A for Apple

“We were as gods, seated in the arm of the great king, till the knave came and stole everything” – Adam In the beginning … In a time before the first chord of condemnation dropped from the liar’s lips, before his accusatory tones spread like a wildfire across the expanse of time and space. Time was still in diapers. We join the story at a junction called the beginning where the Ultimate Intelligence had just begun His masterpiece – Heaven and Earth (apologies to the other planets).

So …

  Listen carefully to the sound of your own heart beating. The sky around you is darkening. The mares of night race through the dusty streets. You are in this moment the Prodigal son returning home. It has been years since you last saw the starry skies over your birthplace. The streets are unwelcoming. Those who pass by gaze upon you with disgust. Why not? After all you are clad in the entrails of pigs. You reek of vomit and your disheveled hair is crowned with sores. Listen. Do not let this moment pass you by. Latch on to the feeling. For there is a lump in your throat. The men drag you to the center of the market. Their hands mean and fierce make no attempt to cover your nakedness. Who are you? Not the lowly tavern wench. You are not even the local harlot, but you are a mother caught in a minute of indiscretion with another. They drag you

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Held

I am held in the hollow of his hands, by the rivers that make me glad. He keeps me in his alcove of affection, Shielding me from harm and hell’s machination. I am kept by the power of His Love, His is a variant that fits my soul like a glove, When the storms of life venture near, I am assured of peace for He is here. I am held up above principalities and powers, My spirit fears neither death nor the witching hour, For there is a constant witness in the furnace, I have a Father who ever lives to give me rest. I am fearless in the den of raging beasts, Calm in the eye of fires stoked by pride and persecutions. For within me is domiciled one who is greater, I am His beloved and He is my Lord and Lover. I am held in the hollow of his hands, Adorned with grace on my head like

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No weapons

There are no obstacles To the one who is God’s tabernacle For He dwells within her, Therefore she will not be moved. She is as Zion, mountain of the Lord. She is incorruptible, born of the seed of the Word. There are no limits, To the one who is of one Spirit, Who is fashioned from the very Rock of ages, Whose voice silences the boasting of the water that rages. She rides triumphant over death and hell, She sets the captive free and locks darkness in its own cell. There are no barricades, To hold the one who broke death’s gates, And to his Ecclesia he has committed the keys, For to rule and reign after his pleasure and will. She is impenetrable and impregnable, The hounds of hell cannot prevail against her. There are no weapons That can prosper, no matter the form or fashion, For she is garrisoned on every side by the angelic, At her command,

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Reality of Righteousness

Listening to Pastor Onayinka Olusegun‘s teaching on the Reality of Righteousness and I find the scales falling off my eyes. The constant rhetoric in churches, designed to bombast the believer into a form of righteousness, is that we are to “work for our salvation with fear and trembling”. With voices raised and fists clenched the preacher with all his garb and garrulity attempts to arm-twist the believer into confessing his sins in order to obtain the forgiveness of God. {Once a preacher arrived with much fanfare and pomp} She and her band of merry men portrayed a God who would be so petty as to be marking church attendance register and counting the number of hours prayed. It was a drama that moved many to tears as they realized the utter “depravity” of their state. After all if God was to demand that we enter heaven on the basis of our works who would make it? Upon completion of the

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