I think it doesn__ matter if you or I or anybody else thinks homosexuality is a sin. It doesn__ matter if you or I think anything is a sin. It doesn__ matter if homosexuality is a sin or not. In fact, it doesn__ matter if anything anybody else does is a sin or not.Because sin is a very personal thing! It always has been and it always will be!And it has nothing to do with love.
Charity is the best form of prayer. Do whatever little you can to help the not so fortunate. You may donate a small portion of your income, you may take out time to teach the underprivileged children, sponsor a meal for the hungry or just spend some time with an old lady who has no one. I am sure that you will move one level high on the spiritual plane. Like prayers, doing charity once is not enough. You have to do it continuously, as much as possible.
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Charity is the best form of prayer. Do whatever little you can to help the not so fortunate. You may donate a small portion of your income, you may take out time to teach the underprivileged children, sponsor a meal for the hungry or just spend some time with an old lady who has no one. I am sure that you will move one level high on the spiritual plane. Like prayers, doing charity once is not enough. You have to do it continuously, as much as possible.
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Yes, we need to pray for Orlando/Britain/this election/the World, but we also need to act upon it and band together to oppose Evil.
Very well. He'd lighten up. As a matter of fact, he felt as light as the bubbly froth that flew from the lips of the waves. Whatever else his long, unprecedented life might have been, it had been fun. Fun! If others should find that appraisal shallow, frivolous, so be it. To him, it seemed now to largely have been some form of play. And he vowed that in the future he would strive to keep that sense of play more in mind, for he'd grown convinced that play--more than piety, more than charity or vigilance--was what allowed human beings to transcend evil.
God is the comic shepherd who gets more of a kick out of that one lost sheep once he finds it again than out of the ninety and nine who had the good sense not to get lost in the first place. God is the eccentric host who, when the country-club crowd all turned out to have other things more important to do than come live it up with him, goes out into the skid rows and soup kitchens and charity wards and brings home a freak show. The man with no legs who sells shoelaces at the corner. The old woman in the moth-eaten fur coat who makes her daily rounds of the garbage cans. The old wino with his pint in a brown paper bag. The pusher, the whore, the village idiot who stands at the blinker light waving his hand as the cars go by. They are seated at the damask-laid table in the great hall. The candles are all lit and the champagne glasses filled. At a sign from the host, the musicians in their gallery strike up "Amazing Grace.
Heaven is the only place where prayers are not made.
Pray for God__ grace to nurture on the inside what He calls us to live out on the outside.