This weekend much of the world celebrated Easter. Although many people did not necessarily celebrate it, most of the world was at least confronted with it by reason of it being a statutory holiday in nations with Christian roots. In a world unspoiled by COVID19, little hands would have eagerly hunted for the brightly-labelled chocolate eggs strewn across lawns, dropped down by helicopter (yes, this actually happened), or hidden and revealed by tightly-sealed clues by parents. Churches all across the world would welcome men and women, the young and the old, for a time of reflection and thanksgiving for the supernatural gift of Passover. Families would gather around the Passover meal with grateful hearts, experiencing anew the anguish of Good Friday, the victory of Resurrection Sunday, the contemplation of God's display of wrath and mercy through the means of a cross.
Easter is about a love story. A redemption story. It is not a clean, sterilized story that sparkles with the pastel colors we associate with Easter. It is messy, because it involves us, and we are messy, and broken, and utterly incapable of fixing ourselves. We are all infected with something far worse than COVID19. It is the virus of sin, and the mortality rate is one hundred percent. From the moment we are born, we exert a propensity toward rebellion, toward destruction. The human heart is the wellspring of great evil and suffering, as testified by two world wars, genocides of nations, and countless injustices performed daily by "good" people upon their fellow human beings. The human heart is anything but good, in spite of what our "enlightened" centers of learning would like us to believe. This sin-problem is so great that it separates us from our Creator God, a God whose eyes are so pure that He cannot behold evil. It is just that our sins be punished, and the punishment is nothing short of death-death physical and separation eternal. God cannot close His eyes and dismiss our lies, our blasphemy, our idolatry, and roll the red carpet into His house we know as heaven.
Why would God allow His Son to be humiliated, tortured, blasphemed and ultimately given over to die the death of a criminal? It begins with who God is. God IS love, and love gives, and forgives, and transforms. God loves every single one of us with a love that is independent of our stature or life journey, and in His love He yearns to commune with us now and forever. God's heart holds the perfect balance of justice and mercy and He can administer one without cancelling the other. When Jesus died, He died the death that you and I deserved for those sins that we so easily dismiss: our theft, our "white" lies, our hate, our lust... He was separated from God upon that tree so that we would not be eternally separated from Him. He endured God's wrath so we wouldn't have to. Before He gave up His breath, He cried "It is finished." We no longer have to build a stairway to heaven (not that we ever could). We no longer have to torture our bodies and souls in an effort to bridge the gulf between us and God. All our work to reach God, all our efforts to atone for our wrongs is finished. All that remains is faith -faith pure and unadulterated by human intervention.
God's Word says: "If you declare with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord," and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved." (Romans 10:9). It takes faith that Jesus Christ is God's final and only provision for our sins. It takes a spoken confession to make Jesus Christ Lord of our lives. He is not willing to share the throne of our hearts with other gods, such as materialism or new age philosophies. It takes humility and repentance to recognize that we are deeply polluted by sin and in need of rescuing, for “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.”
There is no better news in all the world than the message of Easter. That we can be forgiven, restored and have peace with God is the greatest gift. It cost God His precious Son to give, and it costs us nothing to receive. It will cost us everything to ignore: eternal separation from God in a place called Hell-a place of torment, darkness and unending sorrow. Look to Calvary, and behold Love wounded and bruised for us. Look to the empty tomb, and see Love crowned with victory and majesty. Listen within, and you will hear Love calling, seeking, wooing.
Daily Word
"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has
to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." (1 John 18)
The world as a whole seems to be marinated in fear. Fear of a microscopic virus, namely COVID19, to which much power of destruction has been imputed. Fear of economic collapse as life has been forced to a standstill. Fear of loneliness, as small and large gatherings are prohibited. The fear of death seems heightened as this invisible enemy, this front-stage virus, attacks and infects without predictable pattern or thought-out reason. This fear has been greatly heightened by continuous news feeds that will not allow us to forget, to rest, to ponder the greater meaning of this season. And in this murky water of confusion, a clear call emerges. A call to remember that God loves His children, that He holds us in the palm of His hands, that nothing happens without His knowledge or permissive will. When we know that God loves us, our hearts can be steadied and pacified, knowing that for every evil there is a Romans 8:28 solution, even if this ultimate good is only materialized in eternity. God still clothes the lilies and He still feeds the sparrows. His eyes are continually upon us, administering His good and perfect gifts, renewing His mercies every morning.
