“If I’m not welcome and the homeless are not welcome, neither is the revolutionary that we follow.”
I could relate with this completely
I thought I should share
About ten years ago, I attended the Methodist church in the city where my husband and I were living. It was Christmas time and my parents were visiting from Arizona. The four of us decided to attend the midnight service at the church.
We arrived and the huge altar looked stunning covered in the bright red leaves of poinsettias. The stained glass windows didn’t have the sun shining through, but even the darkness of the night outside couldn’t mask their beauty. The choir, all in white robes, looked angelic, their voices filling the sanctuary.
It was Christmas and I looked forward with anticipation to hear the hope of the sermon and to sing all the carols that I loved as a child.
Christmas always brings back memories of my brothers and I when were kids. During church, my oldest brother, Joel, would tell us, his younger siblings, that the song
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