Clanging Brass

Without love, the essence of God filling our frame, we become a noisy gong and a clanging cymbal—percussion instruments making noise but enhancing no melody. Without the fullness that love provides, our words are depthless, our behavior erratic, our attachments superficial. Without the Spirit of God blowing through us, which is the intention of love, we are manikins attempting to be humans, moving by winding up our self-created key.

We must be willing to offer our tinkling, clanging pseudo-self to be incinerated on the rubbish heap with all the other falseness in us that needs to die and give God a new invitation to fill our orchestra pit with music.