rest II

How is rest even possible in this chaotic and uncertain world?  There is far too much unknown.  And there is far too much known.  And then there is the whole world inside; filled with so many fears, and doubts, and insecurities.  I mean who really has a chance?  Who could even think of finding rest in such a threatening climate?  Unless of course our rest didn't depend on us; on what we can create, or what we can achieve, or what we can avoid.  Only if our safety and security was dependent on something, or better yet Someone, much bigger than we are.  Someone big enough to calm our deepest fears, and overcome our biggest insecurities.  Someone with a heart we could trust; someone with a hand we can be sure of.  Someone who calls us Beloved and invites us to find our rest in Him.  Someone who is big enough and strong enough to fully protect us, yet Someone whose heart for us is so full of love that more than anything he longs for us to come to Him, and lay or weary heads upon His chest, and find our rest between His strong and tender shoulders.  Let the beloved of the Lord find their rest in Him, for He shields him all day long; and the one the Lord loves, rests between His shoulders (Deut. 33:22).

rest

Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in him, for He shields him all day long, and the one the Lord loves rests between His shoulders. Deuteronomy 33:12


When we are truly convinced of our own belovedness; then, and only then, will we be able to experience the wholeness, and the fullness, and the life that we were created for.  Then, and only then, will we be free to stop our grasping, and clinging, and striving, and achieving, and jockeying, and proving, and manufacturing, and protecting, and defending, and manipulating; and finally be able to experience the rest that we so deeply long for.  His love and affection (the word for beloved here is from the Hebrew root dowd, which means to boil; an extremely passionate love, used over and over again in the Song of Songs); His strength and power, will hold us safely and securely.  They will shield us and give us shelter from our deepest fears and insecurities.  Because of the truth that we are fully and radically loved, we can live in that love and lay our weary heads between the strong and loving shoulders of our Father, and find rest.  Thanks be to God!




All mature religion must and will talk about the death of any notion of a separate, and therefore False Self, while recognizing that only a deep security in a Larger Love will give you the courage to do that.  The True Self can let go because it is radically safe at its core.  

                                                                           ~Richard Rohr

the journey of resurrection

I've been wondering about something lately.  What does resurrection look like for us, this side of heaven?  What should we expect?  What should we hope for?  And how should we expect it to unfold?  My guess is that if we've learned anything at all these last few weeks from the stories of the resurrection in scripture, it is to expect the unexpected.  But I keep wondering, what does resurrection look like in our present lives?  Does it come suddenly?  Like the earthquake that shook the tomb and rolled the stone away in Matthew?  Or does it come in a more hidden way, as it did to the travelers on the road to Emmaus; so slowly and subtly that we will have to pay careful attention to be able to recognize it.  Or will it be a long, slow process; like a journey in which the destination appears on the horizon, off in the distance, but still seems miles and miles away from a current reality?  You know that it is getting closer, slowly but surely, but can't quite tell when exactly it will arrive.

I guess I'm wondering because of my hope that at some point this old, passing, manufactured, false self will finally be fully put to death and the new, eternal, God breathed, true self will rise from the ashes.  But for now I still have way more of one than I'd like, and less of the other than I truly long for.  The old just keeps hanging around, with nowhere near the amount of life it once had mind you, but still very present nonetheless.  And the new, although it keeps gaining more of a presence and a voice within me, still is not in complete control of my thinking and my believing; my being and my doing.  How much longer will this wrestling go on before I wrestle no more and am able to rest in the fullness of all that I was created to be?

risen

What was it like in that dark tomb Jesus?  What exactly happened when light suddenly broke into the darkness and brought you to life once again?  Did the mouth of God come down from heaven and breathe the breath of life into your lifeless body?  Or did He reach down with His life-giving hands and brush the death from you as one would wipe sleep from the eyes of a child?  Or was it like a  Father tenderly bending down over his sleeping child to plant a gentle kiss upon his forehead?  Perhaps it was more like an earthquake; a sudden jolt of power and life that hit you like a lightning bolt from on high, raising you suddenly to life once more.  And were there any words uttered in that silent grave?  Words that you had the privilege of hearing, but that we will never know about because they were words meant only for your ears: arise, my love, or wake up sleepy head or My Child, I've missed you so much!  And what was it like when the grave clothes were removed?  And who exactly did that?  Was it the angels that were present the next morning; sent by the Father to unbind His Beloved Son?  And why exactly did they fold them and stack them so neatly?  I'll bet they were smiling from ear to ear.  And O what a reunion it must have been, the Three-in-One becoming Three and becoming One once again! What was that like?  What was it like when you and the Father, and the Spirit, were reunited.  What were the looks on your faces?  What was going on in your hearts?  What a dance that must've been!  A dance we are now invited to join.  O the joy, joy unspeakable.  Let our imaginations run wild on this Easter day, as we dream about, and celebrate, the day our beloved Jesus, was raised to life again! 

good friday

the loneliness
and the pain
external and internal
physical and spiritual
are hard to watch
hard to sit with you
in the midst of
my dear jesus

and the voices
so many voices
all around
mocking
insulting
hurling

and then yours
my God, my God
the only time
you didn't say
my Father
my Abba

handed over
pierced and crushed
poured out like water
bones out of joint
heart turned to wax
melted within you

encircled by bulls
torn to pieces
by roaring lions
are they the ones
i can see
what about the ones
i cannot see
are they not
worst of all

you became sin
bore our darkness
carried our sorrows
how extraordinarily heavy
that weight must have been
the physical is horrific
but the spiritual unimaginable
what you endured
for us

thank you
seems far
too small





We have to be willing to acknowledge and expose our wounds to the healing balm that flows from the pierced hands and feet and side.  We need humbly and gratefully to accept this healing, with a gratitude that impels us to seek to sin no more.  Then our looking upon him who has been pierced will be for us a saving glance. (Seeking His Mind by M. Basil Pennington)

for us and by us

Before we can begin to see the cross as something done for us, we have to see it as something done by us.”

                                                                                      ~John R. W. Stott

Take this to heart and doubt not that you are the one who killed Christ.  Your sins certainly did, and when you see the nails driven through his hands, be sure that you are pounding, and when the thorns pierce his brow, know that they are your evil thoughts.  Consider that if one thorn pierced Christ you deserve a hundred thousand.

                                                                                     ~Martin Luther

My friend Ray sent me this picture today, along with the quote by John Stott.  The picture is called "Raising of the Cross" by Rembrandt.  The interesting thing about the painting is not so much that Rembrandt painted himself in the picture (identifying himself by the light around him), he did that quite often.  The interesting thing is what he is doing in the painting.  He is the one raising the cross.  What a realization!  The same realization that Martin Luther and John Stott and many others throughout the centuries have made as well.  I am the one that crucified Jesus.  So as the next few days and hours unfold, as difficult as they might be, they are made more so by the fact that we (you and I) made it all necessary in the first place.  Which is not so much meant to heap hot coals upon our heads, but to help us realize the full depths of the unfailing, extravagant love of Jesus.

lift up thy bleeding hand