Last December I completed a three-year term as First Reader in my church. It was a wonderful tour of duty: it uplifted my spiritual consciousness more than I could have imagined, and therefore blessed me more than I could have imagined. Particularly effective at uplifting my consciousness was the process of putting together the readings each week for the Wednesday service. But I digress . . .
Throughout my term there was a peculiar, in fact comical, fear lurking in the back of my less-than-enlightened human mind: It asked, "What if you should get sick? Wouldn't that be awful? And hypocritical, to boot—standing up there, reading about the power of God to heal anything, and you, sick as a dog?"
Well, I thought nothing of it; I would dismiss this fear as ridiculous, and powerless in the face of God. But somehow there it was, lingering.
