The councilmen and women were long gone when the power entered the room. Pastors, ex-drug addicts, single parents – the marginalized. Diversity, and compassion, and hope, and transformation were on our side, but political power rested on the crisply pressed suits and perfectly coiffed identities of those with sway.
Evil had a face and a neatly framed diploma.
I watched and listened – spellbound. From 9:30am until the gavel sounded at 2:36pm. I didn’t leave my seat.
Council members came and went. They faced the crowd. I looked into their eyes. I saw passion and compassion in some. Distain, frustration, fear, and hatred in others.
The debate was over public schools and places of worship. It was over equal access. It was about the notion of transforming cement block structures into sanctuaries.
The cause of the sixty-eight churches in New York City that spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on rent was represented by parishioners and pastors and single mothers; and one lawyer. Those in favor of eviction were scripted and polished and articulate and connected. They screamed without raising their voices. They bellowed without inflection. They spewed poison with a smug smile – while a gallery of the faithful looked on in paralyzed disbelief. It was a high school musical vs. a Broadway show.
Misrepresentation rose without objection or protest. The Church was trivialized and mocked and dismissed and patronized and blasted and lied about in silence. Protocol dictated.
I heard the words that swarmed over the life of Jesus – without rebuttal.Christ listened, even to some of his own statements – played back without context. Spoken without purpose or meaning or anointing. “Destroy the temple.” (Matthew 26:61) Lunatic. Terrorist. Hate monger. Traitor. Simpleton.
Jesus gave no rebuttal. He had no reply for fools. He chose not to debate stonewalls. He cherished the pearls of truth enough to resist wasting them on swine.
By mid-afternoon the members of the City Council were all but gone – the main event was over, but the real story tellers were just getting started. While most of the politicians were off chasing other agendas the Spirit of God rested on the sixteenth floor “Hearing Room.”Transformation sat behind the microphone. The Church had a face too. It was beautiful, colorful, passionate, and infectious. My wounded soul found more than consolation or comfort, it embraced boldness and power and conviction.
Politics had no answer. But then all of the politicians and the power brokers and the prominent were gone. Just the Spirit of God and the bride ofChrist were left. And there was such sweet hope. Such joy. Such unobstructed light.
There is no City Council, no legislature, no law, no statute, no elected official that can stem the tide ofChrist.
He will have His way. No eviction notice dismisses our Lord.
I caught a glimpse of the gates of hell – just before I saw the overpowering love of Jesus.
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