desolations

“Come and see the works of the Lord, the desolations he has brought on the earth.” (Psalm 46:8) God not only works through consolation, but also through desolation.  At times, he brings us down into the dust so that he can build us up.  He tears us apart so that he can put us back together.  Sometimes desolation accomplishes things in us that consolation cannot.  For instance, as a wise saint once said, “It takes a ton of humiliation to get one ounce of humility.”  But who wants to be humiliated?  Only someone who really wants to be humble.  The desolation of humiliation leads to the acquisition of true humility.

The fact is that it might be easier to “Come and see the works of the Lord” through desolation than it is through consolation.  Maybe we really are refined by fire.  Maybe trial and error, pain and suffering, sorrow and sadness, flaws and frailties, brokenness and neediness, form us into the image of Christ much more than comfort and ease.  The hard things in life are the ones that either make us or break us, or maybe even break us to make us.  To make us real, to make us vulnerable, to make us open, to make us true.

Maybe the thing God really cares about is making us humble and meek.  Maybe he is helping us become poor in spirit.  Maybe he takes us to the bottom in order to help us let go of our constant need to get to the top.  After all, the least are the greatest in the kingdom.  Maybe he’s trying to take us so low that we become unoffendable, holy fools, a non-anxious presence in this world.  Maybe he just wants us to trust him fully, to see that even in the times of desolation he is at work.  Maybe he just wants us to recognize that he both meets us and makes us through the desolations of our lives.

my newest book

 

Just released!

Stirrings: A Book of Poems

prologue: sounding the seasons

Tangled in time, we go by hints and guesses,

Turning the wheel of each returning year.

But in the midst of failures and successes

We sometimes glimpse the love that casts out fear.

Sometimes the heart remembers its own reasons

And beats a Sanctus as we sing our story,

Tracing the threads of grace, sounding the seasons

That lead at last through time to timeless glory.

From the first yearning for a Saviour's birth

To the full joy of knowing sins forgiven,

We start our journey here on God's good earth

To catch an echo of the choirs of heaven.

I send these out, returning what was lent,

Turning to praise each 'moment's monument'.

~Prologue: Sounding the Seasons by Malcom Guite

advent is coming

 "Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord; O Lord, hear my voice.  Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy.  If you, O Lord, kept a record of sins, O Lord, who could stand?  But with you there is forgiveness; therefore you are feared. 

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope.  My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.  

O Israel, put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love and with him is full redemption.  He himself will redeem Israel from all their sins." (Psalm 130:1-8)

Advent is almost here.  On Sunday, we are all invited to embark once again on the sacred journey through the church calendar.  As you all know, Advent is the season of watching and waiting.  But if we start with watching and waiting we've missed a significant part of the process.  It goes much deeper than that, and Psalm 131 gives us a perfect example.  It is a psalm of longing, a psalm of yearning, and a psalm of expectation.  At its heart is what I've come to call the Advent Progression.  It goes something like this: mercy, wait, and hope.  Or, to use words that I have been reflecting on for the past year or so: desperation, dependence, and trust.  Or, to take it a little further: powerlessness, submission, and surrender.

We can simply start with waiting, but if we do we've started in the middle of the story.  There is no waiting without a deep recognition of our powerlessness and desperation, which is where the "cry for mercy" comes in.  That's what leads to submission.  We wait for God to speak, move, or act because we are totally dependent on him.  We can't redeem ourselves.  We can either keep trying to do so or we can totally surrender to him in trust and hope.  Thus, Advent must begin with recognizing and embracing our desperation and our powerlessness, so that we can wait for the Lord, in total submission, to do for us what we cannot do for ourselves.  We must submit to his will, his ways, and his plan, which involves putting our hope in him and not in ourselves, our gifts, our friends, or our circumstances.  "My Soul waits for the Lord" because it can do nothing else.  That's Advent! 

So let us begin with mercy (powerlessness).  Let mercy lead us to waiting (submission).  And let waiting lead us to putting our hope in the Lord (surrender).  For with the Lord is unfailing love, and with him is full redemption.  Thanks be to God!

ecstasy

lost in wonder

mesmerized by

the beauty of you

staring deeply

unable to take in

the fullness of the

mystery before me

so i keep on gazing

as if i had a choice

you have me locked in

holding my eyes 

and my heart captive

with the depths

of your charms

my soul rises within

and takes flight

soaring effortlessly

on the winds

of your loveliness

spoiled from all else

a glance will no longer do

gazing is required

to experience the ecstasy

of your divine presence

all that’s left behind

is a burning fire

deep in my soul

i am consumed

i am all yours

i surrender

quiddity

my soul is bare

the leaves have fallen

the winter chill and

the autumn winds

have stripped away

the covering and

left me standing naked

only the real remains

the true me with all

my flaws and frailties

there is no hiding

only being

being who i am in

all its beauty

and all its brokenness

and that's okay

to become nothing

Lord Jesus, you became nothing (Philippians 2:7) and tell me to do the same.  The problem is that I am constantly trying to become something, constantly striving to be seen and recognized.  Remind me that the real work, the work that changes lives, doesn’t involve being noticed, but is usually not seen or acknowledged by anyone.  But you see it, and that’s all that matters.  So, Lord Jesus, help me to empty myself and become nothing, so that I can be more like you.