Another prayer from Leaving Ruin:
Dear God,
I know death is without victory, but it is winning tonight, pressing down on me, like a slab, the execution of old where rocks pile on until the witch is crushed. We all die, and it terrifies me, but more, my life without Joy, without Alex, and Mrs. Eric, and without Ruin or without Sara, or one of the boys, terrifies me, and who will it be tomorrow? Death stalks me like a predator, cutting down my life, memory by memory, chance by chance, and thou I may live forever, right now I am dead inside, all feeble, and wish to simply lie in the road and fade into nothing as cars roar by. If I open my chest to you, O Lord, and to life, it is too much, too much, and I will die too much to ever return.
Job said though you slay me, yet will I trust you, and I’m working on that, but it’s hard. All death is foul murder, and slays, and I am slain as well, and I’m not Job. I’m just a guy who can’t grasp the meaning of so many loves, so many deaths, so many cruel good-byes, and so much hateful life.
Forgive me, God, as I lie here, sinning, perhaps, in my distrust, or is it anger? Lonely, self-pitiful, and like a two-year old, mad that Daddy can’t fix it.
I wish I could praise you tonight, and sleep well, nestled in a deep faith, but I can’t. Maybe trust will come again with the morning.
Jesus,
Amen
This was the final prayer in the book, though there are over 100 pages remaining in the story itself. He waited and waited for a word from God but felt he never did until, as he slid deeper into despair he reads the following in his father’s faded Bible:
It had swept over me unannounced. The words had broken my heart, and all the walls besides. There, in my dad’s humped scribble: “If I ask God to give me the things I need; then I must assume that I have the fulfillment of my prayer in whatsoever cup he gives me to drink.” For better or worse, I took it to mean my God had spoken.
I am acutely aware that not all stories end in a comfortable happily-ever-after moment. May you find God’s presence and/or voice today. Until you hear/see/feel Him, hang on…
Blessings,
Shiann
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Friday, November 20, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
An ancient story ...
Some stories are true, not just because they were true once, but because they happen more than once, each telling true in its own way.
There is an ancient story, told again and again. In one of its more recent tellings, this huge black man, John Coffey, is sent to a Louisiana prison for murder. The irony is that he was not the killer of the young victims, but one who sought to bring back to the living those who were dead. As those responsible for John’s keeping soon discover, he does have the power to bring back those recently dead, at least in the case of Mr. Jingles. His power of healing, though, is thoroughly amazing. As a part of the healing, John takes the sickness and pain into himself in order to free the sufferer.
In the end, though, the head guard, Paul, finds that he must “kill one of God’s true miracles” for a crime that he did not commit. Paul offers John escape, even though he realizes that this will cost him his job, and perhaps time in prison. Yet John declines. This simple man is weary from carrying the wickedness, the evil in the world that surrounds him. So he dies a horrible and public death, an innocent suffering for a crime that was not his.
Does this story sound familiar? It should. It was told hundreds of years before even Jesus was born:
Isaiah 53:4-12
Surely he has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases;
yet we accounted him stricken, struck down by God, and afflicted.
But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the punishment that made us whole,
and by his bruises we are healed.
All we like sheep have gone astray;
we have all turned to our own way,
and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all.
He was oppressed, and he was afflicted,
yet he did not open his mouth;
like a lamb that is led to the slaughter,
and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth.
By a perversion of justice he was taken away.
Who could have imagined his future?
For he was cut off from the land of the living,
stricken for the transgression of my people.
They made his grave with the wicked and his tomb with the rich,
although he had done no violence,
and there was no deceit in his mouth.
Yet it was the will of the LORD to crush him with pain.
When you make his life an offering for sin,
he shall see his offspring, and shall prolong his days;
through him the will of the LORD shall prosper.
Out of his anguish he shall see light;
he shall find satisfaction through his knowledge.
The righteous one, my servant, shall make many righteous,
and he shall bear their iniquities.
Therefore I will allot him a portion with the great,
and he shall divide the spoil with the strong;
because he poured out himself to death,
and was numbered with the transgressors;
yet he bore the sin of many,
and made intercession for the transgressors.
Before Jesus, who knew what this story meant? Did anyone struggle to believe that this could ever be true? Since Jesus, this story has credibility. Since Jesus this story has power even though it has been told more than once. It still rings true without being trite. Interestingly, the newer stories told in our lifetime tend to echo the story of Jesus. Is it coincidence, after all, that John Coffey’s initials are what they are?
Even though the story of the suffering servant has been told more than once, it is the story of Jesus that gives all of the other stories believability and meaning. Because God might choose to die for his people, it becomes believable that one person might choose to die for another. That kind of sacrifice is now plausible.
Yet must we die in order to live a sacrificial life? Or is that question an oxymoron?
Jesus said that one who would keep life would lose it, but that one who would lose life may keep it. If we stop for a moment and think about what we have learned about our faith, we realize that God calls us daily to sacrifice our wishes, our way, our will, and yes even our life for others. If we live the story of Jesus, we do this for our children. We do this for our family. We do this for those to whom we minister.
If we live the story of Jesus.
Blessings,
Ron
There is an ancient story, told again and again. In one of its more recent tellings, this huge black man, John Coffey, is sent to a Louisiana prison for murder. The irony is that he was not the killer of the young victims, but one who sought to bring back to the living those who were dead. As those responsible for John’s keeping soon discover, he does have the power to bring back those recently dead, at least in the case of Mr. Jingles. His power of healing, though, is thoroughly amazing. As a part of the healing, John takes the sickness and pain into himself in order to free the sufferer.
In the end, though, the head guard, Paul, finds that he must “kill one of God’s true miracles” for a crime that he did not commit. Paul offers John escape, even though he realizes that this will cost him his job, and perhaps time in prison. Yet John declines. This simple man is weary from carrying the wickedness, the evil in the world that surrounds him. So he dies a horrible and public death, an innocent suffering for a crime that was not his.
Does this story sound familiar? It should. It was told hundreds of years before even Jesus was born:
Isaiah 53:4-12
Surely he has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases;
yet we accounted him stricken, struck down by God, and afflicted.
But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the punishment that made us whole,
and by his bruises we are healed.
All we like sheep have gone astray;
we have all turned to our own way,
and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all.
