Holy Week ponderings:
It’s a day of waiting.
It seems to be intentionally placed;
between the horrors of Friday and the wonders of Sunday.
A day to grieve and to remember and to ponder.
It’s like the Lord sat His followers down lest they fight or flee;
Peter gave us a glimpse onto both of these paths
with the swinging sword
and the rooster’s crow.
A sabbath.
Rest up, He seemed to insist,
the real work is coming.
It’s a day of waiting.
My mind keeps wandering to Mary Magdalene.
I sit beside her with her wringing, wondering hands;
hands that had been redeemed for anointing and for honoring.
Mary wanted to be with her Lord;
in His life she had been by His side,
close enough to wipe His feet with her tears
and close enough to hear the whisper of His thirst.
In His death she resisted still the separation.
But the sabbath forced her feet to stay
when apart from Him is not where she longed
to linger.
It’s a day of waiting.
They had a promise, you know.
He told them what would be:
Death by crucifixion
and three days later
risen to new life.
Peter wouldn’t accepted it;
he rebuked the truth
and waged war on hands that bound and led away his Lord
to fulfill His purpose.
But sometimes it’s the times of waiting after the horrors of Friday
that dig out of us the faith
to hope in the promise of Sunday.
These intentionally placed days of waiting…
may we not waste them.
Sunday, April 17, 2022
Tuesday, March 22, 2022
Through the cross
There’s something that keeps bubbling up to the surface of my heart and wanting to be shouted from the rooftops, so here I am…buckle up. :)
One of the greatest deficits I see in the Body of Christ in America, is this odd phenomenon of people accepting Jesus as Savior in word, but in action denying Him as Lord. Meaning, one claims salvation, but this decision for Christ has no bearing on how they live their life or what they do with their heart moving forward. Because I accepted Christ in my early 20s and with it came a complete transformation of my life and heartbeat, I have always struggled to understand how encountering Jesus can leave someone unchanged. I also recognize that we each have our own stories, so that is not a statement made out of judgement, but genuine curiosity.
I wanted to share with you an image that the Lord gave me during worship a few months ago. In this image, Jesus hung upon the cross with his arms stretched out wide. One end of the nails protruded from his hands and the other stuck into the wood; and as your eyes followed the course of where the nail was pointing out the other side of the beam, it found a second set of hands. Standing behind the hanging body of Jesus with His arms outstretched, His hands upon the bleeding hands of His Son, was the Father. With this image came this call: Run through the outstretched arms of the Son, and you will find yourself in the arms of the Father.
But how many of us lay down our lives at the foot of the cross, and forget to pick up the life Jesus died to give us? Jesus isn’t ON the cross anymore. On the other side of the cross is the empty tomb and the torn veil; past the foot of the cross is the invitation to lay ourselves down at the foot of the throne; through the death of the cross is eternal life for us to live out now and forever. Are you coming to the cross and observing the price of salvation in the bloodstained wood…only to turn around and walk home without receiving what was paid for?
1 Corinthians 15:17,19 “If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins…If in Christ we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied.”
If to us the work of salvation is simply Jesus dying for our sins, we are hopeless; we will simply turn and sin again. Salvation is a two part thing, we die with Him and we are raised with Him: His death is our death, His resurrected life is our life. But if we never step through the extended arms on the cross, we will miss the extended arms of the Father…because Jesus didn’t primarily die to save us FROM hell, He died to save us FOR Himself and FOR an eternal, forever and for always freedom, joy, peace and life in His presence.
I think one of the biggest reasons the Body of Christ has been left unchanged is because we have missed the Father. We want to separate the Triune God and singularly choose the Godhead who demands nothing from us but gave all for us. The cross is approachable…on it hung a man like us; it’s where the serpent “crushed the heel”…where the “weakness of God” proved itself stronger that the power of man…we can wrap our heads around something weak and crushed and human…we can put into words what we find at the cross. But what we find through the torn veil…that is something altogether other…for who would even approach the Holy throne of the Living God but the one who by faith trusts the arms of the One who sits upon it. Yahweh is too glorious for human eyes to look upon, His Spirit moves in mysterious and miraculous ways…in His presence words fail…and hearts soar! It is there, in robes of white with new breath in our lungs, laid down a second time at the foot of the throne that we learn a whole new delight, not just that He is our Savior and also that we get to have Him as our Lord.
