Gatekeepers of Mercy
Gatekeepers of Mercy I have spent nearly my entire life in church. All of it except for the first eighteen months. Church is not something I discovered later in life. I do not have a dramatic testimony of wandering into a sanctuary one Sunday morning and finding something I had never known before. I was raised in this. Church has been woven into almost every season of my life. Sunday mornings. Sunday nights. Wednesday nights. Revivals. Camp meetings. Youth camps. VBS. Conferences. Prayer meetings. Fellowship halls. Church vans. Pews. Altars. I know this world. I know the language. I know what is preached from the pulpit, and I know the things nobody has to preach because everybody in the room already understands them. I know when to stand. I know when to raise my hands. I know what people mean when they say they “prayed through.” I can usually walk into a church and, within a few minutes, understand the culture of the room. I know how to look like I belong. And there is a c...