He was oppressed, and he was afflicted,
yet he did not open his mouth;
like a lamb that is led to the slaughter,
and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth.
By a perversion of justice he was taken away.
Who could have imagined his future?
For he was cut off from the land of the living,
stricken for the transgression of my people.
They made his grave with the wicked and his tomb with the rich,
although he had done no violence,
and there was no deceit in his mouth.
Yet it was the will of the LORD to crush him with pain.
When you make his life an offering for sin,
he shall see his offspring, and shall prolong his days;
through him the will of the LORD shall prosper.
Out of his anguish he shall see light;
he shall find satisfaction through his knowledge.
The righteous one, my servant, shall make many righteous,
and he shall bear their iniquities.
Therefore I will allot him a portion with the great,
and he shall divide the spoil with the strong;
because he poured out himself to death,
and was numbered with the transgressors;
yet he bore the sin of many,
and made intercession for the transgressors.
Before Jesus, who knew what this story meant? Did anyone struggle to believe that this could ever be true? Since Jesus, this story has credibility. Since Jesus this story has power even though it has been told more than once. It still rings true without being trite. Interestingly, the newer stories told in our lifetime tend to echo the story of Jesus. Is it coincidence, after all, that John Coffey’s initials are what they are?
Even though the story of the suffering servant has been told more than once, it is the story of Jesus that gives all of the other stories believability and meaning. Because God might choose to die for his people, it becomes believable that one person might choose to die for another. That kind of sacrifice is now plausible.
Yet must we die in order to live a sacrificial life? Or is that question an oxymoron?
Jesus said that one who would keep life would lose it, but that one who would lose life may keep it. If we stop for a moment and think about what we have learned about our faith, we realize that God calls us daily to sacrifice our wishes, our way, our will, and yes even our life for others. If we live the story of Jesus, we do this for our children. We do this for our family. We do this for those to whom we minister.
If we live the story of Jesus.
Blessings,
Ron
Thursday, July 16, 2009
If you had been here ...
What does Jesus say in the midst of devastation? Who is he really, when the chips are down - not just standing on the hillside or in the city street teaching, but in our lives and in this world? Who is Jesus in the face of death and pain?
On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed at home.
"Lord," Martha said to Jesus, "if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask."
When faced with the terrible tension occasioned by the apparent failure of the Teacher whom we follow to act in our time of need, there are a variety of possible responses. Mary stays at home, sad for the loss of her brother. Martha goes out to meet Jesus, expressing faith that he could have saved her brother, but probably still feeling the sting as well.
Martha makes a bold statement, though. Even though she believes that Jesus could have kept Lazarus from dying and didn't, she still chooses to voice her belief that "even now God will give you whatever you ask." Martha has an idea about who Jesus, an idea which includes wonderful teaching, miraculous healing abilities, and a special connection with God.
Jesus said to her, "Your brother will rise again."
Martha answered, "I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day."
Martha expects words of comfort from the Teacher. When Jesus states that Lazarus will rise again, she hears eschatological philosophy of the sort one would expect from a wandering rabbi/street teacher. She knows that Lazarus will rise with the righteous at the end of this age, but she is still left to deal with the pain of losing a loved one. She may even be grateful for the Teacher's presence and words of comfort in her time of trial, but nothing can take away the pain. She may even be glad to have someone to hold onto in such a disturbing moment in her life, but Martha is still operating within a framework based on who she thinks Jesus is. As he is often wont to, Jesus shakes up that framework a bit:
Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?"
"Yes, Lord," she told him, "I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who was to come into the world."
It becomes clear that Jesus' ideas about life and death are different form Martha's. The focus of Martha's understanding of Jesus to this point has been pastoral. Jesus points out that he did not need to be in Bethany any earlier than he was. Lazarus' death is a tragedy, but death is not the final word. Jesus reveals to Martha that death is powerless in the face of the Christ, God's anointed one. Against the Christ, death cannot even hold those whose bodies perish, and those whom it cannot hold will live forever. Like Lazarus, those who die will not be abandoned to the grasp of death forever. Those like Lazarus whom the Christ sets free from the power of death will live forever because the tentacles of death will never be able to claim final mastery over them.
Shortly after their conversation, Jesus literally resurrects Lazarus' body. Martha is at first taken aback that Jesus intends to brave the foul odor emitted by a dead body, but Jesus asks her, "Didn't I tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?" Jesus reveals himself to be not just a teacher and miracle-worker, but one whose power reaches even to the deepest parts of life - the pain and loss of death and the loneliness of the grave. He reaches down into the grave and defeats death in order to reveal to Martha and her family that through him God provides us with a life which cannot be destroyed. May that life abide in you today and every day.
Blessings,
Greg
(John 11:17-25, NIV)
On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed at home.
"Lord," Martha said to Jesus, "if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask."
When faced with the terrible tension occasioned by the apparent failure of the Teacher whom we follow to act in our time of need, there are a variety of possible responses. Mary stays at home, sad for the loss of her brother. Martha goes out to meet Jesus, expressing faith that he could have saved her brother, but probably still feeling the sting as well.
Martha makes a bold statement, though. Even though she believes that Jesus could have kept Lazarus from dying and didn't, she still chooses to voice her belief that "even now God will give you whatever you ask." Martha has an idea about who Jesus, an idea which includes wonderful teaching, miraculous healing abilities, and a special connection with God.
Jesus said to her, "Your brother will rise again."
Martha answered, "I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day."
Martha expects words of comfort from the Teacher. When Jesus states that Lazarus will rise again, she hears eschatological philosophy of the sort one would expect from a wandering rabbi/street teacher. She knows that Lazarus will rise with the righteous at the end of this age, but she is still left to deal with the pain of losing a loved one. She may even be grateful for the Teacher's presence and words of comfort in her time of trial, but nothing can take away the pain. She may even be glad to have someone to hold onto in such a disturbing moment in her life, but Martha is still operating within a framework based on who she thinks Jesus is. As he is often wont to, Jesus shakes up that framework a bit:
Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?"
"Yes, Lord," she told him, "I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who was to come into the world."
