Hallelujah!

Proof of the healing God has been doing in my life and heart the last year or so: I was just hoping that tomorrow was Sunday, because I was looking forward to going to church. I just spent parts of the past four days at church for Holy Week. . .and I wanted to go again tomorrow.

"My heart overflows with a good theme," and "my tongue is the pen of a ready writer..."

Thanks be to God!

Come, Let us Judge

Can we get something straight? It is okay to judge. I know it is the unpardonable sin of our society, but it is not unpardonable before God. In fact, he calls Christians to judge.1

Before someone runs off decrying me as a heretic, let’s talk about what judging is. To judge means to esteem, to select or choose, to determine or resolve, to sift or weigh evidence, or to pronounce an opinion between right and wrong.2 In short, it means to assess. Not to be confused with asses: what people make of themselves when they draw no distinction between judging and condemning, trying to shut down reasoned assessment by crying, “Don’t judge me!”

Though the word “judge” may at times be translated to condemn, it is not the first or top use for the word—in either the lexicon or the dictionary. A person can be praised for having good judgment (discernment), but shouted down the next moment for judging (having an opinion). I have witnessed Christians bandy about the first four verses of Matthew 7, only to have them completely miss verse five:

Don’t [judge], and then you won’t be [judged]. For others will treat you as you treat them. And why worry about a speck in the eye of a brother when you have a board in your own? Should you say, ‘Friend, let me help you get that speck out of your eye,’ when you can’t even see because of the board in your own? Hypocrite! First get rid of the board. Then you can see to help your brother. “Don’t give holy things to depraved men. Don’t give pearls to swine! They will trample the pearls and turn and attack you. (Matt 7:1-6 TLB emphasis mine)

Let’s see what Matthew’s words look like, fleshed out in our mirrors, in our daily interactions with people. . . How we make assessments or criticise others is the same measure that will be applied to us. We don’t live up to our own critiques, let alone God’s, so it is important to first know and love God, and next to ask the Lord to help us to be holy as he is holy. Whereby, we are able to not only use God’s word to assess our fellow men, but to first use it to judge our own motives and actions. Though we also sin, it does not mean that if we see a fellow believer outside the boundaries of God’s word that we can ignore his sin. It is our calling to examine our own hearts before God and then to help set our brother straight again (James 5:19-20).

We are to be both bold and humble if we see our brother in sin. Bold in speaking the truth, humble in our motives—do we desire our friend’s good and growth, or do we just want to be right? Before we approach a fellow believer who is in sin, we need to first turn away from any sin in our own hearts and lives. Not long ago, when a friend of mine was angry, he said some very untrue and unkind things to and about me. Though I was praying before our conversation to clear things up, I began snipping at him and accusing him once we began talking. Right in the middle of our conversation, I heard my tone and I knew that whatever else the case may be, I was in the wrong. I prayed silently for the Lord to forgive my attitude, and that I would be humble enough to ask for forgiveness. 

When I next had the opportunity to speak, I took a deep breath and asked if we could start again, asking for forgiveness for my cutting words and haughty heart. The tenor of our conversation changed immediately from heated battle to comrades-in-arms, fighting together against the enemy who sows discord among brethren. Once I had removed the “board” in my own “eye” by confessing my sin to God and my friend, I was free to approach my brother to help him remove the speck in his eye. We are not free to call out sin in a haughty spirit, but instead, to speak the truth in love (Eph 4:15)—and love is not arrogant. We are not free to simply say nothing—He who knows the good he ought to do and does not do it, to him it is sin, says James (James 4:17).

Note that I say these things about making a judgment in regards to our fellow believers. Even though God holds us all to his standard, Christians are to judge differently between believers and non-Christians (I Cor 5: 9-10, 12-13). We are specifically called to judge (discern the words and actions of) our fellow Christians; not to throw away the holy gift of speaking wise judgments to evil men, as Matt 7:6 says above. We must speak the truth, of course, but we must let God hold unbelievers to his standard—that is his role, not ours. It is okay to call sin what it is: sin. It is okay to stand up for God’s character. And in the painful times when a brother continues persistently and unrepentantly in sin—even after exhortation and Godly confrontation—Paul tells us we must break fellowship with him (as in the case of unrepentant, gross sexual immorality in I Cor 5:11).

It is okay to judge—to sift a matter, to observe behaviour patterns, to see if actions and words align, to see if there is good fruit and assess the roots thereby. We can do this for all men. We cannot judge (in the condemnation or passing a sentence manner) the hearts of men, because only God knows the heart of a man. We are called to be discerning of what we observe. Let us, “Live life, then, with a due sense of responsibility, not as men who do not know the meaning and purpose of life but as those who do. Make the best use of your time, despite all the difficulties of these days. Don’t be vague but firmly grasp what you know to be the will of God” (Eph 5:15-17 PHILLIPS).

