“But as for me, I will come into thy house in the multitude of thy mercy:
And in thy fear I will worship toward thy holy temple.”
When weariness and weakness overtake me, and I don’t know how I can enter your holy house the wretch that I am, you send a multitude of mercy to meet me.
I have strength only to crawl and sigh, but you have have heard my prayer, and I hear the call to look up. From your gates come streaming a gracious throng, banners waving in welcome. They come with song, and they come with cheers. They come with hands both soft and strong, pulling me up, lifting me on their shoulders. They come with refreshment, both bread and wine, a foretaste of the feast inside. They come with hot towels and healing balm.
They are whispering peace even as they shout for joy. I am caught up in the colourful crowd, floating on a current of the great living river that somehow flows both in and out of the temple. And it is in this multitude that I am carried where my feet feared to go, where my strength could not take me.
Fear of the Lord drives me to my knees, but then, oh then, mercy comes running.
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