The world as a whole seems to be marinated in fear. Fear of a microscopic virus, namely COVID19, to which much power of destruction has been imputed. Fear of economic collapse as life has been forced to a standstill. Fear of loneliness, as small and large gatherings are prohibited. The fear of death seems heightened as this invisible enemy, this front-stage virus, attacks and infects without predictable pattern or thought-out reason. This fear has been greatly heightened by continuous news feeds that will not allow us to forget, to rest, to ponder the greater meaning of this season. And in this murky water of confusion, a clear call emerges. A call to remember that God loves His children, that He holds us in the palm of His hands, that nothing happens without His knowledge or permissive will. When we know that God loves us, our hearts can be steadied and pacified, knowing that for every evil there is a Romans 8:28 solution, even if this ultimate good is only materialized in eternity. God still clothes the lilies and He still feeds the sparrows. His eyes are continually upon us, administering His good and perfect gifts, renewing His mercies every morning.
Grandparents Day
Last year, Michal and I were invited to participate in Grandparents' day organized by Joshua's school, as stand-ins for his far-away grandparents. Being assured twice by one of Joshua's classmates that we looked too young to be grandparents, we mingled freely with our beloved, honored to catch a glimpse of his scholastic world. Joshua was happy to immerse us in his newest projects, to explore with us the meaning behind drawings, posters and painted treasure chests. I sat at his desk and peered into his world through the objects hidden inside, awed at how far he has climbed mentally and emotionally since our baby-sitting days.
One of my earliest memories of Joshua is the first time I saw him step outside, on a summer day . He bent down, grabbed some blades of grass, and throwing them in the air, he exclaimed "wow!". I was fascinated by his awe, for I never looked at grass with wonder, never swelled with marvel at its vibrant color. A few years down the road, when we would walk the sidewalk, me holding his hand and talking about the flowers, he would stop and exclaim again "wow"!. There were many things that wowed him in those days: birds dancing overhead, bees pollinating flowers, butterflies gliding beside us, large noisy vehicles... and the ice cream truck, of course. In fact, one time he was so fascinated and disturbed by the advent of ice cream from this box on wheels that it arrested his monologue for the entire afternoon.
One of his great pleasures was to open and close our shower door for as long as the supervising adult-me-could contain the absence of danger. Or emptying all our bathroom cupboards and examining with glee the mundane objects of grooming. Or pressing the button-in fact, any button-in the elevator, or the phone, or the dishwasher. There is something truly riveting about those buttons that I haven't apprehended yet, with all the knowledge that adulthood was supposed to grant me... Or taking the escalator as many times as the observing adult-me again-would deem respectable. Joshua's world was so small, yet so adventurous, so exciting...
Michal and I often talk about snippets of his childhood with a nostalgia that seeks to keep alive the first decade of his life. I was often convicted by how small my joy is at the pleasures of life: the smell of a rose, the aroma of freshly-cut papaya, the first snowfall... Every day, something in God's book of nature is a call for a burning-bush encounter, a call to remove my shoes of indifference and experience the awe of a great God painting my world with great things... Who else but God could move my heart with the warm, flaming colors of sunset, alive with wonder every evening? And just like Joshua crying "push the button again, auntie", I whisper "show me another sunset, Lord"... Who else but a great, good God could trigger my pleasure again and again with the rich taste of dark chocolate, or the roar of the waves pummeling the beach, or the velvety touch of spring blooms?
