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INTRODUCTION—A NEW STORY OR THE WORLD’S LIE?

I want to begin with a blunt refusal. The story the world sells you—scarcity, performance, reputation, safety first, “get yours”—is a narrated illusion, a clever fiction and ultimately a trap that leads to survival mindedness not spiritual consciousness.

It is coherent, persuasive and deeply propagated; it sounds like common sense because everyone around you is acting inside it. And we have been entrained into this story since we first opened our eyes. But if we take Romans 5:14–22 seriously we discover that the universe has another narrative—a counter-story whose grammar is grace, whose protagonist is Christ and whose currency is sacrifice. That counter-story rewrites who we are, what we can give and why we give it. It does not merely correct our behaviour; it re-authors our imagination.

Jesus Himself contrasted these stories as a matter of fact ,

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” —John 10:10

Yet,we do not fully believe in a truly good, kind and capable God who will do what He agreed to do if we do what we agreed to do—surrender our life to Him. There remains a deep distrust that anyone will look after us better than we can look after ourselves. And that is why the world, including the Church, is heading for catastrophic failure.

This post is a missional summons anchored in Romans 15 but animated by Romans 12:1–2, and the “abiding words” of Jesus in John 15. I will argue—with Pauline intensity and scholarly care—that the doctrine of Adam and Christ is not an abstract metaphysical possibility; it is the engine of mission. The same logic that explains our need for grace also explains our calling to be an offering to God so that He can save the world through us.

We have no innate goodness that will carry mission forward on its own; every act of love, every advance of the gospel, every sign of God’s kingdom comes as God’s gracious gift and our willing cooperation. But grace must be received to be enjoyed and as long as we stray from God’s embrace and strive as the world strives to address the existential question presented us in the world, we will never draw near to receive the vital grace our world is in such short supply of.

We are invited to imagine a new story—to repent, to re-form our inner narrative (our inner phronema / yetser / paradigm), to present ourselves as living sacrifices so that the Great Commission becomes not a duty tacked onto our life but the inevitable overflow of a transformed imagination.

Every age builds its own mythology. Our modern world tells us that progress is salvation, that comfort is peace, and that autonomy is freedom. But beneath the glitter of convenience lies a subtle enslavement: the slow surrender of our divine calling to the machinery of ease. We have traded the altar for the algorithm, the cross for convenience, and the sacred for the synthetic. Yet the gospel calls us back to something infinitely more demanding—and infinitely more alive.

“Sacrifice” is not a popular word, yet the path to power and freedom is activated by sacrifice.

We prefer convenience, but convenience is the de facto path to slavery and oppression. True freedom is not found in avoiding pain, but in offering it. It is the paradox of the Kingdom: to lose one’s life is to find it; to be poured out is to be filled; to die daily is to rise daily.

We avoid the one thing that will set us free from the rat race and give us what we so deeply log for.

In this post, we will discover that although modern faith has fashioned a microwave god—quick, convenient, and powerless and convenient, that is one that doesn’t demand anything from us—the true God is anything but hurried. He is profoundly devoted to marinating, not microwaving; to the slow, sacred process of transformation. Scripture calls this divine rhythm tarrying—the patient sacrificial waiting that precedes power.

Someone has to change for the world to saved, and it won’t be God.

To tarry is not to delay for delay’s sake, but to linger in divine presence until heaven’s fire descends. It is the ancient key to spiritual power, long forgotten in an age addicted to instant results. Where impatience breeds impotence, tarrying births authority.

THE THEOLOGICAL FOUNDATION: ADAM, CHRIST, AND THE STORY WE LIVE (ROMANS 5:14–22)

Romans 5 is theological tectonics. Paul sets two heads over humanity—Adam and Christ—and shows how one brought death and the other brought life. The technical vocabulary matters: hamartia (ἁμαρτία—sin) and its consequence, thanatos (death), do not merely describe behaviours; they describe a juridical and ontological order. In Adam the human project fell into a structural account of death. In Christ, God’s gracious act—charis (χάρις)—release us from our debt and superabounds.

Technical Note:
It is important to recognise that sin is not merely the act of “doing bad things.” Rather, it is the deeper impulse to save ourselves apart from God through the actions we take—this is what makes these actions “bad”. The inward rebellion that seeks autonomy from divine grace is innate in mankind since the Adamic fall, as narrated in Genesis 3. At its core, sin is pride: humanity’s declaration of independence from the God who offers salvation freely. It is not simply moral failure, but a relational rupture—a refusal to trust the sufficiency of His love and provision.

