The healing leaves

The splendor of the king is wet and wild. I discovered last night quite unexpectedly.

We have walked these Midwestern hills that proved to be cupped hand of God, his wonderfully warm breath blowing comfort to those in those weathered hands, the last three days. We've rambled around the narthex bookstore, gazing at bookstores to find books we much more easily could gather on line, looking all the more like lemmings seeking a cliff in the enormous cavern that is the West building of the Church of the Resurrection, so named because they began in a funeral home.

I came here seeking education of the mind, frankly, a new and better model perhaps for being all things to my churches. A quilt of preacher, soother, comforter, media user, evangelist, teacher, healer, prophet, I came to learn more to be.

Yesterday, as the temperatures took a quick plummet, as the wind came roaring out of the North like some Kansas salesperson late for a call, swimming the Missouri with ease, taking my bag lunch and placing it in another's lap, things changed.

Last night my cousin and I sat in the hulking sanctuary of COR, and we worshipped. Oh, I know everyone thinks we pastors do that every week, but frankly, that hasn't proved to be my case. I lead worship, not worship, and when the long hours and the bronchitis and the back pain all come resting on me, I long to worship my friend, my Maker, my God.

Last night, the sounds of heaven allowed me to gently rush toward him, and the reason for my coming, beyond breakout sessions and PowerPoint and everything else was made clear.

In the book of Revelation, one view stands out for me..."Then the angel showed me the river of water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city ...also on either side of the river, the tree of life, with its 12 kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. The leaves were for the healing of the nations."

We stood and we sang, denominations as varied as hair styles. We sang to our creator, and He saw that it was good. And for a while, sickness, and tiredness, and planning, and the stench of calendaring  was taken away.

The leaves of His tree of life had healed me, once again.

On this cool Midwestern night, a gentile rain greeted us as we left the building. I imagined the water was splashing from that throne room river.