There is no better way to live.
And in truth, there is no other way to live forever.
Thursday, March 3, 2022
A blind song.
I read Exodus 31–33 today in my reading plan, and I am undone. I choked my way through the children of Israel asking Aaron, the leader while Moses was up on the mountain with God, to make them a new god since Moses might not return. And then Aaron obliged them and fashioned a golden calf for them to worship, and I sobbed my way through his attributing the works of God to a shiny object fashioned by his own hands, and then with those defiled hands, making sacrifices to this idol on an altar. I wept and wondered at the relationship between Moses and the Lord; how he without hesitation placed himself between God’s wrath and God’s people—leaning on the promises from God’s own mouth. Tears ran down my face as I delighted in his desire to know God more; building upon his face-to-face friendship with God a desire to never live apart from His presence and to gain ever clearer vision of His glory. A terrible, beautiful read for sure.
But tucked into the middle of these verses, I found a sobering warning that I want to share with you.
While Moses was up on the mountain with the Lord as He wrote in stone His law, and while Aaron and Israel were worshiping an idol at the bottom of the mountain in their camp…somewhere in between stood Joshua. Unlike the rest of Israel, he was still waiting for Moses to return, his eyes were still looking up and his knees had not bowed to the calf of gold. And when Moses walked down the mountain to lay eyes on Israel’s rebellion, he met Joshua who said to him these chilling words: “There is a noise of war in the camp.” But he said, “It is not the sound of shouting for victory, or the sound of the cry of defeat, but the sound of singing that I hear.” (Exodus 32:17b–18)
Joshua didn’t know what was going on, but he recognized it as the noise of war. Israel DID know what was going on, but did not recognize that it was the noise of war.
To Joshua, the noises of war should have been clear—shouts of victory or cries of defeat. He was confused that while he recognized a war was going on, its sound was unfamiliar. Those in the war were singing. Why were they singing?
Because they didn’t recognize they were in a war.
Israel had folded to their fear and given themselves over to their true enemy. They had thrown away their faith in the God of Israel and given themselves over to their sight without a fight, and while they should have been crying out at their defeat, they were blind in their own rebellion and rejection of the Lord and instead danced around singing as the wrath of God threatened to pour down.
And that’s sobering. I feel like that’s a good consideration for today; we dance around our idols (anything—good or bad—that we place above the Lord), rejoicing in their shiny surfaces, singing praises to gods of our own making…not realizing that we are in a war and we are neglecting the fight. But if we don’t open our eyes, in the end there will be no collective shout of victory, instead there will be crescendoing cries of eternal defeat.
Open up your eyes, Church! Are you holding your place in the battle? Or have you chosen instead an empty song?
But tucked into the middle of these verses, I found a sobering warning that I want to share with you.
While Moses was up on the mountain with the Lord as He wrote in stone His law, and while Aaron and Israel were worshiping an idol at the bottom of the mountain in their camp…somewhere in between stood Joshua. Unlike the rest of Israel, he was still waiting for Moses to return, his eyes were still looking up and his knees had not bowed to the calf of gold. And when Moses walked down the mountain to lay eyes on Israel’s rebellion, he met Joshua who said to him these chilling words: “There is a noise of war in the camp.” But he said, “It is not the sound of shouting for victory, or the sound of the cry of defeat, but the sound of singing that I hear.” (Exodus 32:17b–18)
Joshua didn’t know what was going on, but he recognized it as the noise of war. Israel DID know what was going on, but did not recognize that it was the noise of war.
