At times the enemy strikes us during worship or from our nature as it did in this one sometime last year. Seems this occurs especially during a sermon!
That evening, in a warehouse basement
a praise group played and festive voices rose
to the Creator, blood of the Lamb and swirling Spirit
while a frontstage floodlight silhouetted
tattooed arms, upraised hands waving
as he proclaimed voice in crescendo:
Spirit rising, healing old heart wounds,
Consuming dark forces and irascible energies—
when suddenly Liar violently attacked me
with vile thoughts against a brown-eyed child a row ahead—
a pall constricted my body’s temple tighter than Spandex
and driving homeward David’s cry was mine:
The cords of hell entangled me; the snares of death confronted me. *
What kind of son am I?