The Gospel is an offense because it begins with the presumption that it is needed.
People do not hand out rations of food at a banquet, nor handout blankets in the heat of summer.

To the full of belly and the warm of body the Gospel appears ridiculous. They'll quickly retort, who are you to tell me I've got a gaping hole in my life? The full and the warm often only appear to be fat and well-clothed.

To the broken, the hungry and thirsty, and the lost, the gospel is sweet as honey. It is the inner life of soul and spirit to which the Gospel appeals. When food becomes scarce and the cold winds blow, the scoffer shivers.

Alone, in the dark of lonely nights, questions rise in the caverns of the heart. It is then and there that the small voice in the deep of conscience cries out for meaning in life, for a trickle of joy.

He listens. All is still, save the heaving, swelling sensations of isolation, lostness and despair. It's an inaudible voice that whispers, Who am I kidding? I know I’m not ’all that’. God, someone, if You're out there, if You are real, please show me. There must be more than this, I am made for more than this.

The Savior is ever on the lookout for such a one. He is in you and me yearning for the weak and the desperate, the broken and bound. Through us He has eyes to seek, hands to lift, a voice to comfort, a heart to save. We are the highway of His great mercy.