As Joshua advanced in age and maturity, he noticed less the life of the flowers or the waterfall elevator. However, as his understanding expanded, so did his capacity to taste and see the goodness of God, his pleasure quotient directly proportional to the magnitude of discovery. At the ripe age of almost preteen, he is mesmerized by beautifully-crafted words, the order of planets, his mini Schnauzer Coco.
God is big enough to sustain our wonder at any age, any stage of life. I can never exhaust the pleasure of morning promenades on the beach, or the warm evenings under the breath of the moon. He whispers His love through these and a thousand more gifts, inviting me to mingle my soul with the beauty revealed in the book of nature. I may not be wowed by the moist soil shielding the virgin blade of grass, or the trail of a plane in the translucent skies, like Joshua used to be; however, I am endlessly wowed by the gifts each new day brings - the kiss of Majesty upon a soul thirsty for the sacred beauty of life.
"The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." (Lamentations 3:22.23)
Greater than Solomon
Long before any of my contemporaries were born, there was a king who was known as the wisest man who ever lived. His name was Solomon, and He lived in the hottest real-estate city in the universe, Jerusalem. Unlike the pseudo-celebrities of today, who become overnight sensations by pushing the boundaries of decency through song, dress or conduct, Solomon had lasting star-power. Even a cursory look at his resume reveals a man who changed the landscape of history by his accomplishments. He built the temple of Jerusalem over a seven-year period, and over the next thirteen years he built the palace, the courthouse, and devised the building of pools that secured the city's water supply His diplomatic craft enabled him to establish co-operations with the most well-known rulers of his time, thus establishing an era of unprecedented calm and affluence. He amassed incredible wealth for him and for the people of Jerusalem. He established trade routes with other countries, imported horses from Egypt and made silver as plain as pebbles. The Bible says that Solomon "surpassed all the kings of the earth in riches and wisdom". His wisdom, recorded in The Book of Proverbs among other writings, continues to nurture excellence in individuals, cultures and nations today.
One of the world-stage players who became obsessed with Solomon's fame was the queen of Sheba. "Now when the queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon concerning the name of the Lord, she came to test him with hard questions" (1 Kings 10:1). Her pilgrimage was an incredibly challenging undertaking: this was a journey of 1400 miles across the desserts of Arabia, on camels that could barely travel twenty miles a day. The round trip would have taken her at least six months, and could extend to several years. Loaded with gifts and encumbered by great entourage, she arrived at Solomon's royal courts and unloaded the issues of her heart in the hearing of the great king. The queen had an uninhibited audience with the king, where she could ask him the difficult matters of life, the questions of existence that erode at inner rest and nightly sleep. "So Solomon answered all her questions; there was nothing so difficult for the king that he could not explain it to her" (1 Kings 10:5). Yes, all she had heard was indeed true, and double the greatness that rumors told. She saw all the splendor of Solomon's house, the excess of Solomon's feasts, the gold that dazzled his feasting tables, the glitter of the cloth the servants wore, and "there was no more spirit in her".
As great as Solomon was, there stands among us One who is greater. He invites us to probe the riches of His wisdom, to ask the tough questions of life, to seek the meaning in the tales of our lives. We may need to travel long and difficult journeys from far countries where we have wasted our spiritual inheritance. The road to the King may demand a sacrifice of time, a disturbing of our priorities, a surrender of preconceived notions. The steps to the kingly courts will require a surrender of the intellectual garb that puts man as ultimate judge of good and evil, truth and falsehood. The undisturbed audience with the King will require a sincere heart, a humble posture, a contrite spirit. We come to Him knowing full well that He holds all wisdom, all knowledge, all truth-He is truth. And as we behold Him in the mirror of His Word, we also testify that "eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him" (1 Cor.2:8).