Two short lexical notes help us read Paul with precision.

First, δικαίωσις / δικαιοσύνη (dikaiōsis / dikaiosynē—justification / righteousness) is not merely moral crediting; it is the reconstitution of status before God.

Second, χάρις (charis) is not a mere feeling but a decisive, relational gift that changes the legal and ontological situation of humanity. Paul’s point is devastatingly simple and deeply pastoral: we do not begin with personal goodness that transmutes into mission. We begin in need, complete bankruptcy in every sense of the word. In Christ we are offered righteousness that not only forgives but elevates; that offering then issues in automatic transformation as a natural by-product of grace received.

When I press into Romans 5 I see four consequences for mission:

1. The missionary enterprise presupposes ruin. We are not merely persuading the world to be better; we are announcing and enacting a remedy for death. That shapes the rhetoric and humility of mission.
2. The gospel is not an optional addendum to a bourgeois life. If Christ’s one act reverses Adam’s one act, then the gospel reorders the cosmos; missionary urgency is proportionate to the cosmic stakes.
3. Any claim to innate goodness must be interrogated. Yes, humanity still bears the imago Dei—image-bearing remains true—but that image is fractured and sullied. “Goodness comes from God” is not pious language; it is the structural truth that locates initiative and source in divine gift rather than human sufficiency.
4. Any attempt to “save ourselves” by a different story than His-story is a denial of the true problem and will only exasperate the problem.

If we accept Paul’s diagnosis, mission cannot be outsourced to religious marketing or mechanistic self-help programmes. It arises out of a reconstituted humanity, a people who know they are forgiven and therefore are willing to give everything—their bodies, time and imagination—as an offering.

LIVING SACRIFICE: ROMANS 12:1 AS A MISSIONAL PROGRAM

Romans 12:1 is the hinge between doctrinal summits and practical life. Paul’s urgently command—“In view of the mercies on offer, I strongly implore you, brothers and sisters, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice”—is simultaneously spiritual theology and missional tactic. The Greek picture is arresting: two words leap out: θυσία (thysia—sacrifice) and ζῶσαν (zōsan—living). This is not the ashes-and-altar sacrifice of old but the revolutionary notion that our daily, embodied life—our spiritual service—must be displayed before God as a continual offering.

What does this mean for mission? It means that the apparent ordinary rhythms of drawing near to God and presenting ourselves in His presence, become sacramental and strategic. Paul’s own life exhibits this: he is a tentmaker by trade and a missionary by calling. The point is not asceticism for its own sake but a re-ordered priority. Time becomes the most valuable commodity; the presentation of the body is both worship and tactic. A tentmaker can be a pioneer because his life is framed as a sacrifice. From the sacrifice flows power and witness: from which flows planted churches; from churches flow transformed societies.

Two theological words deepen the practice. Metanoia (μετάνοια—repentance) is not merely moral regret; it is a “change of mind”—a re-authoring of one’s phronema (φρόνημα—mindset) i.e the story we have bought into and keep telling ourselves. Renewal of the phronema (Romans 12:2) is the cognitive and imaginative reorientation that allows us to see the world as God sees it.

The material of this renewal is imagination: what story do I live inside? When we choose to present our bodies we exercise the freedom to change the story.

CORPORATE OFFERING AND THE PRIESTLY MISSION (ROMANS 15:16)

Paul will not stop at the individual. Romans 15:16 speaks of a corporate offering: believers together become an “acceptable offering” that is sanctified by the Spirit. Paul uses priestly language—not because he imagines a new Levitical order, but because he sees the church as a holy assembly with a spiritual, missional function—to reconnect heaven and earth in the presented sacrifice. The Greek terms Paul borrows (leitourgia/ λειτουργία; λειτουργός / leitourgos in some Pauline contexts) have the flavour of public service, ritual and priestly labour. Here the household of faith becomes a corporate priesthood presenting the nations themselves—their stories, their griefs, their cultures—before God. In return God gains access to intervene in a broken and suffering world.

This has two strategic consequences. First, sanctification is not an end in itself; it is the enabling engine for mission. God can only operate in and through a sanctified vessel, yet, how is He to sanctify vessels that are not in His presence (cf. Ex 31:13). God always uses the cups that are closest to Him.