To Joshua, the noises of war should have been clear—shouts of victory or cries of defeat. He was confused that while he recognized a war was going on, its sound was unfamiliar. Those in the war were singing. Why were they singing?
Because they didn’t recognize they were in a war.
Israel had folded to their fear and given themselves over to their true enemy. They had thrown away their faith in the God of Israel and given themselves over to their sight without a fight, and while they should have been crying out at their defeat, they were blind in their own rebellion and rejection of the Lord and instead danced around singing as the wrath of God threatened to pour down.
And that’s sobering. I feel like that’s a good consideration for today; we dance around our idols (anything—good or bad—that we place above the Lord), rejoicing in their shiny surfaces, singing praises to gods of our own making…not realizing that we are in a war and we are neglecting the fight. But if we don’t open our eyes, in the end there will be no collective shout of victory, instead there will be crescendoing cries of eternal defeat.
Open up your eyes, Church! Are you holding your place in the battle? Or have you chosen instead an empty song?
Monday, January 10, 2022
The earth and me
God is faithful to minister to me—often in odd and unexpected places—which is where I found myself today as I read Genesis 7–9 and quietly cried beside my daughter doing her distance learning. It is in these chapters that we recount the story of Noah and the flood. As I read the repeated phrases about the waters upon the earth and Noah’s place inside the ark, I found myself resonating with the story in a deeply moving way.
But it was not Noah whose place I felt, it was the earth.
I know what it is to be the earth, bearing broken things and their painful effects instead of living in the beauty of its intentioned design to flourish. I know what it is to be derailed and seemingly destined for desolate places as the flow of disparaging things shape, twist and destroy what could be. I know what it is to feel the “waters prevail and increase” and beat upon me, slowly and effectively laying waste all that wishes to thrive and grow.
But here’s the thing about the earth in Noah’s story: There were things living on the earth and in it that needed to die so that it could flourish; there were toxic, vile things that had made themselves at home and day after day increased death instead of life. And while the waters prevailing and increasing and remaining were shape-shifting and jarring and startling and confusing, the waters served their purpose to bring about the goodness that God desired: A new beginning.
Throughout the entirety of this story, the earth was not without promise: It rode upon the tops of the waves in the ark that housed the man who had found favor with God.
Why were the waters unable to utterly destroy the earth? Chapter 7 ends with “everything on the dry land is whose nostrils was the breath of life died.” By means of the raging waters, every living thing was “blotted out.” But chapter 8 starts with “But God remembered Noah…” God saw the full effects of the waters, and at His command, He stopped their movement forward in an instant. There are 2 words used to describe the waters coming in chapter 7, they are Rabah and Gabar, which basically mean “many” and “mighty.” But there are 6 different words used to describe what happens when the Lord remembers Noah and acts: these words are complex and full. They begin in verse 1 of chapter 8 with “the waters subsided” [Shakak—to decrease, to tend downward, to render unable]; and end in verse 11 with “the water dried up” [Charab—to be laid to waste, to be made desolate].
So these words and this story moved me this morning. I love that the waters that destroyed so effectively were rendered desolate by the Lord; I have often used this word to describe how I feel in the wake of my health. I love that the waters lost their power to progress and cause further harm. I love that even the crushing weight of the waters from inside and outside of the earth had no power to stop it from producing new life after all seemed lost. I love that even though God didn’t instantaneously remove the water from the earth after it had killed the things that needed to die, eventually the waters were laid to waste and the earth was able to bring forth good growth in accordance with God’s intended design.
And these things comfort me. They comfort me because right now I feel like the earth…and all I see above me are muddy waters, and all I feel within me is the stench of death and the pain of dying things…and I don’t know yet where I am in the process of reaching my new beginning, but I will choose to remember the smell of Spring, where the snow melts and the damp, dead things that were beneath it reveal themselves, and in that odd aroma of what was, the promise of what will be fills my mind with the hope of green grass, waving trees filled with leaves, and the vibrant colors of flowers taking over the now barren landscape.
