
For this week's sermon, I'm staring into the end of Ephesians 4, not a pretty sight. Toilet talk and cancerous anger ooze from these verses. Young Christians under severe pressure are finding their guts busting out and wondering where all the mess came from.
At the end of each three minutes, the combatants made their way to their corners. Managers glued cuts together, let the blood out of bruises and jacked smelling salts into groggy battlers. The managers directed, challenged and encouraged their man to victory. Then the bell rang.
In the middle of this mess of Ephesian guts stands the Holy Spirit. The mess grieves him, like a manager watching his pupil get the spit beat out of him. We are sealed to the Holy Spirit like a boxer to his or her manager.
The two boxers stood and squared off, walking and bouncing back into combat. Pain was met by steely gaze. Fear was pounded between the gloves. The stronger, more skilled and more determined fighter would win. Unless it was a Tyson over in 90 seconds fight, us viewers could size up a winner by the 5th or 6th round. Fights gruelled on for 12 or even 15 rounds, except for knock out or TKO. Three judges voted on a winner and it was over.
Once the guts are drooping and the Holy Spirit Manager has his corner time, the hope of victory is painted. Kindness, tenderheartedness and care will flow in this new group of Christians. Old hates will lie unconscious, impervious to smelling salts and cold towels. Bitterness will be counted out and brawling will lose. They will all be defeated by love, God's love.
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