It becomes clear that Jesus' ideas about life and death are different form Martha's. The focus of Martha's understanding of Jesus to this point has been pastoral. Jesus points out that he did not need to be in Bethany any earlier than he was. Lazarus' death is a tragedy, but death is not the final word. Jesus reveals to Martha that death is powerless in the face of the Christ, God's anointed one. Against the Christ, death cannot even hold those whose bodies perish, and those whom it cannot hold will live forever. Like Lazarus, those who die will not be abandoned to the grasp of death forever. Those like Lazarus whom the Christ sets free from the power of death will live forever because the tentacles of death will never be able to claim final mastery over them.
Shortly after their conversation, Jesus literally resurrects Lazarus' body. Martha is at first taken aback that Jesus intends to brave the foul odor emitted by a dead body, but Jesus asks her, "Didn't I tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?" Jesus reveals himself to be not just a teacher and miracle-worker, but one whose power reaches even to the deepest parts of life - the pain and loss of death and the loneliness of the grave. He reaches down into the grave and defeats death in order to reveal to Martha and her family that through him God provides us with a life which cannot be destroyed. May that life abide in you today and every day.
Blessings,
Greg
(John 11:17-25, NIV)
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Ambassadors for Christ ...
This week we have spoken of kingdoms and kings, and of God’s power over crowns and countries. God chooses to work alongside humanity through history toward an end we can imagine, but which we do not yet understand fully. What is God up to in all of this? Sometimes we wish that God would just give us a special pair of glasses, ones that will let us see things from a heavenly perspective. Maybe a really tiny angel (you know, one of those small enough to fit on the head of a pin) could sit on our shoulder, not to tell us what to do, but to help us hear the kingdom perspective in the conversations around us.
Perhaps Paul can help us out:
For the love of Christ urges us on,
because we are convinced that one has died for all;
therefore all have died.
And he died for all,
so that those who live might live no longer for themselves,
but for him who died and was raised for them.
There is something convincing about the love of Christ, something convicting about the willingness of Jesus to share in our humanity. Even though we can’t altogether see it, or understand it, the confrontation of death by Jesus Christ fascinates us. The creator of life, the eternal, chooses to share in human death. When Jesus experiences death, something happens that takes away the power and permanence of the death that is the separation from life with God. Jesus restores communion between God and God’s people.
From now on, therefore,
we regard no one from a human point of view;
even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view,
we know him no longer in that way.
Before we imitated Jesus, we had a glimpse of who he might be, and a hope for what he might do. Now that we have mimicked his death, and his victory over death, we are in conversation with God. Since his word and his Spirit now shape who we are, our perspective changes radically, much more than a new “pair of glasses” could hope to change our vision. How we hear the events happening in our presence is no longer from the “human point of view” either. How we see Jesus, and how we hear his word, has changed forever.
So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation:
everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!
All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ,
and has given us the ministry of reconciliation;
that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself,
not counting their trespasses against them,
and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us.
So we are ambassadors for Christ,
since God is making his appeal through us;
we entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.
So, now that we can see things from a heavenly point of view, what is our challenge? It is to help others see Jesus, too. Why? Because if they see Jesus, then they can be reconciled to God, too. God restored fellowship through Jesus, and he still does this. Yet now God works through the Jesus that is in us. The new creation in us, the reconciled human in us, now must imitate the ministry of Jesus in a way similar to the way that we have imitated the mission of Jesus. We are ambassadors of the kingdom of God to people who find themselves citizens or captives in all sorts of other kingdoms, kingdoms which do not bring about fellowship with God. When we deliver this message of reconciliation, God can and will bring about restored relationships to those around us.
Yet this is slow work. Even when a person sees the way to God, it takes a lifetime to learn to walk the pathway to God. Let’s learn to be patient with others beginning this walk in the same way that Jesus has been patient with us.
Grace and peace,
Ron
2 Corinthians 5:14-21 – NRSV
Perhaps Paul can help us out:
For the love of Christ urges us on,
because we are convinced that one has died for all;
therefore all have died.
And he died for all,
so that those who live might live no longer for themselves,
but for him who died and was raised for them.
There is something convincing about the love of Christ, something convicting about the willingness of Jesus to share in our humanity. Even though we can’t altogether see it, or understand it, the confrontation of death by Jesus Christ fascinates us. The creator of life, the eternal, chooses to share in human death. When Jesus experiences death, something happens that takes away the power and permanence of the death that is the separation from life with God. Jesus restores communion between God and God’s people.
From now on, therefore,
we regard no one from a human point of view;
even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view,
we know him no longer in that way.
Before we imitated Jesus, we had a glimpse of who he might be, and a hope for what he might do. Now that we have mimicked his death, and his victory over death, we are in conversation with God. Since his word and his Spirit now shape who we are, our perspective changes radically, much more than a new “pair of glasses” could hope to change our vision. How we hear the events happening in our presence is no longer from the “human point of view” either. How we see Jesus, and how we hear his word, has changed forever.
So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation:
everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!
All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ,
and has given us the ministry of reconciliation;
that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself,
not counting their trespasses against them,
and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us.
So we are ambassadors for Christ,
since God is making his appeal through us;
we entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.
So, now that we can see things from a heavenly point of view, what is our challenge? It is to help others see Jesus, too. Why? Because if they see Jesus, then they can be reconciled to God, too. God restored fellowship through Jesus, and he still does this. Yet now God works through the Jesus that is in us. The new creation in us, the reconciled human in us, now must imitate the ministry of Jesus in a way similar to the way that we have imitated the mission of Jesus. We are ambassadors of the kingdom of God to people who find themselves citizens or captives in all sorts of other kingdoms, kingdoms which do not bring about fellowship with God. When we deliver this message of reconciliation, God can and will bring about restored relationships to those around us.
Yet this is slow work. Even when a person sees the way to God, it takes a lifetime to learn to walk the pathway to God. Let’s learn to be patient with others beginning this walk in the same way that Jesus has been patient with us.
Grace and peace,
Ron
2 Corinthians 5:14-21 – NRSV
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Wrong place, wrong time ...
Hear the word of God:
When David had returned from defeating the Amalekites, David remained two days in Ziklag. On the third day, a man came from Saul's camp, with his clothes torn and dirt on his head. When he came to David, he fell to the ground and did obeisance. David said to him, "Where have you come from?"
He said to him, "I have escaped from the camp of Israel."