Because here are some things that I know that I know:
God remembers His people.
God remembers His promises.
And God is always able to bring forth new life…even when we feel like the earth buried beneath endless waters.
But it was not Noah whose place I felt, it was the earth.
I know what it is to be the earth, bearing broken things and their painful effects instead of living in the beauty of its intentioned design to flourish. I know what it is to be derailed and seemingly destined for desolate places as the flow of disparaging things shape, twist and destroy what could be. I know what it is to feel the “waters prevail and increase” and beat upon me, slowly and effectively laying waste all that wishes to thrive and grow.
But here’s the thing about the earth in Noah’s story: There were things living on the earth and in it that needed to die so that it could flourish; there were toxic, vile things that had made themselves at home and day after day increased death instead of life. And while the waters prevailing and increasing and remaining were shape-shifting and jarring and startling and confusing, the waters served their purpose to bring about the goodness that God desired: A new beginning.
Throughout the entirety of this story, the earth was not without promise: It rode upon the tops of the waves in the ark that housed the man who had found favor with God.
Why were the waters unable to utterly destroy the earth? Chapter 7 ends with “everything on the dry land is whose nostrils was the breath of life died.” By means of the raging waters, every living thing was “blotted out.” But chapter 8 starts with “But God remembered Noah…” God saw the full effects of the waters, and at His command, He stopped their movement forward in an instant. There are 2 words used to describe the waters coming in chapter 7, they are Rabah and Gabar, which basically mean “many” and “mighty.” But there are 6 different words used to describe what happens when the Lord remembers Noah and acts: these words are complex and full. They begin in verse 1 of chapter 8 with “the waters subsided” [Shakak—to decrease, to tend downward, to render unable]; and end in verse 11 with “the water dried up” [Charab—to be laid to waste, to be made desolate].
So these words and this story moved me this morning. I love that the waters that destroyed so effectively were rendered desolate by the Lord; I have often used this word to describe how I feel in the wake of my health. I love that the waters lost their power to progress and cause further harm. I love that even the crushing weight of the waters from inside and outside of the earth had no power to stop it from producing new life after all seemed lost. I love that even though God didn’t instantaneously remove the water from the earth after it had killed the things that needed to die, eventually the waters were laid to waste and the earth was able to bring forth good growth in accordance with God’s intended design.
And these things comfort me. They comfort me because right now I feel like the earth…and all I see above me are muddy waters, and all I feel within me is the stench of death and the pain of dying things…and I don’t know yet where I am in the process of reaching my new beginning, but I will choose to remember the smell of Spring, where the snow melts and the damp, dead things that were beneath it reveal themselves, and in that odd aroma of what was, the promise of what will be fills my mind with the hope of green grass, waving trees filled with leaves, and the vibrant colors of flowers taking over the now barren landscape.
Because here are some things that I know that I know:
God remembers His people.
God remembers His promises.
And God is always able to bring forth new life…even when we feel like the earth buried beneath endless waters.
Friday, January 7, 2022
Prolonged waiting
This morning my mind found its way to this poem I wrote way back in the day. It starts, "i know that You have not forgotten me..." and it speaks to the pain of a prolonged season of waiting.
How I long to wait well--exuding rock-solid faith--but I languish and waiver and cling. I lament that I don't display steadiness, I so often just display desperation; hands that threaten to let go, a heart that fights panic, feet that want to run to other means.
But today I thought that maybe faith isn't most clearly displayed through ROCK...maybe it's understood best through REMAINING; through fighting the urge to run, pushing back the doubts that threaten to derail, refusing the striving that seeks to usurp.
How I long to wait well--exuding rock-solid faith--but I languish and waiver and cling. I lament that I don't display steadiness, I so often just display desperation; hands that threaten to let go, a heart that fights panic, feet that want to run to other means.
But today I thought that maybe faith isn't most clearly displayed through ROCK...maybe it's understood best through REMAINING; through fighting the urge to run, pushing back the doubts that threaten to derail, refusing the striving that seeks to usurp.