The King longs to speak to us in the cool of the day, as the dew falls on the grass and the sun crosses the threshold of day. He yearns to impart to us the mysteries of His Word, to direct our steps, to give us the daily manna that sustains our joy. He desires to pour in the cup of our hearts, strength to battle the day's Goliath, hope to sustain our future. He has hidden the answers in the pages of His Word, and "has revealed them to us through His Spirit". Ablaze with the life of the Spirit, the Bible becomes alive, "sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart" (Heb.4:12). As we gaze intently at Him in the Word and in prayer,we are changed and we become world changers: "but we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord" (2 Cor 3:18).
One of the world-stage players who became obsessed with Solomon's fame was the queen of Sheba. "Now when the queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon concerning the name of the Lord, she came to test him with hard questions" (1 Kings 10:1). Her pilgrimage was an incredibly challenging undertaking: this was a journey of 1400 miles across the desserts of Arabia, on camels that could barely travel twenty miles a day. The round trip would have taken her at least six months, and could extend to several years. Loaded with gifts and encumbered by great entourage, she arrived at Solomon's royal courts and unloaded the issues of her heart in the hearing of the great king. The queen had an uninhibited audience with the king, where she could ask him the difficult matters of life, the questions of existence that erode at inner rest and nightly sleep. "So Solomon answered all her questions; there was nothing so difficult for the king that he could not explain it to her" (1 Kings 10:5). Yes, all she had heard was indeed true, and double the greatness that rumors told. She saw all the splendor of Solomon's house, the excess of Solomon's feasts, the gold that dazzled his feasting tables, the glitter of the cloth the servants wore, and "there was no more spirit in her".
As great as Solomon was, there stands among us One who is greater. He invites us to probe the riches of His wisdom, to ask the tough questions of life, to seek the meaning in the tales of our lives. We may need to travel long and difficult journeys from far countries where we have wasted our spiritual inheritance. The road to the King may demand a sacrifice of time, a disturbing of our priorities, a surrender of preconceived notions. The steps to the kingly courts will require a surrender of the intellectual garb that puts man as ultimate judge of good and evil, truth and falsehood. The undisturbed audience with the King will require a sincere heart, a humble posture, a contrite spirit. We come to Him knowing full well that He holds all wisdom, all knowledge, all truth-He is truth. And as we behold Him in the mirror of His Word, we also testify that "eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him" (1 Cor.2:8).
The King longs to speak to us in the cool of the day, as the dew falls on the grass and the sun crosses the threshold of day. He yearns to impart to us the mysteries of His Word, to direct our steps, to give us the daily manna that sustains our joy. He desires to pour in the cup of our hearts, strength to battle the day's Goliath, hope to sustain our future. He has hidden the answers in the pages of His Word, and "has revealed them to us through His Spirit". Ablaze with the life of the Spirit, the Bible becomes alive, "sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart" (Heb.4:12). As we gaze intently at Him in the Word and in prayer,we are changed and we become world changers: "but we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord" (2 Cor 3:18).
Reason for words
I have laid down my digital pen in slumber for far too long, choosing instead to convey my thoughts by such antiquated means as physical pen and paper. The great "I AM" is calling me out of digital silence, and bids me to follow Him in laid-down word. This exodus into the noise of the internet comes with a necessary but reluctant grace, as I have grown quite fond of the intimacy conferred by parallel lines of paper, where my soul can roam freely, unhindered by the fear of transparency and possible criticism. However, this blog is not about me. In fact, my opinions in themselves are really not that important. There are mountains of words towering on the landscape of the internet, erupting their flow from thousands of blogs, news channels and other sources. This blog was never meant to point to any perceived cleverness of mine, nor were my internal rumblings designed to stop the world in its tracks by any dust of wisdom my words my sprinkle on already saturated hearers. This corner of the internet is ultimately for Him and about Him. And He is inviting me to share that which He has graciously given to me, in the hope that at least one person may taste and see that God is good.