David said to him, "How did things go? Tell me!"
"The army fled from the battle, many of the army fell and died; and Saul and his son Jonathan also died."
David asked, "How do you know that Saul and his son Jonathan died?"
"I happened to be on Mount Gilboa; and there was Saul leaning on his spear … He said to me, 'Come, stand over me and kill me; for convulsions have seized me, and yet my life still lingers.' So I stood over him, and killed him, for I knew that he could not live after he had fallen. I took the crown that was on his head and the armlet that was on his arm, and I have brought them here to my lord."
Then David took hold of his clothes and tore them; and all the men who were with him did the same. They mourned and wept, and fasted until evening for Saul and for his son Jonathan, and for the army of the LORD and for the house of Israel, because they had fallen by the sword.
David said to the young man, "Where do you come from?"
He answered, "I am the son of a resident alien, an Amalekite."
David said to him, "Were you not afraid to lift your hand to destroy the LORD's anointed?" Then David called one of the young men and said, "Come here and strike him down."
2 Samuel 1:1-16 – NRSV
You have to wonder, what did this young Amalekite expect from David? Did he expect to be congratulated for living through such a brutal battle? Did he hope to be considered compassionate because he administered the coup de grace to a suffering king? Or did he believe that the surviving competitor for the crown of Israel would reward him for bearing the news and the crown?
Whatever he thought, he was wrong.
It’s not as if David killed the messenger for bringing bad news. David executed the Amalekite for doing the very thing that he had resisted doing for some time; killing King Saul so that he could claim the throne for himself. David was furious.
It’s not as if David had been having a great week. He’d been living in Philistine territory for a while now, hiding out from Saul. David was the right hand man of one of the Philistine kings, but most of the Philistines thought that he was a crazy man. He ought to know; he did his best to convince them of that.
So when the five Philistine kings set out to destroy Saul, David was in a hard place. Would he fight as a traitor against his people, or would his new masters discover his lack of loyalty and take his life? After they sort it all out, the kings go to fight Saul, and David gets sent back home to the women and children in Ziglag.
Only they’re not there. It seems that some Amalekites have come, stolen his property and livestock, and kidnapped his wives and children. Yeah, that’s right: Amalekites. Land pirates from way back in the time when Moses and the newly-freed Israelites wandered in the wilderness. (Some think that, over the years, they migrated to Somalia and learned how to sail ships …)
When his men discover what has happened, they want to do to David what Saul has been thinking about for years. But he manages to shut them up, band them together, and go fight a battle to reclaim what belongs to them. Only to have to put down another rebellion to make certain that all of the stuff was given back to its original owners, and not just the endurance athletes.
So he gets home to a burned-out city, gets a night’s sleep and then wakes up, only to find out that the king he who used to sing to sleep, and the friend who was closer than any brother, are dead. Yes, David is angry.
But is the anger really about Amalekites, or young men that claim to kill kings? (Read 1 Sam 31:1-6 and see if you think the Amalekite is a murder or a liar…) I don’t think that’s what all of the anger is about.
I believe that David is angry because David knew that David was in the wrong place at the wrong time. This won’t be the last time that this happens, but this is a particularly painful time for it to happen. David is on the wrong side with the wrong people fighting the wrong battle, and now he has terrible evidence of that reality. The only person David ever trusted besides his God is now dead. Jonathan is gone. Discovering that we’ve made a mistake may put us in a murderous mood, but anger can’t fix our problems. It can only signal to us that we have a problem.
Sometimes our anger rises, but not because someone else has been a fool. Sometimes our anger rises because we have been a fool, and we really don’t want to admit it. Or deal with it.
The next time we feel angry, what is that anger telling us? Are our expectations of someone else disappointed, or have we disappointed ourselves? Let’s keep our swords in their sheaths until we figure it out.
Grace, and peace,
Ron
When David had returned from defeating the Amalekites, David remained two days in Ziklag. On the third day, a man came from Saul's camp, with his clothes torn and dirt on his head. When he came to David, he fell to the ground and did obeisance. David said to him, "Where have you come from?"
He said to him, "I have escaped from the camp of Israel."
David said to him, "How did things go? Tell me!"
"The army fled from the battle, many of the army fell and died; and Saul and his son Jonathan also died."
David asked, "How do you know that Saul and his son Jonathan died?"
"I happened to be on Mount Gilboa; and there was Saul leaning on his spear … He said to me, 'Come, stand over me and kill me; for convulsions have seized me, and yet my life still lingers.' So I stood over him, and killed him, for I knew that he could not live after he had fallen. I took the crown that was on his head and the armlet that was on his arm, and I have brought them here to my lord."
Then David took hold of his clothes and tore them; and all the men who were with him did the same. They mourned and wept, and fasted until evening for Saul and for his son Jonathan, and for the army of the LORD and for the house of Israel, because they had fallen by the sword.
David said to the young man, "Where do you come from?"
He answered, "I am the son of a resident alien, an Amalekite."
David said to him, "Were you not afraid to lift your hand to destroy the LORD's anointed?" Then David called one of the young men and said, "Come here and strike him down."
2 Samuel 1:1-16 – NRSV
You have to wonder, what did this young Amalekite expect from David? Did he expect to be congratulated for living through such a brutal battle? Did he hope to be considered compassionate because he administered the coup de grace to a suffering king? Or did he believe that the surviving competitor for the crown of Israel would reward him for bearing the news and the crown?
Whatever he thought, he was wrong.
It’s not as if David killed the messenger for bringing bad news. David executed the Amalekite for doing the very thing that he had resisted doing for some time; killing King Saul so that he could claim the throne for himself. David was furious.
It’s not as if David had been having a great week. He’d been living in Philistine territory for a while now, hiding out from Saul. David was the right hand man of one of the Philistine kings, but most of the Philistines thought that he was a crazy man. He ought to know; he did his best to convince them of that.
So when the five Philistine kings set out to destroy Saul, David was in a hard place. Would he fight as a traitor against his people, or would his new masters discover his lack of loyalty and take his life? After they sort it all out, the kings go to fight Saul, and David gets sent back home to the women and children in Ziglag.