Maybe faith is displayed most clearly by the revealing of rock; mined through the force of dislodging the unsteady pieces of self that hide and hinder.
Maybe faith is displayed most clearly when the crucible of life serves its painful, perfect purpose.
And for that, I am grateful. Because I may not yet be rock-solid, but my faith is in the One who is.
Maybe faith is displayed most clearly when the crucible of life serves its painful, perfect purpose.
And for that, I am grateful. Because I may not yet be rock-solid, but my faith is in the One who is.
Sunday, January 2, 2022
New Year comforts
The turn of this year has been a hard one. The most fitting word I have been able to find to describe how I have felt is DEJECTED. It means “thrown down.” But the Father is so faithful to minister to me, and from the sorrow of evening one, to the morning of day two, He has ministered so deeply to my heart. Here is the comfort He has given me as I begin this new year, perhaps it will lift you up as well.
------
sometimes all we can see
is the cross
where all is crushed
and every way our eyes turn
we find debilitating defeat
where satan seems victorious in
his pursuit to destroy
and we forget
what lies beyond
the mangled wreckage
of darkness
we forget
it is the Sovereign that
speaks the final word
we forget
that past the blood soaked beams
lies the empty tomb
the resurrection
and the results of the Redeemer’s
finished work
sometimes all we can see
is the cross
and the pain of it
but we must purpose to remember
that the cross is but a doorway
to hope fulfilled
so if you are here
looking upon the ashes
of fires you could not stop
from raging
remember
that just as the ugliness of the cross
is but a bridge to glory
that these ashes are but the makings
of a crown of beauty
when we rest upon
the love of the Almighty
sometimes all we can see
is the cross
where all is crushed
and every way our eyes turn
we find debilitating defeat
where satan seems victorious in
his pursuit to destroy
and we forget
what lies beyond
the mangled wreckage
of darkness
we forget
it is the Sovereign that
speaks the final word
we forget
that past the blood soaked beams
lies the empty tomb
the resurrection
and the results of the Redeemer’s
finished work
sometimes all we can see
is the cross
and the pain of it
but we must purpose to remember
that the cross is but a doorway
to hope fulfilled
so if you are here
looking upon the ashes
of fires you could not stop
from raging
remember
that just as the ugliness of the cross
is but a bridge to glory
that these ashes are but the makings
of a crown of beauty
when we rest upon
the love of the Almighty
Wednesday, December 29, 2021
A paraphrase of Psalm 143
Sometimes I find a Psalm that mirrors my heart’s cry, and in it I find the healing balm of companionship in my suffering. Here is my paraphrase of Psalm 143:
"Lord, hear my prayer! I’m crying out for mercy; pleading with You not to bring the judgment I deserve, but instead to bring Your faithful, righteous nature to tend to me because my life is all out of sorts.
I want to serve You freely, but the enemy won’t let up. He pursues the entirety of me; he crushes my whole life into the ground. My body fails, I cannot endure the pressing: I am dejected—thrown down. His foot won’t lift from my back; his figure and shadow block the light, and darkness overwhelms me. My spirit faints, Lord. My heart is appalled by self and circumstance.
As I sit here in the darkness with the oppressor’s strength upon me, I turn my mind to consider You; I lean upon the testimonies of what You have done…Your work and Your love, the ways You have worked in me and on me, turning my previous seasons of fainting in parched deserts into flourishing vineyards of flowing new wine. I remember who You are, I remember Your heart for me and Your power in me and Your love for me. I stretch out my hands to You. You say if we thirst, we are to come to You, and I am like a scorched land—dried up and emptied of life. I hunger and thirst for You and I will be satisfied.
Quickly, Lord. I languish. I need Your hand and Your help now. My spirit fails. Don’t turn Your face from me or hide the light of Your countenance from me. If You turn away, all is lost for me.
Let me hear You this morning—in the opening of my eyes to the promise of light, I trust if I listen, I will hear the song of love You sing over me.
