A year ago today, or some day immediately before or after this one (I can't quite remember the date), I was submerged in a pool of water in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Immersion was the symbol of God's fullness and my wholeness, the sufficiency of Christ crucified and resurrected for me, a desperate sinner--a declaration of a sovereign God's work in me and of my faith response to it.
This morning my church family and I watched as seven spiritual siblings were in the same way ritually put to death and resurrected in a bath of (evidently fairly cold) water. It is a symbol well worth beholding regularly. Seeing the incredible vulnerability of the shivering dunked reminds us of how far we can wander from that reverence.
I had forgotten. I had been wandering. Last night the dams I'd built up to keep the Almighty at bay fell. They had to. It was inevitable. His grace burst through my weak palisades of sin and selfishness. I was overcome. I was overcome by power, by sovereignty, by a flood, by grace irresistible and true and good. My dry haven in the middle of the River of Life, my concocted valley of self, was inundated. I stood for a moment watching it all cave in and the mighty tempest loom above me. I thought to grab my belongings, like an earthquake drill.
But the Father beckoned me out, he grabbed me and plucked me from my flooding space. He took me in his arms. I was limp and weak and ashamed. But I was dry.
In this time of prayer, somewhere up against a tree in the middle of the frigid night, I felt the warmth and comfort and peace of God's Spirit renewing me, purifying, making way for the Lord. That flood was in my heart. That stronghold was there, constructed deep in my soul, a foothold for a rebel.
I soon saw--God revealed to me gently--that so much of the chaos and depression and darkness and sorrow I've been stuck in this season was a means of drawing me in, drawing me out, drawing me near to the Father. Numb and deaf and blind, but now I could see a precious part of the tapestry of his sovereign, eminently good will. The Lord my God loved me--loves me--so much that he has tugged at and pulled on and then torn down this pestilent stronghold, this preserve of sinful obstinacy. He traversed the distance I would not, just as he did in sending Christ to this world--that's what Advent and Christmas are all about!
Well, my Christmas was last night. The gift I opened was an irresistible grace. It was love packaged in a Savior, wrapped in sustaining sufficiency and overwhelming power, sacrifice and justice satisfied. Lord, you are God, you are Love eternal. I have peace, purpose, a promise sealed in the precious blood of Christ.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Jesus, Thy Visible Glory
I'm a walker. I do all my best thinking on the move, wandering down some brambly path in the crunchy autumn forest or in a pale meadow in the summertime. Today I had a few moments between commitments and took a quick walk around campus, taking advantage of the invigorating but thankfully rainless chill. Even in that tiny stroll the Holy Spirit moved in me and caused my work-tired mind and disharmonious heart to see and feel and know a profound reality that I don't think I'd ever really grasped before. Here's how it happened.
It came as I was wondering how I might respond to a question concerning what it means to glorify God in one's life. If a dear saint were to die tomorrow, and I was called upon to eulogize him or her, how would I go about judging whether that life that had just come to an end was a magnification of the Lord's majesty? I wanted to make sure I had gotten straight what that actually entailed.
Glory. Hm. What is God's glory? What's it about? Can we see it? I seemed to fixate on this last question.
So I began to reason. Well, no, of course we can't see his glory. We would be blinded! After all, no one has ever beheld God (1 John 4:12). That is certainly the case in Moses's encounter with God in prayer in Exodus 33:17-20. Pleading for knowledge and wisdom and for the presence of God himself as he leads Israel out of Sinai, Moses asks specifically if God might show him his glory. This elicits an interesting answer from the Lord: "I will make all my goodness pass before you and will proclaim before you my name 'The Lord.'" Divine glory here seems to be linked to the fullness of God's goodness and the proclamation of his holy name.
Elsewhere his glory is described similarly though in various ways. In the introduction to Proverb 25, for instance, Solomon declares, "It is the glory of God to conceal things, but the glory of kings is to search things out." God's hiddenness might seem to be the focus here, yet I think probably the point is a little deeper: that God's divinity rests in his perfect and sovereign knowledge to which even the greatest among men will never have access, no matter their efforts.
At first, then, I came to a quick conclusion: No, we can't see God's glory. It is beyond us. It is dangerous and mighty. And yet in some ways we can indirectly experience it in God's supreme goodness and in the fame of his name.
But then I realized that while all of this might well be true, this is only a description of what we might call God's invisible glory. Was there by contrast any more visible glory?
Of course! It is Jesus Christ. After all, "he is the radiance of the glory of God" (Heb. 1:3)! In him we can see what we could not before. We can take part in who God is through him. He took on flesh, leaving the heights of heaven, to make manifest and evident to a distanced creation that the Lord God is God, to gather up his flock from among the nations. We have access to the treasures of heaven precisely because he descended to earth and died and was raised from death to set us free. Jesus fulfills all that the prophets foretold; he is that light that shines in the darkness and cannot be overcome (John 1:5). Jesus is God's visible glory.
When we behold the Messiah, we behold glory. When we reflect Christ, we reflect glory. We glorify, we bring glory to God, by surrendering to his supremacy and allowing our lives to be remade in the image of Jesus.
How do you know someone has lived to glorify his Maker? His life makes known the work and splendor and inestimable value of Christ crucified.
Anyway, I learn a lot when I wander. So I will never stop walking. And may they always be walks with Jesus.
