Sterile and Stale.

Lord, the question has lingered on our tongues for ages.

Is there a balm? In Gilead or anywhere else?

Is there a remedy for our weariness?

Is there a salve to treat our spiritual slavery?

Is there an ointment to tend to our over-indulgent selves?

There are lots of quick fixes we can readily name. But we know they are only topical, numbing, soothing for a moment. And we need balm.

This waiting room is sterile and stale. We grow tired of sitting here, and we have out grown our name of "patient". We're reading these magazines, looking for some satiation, waiting to approach You because we know You have a cure of some kind. And we're afraid it might hurt a little. Maybe even a lot.

Yet we have also grown tired of trying to heal ourselves. Of quick remedies. Of false physicians. Of secret recipes.

So we come to You again. Asking that haunting question: is there a balm?

We fear You might say "no". We fear You might not answer at all.

But ask we must, because these wounds are too severe for these little bandaids.

We come in the name of the Healing One who makes all things new, even Jesus.

Amen.