A people shaped by the Spirit is able to affect across cultural frontiers. Second, the offering metaphor bridges interior formation and exterior action. Corporate holiness converts into contagion — not moralism but contagious and effective spiritual service that draws others into life.

Practically, a church that understands itself as an offering will organise differently. It will value time, training, cross-cultural equipping and sacrificial giving, not as burdens, but as the currency of its priestly vocation.

PAUL’S PARADOX: TENTMAKING, PRIORITIES, AND THE SACRIFICE OF TIME

One of the most arresting features of Paul’s praxis is his ability to combine vocation and sacrifice. He works with his hands, yet he is never anemic in ambition for the gospel. The paradox is instructive: lack of time is often a spiritual diagnosis, not merely a calendar problem. Time is the commodity where the battle for ownership takes place.

The race for ownership describes the modern compulsion to anchor our worth in possessions, status, and a carefully protected identity. It is, in truth, a form of slavery—doulos—a voluntary servitude disguised as freedom. In our striving to control and accumulate, we subtly outsource human responsibility to God, expecting Him to underwrite our self-made empires rather than transform our hearts. Yet this inversion of order—man ruling in God’s stead—inevitably leads to both poverty and tyranny: poverty of spirit, and tyranny of the self enthroned where God once reigned.

In an age where ownership itself has been abstracted, the very idea of possessing anything has become a carefully maintained illusion. We place our trust in stocks, property deeds, and bank balances, believing these digital tokens of value will secure our future—yet we fail to see that the global financial architecture was quietly rewritten after 2008 and we are t the behest of the platforms that control these digital tokens. The tokenisation infrastructure is already quietly being expanded as we speak.

What we call “ownership” is now little more than a securitised entitlement, revocable at the discretion of those who administer the Babylonian system.In truth, actual ownership of what we believe we possess—technically and legally—reverts to the clearing houses and banks, in whose hands true ownership truly resides. This is why they make you agree to their “terms & conditions,” the fine print we so easily skip over.

And let us not be naïve: such power will not remain unused. History has always confirmed the same pattern—power corrupts, and absolute power enslaves. We have entered Egypt 2.0: a sleek, digitised bondage where the chains are invisible, yet every bit as real. The tragedy is that Jesus warned us this would happen (cf. Matt 6:19-21).

READ MORE: THE GREAT TAKING: DIVINE OWNERSHIP AND THE FICTION OF POSSESSION

We are, by nature, always bondservants; every soul has a master. The pivotal question is not whether we will serve, but whom we will choose to obey. The true peril lies in believing the wrong story—the seductive narrative of self-sufficiency, wealth, or worldly security—because in embracing it, we do not gain freedom but deepen our chains, enslaved under the very illusion of liberty that promised release.

Paul’s solution was not to escape the world but to reframe it. His tentmaking was sacramental labour; the marketplace became mission field. This invites three practical prescriptions for us:

1. Centre your life around the dominant mission (Paul’s life was centred around a clear, singular calling). This does not deny family, vocation or pleasure, but it makes mission the organising telos.
2. Treat time as sacred currency. Where and with whom you spend it reveals your sacrificial heart.
3. Use your ordinary vocation as the platform for extraordinary presence. The greatest missionary acts are always born from extra-ordinary sacrificial private life.

When I speak intensively about “priorities” I mean moral imagination: whose story do you invest your life into? The world’s story will demand transactional exchanges (what can I get?), but the gospel demands relational sacrifice (what can I give?). The church’s task is to move disciples from the temperament of asking “what can I get?” to the posture “what can I give?”

This is the bridge—the pathway—by which we transition from the world’s economy, a system built on bondage, scarcity, and relentless toil, into the economy of heaven, a realm defined by freedom, abundance, and rest. The world’s economy demands endless effort for fleeting gain: we labour under ceilings imposed by debt, status, and fear, always chasing, never arriving. It is the house of bondage, where every reward is measured, rationed, conditional and easily revocable.

In contrast, heaven’s economy operates on entirely different principles. Here, provision flows from the Source, not from human striving. It is the house of freedom, where abundance is not hoarded but shared, and rest is not earned but granted. Entry into this economy requires a radical realignment of allegiance: choosing to serve God rather than the world, trusting His provision rather than clinging to the securities of man-made systems.

