Once upon a faith
there was a man who walked around doing good.
He really did; he walked around and hardly ever rode.
Walking put him among people ... among whom he could do the most good.
So he did lots of good.
He never took any credit for it; hardly ever talked about himself; just talked about God.
He told them how much God loved them
and how much God wanted them to stop hurting
and each other
He healed sick people, where people recognized what he was doing as from God.
He fed hungry people because he had compassion on them.
He thrashed evil from their lives and lovingly told them that they needed to repent.
He raised dead people to life and promised life without end to those who would live their faith in God.
He did not have a manager,
a public relations and advertising firm,
a security detail,
a transport and setup team,
a makeup artist,
a technical staff,
or a personal assistant.
He did not take up collections,
and he did not promise results for belief
which should be expressed in generous giving to his ministry.
He did not dabble much in politics or religion,
except when the work and teachings he shared were opposed.
And when those people who thought they stood the most to lose from his words
finally sprang the one big "gotcha"
from which they thought he could not escape
there were no angels who rescued him
no legions who fought for him
no followers who stood faithful at his side
and he died
because the miracles had never been for him, but for them.
Then he escaped anyway.
And he shared the gifts of helping and healing
among the followers who repented
and were willing and walking
and did good for others
and who never took any credit for it
and who hardly ever talked about themselves
and who talked about God.
When their time came, they died too
because the miracles had never been for themselves, but for others
and they died believing
that they and many others would live again, forever,
because God sent a man walking
once upon a faith.