Only they’re not there. It seems that some Amalekites have come, stolen his property and livestock, and kidnapped his wives and children. Yeah, that’s right: Amalekites. Land pirates from way back in the time when Moses and the newly-freed Israelites wandered in the wilderness. (Some think that, over the years, they migrated to Somalia and learned how to sail ships …)
When his men discover what has happened, they want to do to David what Saul has been thinking about for years. But he manages to shut them up, band them together, and go fight a battle to reclaim what belongs to them. Only to have to put down another rebellion to make certain that all of the stuff was given back to its original owners, and not just the endurance athletes.
So he gets home to a burned-out city, gets a night’s sleep and then wakes up, only to find out that the king he who used to sing to sleep, and the friend who was closer than any brother, are dead. Yes, David is angry.
But is the anger really about Amalekites, or young men that claim to kill kings? (Read 1 Sam 31:1-6 and see if you think the Amalekite is a murder or a liar…) I don’t think that’s what all of the anger is about.
I believe that David is angry because David knew that David was in the wrong place at the wrong time. This won’t be the last time that this happens, but this is a particularly painful time for it to happen. David is on the wrong side with the wrong people fighting the wrong battle, and now he has terrible evidence of that reality. The only person David ever trusted besides his God is now dead. Jonathan is gone. Discovering that we’ve made a mistake may put us in a murderous mood, but anger can’t fix our problems. It can only signal to us that we have a problem.
Sometimes our anger rises, but not because someone else has been a fool. Sometimes our anger rises because we have been a fool, and we really don’t want to admit it. Or deal with it.
The next time we feel angry, what is that anger telling us? Are our expectations of someone else disappointed, or have we disappointed ourselves? Let’s keep our swords in their sheaths until we figure it out.
Grace, and peace,
Ron
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Very fierce that day ...
In the time after Saul and Jonathan had died, and before David had consolidated his kingdom, there was war between the forces of David and those of Ishbosheth. Abner led the forces of Ishbosheth, and Joab led David’s men.
Abner the son of Ner, and the servants of Ish-bosheth the son of Saul, went out from Mahanaim to Gibeon. And Joab the son of Zeruiah and the servants of David went out and met them at the pool of Gibeon. And they sat down, the one on the one side of the pool, and the other on the other side of the pool. And Abner said to Joab, "Let the young men arise and compete before us." And Joab said, "Let them arise." Then they arose and passed over by number, twelve for Benjamin and Ish-bosheth the son of Saul, and twelve of the servants of David. And each caught his opponent by the head and thrust his sword in his opponent's side, so they fell down together. Therefore that place was called Helkath-hazzurim, which is at Gibeon. And the battle was very fierce that day. And Abner and the men of Israel were beaten before the servants of David.
The two armies come together; Joab’s men are not numerous, but they are hardened by dozens of battles under Joab and David’s leadership. Abner’s men may very well be more numerous, but the loss of many men in the same battle that ended the life of Saul and Jonathan has weakened both their experience and number. Both leaders feel compelled to fight, but neither can afford large losses. So they come up with a plan. They will engage in representative combat, much like what had happened with David and Goliath. Here though, they counted off every so many men until they had picked twelve for each side (perhaps representative of the twelve tribes, now divided and fighting a civil war here). The young men are to arise and “play” before Joab and Abner. This “play” is actually gladiatorial combat. Archeology confirms accounts of similar outcomes in similar contests in other places: all of the combatants die. Because the victor is not clear, general fighting breaks out, and things don’t go well for Abner.
And the three sons of Zeruiah were there, Joab, Abishai, and Asahel. Now Asahel was as swift of foot as a wild gazelle. And Asahel pursued Abner, and as he went, he turned neither to the right hand nor to the left from following Abner. Then Abner looked behind him and said, "Is it you, Asahel?" And he answered, "It is I." Abner said to him, "Turn aside to your right hand or to your left, and seize one of the young men and take his spoil." But Asahel would not turn aside from following him. And Abner said again to Asahel, "Turn aside from following me. Why should I strike you to the ground? How then could I lift up my face to your brother Joab?"
Asahel doesn’t get Abner’s point. Asahel is caught up in the moment. He is not thinking about the past, not remembering the history of Abner’s many victories, not seeing that Abner has survived 100% of the battles that he has fought, win or lose. He has forgotten that Abner is a very dangerous old man. Asahel is not thinking about the future either; at best, by discounting Abner’s skill and experience, he has a 33% chance of surviving this contest (Joab could die, Asahel could die, or they both could die). Even if Asahel wins, he invites revenge from Abner’s clan. Abner is in the moment, too, but he wisely accesses his past experience with this young man and decides to dissuade him from combat. When Abner looks to the future, he sees that anything but Asahel’s turning aside will lead to a lose-lose situation: either Abner will die or face vendetta from his two brothers, and perhaps Asahel’s uncle David as well. Abner wants to live tomorrow, but Asahel wants glory today.
But [Asahel] refused to turn aside. Therefore Abner struck him in the stomach with the butt of his spear, so that the spear came out at his back. And he fell there and died where he was. And all who came to the place where Asahel had fallen and died, stood still.
Such is the ambition and energy of Asahel’s pursuit that he skewers himself on the sandy end of Abner’s spear. Asahel couldn’t leave the moment to consider the past or the future, and now he will never leave this moment at all. Twenty-four bodies in a bloody pile do not have the power to stop an army the way that Asahel’s stricken body does. And Abner turns out to be right; killing Asahel has allowed him to survive one threat, but relief is brief. Now two brothers pursue with a vengeance, literally a vendetta. Abner’s savvy allows him to survive to fight another day, but eventually his analysis proves to be correct; he will lose his life over this battle.
How are we doing in keeping our present connected with our past and our future? Failure to do this may mean failure altogether. Success at this doesn’t guarantee that we’ll always have victory, but it does hold out promise that we’ll live to work on our lives tomorrow.
May God bless us with the wisdom to use the time of our life well.
