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“Why are you crying?” My husband’s voice echoes in my mind from earlier in the day. I ask myself the question over and over. I try to answer it, but no response seems to suffice. A body knows when a heart is aching, when it’s fragile and needs to be tended to. Even if the mind can’t quite express it, the body was designed to read the room of the soul.

One Church. A healthy, strong body. This is more than a unity or an alignment of beliefs; it is beautifully living as one interconnected unit. Joined together by joints and sinews. The metaphor of the body as One Church is meant to signify a wholistic connectedness through Christ for our good and His glory. The challenge – why it is so hard for a group of people to form a single body -- is that true connectedness is hard. It requires a continual, ongoing, sacrificial investment by giving to others the one resource most of us in our flesh guard the most – our time.

I notice in the scene of the cross that John mentions just a handful of people who are there observing the gruesome death of this man called Jesus. I read of four soldiers who strip the clothes off His back and cast lots to see who gets what. I read of Mary the mother of Jesus and her sister. I imagine grieving with my own sister if either of us were to lose one of our boys.

In a quaint village nestled between rolling hills and whispering streams, there lived an old man named Christian. Christian was known not for his wealth or stature but for his gentleness and sage wisdom. His heart radiated a rare warmth that touched the lives of all who crossed his path.

In a recent post titled What God Sings About, we looked at the final third of Zephaniah 3, basking in the fact that God so delights in His restored relationship with us that He breaks out in singing. What an amazing truth!