All eyes on Paris this week. The good, the bad and the limber.
Blessing. I was uplifted by the music ministry of Sister Celine Dion during the opening ceremonies. Bless her heart. She has struggled with health issues that threaten her gift of song. And yet, in that moment on the Eiffel Tower, she burst forth in such a joyful noise, many were led to surrender to foreign missions! (Of course, the rain pelting down on the grand piano next to her gave our music minister a hissy fit, but that’s his problem.) My main concern with Sister Celine was her singing in tongues. I don’t mind the Holy Spirit descending upon her like that, but the Bible says if there’s not an interpreter, it’s just not right!
Blasphemy. I have been fielding calls left and right from angry fellow Babatists who are fit to be tied over that ridiculous mockery of the Last Supper during the opening ceremonies. The nerve of the French! It all just points to the debauchery of Olympic history. But I’ve taken a step back to assess the issue further. Some of these fine people complaining seem to have no problem with monthly calendars portraying a former President in the presence of Jesus, portraying said politician at the feet of the Lord, or artistically imagining 45 as an angel. Brothers and Sister, what really is the difference? I’m praying that these fine folk are inspired to express outrage over bigger issues here at home. And to prove my point, I have portrayed myself into that da Vinci painting just to get in on the bandwagon. Let’s have supper!
Brody. I have a personal interest in the success of the United States Men’s Gymnastics team. You see, I saw a ministry and asked the Lord for an opportunity. I prayed that I would serve as a spiritual guide for these fine young men as they prepared for the Paris Olympics. Diligently and reverently, I would be on my knees before each of them in supplication on a daily basis. I would anoint them with oils at the Lord’s leading. My efforts would have brought them great success. Alas, my prayers went unanswered and these little fire plugs achieved success on their own. But I’m still on my knees for Brother Brody. GLORY!
