I’ve seen in
myself a wise fool and an enslaved leader, and when I saw God’s love for his
son, I saw that none of this is about me. I have been invited into the holy of
holies and still walked away without its power; and eternity escapes me as
quickly as I realize it.
I should have bowed and received the blessing, but
instead, like Jacob, I wrestled. I
should have sung, like Paul, when I found myself in chains, but it seemed too
absurd. I should have followed Moses
into the sea, but it was risky. I should
have accepted the sacrifice that Abraham made, but I thought it would mean more
if I did it for myself, for my own sins. I should have been baptized with Christ,
to live, but I chose to because it was good and holy.
I should have gone with
the brothers to be fishers of men, but I thought I’d catch up after tending the
nets? I should have washed the feet of
all the disciples and not just the ones I loved. I should have walked with the
two on the road to Emmaus, but I was finishing something when they left. I should have been a meek
apprentice like Timothy, but I didn’t feel like I would be heard. I should have been liberated, like Mary, to
see the empty grave, but I was too busy trying to fill it.
I should have stood with Mary and John at the
foot of the cross, but I didn’t want to interrupt. I should have gone to be
with John, the beloved, but instead I sentenced myself to exile elsewhere.
I have been the
woman at the well and I have been the son that slopped the swine. I have been Rachel, barren and contrite and I
have be Leah, fruitful and taunting. I
have been Aaron who served and sold out, and I have been Laban who befriended
and betrayed. Like Joseph, I have been
trapped and sold, and I have been received and restored. Like Adam and David, I have been naked and
unashamed, and I have been clothed and in despair.
After all this,
I’d be lying to myself if I said that my heart beats for God. I’d be deceiving myself to believe that what
I do for him is beautiful. I have found
that my offering to him is the essence of mankind without his mercy; I present
my King dirt and blood on a silver tray of discarded rags. And my heart beats because he allows it to do so.
When I am asked
who I am, I should be so fortunate to respond like the apostles who note
themselves as a slave to Christ, a bondservant to Truth. I should be so blessed to fold into a band of
brother’s with the merit of Jesus, James and Jude. I should be so honored to be an heir to the
heart of a King who sings songs like a shepherd boy.
This is where my Father comes from; he owns the cattle on a thousand hills and his
kingdom shall never pass away. How do I
know that I am his child? It says here
on my flesh and within my spirit, so “let no one trouble me, for I bear the
marks...on my body.”
"To Whom," you ask "do I believe I most compare?"
My answer:
"I am an alien and I am a stranger, and I most compare, my friend, to you."
"To Whom," you ask "do I believe I most compare?"
My answer:
"I am an alien and I am a stranger, and I most compare, my friend, to you."