We must not be vague—we must make wise judgments based on what we know of the will and the character of God. We do not have to back away from speaking the truth simply because someone demands that we “do not judge” them. We must ask for the boldness, courage, love, and humility that we need to continue to judge rightly, to turn away from our own sin, and to help our brother to turn away from his, too. So, come, let us judge.

__________

1. See Matt 7:5, I Cor 5:3, 12

2. krino or judge as defined in the Strong's Concordance

Lent Week 5: Judica—Veiling Sunday

Judica: Veiling Sunday

{Lent: Week Five}

Veiled, all veiled

around the sanctuary,

from the cross

to the icons,

to the spiritual

Body and Blood:

bread and wine

Veiled, all veiled

inside my self,

from my heart

 to my mind,

will, and emotions;

behind the mask

of "All's well!"

Veiled, all veiled

within the Disciples'

understanding and hearts—

the Master among

them as they

argue which of

them is greatest

Veiled, all veiled

in holiest Sanctuary,

a thick curtain

to separate man

from Holy God

because of sin—

a Sacrifice needed

Unveiled! Christ Unveiled!

Upon the mountain,

Behold His glory!

Upon the Cross,

Behold the Man...

Unto His mother,

Behold your Son...

Unto the world:

Behold the Lamb!

*This is the missing poem in a cycle of Lenten poems I wrote last year. All of the others were written on the Sundays of Lent (usually after church), but this one eluded me as I had a guest in town. It came to me today, and so I am adding it in to complete the collection.

Darkness Comes to Cudgel My Brain

The leaves of the oak tree glisten with rain

As Darkness comes to cudgel my brain

Tonight with fingers, clenched fists—

Probing, pummelling, heaping on shame,

Thick as ghost-fog and obscuring mists.

Birch boles are black in the shade,

Their creamy skin can only fade

Away, shrink away, hide from eyes

Ever-watching since the day they were made,

Swaying into the snare of the lies...

...Lies that enter the heart, rotting the core

Of the trees-turned-dark; of me, a whore

Inside—my mind, my heart—broken,

Fallen in love with myself, wanting more,

Always insatiable for a counterfeit token

Of love—which is only lust thinly masked,

Glossy outside, alluring as red wine, long-casked

And flowing free—with no thought of tomorrow

When the head-shattering pain remains, unasked,

And Darkness leaves in its wake only false sorrow

Which we call guilt, that cannot cover up lust

Any more than gilt leaf can make a bust

Pure gold all the way through, or trying hard

Can make us new; we can only rust

Under sin's corrosion, once innocent, now marred.

Tomorrow arrives, is today; and the heart-shattering 

Pain of disfiguring corruption is scattering

All faculties of feeling, of sorrow, of true shame

And the eruption of sin, full-fledged, isn't flattering—

I am excoriated, a shell, with only myself to blame.

Night drones on within, filling the hollow

With nought but shadows. Here I wallow

In self-pity and despair, I cannot heal

Myself, save myself—this is hard to swallow,

And know with my life, as I no longer feel

Alive, feel at all, or know repentance-giving-grief.

Inside, the Darkness flutters, kicks, seeks relief

In a wail, a cry for life-breath, for the burning

Spirit of Holiness to come as the thief

Who steals my heart, plunders me back, returning

Me to the rightful King of the world wide—

Eyes wide, as feeling returns with the Spirit inside

Of my fragile heart-shards—redemption is here.

Apathy drains out, life surges in to veins long denied

Its crimson tide by the strangling fingers of fear...

Of being found out, found wanting—ludicrous pride

Kept me locked in the gnawing, growing dark

That threatened to keep me trapped like a lark,

Caged. Enraged at my own selfish choices,

But powerless to save myself—the truth, stark—

I begged for mercy, "Yours." A Voice says...

My face is in His hands, turned toward His eyes,

I see them glistening with tears at my cries

For help, desperate though they were,

I couldn't get out of the dirt, I surmise,

Because I was so focussed on me, so sure

That I could do something to save my soul,

Yet always giving up or in, a wobbly foal

Unable to even stand on the legs given me

Without the Spirit's breath standing me whole

And upright—from Darkness I am made free...

"The Light, the Light!" I cry, covering my face,

Feeling crushed by glory's weight in the space

Of my small frame. The holy, searing Light

Is what I need for healing, soundness—both grace—

To fix what I cannot, to cure me from sin's bite.

