“Comfort ye,” the tenor sings, three gentle syllables descending. He pauses to let the grace in the words linger while the orchestra echoes his descending notes as though to highlight his words. He enters again, higher this time, louder, rising with the marvel of the news then gently falling so
I’ve spent a week running with David for his life, watching where he has run and how he has encountered God in it. And at the end of the week, I’m kneeling in worship at the grace that was waiting for him. And for us. At first I wasn’t sure what
It’s early when I walk past the playground, and the swings hang empty, waiting. No one plays on the slide. There’s a stillness here that could just be the calm of early morning, but in these days of masks and closures and medical health officer orders, the emptiness feels like
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