men came early and died fast. They were the men of the purest ideals and conviction, who came to fight for God. Had they known how it was going to turn out, they wouldn’t have come. The men who came later, responding to the siren song of the violence, were the mercenaries and the riffraff, the vulnerable converts and the lost souls, the thugs in search of a cause, the petty gangsters and the drifters, seeking redemption, identity, meaning. These were not men on whose shoulders you could build a society.

The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, is a musical “book of shadows,” each song a spell intending to invoke a different entity inhabiting his mind and soul. Brown describes creating and listening to the album as an “inner journey” in which he would call forth “gods and presences” through each song. Brown was interested in dualities, in the tension inherent in the gods of mythology. He saw his own role as trickster, mediating between humans and gods, showing the hazards of breaching the divide. Here again is the story of Dionysus’s birth, where the god’s coming into the world was a result of his mother getting too close to the divine fire. There is also a Christian connotation in the quagmire: Does hellfire burn or cleanse? Is hell a place of eternal suffering, or does redemption await on the other side of punishment?

God’s clothing of Adam and Eve has provided a thought model and a metaphor that have been repeatedly used and enjoyed all down the centuries. The Jewish poet and prophet Isaiah describes how the redeemed phrase their song of gratitude to God: I will greatly rejoice in the Lord; my soul shall exult in my God, for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation; he has covered me with the robe of righteousness. (Isa 61:10) In the parable of the Prodigal Son, Christ describes how the prodigal came home in all his filthy rags, shame and disgrace, and then what his father’s response was: ‘the father said to his servants, “Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him”’ (Luke 15:22). The picturesque metaphors of the Revelation say of the redeemed: They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. ‘Therefore they are before the throne of God.’ (Rev 7:14–15) And this same age-long symbolic gesture and metaphor, translated into the straightforward theological language of the New Testament reads like this: God was in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself, not reckoning unto them their trespasses . . . him who knew no sin he made to be sin on our behalf, that we might become the righteousness of God in him. (2 Cor 5:19, 21 rv) For as by the one man’s disobedience the many were made sinners, so by the one man’s obedience the many will be made righteous. (Rom 5:19) This, then, in any generation is the first stage of redemption.1 The Christian gospel does not pretend that upon believing in Christ we shall never thereafter suffer any more pain, distress, sickness or death. Far from it. But it does affirm that God stands waiting to put into effect, for any who will, the first stage of redemption here and now: that is, personal reconciliation and peace with God, and the certainty that God will never reject us, because in Christ God is for us: If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. (Rom 8:31–34)

America cannot mend if its wounds are constantly covered.

It was a song about love and heartbreak. Betrayal and redemption. Regret and forgiveness. Each word tore me apart, as did the fact that Alex sang at all.

The Left has governed the great cities of the world before. Paris, Marseilles, Madrid, London under Red Ken, have all succumbed to the siren song of the Left at odd moments in the not too distant past. Barcelona was in fact once governed by committees of anarchists. Rome, Milan, and Naples have fallen under the Red Thumb. Stalinist proxies ruled Prague and Warsaw and Budapest and the traffic flow kept moving. The Communists took the garbage out in Moscow.

network

Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto Thy name give glory, for Thy mercy, and for Thy truth’s sake.” Psalm 115:1. Such was the spirit that pervaded Israel’s song of deliverance, and it is the spirit that should dwell in the hearts of all who love and fear God. In freeing out souls from the bondage of sin, God has wrought for us a deliverance greater than that of the hebrews at the Red Sea. Like the hebrew host, we should praise the Lord with heart and soul and voice for his “wonderful works to the children of men.” Those who dwell upon God’s great mercies, and are not unmindful of his lesser gifts, will put on the girdle of gladness and make melody in their hearts to the Lord. The daily blessings that we receive from the hand of God, and above all else the death of Jesus to bring happiness and heaven within our reach, should be a theme for constant gratitude. What compassion, what matchless love, has God shown to us, lost sinners, in connecting us with himself, to be to him a peculiar treasure! What a sacrifice has been made by our Redeemer, that we may be called children of God! We should praise God for the blessed hope held out before us in the great plan of redemption, we should praise him for the heavenly inheritance and for his rich promises; praise him that Jesus lives to intercede for us.

ended

Sinners, your dear Lord Jesus, the great peacemaker, is now an important suitor to your perishing souls--namely, an inviting, knocking, waiting, promising Christ (Prov. 1:22; 9:4; Isa. 65:2; Matt. 11:28; Rev. 3:20; Song 5:2; John 6:37). The treasures of grace are opened and offered for sale on easy terms without money and without price (Isa. 55:1; Rev. 3:18). Oh make speed and come. Make the purchase. Buy the pearl of price that is better than rubies, and you will have treasure in heaven. The favor of God, precious blood, white raiment, tried gold, and the eternal life of your never-dying souls are worth the having. Consider also that now the Holy Spirit calls and offers His assistance to close the bargain, to tie the marriage knot between Christ and your souls (Hebrews 3). If you lose this opportunity, you may never have the like. "The Spirit and the bride say, Come" (Rev. 22:17).

It’s already dark, and cold; my breath hangs in the air as I turn my eyes to the sky. The Milky Way  magnifies itself overhead; standing beneath this sparkling vault, the night provokes a sense of awe in me. Space stretches into an immeasurable expanse, my life floating in the gap.

The beauty of this group, I’m coming to understand, is that it allows all of us—whatever our level of self-understanding, whatever issues we’re struggling with—to listen to each other. Listening is an under-rated art. When we offer our attention to someone else, dropping any preconceived notions we might have, our sense of having to be right, or having to prove anything, drops away. Life is fleeting and fragile. Our friends and loved ones will one day be gone. We’re all struggling to find our way. But it braces me to see how, exercising our vulnerability and courage in this way, walking through our little corner of the world, we can’t help but learn from each other.