This is what it truly means to build your house on the rock: to anchor your life, your labour, and your trust in the unshakable foundation of God rather than the shifting, unstable sands of human invention and artificial scaffolding. While the world tempts us with clever schemes, financial instruments, and the illusion of control, these structures are brittle, liable to collapse under the weight of circumstance, greed, or the unseen hand of systemic forces beyond our control. To build on the rock is to place every pursuit—our wealth, our identity, our future—within the firm, eternal order of heaven, where provision, security, and purpose flow from a Source that neither falters nor fails. It is a radical reorientation: a deliberate choice to exchange the fragile promises of man for the enduring covenant of God, to labour not for the mirage of temporary gain but for the abiding inheritance that withstands storms, crises, and the erosion of time. In doing so, scarcity yields to abundance, toil transforms into rest, and the fleeting anxieties of the world give way to the eternal stability of His kingdom.

The price is sacrifice; serving God in the way He needs us to, so that He can serve us in the way we need Him to. In short, we give up what we cannot keep to gain what we can never lose.

The transition is not simply a financial recalibration—it is a spiritual revolution. As we learn to relinquish control, stop striving to self-save, and embrace divine stewardship, the scarcity that once defined our lives begins to dissolve. What was once toil becomes worship; what was once barely enough transforms into overflowing supply. In this shift, we move from the shadow of bondage into the light of freedom, discovering that the economy of heaven is not just abundant—it is effortless for those who abide in His order.

Either way—whether we willingly embrace God’s methods now or are compelled to do so in the near future—the outcome is the same: survival requires a transition into His system. It is far wiser to be ahead of the curve, aligning ourselves with His order voluntarily, than to scramble desperately to catch up the curtain is drawn back and the illusion of “ownership” and “control” collapses.

IMAGINATION, YETSER, AND THE NEW STORY

You cannot live outside a story. The human heart is narrative-shaped. In Hebrew thought the inner formative faculty is called yetser (יֵצֶר), the “inward shaping” or inclination that forms desire and imagination. In fact yetser is an anagram for story—the overarching internalised narrative that governs what we believe, think and ultimately do. Paul’s Greek phronema names the mind-set, the interior cognitive framework that tells us who we are, what the world means and crucially how we navigate it.

This is where the rub lies: the world has insidiously implanted a false map within us—a set of directions, priorities, and narratives that promise security, success, and fulfilment, yet lead only into confusion and exhaustion. As long as we follow this counterfeit blueprint, we remain wandering, perpetually lost, chasing illusions of control and independence that cannot sustain us. The further we adhere to it, the more distant we grow from the true path, from the sanctuary of God’s heart where provision is abundant, protection is unwavering, and rest is real. Only by rejecting the world’s deceptive map and returning to the divine chart etched into our souls can we navigate home, finding ourselves enveloped in a safety, care, and sufficiency that human systems can never provide.

When we speak about repentance and renewal we are speaking about a change in that story and ultimately where it leads us; either home or hell on earth.

Genesis and Isaiah are full of narrative images that teach us how imagination works. The garden, the exile, the return—these are not only history; they are invitations to imagine a different reality. Isaiah offers the consolation that steadies the heart; Genesis tells of beginnings that can be re-begun. To imagine the new story is to rehearse the kingdom before it is fully visible.

This is not magical thinking. Theology calls it participation. We participate in God’s story by changing our imagined story—by allowing the Spirit to author within us a new phronema, what our hearts believe. This is the theological heartbeat of disciplines like contemplative prayer, lectio divina, and embodied practices that change desire. Repentance (metanoia) is cognitive alignment; it is a re-set of the inner dramaturgy. And, sacrifice (thysia) is spiritual alignment

Two practical theological directions follow:

1. Guard the imagination. The images you rehearse—newsfeeds, entertainments, private narratives—form your yetser (inner story), map. If you feed scarcity you will act from scarcity.
2. Rehearse the kingdom. Prayer, Scripture, communal worship and imaginative practices (visualising reconciled communities, rehearsing hospitality) re-script the inner story.

What we see, we will be. We either imagine faith or we imagine fear. Only then the imagination is re-fashioned, and aligned action follows. The missionary movement of the church is simply the externalisation of a newly imagined inner order.