Ron
2 Samuel 2:12-23 – ESV
Abner the son of Ner, and the servants of Ish-bosheth the son of Saul, went out from Mahanaim to Gibeon. And Joab the son of Zeruiah and the servants of David went out and met them at the pool of Gibeon. And they sat down, the one on the one side of the pool, and the other on the other side of the pool. And Abner said to Joab, "Let the young men arise and compete before us." And Joab said, "Let them arise." Then they arose and passed over by number, twelve for Benjamin and Ish-bosheth the son of Saul, and twelve of the servants of David. And each caught his opponent by the head and thrust his sword in his opponent's side, so they fell down together. Therefore that place was called Helkath-hazzurim, which is at Gibeon. And the battle was very fierce that day. And Abner and the men of Israel were beaten before the servants of David.
The two armies come together; Joab’s men are not numerous, but they are hardened by dozens of battles under Joab and David’s leadership. Abner’s men may very well be more numerous, but the loss of many men in the same battle that ended the life of Saul and Jonathan has weakened both their experience and number. Both leaders feel compelled to fight, but neither can afford large losses. So they come up with a plan. They will engage in representative combat, much like what had happened with David and Goliath. Here though, they counted off every so many men until they had picked twelve for each side (perhaps representative of the twelve tribes, now divided and fighting a civil war here). The young men are to arise and “play” before Joab and Abner. This “play” is actually gladiatorial combat. Archeology confirms accounts of similar outcomes in similar contests in other places: all of the combatants die. Because the victor is not clear, general fighting breaks out, and things don’t go well for Abner.
And the three sons of Zeruiah were there, Joab, Abishai, and Asahel. Now Asahel was as swift of foot as a wild gazelle. And Asahel pursued Abner, and as he went, he turned neither to the right hand nor to the left from following Abner. Then Abner looked behind him and said, "Is it you, Asahel?" And he answered, "It is I." Abner said to him, "Turn aside to your right hand or to your left, and seize one of the young men and take his spoil." But Asahel would not turn aside from following him. And Abner said again to Asahel, "Turn aside from following me. Why should I strike you to the ground? How then could I lift up my face to your brother Joab?"
Asahel doesn’t get Abner’s point. Asahel is caught up in the moment. He is not thinking about the past, not remembering the history of Abner’s many victories, not seeing that Abner has survived 100% of the battles that he has fought, win or lose. He has forgotten that Abner is a very dangerous old man. Asahel is not thinking about the future either; at best, by discounting Abner’s skill and experience, he has a 33% chance of surviving this contest (Joab could die, Asahel could die, or they both could die). Even if Asahel wins, he invites revenge from Abner’s clan. Abner is in the moment, too, but he wisely accesses his past experience with this young man and decides to dissuade him from combat. When Abner looks to the future, he sees that anything but Asahel’s turning aside will lead to a lose-lose situation: either Abner will die or face vendetta from his two brothers, and perhaps Asahel’s uncle David as well. Abner wants to live tomorrow, but Asahel wants glory today.
But [Asahel] refused to turn aside. Therefore Abner struck him in the stomach with the butt of his spear, so that the spear came out at his back. And he fell there and died where he was. And all who came to the place where Asahel had fallen and died, stood still.
Such is the ambition and energy of Asahel’s pursuit that he skewers himself on the sandy end of Abner’s spear. Asahel couldn’t leave the moment to consider the past or the future, and now he will never leave this moment at all. Twenty-four bodies in a bloody pile do not have the power to stop an army the way that Asahel’s stricken body does. And Abner turns out to be right; killing Asahel has allowed him to survive one threat, but relief is brief. Now two brothers pursue with a vengeance, literally a vendetta. Abner’s savvy allows him to survive to fight another day, but eventually his analysis proves to be correct; he will lose his life over this battle.
How are we doing in keeping our present connected with our past and our future? Failure to do this may mean failure altogether. Success at this doesn’t guarantee that we’ll always have victory, but it does hold out promise that we’ll live to work on our lives tomorrow.
May God bless us with the wisdom to use the time of our life well.
Ron
2 Samuel 2:12-23 – ESV
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Why so silent, Night?
Not everyone can sing, yet this song is so lovely that almost anyone can sing it. Hear the music as you read the words:
Silent Night
Joseph Mohr
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and Child.
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Silent night, holy night,
Shepherds quake at the sight;
Glories stream from heaven afar,
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia!
Christ the Savior is born,
Christ the Savior is born!
Silent night, holy night,
Son of God, love’s pure light;
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth,
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.
Silent night, holy night
Wondrous star, lend thy light;
With the angels let us sing,
Alleluia to our King;
Christ the Savior is born,
Christ the Savior is born!
Praise God for the silence, and the angels, and the Christ child. I am thankful for this song, and the contemplative mood to which it leads me whenever I hear it. Silent night. Holy night.
Meditation on these words leads me to a question: Have you ever wondered why the night was silent?
There are all sorts of possibilities, but I have an explanation. I believe that this is the pause before the message. Watch a good speaker. There is an introduction, a description of this person and their personal attributes, education, and experience which make what the speaker might say relevant. There is the celebration of applause as the one making the introduction vacates the podium and the speaker arrives. Then there is the quiet moment where the speaker looks out, knowing what must be said, and waits for the audience to be ready to hear it.
For centuries, God's messengers have been preparing the people for this moment. They have described this person, this person's attributes, and this person's life. The introductions cease, and then the angels celebrate, praising the name of God in heaven and on earth. Now, just before the voice of the speaker is heard, there is silence. Deep, abiding quiet.
Under the light of a still star, the people of God hear the voice of God for the first time since Sinai. Not the deep, richly timbered voice that we might expect. It is, rather, the voice of a newborn clearing his throat for the first time. Is there anything more joyous than to hear the first, strong cries of a newborn baby? Perhaps not, but this is not exactly the voice we might have expected, is it?
What kind of message is this supposed to be? That will become clearer later in the story, but for the moment, this is the message: God is with us. Immanuel.
The word of God is profitable for much, but this child, the living Word of God, will eventually make clear what words fail to describe adequately. Jesus will fully show us who God really is, and at the same time, he will fully submit to the process of being human. Experiencing birth. Discovering food and drink. Learning to walk and talk. Going through growth spurts and life's hurts. Following his calling. Crying out at the feelings of abandonment and pain. Experiencing death.