What has happened in my life since I last wrote here? Thankfully, no major tsunami has done any significant rearranging in the physical aspects of our lives, mine and Michal's. However, there are storms within my inner landscape, shaking long-seated apathy, disturbing minor and major trespasses, demolishing excuses and confronting denials. I have been looking long and hard into the mirror of God's Word, knowing full well that all the keys which open the doors to lasting change are hidden there. I have found abundant provision for the grace needed each day to live beyond the confines of self and yet die to its demands. I have found rest that gives sweet sleep in the midst of incredible chaos and turbulence rocking our world. More than ever, I am persuaded that the answer to the ills of our planet lies not in political solutions or social justice warriors, but in the love of God on full display at Calvary. And more than ever, I earn for His return, for being face to face with Him without interruptions, without sorrow, without end.
So this is why I scribble, to make Him known as He has revealed Himself to me, through the pages of His Word. All that ever needed to be said has already been said in The Book of ancient but current wisdom, alive and teeming with the revelation of God. My prayer is that these words will be a reflection of The Word, although a dim and lean one. I pray that the humble citations of my soul will cause an irrevocable hunger for The Way, The Truth and The Life, and that, through Him, one more soul will find its way home.
A world in fog
Today I got new prescription glasses. Having barely left my thirties, I wasn't expecting the revenge of the forties to overtake me so soon. I have known I was in trouble for some time. Determining how much acrylic a garment has was no easy task from a label where the letters have grown so small lately. I had given up on finishing "A night to remember" and left the Titanic's passengers stranded in a fog of clouded letters that were too hard to member together. Having my eyes run from me is a frightening thing... focusing so hard, yet seeing nothing. Yes, the magnifying glass was in the kitchen, within easy grasp, but now I needed one in my bedroom, in the shower (which one's the shampoo and which is the conditioner?), in my car... Things were easier at work. The lit, magnifying orbits at each workstation make reading the petri plates a pleasure, and identifying each minute colony no small a victory. But at home... this is where the war begins and stays. This is where I have to admit that I am no longer twenty, the twenty where my eyes are free to roam the small print and rescue the aged from their prescription-bottle-label struggles.
I miss my twenty-year old eyes, when eyeglasses were practically unnecessary, except an optometrist thought it might prevent eye fatigue. I often wonder, would my eyes be better off now had I ignored his prescription and let my eyes see free? And why does this question even matter now, as if the undoing of twenty years of eyeglasses can be reversed, now that my eyes struggle through the nebulous, shrinking letters?
I miss my twenty-year old soul, too. I miss the innocence of the world that was mostly white, even though I had survived the blackness of communism in my first twelve years. There wasn't so much to sort through to get to the truth, there was no ministry of truth except in Orwell's world. There wasn't as much machinery fuelled by billions as if billions were pennies, to subtract the good and the sublime out of this world and to replace it with the unholy and the mediocre.
I miss my twenty-year old soul free from the distraction of the internet. I had no World Wide Web, no super-highway to expand my information bank with whatever morsel of knowledge I crave at any given time. At times, the internet invades me like a slow, numbing poison that dulls my reality into bites of ones and zeros and leaves me smaller, smaller. Without the internet life was beautiful, and connected, and quiet. Books-real books, not internet articles-were oasis of pleasure and rest, and lofty thought.
I would gladly renounce all this "progress" and go back to the era of my twenties, where birds were still flying and bees were not endangered. But the done cannot be undone, except in God's kingdom. Only at the Cross the stories of our lives can be done-over, as if a single letter had never been written. Only by The Blood of the One whose beginnings were not in man-plus-woman union can we know the way, the truth and the life. The ocean of His grace will heal us of regret, and rebellion will be intercepted by love in an ever-upward dance.
And thus I put on my God-lens and look at my barely-out-of-the-thirties self, knowing that nothing is really lost. Though my eyes seem to be running away from me and my food sensitivities are extra baggage from my twenties, I still swim in the same ocean of God's grace. His love still carries me through the currents of seismic change that move this earth toward apocalypse. I am still redeemed and my destination unchanged. Sure, the road has gotten a lot bumpier and the minefields more unpredictable since my starry-eyed twenties, but the same Holy Spirit holds my hand and lights my path. Together, we will make it out of this maze called life, and finally I will be able to see-no eyeglasses required.
