Fire in the Belly
I just returned from a conference:
One man spoke powerfully out of his fire. He sought to tell the burning coal of truth. It flamed up and then out dangerously onto the floor. Many were singed. They closed their ears. They slumped into their seats. They shut down.
Another man spoke out of his fire. It was contained in the fireplace. Then from the backlog, a flame fired up powerfully for a few seconds. We listened! We woke up!
Why do institutions--including the church--too often quench the fire in us? How can we learn to speak dangerously, but not destructively?
I just returned from a conference:
One man spoke powerfully out of his fire. He sought to tell the burning coal of truth. It flamed up and then out dangerously onto the floor. Many were singed. They closed their ears. They slumped into their seats. They shut down.
Another man spoke out of his fire. It was contained in the fireplace. Then from the backlog, a flame fired up powerfully for a few seconds. We listened! We woke up!
Why do institutions--including the church--too often quench the fire in us? How can we learn to speak dangerously, but not destructively?
1 comment:
If the Holy Spirit is often depicted as a fire, the Presbyterian church is asbestos.
Was the first man Chris Hedges? As much as I respect him and think he's usually right, he tends to make me shut down.
To speak dangerously is exciting and inspiring (sometimes); to speak destructively kills hope.
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