Joseph of Arimathea pulled a corpse off a cross with his bare hands.
Blood under his fingernails. The weight of a dead man sagging into his arms.
He wrapped God in linen, pressed the fabric into wounds that were still wet.
Nicodemus brought seventy-five pounds of burial spice. A king's funeral for a man the world just murdered.
They carried Him into a hole in the rock and rolled the stone shut.
And everything you've ever done went in with Him.
Every night you can't sleep because of what you did. Every morning, you can't look in the mirror. The thing you did to her. The thing you did to them. The
lie you've been carrying so long it feels like bone.
The version of you that drinks alone and pretends tomorrow will be different.
That man was buried with Christ.
Stone sealed. Done.
Not managed. Not in therapy. Not on a payment plan with God where you slowly earn your way back. Buried. In a tomb. Under rock. Gone.
Three days of silence. Three days of a cold body in the dark.
Then the stone moved.
And when He walked out, the grave clothes were folded on the slab. He didn't stumble out tangled in death. He left it sitting there like a man who's done
with the clothes he used to wear.
Lazarus needed someone to unwrap him. Death still clung to him even after he was breathing.
Jesus folded His own burial linen and walked out clean.
That's the difference between religion and resurrection. Religion unwraps you slowly. Asks you to manage your sin. Attend the class. Read the book. Try harder next week.
Resurrection says the man who walked into that tomb is dead. The man who walked out doesn't know him.
You're not fixing the old you. The old you is in a sealed tomb in Jerusalem, and he's not coming back.
The man reading this, the one who thinks he's too far gone, you're not too far. You're already buried. The funeral happened two thousand years
ago.
Now get up. The stone's already moved. The linen's already folded.
Walk out.
In this life, sha, don’t let anybody rush you.
At 33, with a first-class degree, I was still sleeping on my parents’ couch in Ebute Metta, trying to figure life out.
I didn’t get my dream job until I was 36. I got married at 35 and started married life in a room and parlour tiny rooms in Mushin.
I started a business at 38 and failed woefully.
I tried again in my 40s. Failed again.
At 46, I opened an art gallery at Adeniran Ogunsanya, Lagos. It failed too.
At 47, I returned to the yoghurt business. Failed again.
At 48, we started again.
Then, at almost 50, I was compulsorily retired from my job.
Instead of seeing it as the end, I went fully into the yoghurt business.
I relocated to the UK at almost 52.
By 54, we had recorded over ₦2 billion in sales.
So please, be inspired by other people’s success, but never allow their success to put you under pressure.
Some people bloom at 25.
Some at 35.
Some at 50.
Some even later.
Your timeline is different.
Keep learning.
Keep trying.
Keep failing forward.
Keep moving.
You are not late. You are still writing your story.
Good evening.😊
Where oh death is your triumph?
Where oh death is your sting?
Praise to Christ the King
Who holds the victory
God is fighting for us
He has won the battle
Have faith and watch Him move
There’s nothing that He cannot do
He is Lord
And as You speak
A hundred billion galaxies are born
In the vapor of Your breath the planets form
If the stars were made to worship so will I
I can see Your heart in everything You've made
Every burning star
A signal fire of grace
If creation sings Your praises so will I
@FrUgochukwu Thank you father, but why is it said, "which will be poured out " instead of which is poured out or has been poured out because it's already done?
Chief, I am a mafian in Christ. In fact, all Catholics are.
The Catholic Church, if you insist on calling her a mafia, is a peculiar one.
Let me tell you chief, we're a family that has outlived empires, buried kings, crowned saints, built the world's oldest continuously operating institutions, preserved knowledge through the darkest centuries, founded universities, pioneered hospitals, cared for the poor, sheltered the abandoned, and preached one Gospel across continents for nearly 2,000 years.
A mafia whose greatest weapon is a crucified King and whose initiation is baptism. Whose code is love of God and neighbour.
Whose headquarters have watched civilizations rise and fall without abandoning the faith once handed down.
Anyone can call it whatever they like.
But if there is any organization whose fingerprints can be found on the history of education, healthcare, charity, art, philosophy, science and human dignity, it is the Catholic Church.
She is not perfect because her members are perfect, but enduring because Christ is.
I believe in the holy Catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting.
What a beautiful mafia indeed :)
If God was going to give us things based on what we want, most of us will be dead.
If God can save us when we didn't know we needed saving, don't you think He knows the best for us?
@StepAid10@RealDonaldDoo Herod was guilty and afraid. He remembered he ordered John’s head to be cut off.
So when he heard about Jesus doing miracles, his conscience told him, Maybe John has come back to life and now he has power.
If you are planning to marry a woman, stop asking her stupid questions like:
• What’s your favorite color
• What’s your favorite sex position
If you want to know her mindset and thinking, ask the following simple questions.
Ask her…