But for the moment the message is: "I am with you. Being human is so important that I am not going to miss a single part of it, first breath to the last. I am with you, just as I always have been, but now you know just exactly what I'm willing to go through in order to have a relationship with you. I, the Creator who spoke the universe into existence, do not have words tonight. I, the possessor of the mighty arm that so long protected David, cannot control either my arms and legs tonight. Instead, I am wrapped tight in a blanket, cuddled in the arms of a mother still in her teens, experiencing for the first time the responsibility of being a parent. I have emptied myself of my power and made myself helpless, dependent upon humanity for nurture and nourishment. For you, to be with you, to understand you fully, I have stripped myself of titles and power and things that you cannot even begin to understand."
Sometime in your night tonight, find a moment of silence and hear the message once again: "I love you and I am with you forever."
Grace and peace through our Lord Jesus Christ,
Ron
Silent Night
Joseph Mohr
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and Child.
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Silent night, holy night,
Shepherds quake at the sight;
Glories stream from heaven afar,
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia!
Christ the Savior is born,
Christ the Savior is born!
Silent night, holy night,
Son of God, love’s pure light;
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth,
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.
Silent night, holy night
Wondrous star, lend thy light;
With the angels let us sing,
Alleluia to our King;
Christ the Savior is born,
Christ the Savior is born!
Praise God for the silence, and the angels, and the Christ child. I am thankful for this song, and the contemplative mood to which it leads me whenever I hear it. Silent night. Holy night.
Meditation on these words leads me to a question: Have you ever wondered why the night was silent?
There are all sorts of possibilities, but I have an explanation. I believe that this is the pause before the message. Watch a good speaker. There is an introduction, a description of this person and their personal attributes, education, and experience which make what the speaker might say relevant. There is the celebration of applause as the one making the introduction vacates the podium and the speaker arrives. Then there is the quiet moment where the speaker looks out, knowing what must be said, and waits for the audience to be ready to hear it.
For centuries, God's messengers have been preparing the people for this moment. They have described this person, this person's attributes, and this person's life. The introductions cease, and then the angels celebrate, praising the name of God in heaven and on earth. Now, just before the voice of the speaker is heard, there is silence. Deep, abiding quiet.
Under the light of a still star, the people of God hear the voice of God for the first time since Sinai. Not the deep, richly timbered voice that we might expect. It is, rather, the voice of a newborn clearing his throat for the first time. Is there anything more joyous than to hear the first, strong cries of a newborn baby? Perhaps not, but this is not exactly the voice we might have expected, is it?
What kind of message is this supposed to be? That will become clearer later in the story, but for the moment, this is the message: God is with us. Immanuel.
The word of God is profitable for much, but this child, the living Word of God, will eventually make clear what words fail to describe adequately. Jesus will fully show us who God really is, and at the same time, he will fully submit to the process of being human. Experiencing birth. Discovering food and drink. Learning to walk and talk. Going through growth spurts and life's hurts. Following his calling. Crying out at the feelings of abandonment and pain. Experiencing death.
But for the moment the message is: "I am with you. Being human is so important that I am not going to miss a single part of it, first breath to the last. I am with you, just as I always have been, but now you know just exactly what I'm willing to go through in order to have a relationship with you. I, the Creator who spoke the universe into existence, do not have words tonight. I, the possessor of the mighty arm that so long protected David, cannot control either my arms and legs tonight. Instead, I am wrapped tight in a blanket, cuddled in the arms of a mother still in her teens, experiencing for the first time the responsibility of being a parent. I have emptied myself of my power and made myself helpless, dependent upon humanity for nurture and nourishment. For you, to be with you, to understand you fully, I have stripped myself of titles and power and things that you cannot even begin to understand."
Sometime in your night tonight, find a moment of silence and hear the message once again: "I love you and I am with you forever."
Grace and peace through our Lord Jesus Christ,
Ron
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Dead man walking?
There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death. For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do: by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and to deal with sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, so that the just requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit. For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. To set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. For this reason the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God's law — indeed it cannot, and those who are in the flesh cannot please God.
But you are not in the flesh; you are in the Spirit, since the Spirit of God dwells in you. Anyone who does not have the Spirit of Christ does not belong to him. But if Christ is in you, though the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness. If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.
Romans 8:1-11 – NRSV
Do we move through this world like a “dead man walking”, moving as if surely the end were too grievous to bear? Is our demeanor defeated? Is our language languid? Or is there something different about us that is visible from how we look and act?
Shouldn’t we instead be men and women who are totally alive? Should not the spirit enliven our appearance in our bodies now that the flesh is no longer our master? Surely we should behave in a way that is consistent with being free forever of condemnation. Surely we should behave like the saved. Surely the Spirit dwells in us, and therefore Jesus is lived through us so that God can be visible in us.
Let us live into our promises today.
Blessings,
Ron
But you are not in the flesh; you are in the Spirit, since the Spirit of God dwells in you. Anyone who does not have the Spirit of Christ does not belong to him. But if Christ is in you, though the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness. If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.
Romans 8:1-11 – NRSV
Do we move through this world like a “dead man walking”, moving as if surely the end were too grievous to bear? Is our demeanor defeated? Is our language languid? Or is there something different about us that is visible from how we look and act?
Shouldn’t we instead be men and women who are totally alive? Should not the spirit enliven our appearance in our bodies now that the flesh is no longer our master? Surely we should behave in a way that is consistent with being free forever of condemnation. Surely we should behave like the saved. Surely the Spirit dwells in us, and therefore Jesus is lived through us so that God can be visible in us.
Let us live into our promises today.
Blessings,
Ron
Friday, August 29, 2008
Once more into the breach
Today we will work our way toward Psalm 81:
A friend of mine, Charles Siburt, has said that “Ministry is grief management.” Some people have disagreed with him, but I wonder if that is because they believe instead that ministry is preaching, and the preacher’s job is to fill the silence with the sound of his voice. Although I think that preaching has its place, I don’t think that it does any good to break the silence unless our words heal the holes in people’s hearts. Consider these words:
I’ve said before that every craftsman
searches for what’s not there
to practice his craft.
A builder looks for the rotten hole
where the roof caved in. A water carrier
picks the empty pot. A carpenter
stops at the house with no door.
Workers rush toward some hint
of emptiness, which they then
start to fill. Their hope, though,
is for emptiness, so don’t think
you must avoid it. It contains
what you need!
