Once upon a rabbit

I had the privilege these last few days to spend some time with my nephew, Joshua.  The little boy who used to laugh incessantly and wake up singing will be eight years old this summer.  The years gone by have not erased the joy that marked his toddler years, nor diminished his gentleness.  Joshua is a little gentleman: considerate of others' feelings, generous, politely-mannered.

One day he met me from school and enthusiastically showed me the prize he received.  A small rabbit decoration, a much-anticipated prize that marked his reading one hundred books this school year, clung tightly in his hand.  He was unbridled in his joy, his glance often resting on his prize.  A while later, unaware of the whereabouts of the rabbit, I flung the blanket from the couch and in the process decapitated Rabbit.  Joshua was devastated, and so was I.  Through tears he whispered "it's okay, auntie", but I knew his disappointment would take a little longer to dissipate.

Driving home that day with a heavy heart, I cried. "That is silly", someone might say, "it's such a small thing."  Sure, it may be a dollar store acquisition, but to Joshua it represented - even if he didn't quite verbalize that - the hard work he put in, the diligence of agonizing over new words and hard-to-grasp phrases.  It was the fulfilment of a long-awaited reward which he barely had time to own, to savour the victory it represented.

That night, on my drive home, I cried for all the disappointments he would later experience.  For the friends who would one day be indifferent.  For the words which would cause him to loose sleep.  For the sadness he would experience because of unmet expectations, and hurtful interactions, and for unanswerable question marks.

That night, I cried for the kids whose mothers didn't return from the hospital.  For the husbands whose wives never held their newborn babies.  And for the babies who never heard the soothing tones of their mothers' voice.  I thought about the kids who lay graveless at the hands of soulless men.  'What does God think of all of this?', I wondered.

And then I saw Him standing before Lazarus' tomb, weeping.  Jesus wept... John never tells us why.  Maybe He cried the pain which sin deposits on the world in layers of heartbreak, and anguish, and despair.  Jesus saw His friends drowned in grief -  grief so deep that only wordless tears could comfort.  He felt what they felt, and He didn't shy away from drinking the cup of sorrow.  A short while later, He would drink all of it - the ocean of suffering drowning humanity - and in His death atone for its sin.

That night, I tasted anew the joy that only He can bring amidst the tears.  As I pondered the suffering of the world - the small measure I knew of - I was feeling His heart.  He ached for it long before I ever did - and He wept.  He is not distant or disconnected from the hurting, but He walks among them.  How else could we visit Him when He is sick, or feed Him when hungry, or go to Him when in prison?

I don't have all my questions answered on this side of heaven, and that's okay. What I know for sure is that, "even though I walk through the darkest valley, Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me."    He loves me, He quiets my heart, He carries me when I cannot walk on my own. 

On this side of the resurrection, that is very good news.

" Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.  For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)



  









Reason for the hope

I feel compelled to define, if only for myself, why I am a Christian and what difference it makes to my life.  Maybe because there are so many notions and voices presented with a Christian label, I want to bring clarity to what it means to be a Christian.

First, I want to declare that, by being a Christian, I am not better than other people, no matter their religious or philosophical persuasion.  In fact, ever since I had a supernatural encounter with Christ, I see my own failures, my deficiencies, my hypocrisy clearly, and I am grieved by my heart condition.  Before Him, I thought I was "good", my reputation untarnished by murder, or sexual misconduct, or some audacious conflict.  Before Him, I was blind- blind to the pride that "steps" over other people, blind to the grief my words brought, blind to the wounds my lies were effecting on myself and others.  A that moment, when I looked in His eyes and His love flooded every atom of my being, I could see, for the first time, how utterly depraved I was and how much I needed His righteousness.  He is God, and I am not - and I needed Him to save me and give me a new beginning.

Being a Christian does not mean that I am perfect.  In fact, for as long as I live, I will struggle to choose between what I want -often what is easy, self-pleasing and void of sacrifice -and God's higher calling.  He calls me to die daily -not physically, of course -but die to the pleasures that seek to ravage my soul and to ultimately separate me from the One I now love.  I have discovered no greater joy than the nearness of His presence, no greater delight than the truth of His  law.  He is the pearl of great price, the treasure worth living and dying for - and the peace He gives transcends earthly afflictions.

Being a Christian means living a supernatural life.  It means that, in my strength, I cannot live a life that honours God, because the enemy that I am fighting is much stronger than I.   It is only as I remain connected to Him, drawing upon His strength and the fellowship of His presence, that I can rise above the call of my self-seeking, self-gratifying nature, and the invisible foe that seeks "to steal and kill and destroy" (John10:10).

Being a Christian means I have a new roadmap for my life, the Bible.  The day I invited Him into my heart, I willingly surrendered the throne to the One in Whom all the treasures of love, beauty, and wisdom hide.  I have relinquished my perceptions for His truth, my world view for His absolute, my shack for His kingdom.  I gave Him the broken pieces of my life and He gave me life eternal, laughter for my tears, joy in my suffering.  Knowing Him has been the greatest gift of my life.

Being a Christian means loving the kind and the unkind and blessing the ones who seek to hurt and malign me.  It is because I am called to imitate Him - a loving God who died for the ones that tore and shred His flesh, and marred His face beyond recognition.  "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good", He says -and today, as millions of Christians are forsaking retribution and vengeance, their children are beheaded, their homes are burnt, their lives turned into often irreversible upheaval.  

Being a Christian means I have a permanent home beyond the confounds of the grave.   Death after a life of seventy, eighty years is not the end, but the beginning.  This life is not the destination, but the journey to my permanent residence.  For this reason Christians have been able to endure inexplicable tortures in their refusal to forsake Christ, because "they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one", a country worth pursuing to the point of death (Hebrews 11:16).  In God's economy, they are the winners, the ones whose names will never be forgotten and whose sacrifices bring true riches:  "For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all" (2 Cor 4:17).

Being a Christian means being rescued from my sin and from an eternal destiny of hell.  Sinning against God is no small thing, and the punishment is no small slap on the wrist.  A holy God must punish sin, otherwise He would be unjust.  A loving God took my punishment-and the whole world's-upon Himself, and His forgiveness makes me a citizen of heaven. 

 "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son,
that whoever believes in him shall not perish
but have eternal life " (John 3:16)







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