As the Yankee Doodle Dandies climbed into the altiplano (highlands), they sang the popular songs of the day, one of which, “Green Grow the Lilacs Oh,” became their signature tune, and forever after they would be known as “greengos.

Justin shook off his memories and scanned the tent for Haley. He found her back at her table, laughing with Jamal. At least the boy had distracted her from noticing the song the band had played.

Just as Mary, like Hannah before her, sang a song of divine redemption, so Mary will learn, as did Hannah, that she will have to let her son go.

14For in the Son all our sins are canceled and we have the release of redemption through his very blood.

Ali roared and his words They just set me free Rumble in the jungle little boy Go and show your teeth Tingle on your tongue, burn 'em slow Sting 'em like a bee Be humble in your core, bar the door Let the doubters be Let the doubters be Redemption for an eternity In the flesh, in the bone Sturdier than a rhino’s horn In my breath, in my tone Levitate off of an angel’s song This is the modern day halcyon Straight from the immortal champion

God, thank You for being a God who fights for me and takes delight in me. Even when I feel rejected and abandoned by those who have not loved me well, give me the ears to hear the song of love You’re singing over my heart and life today. Thank You for your perfect, never-failing love. In Jesus’ name, amen.

We drove down the highway, past shabby farmsteads with flaking paintwork and rotting wood, past tumbling-down tobacco barns cut through with shards of sunlight. Past abandoned cars and rusting farm machinery, and black cattle standing in paddocks next to farmhouses. Past towns that seemed half-abandoned, with boarded-up shops and houses with Confederate flags in their windows and 'VOTE TRUMP' signs on the front lawn. Shutters were closed and leaves gathered on the porch; churches with billboards promised redemption for drug addicts. Flakes of snow fell but didn't settle. Our friend drove us around the country in his white pick-up truch with his sheepdog in the back and hisred toolbox and wrenches in the footwell. He told us about his people, past and present, and introduced us to farmers who were holding on. They all told us the same thing: America had chosen industrial farming and abandoned its small family farms, and this was the result - a landscape and a community that was falling apart. They showed us fields of oilseed rape that were full of weeds because they were now resistant to the herbicides that had been overused. They spoke of mountains ripped open for minerals, and rivers polluted, the farming people leaving the land or holding on in hidden poverty. And the worse it got, the more people seemed to gravitate to charlatans with their grand promises and ready-made scapegoats to focus all their anger on.

I AM HOLDING YOU.” Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. (Psalm 73:23) “I AM YOUR HIDING PLACE.” You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance. (Psalm 32:7)

The Psalter teaches us to sing-pray the blues in the hope of redemption and deliverance—in the hope of Christ.

I waited patiently for the LORD; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear, and put their trust in the LORD.

Not as perfect as you, svichka. If I could have one wish in this life, it would be to see you at my side. Fighting, ruling, loving. I would wish to deserve a woman like you. And I would do everything in my power, for the rest of my days, to be worthy of that honor. I would make love to you every night, worshiping your exquisite body and your brilliant soul. Your cries in the darkness would be the song I would hum to my last day.” He blew softly on my neck, raising chill bumps there. “If I were worthy, that is.

Cynicism is not a neutral position — and although it asks almost nothing of us, it is highly infectious and unbelievably destructive. In my view, it is the most common and easy of evils. It took a devastation to teach me the preciousness of life and the essential goodness of people. It took a devastation to reveal the precariousness of the world, of its very soul, to understand that it was crying out for help. It took a devastation to understand the idea of mortal value, and it took a devastation to find hope. Unlike cynicism, hopefulness is hard-earned, makes demands upon us, and can often feel like the most indefensible and lonely place on Earth. Hopefulness is not a neutral position either. It is adversarial. It is the warrior emotion that can lay waste to cynicism. Each redemptive or loving act, as small as you like, Valerio, such as reading to your little boy, or showing him a thing you love, or singing him a song, or putting on his shoes, keeps the devil down in the hole. It says the world and its inhabitants have value and are worth defending. It says the world is worth believing in. In time, we come to find that it is so.

Writing a good song is not mimicry, replication, or pastiche; it is the opposite. It is an act of self-murder that destroys all one has strived to produce in the past. It is those dangerous, heart-stopping departures that catapult the artist beyond the limits of what they recognize as their known self. This is part of the authentic creative struggle that precedes the invention of a unique lyric of actual value; it is the breathless confrontation with one’s vulnerability, peril, and smallness, pitted against a sense of sudden, shocking discovery. It is the redemptive artistic act that stirs the heart of the listener, where the listener recognizes their own blood, struggle, and suffering in the inner workings of the song.

I imagine the river began with tears. The tears cried for mankind when they first sinned. God Almighty dragged His toe across the earth He’d formed and left a gulley that needed to be filled. He sat atop that mountain and looked over His creation knowing what lay ahead. He’d have to send His own Son. Make His own sacrifice in order to give us salvation. Then God being God did what was necessary to save us from ourselves. Something important to bring us back into His arms. I figure through it all, He must have cried Hisself a river … a river of mercy filled by the redeeming blood of His own child.” That was it. The answer I’d searched for all along. I’d carried it with me the whole time, tied deep in the meaning of my name, buried in the song of the river. Mercy. It was all about mercy. Redemption

We spend most of the time searching for love, but once we get what we want, we stop working, but the real work still has to be done.

HAQ(2025) Mo