Lent Week 3: Seeing Eyes

Oculi: Round Opening, Eyes

(Lent Week Three)

Sin's darkness blinds--

Pit of despair

That sucks down

The heart, mind,

My very self,

Until I become

A shadow self

Under sin's grind

Something pulls me

To look up

From this hole--

Blind eyes see!

Climbing the darkness

Toward grey light,

Clawing upward, longing

To be free

Gasping, I spill

From the mouth

Of the abyss

My spine athrill--

My wavering self

A flickering shadow,

In and out,

And almost nil

There, before me

A mighty Lion

Blazes burnished gold--

Blind eyes see!

In His face

Love is bold,

By His wounds

I am free

His amber eyes

Burn the fire

Of bright sadness--

Sorrow His prize,

Pain His reward,

His life blood

Given in gladness,

Wounds to cauterise 

Lion of light

Illumines my eyes,

Enfleshes my shadow-self,

Scatters sin's night--

The Lamb slain,

Rising to life,

Is the Lion

Showing His might

Eyes open wide

At this mystery

Proclaimed long ago

And now descried--

In the once

And future King--

Lion-Lamb, Who

Calls me bride.

Rising from Ruin

Tonight, ashes smear

Across my face

From priest’s thumb—

Sin’s dark drear

Mingled with  oil

Leaves a smudge

On my skin

and my soul

Last year’s palms

Burn deep upon

My flesh and

In my memory—

All I see

Is ashen, grey,

Charred remains of

Promises and dreams

I peer inside

At my soul

Crumbling to coals

Dead and lifeless—

Not a spark

Or an ember

Of élan appears

To be there

Am I hopeless

In this heap

Of fine flakes?

In brittle remains

Of others’ sins

And my own?

No, please God

Be my Hope.

From the dust

Sizzles a flame

Tracing the shape

Of burning wings—

From the ashes

Emerges a head

Beast—man—eyes—

Fiery Phoenix: arise!

Resurrecting from ruin

Flames a Phoenix—

Jesus, the Redeemer,

Myth become Fact,

The Holy One,

Burning up sin,

Breathing His life

Into dead places

Last year’s ashes

Smear across skin—

Dreams and promises

Broken by evil

Are not all

That there is;

The Phoenix rises,

Hope still lives!

Healing can come,

Lives be redeemed,

Faith be reforged,

Truth grant freedom—

The locust years

Can be uneaten

And all things

Be made well.

Treading the Sea of Darkness

Noisy chatter clutters the lobby. The porch overflows with sound, seeping from every crevice of the hotel, like grapes, crushed. And I? I feel alone. Wearing the mask of a smile, while my soul wrestles with the Fall. I slip out into the rain-cooled air, the cloak of night hiding me from peering eyes and piercing laughter. 

How many times have I sat in a crowd of persons, even those I know, and felt the icy tentacles of loneliness? How often have I painted a smile on my lips, yet my eyes are belied by tears? Can I number the times I have listened to another's excitement while holding in my sorrows? How often have I concealed my joy in the face of someone else's pain? I do not begrudge those emotionally mixed moments. I do not regret that I have the privilege of of weeping and rejoicing with others. Nor am I deeply hurt that only a few look carefully into my honest eyes to see what is inside. Then I wonder, how many times have I not looked closely at bloodshot eyes? How often am I so lost in my own life that I neglect the trials and joys beneath the surface in others? 

This is the Fall–this neglect of others–written large and painted in bold black. The Fall, that locks us within ourselves, isolating us from God and man. The Fall, so murky and deep as to drown us in its depths. It is the Fall that prevents us from seeing life as a whole. We see only bits and pieces of our own lives—of others' lives—and we think those slivers are the whole story. We slosh in the muck of those black-sodden brushstrokes, seeing only a tary mess as far as our eye-scope can reach. 'This isn't how the story is supposed to go', we whisper fiercely to ourselves, kicking to stay afloat. 

But how is the story supposed to go? We think we have a decent plot. 'In the end this would bring God praise. Isn't that good? Isn't that the goal?' We do not see that the darkness of sin has been made the paint for the brush, the ink for the pen. The viscous stream in which we are drowning is the ink, undried. All the harrowing horrors of the Fall that dig their claws into our hearts, our homes, and our heroes have been ground into charcoal-hued pigment, brushing letters on parchment. Our grandiose plots for how our story should go are so small they are invisible upon the page. We swim in the depths of merely one letter, thinking it is our entire story. The Author and Finisher of our faith sees our script from the right perspective, much bigger–yet humbler–than we ever dared to dream or hope. 

Just because God allows us to be free agents in the writing does not mean that we are the author. Though He gives us the intolerable compliment of using our hands, our lips to accomplish His purposes, it does not follow that we know how immense the story, how deep the brokenness–and deeper still the redemption. We do not know how those letters, words, paragraphs, plots and subplots are being woven together to form a far-reaching tale. A true tale, meant for all the world, not only our corner of it, in this place and time.