FROM TRANSACTIONAL TO RELATIONAL: STRATEGY FOR THE OFFERING LIFE

Mission is relational, not merely transactional. The world teaches transactional exchange: inputs in, outputs out; give much, get little. The kingdom teaches relational sacrifice: give all, receive the source from which all of heavens bounty flows (cf. Rom 8:31-32). Jesus’ teaching flips the ledger. “Seek first the kingdom” (Matthew 6:33), “Come to me, all who labour” (Matthew 11:28), and the Mary–Martha story (Luke 10:41–42: “one thing only is necessary”) orient us to a different economy.

Strategies for shifting culture from transactional to relational:

• Re-calibrate motivations. Ask the “big why.” Why do I do what I do? What is my motivation? What do I believe is happening? And more importantly, Is it working? If it is reputation, security, or self-preservation, then the sacrificial life is incomplete. If it is the kingdom, your mission will be robust and you will be safe.
• Train for generosity. Generosity enlarges the heart. It is a skill and a muscle. Paul’s insistence that we present bodies as living sacrifices implies repeated practice. Be as generous to God as you hope Him to be to you. Try to out-love Him.
• Pursue formation communities where sacrifice is normal. The corporate offering cannot be formed in isolation. Sacrifice is the baseline for Christianity, and without it there will be no victory.
• Rehearse “to whom much is given, much will be demanded” (Luke 12:48) as an awakening. Responsibility follows grace. We are not passive recipients; we are active participants. Remember, you can never out-give God!

I want to underscore something subversive: there is significant freedom here. Grace does not negate responsibility; it empowers it. We are free to embrace as much of Christ’s power, ministry and miraculous life as we will take by way of obedience, sacrifice and faith. The Spirit’s power is not rationed by God’s reluctance but by our willingness to present ourselves.

The truth is—and always will be—that since Christ declared, “It is finished,” the initiative has shifted: it has never been solely up to God. From that moment onward, the responsibility rests with us. Salvation, provision, and the outworking of His kingdom are contingent not on divine withholding but on our willingness to receive and act. This also carries a profound implication: we possess as much of God as we are willing to satisfy ourselves with, as much of His life, power, and presence as we allow ourselves to embrace. The fullness of His gift is unlimited, yet our experience of it is measured by the openness, or the closedness, of our own hearts.

THE GREAT COMMISSION AS THE OUTWORKING OF THE SACRIFICE

The Great Commission (Matthew 28:18–20) is not an add-on assignment. It is the natural expression of a people who have realigned themselves properly through spiritual service first, presenting themselves as offerings acceptable to God (cf. Rom 12:1).

We must remember that the last words of Jesus were not the Great Commission—to go into all the world, make disciples, raise the dead, and heal the sick. His final command was, and remains, to go and tarry for the power of the Holy Spirit—the divine empowerment that is granted to those who bring the sacrifice which bridges earth and heaven (Cf. Acts 1:4-8). Only after this act of obedience and consecration does God release the power, grace, healing, and deliverance necessary to accomplish the works of the Great Commission. That is the true meaning of the tongues of fire that appeared over each sacrificial believer in the upper room.

The principle is clear: only when we do what only we can do—offer the sacrifice—can God do what only He can do—bring His power to bear on the disorder, chaos, and suffering, restoring them to the harmony and order of heaven.

The flow of divine authority is not contigent upon God, but on our alignment with His design, our willingness to labour in the sacred private and corporate act of sacrifice that opens the heavens to intervene on earth.

If we accept that our first mission is to service God with sacrifice—that which costs us time and effort—will the the kingdoms mission programmme become effective. The Great Commission then asks a different question: not “How do we run better programmes?” which is clever way of avoiding the required sacrifice, but “How do we train a people to live sacrificially so that mission issues naturally from their lives?” and more importantly, “How do we lead by example?”

The answer is not merely strategy but formation: spiritual, cognitive and imaginative.

Paul’s missionary strategy, therefore, is formation-driven. He strengthens local leaders, cultivates corporate holiness, labours with his hands and models an integrated life. The offering metaphor travels from the individual to the church to the nations.

