Hosanna

It is not as a child that I believe and confess Jesus Christ. My hosanna is born of a furnace of doubt.

When we arrived in New York, we found a day of extreme brilliance. It would be impossible ever to forget the first sight of the groups of slender towers that form the skyline of New York City, chanting hosannas to an autumn sky.

Imagine God in Heaven surrounded by the choirs of adoring angels singing hosannahs unendingly.

The hall rang with the hosannas of the faithful, while the women knelt at his feet to ask for salvation.

I’ve written before about the inevitable, tragic dynamic of this brokeback bromance; Trump needs a mindless cheering section screaming hosannas no matter how often he stumbles toward the nuclear and political precipice.