Wounded... Wounded... the word kept coming up as I was praying. Wounded in church... Wounded sitting on the pews... Wounded...
These were not coming in wounded by the world...
These were not warriors wounded in battle...
These were not wanderers wounded by stray bullets...
These were faithful people...
These were young'uns in the Lord...
These were teenagers weaned on Sunday night's shouting services...
I could not move away from this place in prayer, I didn't want to. The burden was intense, the need pressing.
This ought not to be. How could sweet and bitter water flow from the same well? I read it in the Bible. This ought not to be.
I know, offenses will come. This was not about offenses, this was about caring for the wounded. The Holy Ghost will heal. The healthy members will help and support until the healing waters flow freely, washing the wounds.
Sometimes, the wounded can't cry for help, they trash about and seemed unreachable. Could it be that we just don't get close enough to see the wounds?
There is a Jewish law, that one must go to his fellow brother and admonish him, encourage him to do well, remind him of what is the right thing to do before God, until he physically - even violently - says "Leave me alone!"
I saw the church body as a health team... Yes, all will come in wounded, but there are some wounded already here...
Wounded in church... Teach me Lord how to handle the wounded.