It came as I was wondering how I might respond to a question concerning what it means to glorify God in one's life. If a dear saint were to die tomorrow, and I was called upon to eulogize him or her, how would I go about judging whether that life that had just come to an end was a magnification of the Lord's majesty? I wanted to make sure I had gotten straight what that actually entailed.
Glory. Hm. What is God's glory? What's it about? Can we see it? I seemed to fixate on this last question.
So I began to reason. Well, no, of course we can't see his glory. We would be blinded! After all, no one has ever beheld God (1 John 4:12). That is certainly the case in Moses's encounter with God in prayer in Exodus 33:17-20. Pleading for knowledge and wisdom and for the presence of God himself as he leads Israel out of Sinai, Moses asks specifically if God might show him his glory. This elicits an interesting answer from the Lord: "I will make all my goodness pass before you and will proclaim before you my name 'The Lord.'" Divine glory here seems to be linked to the fullness of God's goodness and the proclamation of his holy name.
Elsewhere his glory is described similarly though in various ways. In the introduction to Proverb 25, for instance, Solomon declares, "It is the glory of God to conceal things, but the glory of kings is to search things out." God's hiddenness might seem to be the focus here, yet I think probably the point is a little deeper: that God's divinity rests in his perfect and sovereign knowledge to which even the greatest among men will never have access, no matter their efforts.
At first, then, I came to a quick conclusion: No, we can't see God's glory. It is beyond us. It is dangerous and mighty. And yet in some ways we can indirectly experience it in God's supreme goodness and in the fame of his name.
But then I realized that while all of this might well be true, this is only a description of what we might call God's invisible glory. Was there by contrast any more visible glory?
Of course! It is Jesus Christ. After all, "he is the radiance of the glory of God" (Heb. 1:3)! In him we can see what we could not before. We can take part in who God is through him. He took on flesh, leaving the heights of heaven, to make manifest and evident to a distanced creation that the Lord God is God, to gather up his flock from among the nations. We have access to the treasures of heaven precisely because he descended to earth and died and was raised from death to set us free. Jesus fulfills all that the prophets foretold; he is that light that shines in the darkness and cannot be overcome (John 1:5). Jesus is God's visible glory.
When we behold the Messiah, we behold glory. When we reflect Christ, we reflect glory. We glorify, we bring glory to God, by surrendering to his supremacy and allowing our lives to be remade in the image of Jesus.
How do you know someone has lived to glorify his Maker? His life makes known the work and splendor and inestimable value of Christ crucified.
Anyway, I learn a lot when I wander. So I will never stop walking. And may they always be walks with Jesus.
O God of my delight,
Thy throne of grace is the pleasure ground of my soul.
Here I obtain mercy in time of need,
here see the smile of thy reconciled face,
here joy pleads the name of Jesus,
here I sharpen the sword of the Spirit,
anoint the shield of faith,
put on the helmet of salvation,
gather manna from thy Word,
am strengthened for each conflict,
nerved for the upward race,
empowered to conquer every foe;
Help me to come to Christ
as the fountain head of descending blessings,
as a wide open flood-gate of mercy.
I marvel at my insensate folly,
that with such enriching favours within my reach
I am slow to extend the hand to take them.
Have mercy upon my deadness for thy name's sake.
Quicken me, stir me, fill me with holy zeal.
Strengthen me that I may cling to thee and not let thee go.
May thy Spirit within me draw all blessings from thy hand.
When I advance not, I backslide.
Let me walk humbly because of good omitted and evil done.
Impress on my mind the shortness of time,
the work to be engaged in,
the account to be rendered,
the nearness of eternity,
the fearful sin of despising they Spirit.
May I never forget that thy eye always sees,
thy ear always hears,
thy recording hand always writes.
May I never give thee rest until Christ is the pulse of my heart;
the spokesman of my lips, the lamp of my feet.
[From The Valley of Vision (Banner of Truth, 2007)]
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Bending Beneath the Weight of God's Pursuit
A quick note as I run out the door.
Tolkien, a master of long, epic verse, wrote a short poem parts of which may be familiar to you.
O Lord, you pursue us, you follow us, you see your will to completion, and we have no power to resist you. Your grace is irresistible to those you've chosen. Go after those who stray from the flock, for you go after every lost sheep (Luke 15:1-7)! This is our assurance that not all who wander are forever lost to your Kingdom. Let this be, O gracious Father, the succor of our anxieties! You alone are sovereign; you alone are worthy of all the honor, the praise, the wisdom, the power, the glory! Amen.
Tolkien, a master of long, epic verse, wrote a short poem parts of which may be familiar to you.
The second line of that poem hit me hard today in prayer. I said it over and over to myself, thinking of a few people God has put in my life who seem lost and drowning and distant. My sadness turned to joy as I realized the truth of Tolkien's word. In Exodus 20:5, God tells Israel that he is "a jealous God." And again in the New Testament we hear of God's "divine jealousy" (2 Corinthians 11:2).
O Lord, you pursue us, you follow us, you see your will to completion, and we have no power to resist you. Your grace is irresistible to those you've chosen. Go after those who stray from the flock, for you go after every lost sheep (Luke 15:1-7)! This is our assurance that not all who wander are forever lost to your Kingdom. Let this be, O gracious Father, the succor of our anxieties! You alone are sovereign; you alone are worthy of all the honor, the praise, the wisdom, the power, the glory! Amen.
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