What about the days when the narrative is dark, when we have tread the turbid waters of the Fall so long that we cannot muster another kick? Will the waves overflow us after all? God forbid! I say this fervently, yet, I am not the one abandoned by my husband. I am not left fatherless. I am not the one cast out by my family for doing the right thing. I do not have to face the long road of loneliness ahead if no reconciliation comes. No, but I can walk alongside my friends in those dark places. When they cannot tread thick waters any longer, I can hold them and swim for them. When I tire, it will be another's turn to support them. This is the body of Jesus, working together toward whole-ness, toward holiness. This one dark letter is not all that is on the page, it is not the whole story, though we or others may stick fast in one place far longer than we thought possible.

I still want to hide the holes in my soul, punctured by the Fall. I want to hide my own sin. I want to run away from the pain that the sins of others have caused me, my family, and my friends. I want life to be full of good things that are delightful and do not wound. But what I need it not to hide, is not isolation. What I need—what we all need—is for 'the light to shine in the darkness, and the darkness not [to] overcome it.' We all need times of solitude, not to forsake others, but times before God in honest conversation, times away to draw us back into the body of believers, toward holiness. Sin separates, it is said. Let us be reconciled to God through Jesus Christ, then. Let us reconcile others to God by walking with them in their darkness—even when the journey is years long and the dawn is far, far off. May the light of Truth shine all over the darkness, making the Author's story—so much bigger than what we planned or imagined—visible to the watching world.

Lost, lost are all our losses;
Love set forever free;

The full life heaves and tosses

Like an eternal sea!

One endless story!

One poem spread abroad!

And the sun of all our glory

Is the countenance of God.*

~ Johanna

___________________

* George MacDonald, 5th Hymn to the Night

Is Nothing Wasted?

They cut down half the tree at the first turn on the trail up to Red Mountain. It was an aspen or poplar of some sort, and I had had many a thought whilst gazing upon it. Half of the tree is clothed in green leaves, but the other half was mostly dead and bare. 

The juxtaposition of life and death had snatched my attention several times on that hike. Sometimes reminding me to be thankful for the beauty of life when seen in the shadowy presence of death. Sometimes it reminded me that I am like that tree - full of life where God has come in, yet plenty of dead branches of sin still needing to be removed.

When I saw that the dead half of the tree had been chopped down, my first response was to check the tears rising in my eyes. Why should I be sad that someone removed a tree that was sapping life from the living half? Would I be sad if God just cut out all of my sinful deadness and removed it? No, that is ridiculous. I rejoice when He clears out the deadness inside. But sometimes -- always, I think -- it hurts when He prunes away my sin.

Sometimes we must endure unbearable hurt. We must recall that pain is not always a result of our own sin. All sorrows and hurts can be used for our good, though I cannot always remember that when I am walking through the depths of the valleys. 

Today has been one of those days where I want to bear someone else's pain, but I cannot -- it is too much for me, and it does not alleviate them. When I looked out over the city from the foothills tonight, I realised that the hurt I feel for my friend, though it seems crushing to me, is only the hurt of one person amongst those thousands. One hurt among the billions across the globe. I cried out to God, asking how He could possibly bear the brokenness that fills His world. Then I walked home past that brokenness. And it revolted me, rather than melting me, which I think sin ought to do. Yet I want to move beyond the repulsion to the point where I can lift broken things up to God, the only Redeemer and Re-creator.

The Lord reminded me several times tonight that He is making things not like they were, but better than they were. He is not only restoring us and the whole world, He is re-creating us. There is hope, beyond those darkest moments, most vile atrocities, and heart-shattering pains. How do I know? Because one day it was true to say that God was dead, and we killed Him. Because He became our sin, and His own Father turned His face away from Him. Then He turned death upside down. And one day, He will do that for us, too.

The hurt that broke your heart
And left you trembling in the dark
Feeling lost and alone
Will tell you hope's a lie
But what if every tear you cry
Will seed the ground where joy will grow

And nothing is wasted
Nothing is wasted
In the hands of our Redeemer
Nothing is wasted

It's from the deepest wounds
That beauty finds a place to bloom
And you will see before the end
That every broken piece is
Gathered in the heart of Jesus
And what's lost will be found again

When hope is more than you can bear
And it’s too hard to believe it could be true
And your strength fails you half way there
You can lean on me and I’ll believe for you
Give it time, you will believe it too

Nothing is wasted
Sometimes we are waiting
In the sorrow we have tasted
But joy will replace it
Nothing is wasted
In the hands of our redeemer
Nothing is wasted

~ Johanna