CHURCH SONG AND SOUR THROAT

“There is a sweet melody in multitudes and multitudes of church cacophony – the lady of the paramount groom. There is a push on you to be made to break sound barrier and escape the zone of earthmen gravity and soar. There are those huge ears of the creator that listen to the unsaid of every said before giving rewards or repercussions. He is the silence that gives magnitude and direction to sound. The groom is the ultimate sound of silence, the ultimate note that all creation longs to align to in perfection. The church is rehearsing, although in great many imperfections.  The church, I mean you are in the mix up; a travesty of being – and song of drunkards, trumpeters of both songs and slander – River of both sweet and bitter waters. The music director is both stern and mercy. Let the mirror be turned in your face, let the judgments begin in the house where the treasure is kept. Let the unquenchable flame consume chaff where cockatrice hatch her young, let the flames sweep matters which beset, let the sleepy bride shake off the dust from herself and adorn for the groom. Let the music director swing; then let the church prothalamion ascend from a healed throat to God and man.”