- Jellaludin Rumin, 13th century Persian mystic
God has made a habit of rushing to the emptiness; God knew that Adam and Eve would experience the emptiness of hunger, so he filled a garden with fruit.
God foresaw that a world covered with water would become a perverse kind of emptiness, a weird lifeless desert, so he had a man build an ark of life, a floating bridge, a place of providence for a world starved of hope, drowned with death, and covered with chaos.
God understood that a people fleeing from oppression would need safety. When this people came to a sea of trouble, a hole that threatened to swallow them whole, God build a bridge down through the water. He bridged the emptiness, and then he allowed the enemies of his beloved to be swallowed by that same emptiness.
Isn't this is what the psalmist celebrates in the 81st Psalm?
Sing aloud to God our strength;
shout for joy to the God of Jacob.
Raise a song, sound the tambourine,
the sweet lyre with the harp.
Blow the trumpet at the new moon,
at the full moon, on our festal day.
For it is a statute for Israel,
an ordinance of the God of Jacob.
He made it a decree in Joseph,
when he went out over the land of Egypt.
I hear a voice I had not known:
"I relieved your shoulder of the burden;
your hands were freed from the basket.
In distress you called, and I rescued you;
I answered you in the secret place of thunder;
I tested you at the waters of Meribah.
Selah
Hear, O my people, while I admonish you;
O Israel, if you would but listen to me!
There shall be no strange god among you;
you shall not bow down to a foreign god.
I am the Lord your God,
who brought you up out of the land of Egypt.
Open your mouth wide and I will fill it.
Oh, if Israel will only hear, then they will open their empty mouths and God will fill them with what they need: manna and quail and water. Again and again, God jumps into the breach until finally, he sends his Son to show us how to do this for each other.
Jesus steps up to the biggest abyss of them all. Death. Time after time he walks to the edge and calls people up out of the life-swallowing chasm, the trap that has never before yielded anything. Death is disoriented. There are no toe-holds in its pit. There is no rope to reach the bottom of it. Rattled but reassured, death designs its revenge. And it seems all too easy, because Jesus literally seems to run at death. Darkness comes. The grave gapes and swallows. Death celebrates its ultimate banquet; the death of the one who made the tree of life. Too late, Death discovers that God in the flesh has build a bridge down through death to life that need never fear emptiness again. Death will have to swallow itself, and so be done.
He [Jesus] who descended is the same one who ascended far above all the heavens, so that he might fill all things. The gifts he gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ. (Eph 4:10-14)
He fills us with gifts, not so we can hear the sound of our voice in the silence, but so that we can throw ourselves in the breach, so that we can use the gifts that he has given us to heal the holes in the spiritual hearts of the wounded. He would have them brought to wholeness again. He would have us minister by daring to work with the grief of those who surround us. God grant us the courage to do this.
Grace and peace,
Ron
A friend of mine, Charles Siburt, has said that “Ministry is grief management.” Some people have disagreed with him, but I wonder if that is because they believe instead that ministry is preaching, and the preacher’s job is to fill the silence with the sound of his voice. Although I think that preaching has its place, I don’t think that it does any good to break the silence unless our words heal the holes in people’s hearts. Consider these words:
I’ve said before that every craftsman
searches for what’s not there
to practice his craft.
A builder looks for the rotten hole
where the roof caved in. A water carrier
picks the empty pot. A carpenter
stops at the house with no door.
Workers rush toward some hint
of emptiness, which they then
start to fill. Their hope, though,
is for emptiness, so don’t think
you must avoid it. It contains
what you need!
- Jellaludin Rumin, 13th century Persian mystic
God has made a habit of rushing to the emptiness; God knew that Adam and Eve would experience the emptiness of hunger, so he filled a garden with fruit.
God foresaw that a world covered with water would become a perverse kind of emptiness, a weird lifeless desert, so he had a man build an ark of life, a floating bridge, a place of providence for a world starved of hope, drowned with death, and covered with chaos.
God understood that a people fleeing from oppression would need safety. When this people came to a sea of trouble, a hole that threatened to swallow them whole, God build a bridge down through the water. He bridged the emptiness, and then he allowed the enemies of his beloved to be swallowed by that same emptiness.
Isn't this is what the psalmist celebrates in the 81st Psalm?
Sing aloud to God our strength;
shout for joy to the God of Jacob.
Raise a song, sound the tambourine,
the sweet lyre with the harp.
Blow the trumpet at the new moon,
at the full moon, on our festal day.
For it is a statute for Israel,
an ordinance of the God of Jacob.
He made it a decree in Joseph,
when he went out over the land of Egypt.
I hear a voice I had not known:
"I relieved your shoulder of the burden;
your hands were freed from the basket.
In distress you called, and I rescued you;
I answered you in the secret place of thunder;
I tested you at the waters of Meribah.
Selah
Hear, O my people, while I admonish you;
O Israel, if you would but listen to me!
There shall be no strange god among you;
you shall not bow down to a foreign god.
I am the Lord your God,
who brought you up out of the land of Egypt.
Open your mouth wide and I will fill it.
Oh, if Israel will only hear, then they will open their empty mouths and God will fill them with what they need: manna and quail and water. Again and again, God jumps into the breach until finally, he sends his Son to show us how to do this for each other.
Jesus steps up to the biggest abyss of them all. Death. Time after time he walks to the edge and calls people up out of the life-swallowing chasm, the trap that has never before yielded anything. Death is disoriented. There are no toe-holds in its pit. There is no rope to reach the bottom of it. Rattled but reassured, death designs its revenge. And it seems all too easy, because Jesus literally seems to run at death. Darkness comes. The grave gapes and swallows. Death celebrates its ultimate banquet; the death of the one who made the tree of life. Too late, Death discovers that God in the flesh has build a bridge down through death to life that need never fear emptiness again. Death will have to swallow itself, and so be done.
He [Jesus] who descended is the same one who ascended far above all the heavens, so that he might fill all things. The gifts he gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ. (Eph 4:10-14)
He fills us with gifts, not so we can hear the sound of our voice in the silence, but so that we can throw ourselves in the breach, so that we can use the gifts that he has given us to heal the holes in the spiritual hearts of the wounded. He would have them brought to wholeness again. He would have us minister by daring to work with the grief of those who surround us. God grant us the courage to do this.
Grace and peace,
Ron
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