I miss my twenty-year old eyes, when eyeglasses were practically unnecessary, except an optometrist thought it might prevent eye fatigue. I often wonder, would my eyes be better off now had I ignored his prescription and let my eyes see free? And why does this question even matter now, as if the undoing of twenty years of eyeglasses can be reversed, now that my eyes struggle through the nebulous, shrinking letters?
I miss my twenty-year old soul, too. I miss the innocence of the world that was mostly white, even though I had survived the blackness of communism in my first twelve years. There wasn't so much to sort through to get to the truth, there was no ministry of truth except in Orwell's world. There wasn't as much machinery fuelled by billions as if billions were pennies, to subtract the good and the sublime out of this world and to replace it with the unholy and the mediocre.
I miss my twenty-year old soul free from the distraction of the internet. I had no World Wide Web, no super-highway to expand my information bank with whatever morsel of knowledge I crave at any given time. At times, the internet invades me like a slow, numbing poison that dulls my reality into bites of ones and zeros and leaves me smaller, smaller. Without the internet life was beautiful, and connected, and quiet. Books-real books, not internet articles-were oasis of pleasure and rest, and lofty thought.
I would gladly renounce all this "progress" and go back to the era of my twenties, where birds were still flying and bees were not endangered. But the done cannot be undone, except in God's kingdom. Only at the Cross the stories of our lives can be done-over, as if a single letter had never been written. Only by The Blood of the One whose beginnings were not in man-plus-woman union can we know the way, the truth and the life. The ocean of His grace will heal us of regret, and rebellion will be intercepted by love in an ever-upward dance.
And thus I put on my God-lens and look at my barely-out-of-the-thirties self, knowing that nothing is really lost. Though my eyes seem to be running away from me and my food sensitivities are extra baggage from my twenties, I still swim in the same ocean of God's grace. His love still carries me through the currents of seismic change that move this earth toward apocalypse. I am still redeemed and my destination unchanged. Sure, the road has gotten a lot bumpier and the minefields more unpredictable since my starry-eyed twenties, but the same Holy Spirit holds my hand and lights my path. Together, we will make it out of this maze called life, and finally I will be able to see-no eyeglasses required.
Kingdom coming
As I look at the world around and feel the rumblings of a monster storm, the likes of which history has no comparison, I contemplate it with mixed emotions. Just like the fabled king whole left eye was crying as the right one was laughing, so my heart holds both joy and sorrow.
If we had a giant time clock in the skies that counted down to the advent of Christ's second coming, its arms would probably be seconds away from midnight. We can almost hear His steps descending on Heaven's stairway into the Now that rushed and ordered itself into waves of matter and light expelled by His breath. We can sense Heaven getting ready to receive His bride, and a thousand times thousands wedding invitations are dispatched to fill the wedding halls with His image-bearers. We hear the Angel set pen to paper and, in eternal books, another name is engraved with ink that cannot lie, the scarlet fountain of His blood. Foundations are decorated in jasper, emerald and sapphire, streets are paved with gold, clear and shimmering like crystal. We see the party hats and the dazzling costumes and we hear the roar of hallelujahs as another prodigal has found the way home. We see His bride shake the sleep from her soul and her eyes, dressed in garments of faith and works, scanning the horizon night and day for His arrival. Looking upward, she girds herself for harvest, one last labor of love and suffering, even as the axe is set at the root of the tree for one last purging.
As heaven is busy preparing for the marriage supper of the Lamb, hell is excessively diligent in expanding its borders. We see a flood of demons descending on portals of filth, bathing the earth in violence and bloodshed. We hear the roar of hate masking itself as justice and good works, its cry hollow as "sounding brass or clinging cymbal". We see confusion and its dominion in man and nature, and we see evil crowned as good and good desecrated as evil. We hear man say, "let us make god in our image, in our likeness; and let him bow to our lust, let him glorify in our laws; let him follow us in our corruption, let him bless our covetousness, and let him give us what is right in our own sight". We see the young souls of the unborn sacrificed on the altar of self-gratification, and we see the lame and the maimed done away with in the name of mercy. We hear the growing darkness laboring the Antichrist into his kingdom, engaged in chasing Truth out of His universe.