Make me know the way I should go, for all of my hope for standing or moving from beneath the enemy’s strength is found in You. You are ALL of my hope. ALL of me is crying out to be lifted by ALL of You. Deliver me! I have run to You for refuge, let me find deliverance in the shelter of Your presence.
Teach me Your will, for You are my God. Not enemy or self or any other thing gets to direct me from this point. I want things Your way, according to Your will—no lesser thing will do. Your Spirit is good, only You can lead me on level ground, in right ways, so that I rise in good standing with solid foundation beneath my feet. I want my feet to land upon the narrow way, the path of life.
For Your name’s sake, Lord, preserve my life. I am Your servant, I carry Your name as I journey through this life. I want people to look at me and see Your love, your righteousness and Your standards at work; I want them to watch you intimately weave Your life into the life of one You made. If You are not working in me and on me and through me, I will tarnish Your name. For Your name’s sake, I need You to lift my soul from this trouble in a display of Your righteousness at work. I need You to flood me with Your steadfast love and cut of my enemy’s power over me through it. Your love destroys the oppressor’s grip, it causes the adversary’s vexation to cease, it overrules the afflicter’s power to destroy.
I long to serve You well. In every way the enemy hinders this longing in this season, for the sake of Your name, make manifest Your victory and lift me up."
"Lord, hear my prayer! I’m crying out for mercy; pleading with You not to bring the judgment I deserve, but instead to bring Your faithful, righteous nature to tend to me because my life is all out of sorts.
I want to serve You freely, but the enemy won’t let up. He pursues the entirety of me; he crushes my whole life into the ground. My body fails, I cannot endure the pressing: I am dejected—thrown down. His foot won’t lift from my back; his figure and shadow block the light, and darkness overwhelms me. My spirit faints, Lord. My heart is appalled by self and circumstance.
As I sit here in the darkness with the oppressor’s strength upon me, I turn my mind to consider You; I lean upon the testimonies of what You have done…Your work and Your love, the ways You have worked in me and on me, turning my previous seasons of fainting in parched deserts into flourishing vineyards of flowing new wine. I remember who You are, I remember Your heart for me and Your power in me and Your love for me. I stretch out my hands to You. You say if we thirst, we are to come to You, and I am like a scorched land—dried up and emptied of life. I hunger and thirst for You and I will be satisfied.
Quickly, Lord. I languish. I need Your hand and Your help now. My spirit fails. Don’t turn Your face from me or hide the light of Your countenance from me. If You turn away, all is lost for me.
Let me hear You this morning—in the opening of my eyes to the promise of light, I trust if I listen, I will hear the song of love You sing over me.
Make me know the way I should go, for all of my hope for standing or moving from beneath the enemy’s strength is found in You. You are ALL of my hope. ALL of me is crying out to be lifted by ALL of You. Deliver me! I have run to You for refuge, let me find deliverance in the shelter of Your presence.
Teach me Your will, for You are my God. Not enemy or self or any other thing gets to direct me from this point. I want things Your way, according to Your will—no lesser thing will do. Your Spirit is good, only You can lead me on level ground, in right ways, so that I rise in good standing with solid foundation beneath my feet. I want my feet to land upon the narrow way, the path of life.
For Your name’s sake, Lord, preserve my life. I am Your servant, I carry Your name as I journey through this life. I want people to look at me and see Your love, your righteousness and Your standards at work; I want them to watch you intimately weave Your life into the life of one You made. If You are not working in me and on me and through me, I will tarnish Your name. For Your name’s sake, I need You to lift my soul from this trouble in a display of Your righteousness at work. I need You to flood me with Your steadfast love and cut of my enemy’s power over me through it. Your love destroys the oppressor’s grip, it causes the adversary’s vexation to cease, it overrules the afflicter’s power to destroy.
I long to serve You well. In every way the enemy hinders this longing in this season, for the sake of Your name, make manifest Your victory and lift me up."
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