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God isn’t in the clouds. He’s in the sweat of two bodies colliding in the night, in the trembling hands of a man offering his last dollar to the homeless kid outside the bar. God’s not a cosmic puppeteer, no king in the sky. He’s just love— raw, unfiltered, human, and utterly reckless. Jesus didn’t sit in stained glass. He kicked over tables, shook the dust from his feet, and called out the fat cats feeding on the backs of the poor. His compassion wasn’t soft; it had fists, it had fire. It burned through the lies of every system that sold power dressed as peace. The kingdom of God? It’s a conspiracy of love, a street-level revolt against every machine that grinds men into dust and calls it profit. It’s not golden gates. It’s soup kitchens, it’s protest lines, it’s the woman handing out sandwiches to workers on strike. The Way of Jesus? It’s no quiet stroll; it’s the blistered feet of a man marching away from the seduction of empire, away from the easy lies of Sunday sermons that sell comfort instead of justice. It’s blood under your fingernails from clawing at the chains wrapped around your neighbor’s neck. The Cross? That’s no symbol of glory. It’s an execution, a warning shot from the empire to anyone who dares to say no. But Jesus carried it anyway, walked straight into the teeth of the machine, and told it to choke on him. And the Resurrection? It’s not some magic trick, not some Divine applause line. It’s the voice of a stranger saying your name when you thought no one was looking. It’s the hand of a nurse lifting you from your knees when you swore you couldn’t go on. This whole thing— it’s not about waiting for heaven. It’s about making it here. Now! Go! Follow Him! "Then Jesus told his disciples, 'If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.'" — Matthew 16:24 © R Gordon Zyne
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