My one eye is rejoicing because His coming is so, so close... He is coming to take us home, a place so magnificent that Paul, a birther of words, was destitute of letters at its threshold. I rejoice because our eyes will see The One our hearts have loved, and His eyes will brush the ashes from our souls. The time is coming when faith will be sight, when face-to-face encounter will replace dim mirror reflections.
My other eye is weeping because of the coming kingdom of black embodied in a man of great persuasion, and eloquence, and unquestioning authority. Under this man, "there will be greater anguish than at any time since the world began. And it will never be so great again." (Matthew 24:21). We are entering a time when " men’s hearts [will be] failing them from fear and the expectation of those things which are coming on the earth, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken". (Luke 21:26) And the crowds are cheering, and ready, and waiting for this man to make his entrance.
The time of history's greatest upheaval is at hand. The Father is waiting for one more prodigal to come home, for one more guest to attend His wedding feast. "Today when you hear his voice, don't harden your hearts" but come and be born of water and of Spirit. The stakes are too high for anything but that.
If we had a giant time clock in the skies that counted down to the advent of Christ's second coming, its arms would probably be seconds away from midnight. We can almost hear His steps descending on Heaven's stairway into the Now that rushed and ordered itself into waves of matter and light expelled by His breath. We can sense Heaven getting ready to receive His bride, and a thousand times thousands wedding invitations are dispatched to fill the wedding halls with His image-bearers. We hear the Angel set pen to paper and, in eternal books, another name is engraved with ink that cannot lie, the scarlet fountain of His blood. Foundations are decorated in jasper, emerald and sapphire, streets are paved with gold, clear and shimmering like crystal. We see the party hats and the dazzling costumes and we hear the roar of hallelujahs as another prodigal has found the way home. We see His bride shake the sleep from her soul and her eyes, dressed in garments of faith and works, scanning the horizon night and day for His arrival. Looking upward, she girds herself for harvest, one last labor of love and suffering, even as the axe is set at the root of the tree for one last purging.
As heaven is busy preparing for the marriage supper of the Lamb, hell is excessively diligent in expanding its borders. We see a flood of demons descending on portals of filth, bathing the earth in violence and bloodshed. We hear the roar of hate masking itself as justice and good works, its cry hollow as "sounding brass or clinging cymbal". We see confusion and its dominion in man and nature, and we see evil crowned as good and good desecrated as evil. We hear man say, "let us make god in our image, in our likeness; and let him bow to our lust, let him glorify in our laws; let him follow us in our corruption, let him bless our covetousness, and let him give us what is right in our own sight". We see the young souls of the unborn sacrificed on the altar of self-gratification, and we see the lame and the maimed done away with in the name of mercy. We hear the growing darkness laboring the Antichrist into his kingdom, engaged in chasing Truth out of His universe.
My one eye is rejoicing because His coming is so, so close... He is coming to take us home, a place so magnificent that Paul, a birther of words, was destitute of letters at its threshold. I rejoice because our eyes will see The One our hearts have loved, and His eyes will brush the ashes from our souls. The time is coming when faith will be sight, when face-to-face encounter will replace dim mirror reflections.
My other eye is weeping because of the coming kingdom of black embodied in a man of great persuasion, and eloquence, and unquestioning authority. Under this man, "there will be greater anguish than at any time since the world began. And it will never be so great again." (Matthew 24:21). We are entering a time when " men’s hearts [will be] failing them from fear and the expectation of those things which are coming on the earth, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken". (Luke 21:26) And the crowds are cheering, and ready, and waiting for this man to make his entrance.
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Our customary afternoon walk was permeated with tepid warmth that almost matched my husband's tolerance of summer. The day transformed ...