PRACTICAL DISCIPLINES FOR IMAGINING THE NEW STORY

Theory without praxis is hollow. Theology—knowing about God—must be transmuted into theognosis—knowing God personally and intimately. If you are persuaded to imagine a new story, how do you live it? Here are disciplines that embody Pauline intensity:

1. Discover the deception. Look more closely at the programme you are asked to buy into and ask if it is working? Where is it lying? And where is it downright dangerous?
2. Present your body daily. Small choices are sacramental. You are not asked to do you best, you are asked to do what is necessary. These are two entirely different frameworks. One is convenient and one is sacrificial. One leads to suffering and toil, and one leads to freedom and abundance. But, you choose!
3. Guard the phronema. Practice metanoia (“changing your mind about how things work”) by intentional scripture meditation that reorients your mind. Memorise texts that rehearse the kingdom and read them aloud.
4. Form sacrificial rhythms. Allocate time and money to kingdom priorities before discretionary spending. Treat time as sacred currency. Invest it don’t spend it.
5. Live vocationally. Make your workplace a mission field. “Tentmaking” is not a fallback; it is a model. Be faithful where you are, and begin with your private prayer altar.
6. Cultivate imagination. Rehearse visions of abundance and sonship. Reject the culture of fear images and practise visual prayer that sees restored communities and flourishing neighbourhoods.
7. Join a corporate offering. Be part of a community that sanctifies you to mission. Accountability and mutual sacrifice are non-negotiable.
8. Practice generosity to the point of discomfort. The heart is formed by what it sacrifices. Try and out-give God in time and attention. SStar at Him until He blushes a fiery red (cf. SoS 6:5).
9. Prioritise rest grounded in Christ’s rest. Abide in John 15. Fruit grows in the vine, not on the frantic stem. Without Him, you can do nothing, nothing! Ingrain that into your mind!

These practices are not legalistic rules but formative habits that remap desire. Even a train needs tracks to be free.

A CHARGE—CHOOSE THE NEW STORY

I want to close with a direct charge. The human soul is either enchanted (bewitched, spellbound, quite literally) by the world’s lie or liberated by God’s story. We cannot live both coherently conjunctively. The world will always tempt you with better security, sharper ambition, safer futures, and wear you out. But the logic of Romans is blunt: only the one who receives the gift can give the gift. Only a people who have been justified can become a priestly offering. You cannot introduce to someone you only know about, you must know Him intimately.

The truth is, we either burn out for the world or burn for God like Moses bush. The choice is ours

Imagine, therefore, a life rearranged. Imagine a church rearranged. Imagine your imagination re-storied from fear to abundance; from scarcity to sonship. That is not fantasy—it is repentance, the hard re-orientation of the phronema and yetser about where true rest and salvation are to be found. It is a disciplined, sacrificial life powered by the Spirit. And yes, it will cost you—but the reward is immeasurable, both in this life and the next. The price of persisting in error, by contrast, is far greater and immeasurably more devastating.

If you want the power, the ministry, the miracles—do not pretend they are automatic or merely up to God without you. They will flow through you as you present yourself. Paul’s example is not an ancient anomaly; it is a template for mission in extra-ordinary life. Present your body. Center your life around the mission. Let the corporate offering be sanctified by the Spirit and sent to the ends of the earth.

We have no innate goodness sufficient for the tasks of the kingdom. Goodness comes from God; we receive it and we bear it. Present your life. Reimagine your story. Go, and be the offering that the world—and you—need and want.

DEVOTIONAL PRAYER

Abba Father, by the mercy you showed in Christ, receive the offering of my life. Change my mind, re-form my heart, and shape my imagination by your Spirit. Break the narratives of fear that have colonised my thought. Teach me to present my days as a living sacrifice—in work, in rest, in relationships—that your kingdom may come and your will be done on earth as in heaven. Fill me with boldness to be a priestly people, with time as my first stewardship and love as my principal labour. By your grace, accept my offering as I bring it. Amen.

FIVE QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION

1. What recurring images or stories have shaped my phronema (mindset), and which of them belong to the world rather than God?
2. Where am I spending my time—on securing possessions and status, or on the people and places that further the kingdom? Is it working, and more importantly, will it save you from what is already happening?
3. In what practical ways can I present an aspect of my life as a living sacrifice from today?
4. Who in my community needs the witness of a people who live as a corporate offering, and how can I join or form such a community?
5. What one imaginative practice (scripture meditation, visual prayer, rehearsing hospitality) will I adopt to re-script my inner story toward faith, abundance and sonship as an active daily exercise?