Lent, Easter, Gospels
Zach Kincaid
three words

I never liked coming here. It’s something about the mood in the streets. There’s a wandering caution, a guarded angst. I always hear a careful whisper that plots through marketplace and dinner table until some sign confirms its truth.

three words

God sent his angels

God sent his angels

O God, send us your angels, messengers from highest heaven. Guard what is holy with fiery sword (Genesis 3:24). Encourage us. Shout our names in uneasy moments of obedience (Genesis 22:1-19). We are outcasts. Give us words of eternal hope for our God is the God who really sees! (Genesis 16:7-16). Enter our homes. Visit us even though we live in time and lack belief (Genesis 18:1-15; Hebrews 13:2). Blind our eyes into seeing the truth again – wrong is wrong and His wrath is not pretend (Genesis 19:1-29). 

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the smell of ants

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the smell of ants

A scientist observed several ants discarding one of their own dead. "How do they know?" he asked himself, and began mixing concoctions until he could fake an ant's death. He placed a smelly substance that marked out death on the back of an ant and put her inside the colony. Immediately drone soldier ants came and carried her off.

a new inerrancy

a new inerrancy

The Bible hosts inerrant truth, something dismissed, berated, belittled, or severely downgraded by so many church denominations. Inerrancy forces you to fall under the authority of God and his Word. You understand better that you are not special or unique; the law that accuses you of sin is the same for everyone. There are zero exceptions. Inerrancy also instructs you on the one and only way out: Jesus. One of my long-in-the-tooth seminary professors took me into his office one day and said this: “The only thing I learned – amid all this learning and studying and preparation – is Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Keep close to that because it’s the most important Truth.”

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how will this be?

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how will this be?

The desert of unprophetic years turns on a moment. It catches stars and pulls them in close like a surgeon caring for a dying patient. An angel descends looking for a certain teenage girl named Mary. When he locates her, she is startled by his appearance and his announcement. The nature of the news invites her to question…

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write me into your story

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write me into your story

I press my ear to the door and listen. I hear a conversation. It drifts in and out. At times there is nothing, just silence... and me – my own person – some purveyor who has bought into the trick and doesn’t know how it works. God, let’s not pretend. My perception of your whole story, from closing up the garden shop onward, falls onto stony paths most of the time.