Lent

(photo by Raideres. Used by permission.)

The journey of lent is not a journey of morbid self-mortification. Rather, it is the wilderness path of letting go of our own visions of grandeur that we might be surprised afresh by the goodness of God.

Jesus takes us by surprise.

The lovingkindness of God overtakes us with sudden hilarity. All our serious pretensions fall under the weight of love, and we are freed to step lightly in the Breath that blows where He will.

Sitting in a counseling session, I listened to the grief of man wracked by sickness and depression. I faced him. I gave him my serious attention. I wiped my brow. Without realizing it, I spread ink from a leaked pen all across my face.

He laughed and laughed and laughed.

In the grace of my good Jesus, He made light of my serious striving. His gentle joke freed us to laugh in our wondrous world of ink and pens and faces. The dark spell over my friend fell away in the sudden interruption of love.

Jesus takes us by surprise.

Saul sets out on a mission from God: guard Torah, preserve truth, expose blasphemy. A voice penetrates his heart with Light and Light and Light, and flames of Love consume this righteous zeal.

Blinded by unrelenting Light, Paul beholds a vision of God that disorients and reorients him to the Way of the Father. In a flash, his world comes to an end, his world begins.

Jesus takes us by surprise.

Two men stumbling in the gloom of hopes dashed. The kingdom did not come. The Lord did not vindicate his people. The wicked did triumph.

They travel toward Emmaus, they pour out their grief, they share in ache of a lost friend. Stepping into their sadness, a stranger appears with story upon story upon story. He unveils, reveals, and exposes true Light from true Light. In a flash of insight, they behold the hope of the years.

Jesus takes us by surprise.

Lazarus hears his name and awakes to the surprise of being alive.
Mary meets an angel and gives birth to the surprise of all things made new.
Peter lets down his net and catches the surprise of becoming a fisher of men.
I saw a sunrise at the end of a dark night, and stepped into the surprise of a world made new.

Jesus takes us.
And when he takes us.
It is sheer surprise.
Our eyes can see.
Our ears can hear.

In the surprise of our utter powerlessness, we behold the only One who holds our future. And in the mystery of His Grace, we can finally rest.

He is coming
And when He comes,
He will catch you by surprise.

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What a wonderful surprise this morning. I read Scott Cairns’ translation of a reflection from St. Francis. In these words, I am reminded of the sweet sap of the cross. In the cross of Christ, the bitter, the revolting, and the situations that offend us, become a sweetness to the soul: our death become life. Listen to some of the words from “Mercy,”

This is how our Lord allowed me
to begin my healing: While I yet walked
in sin, the mere sight of lepers was as
a bitterness I could not bear. Therefore,
the Lord Himself drew me to life
among them, and so doing gave me
to have mercy on them. By the time
I left them, the bitterness had turned
to a sweetness of soul and of body.

From Love’s Immensity – Mystics on the Endless Life by Scott Cairns.

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Christ by Georges Rouault

Falling.
Christ Jesus has made Himself nothing.
He is falling.
The Bright Morning Star tumbles down from the heavens.
He is falling.
The Perfection of Beauty loses His beauty, and we turn away in disgust.
He is falling.
The Joy of Our Salvation weeps tears of blood and we hide our faces.
He is falling.
Our grieves, our sorrows, our iniquities, our transgressions, our judgment beats down upon Him.
He is falling.
The Lover of mankind is stricken, smitten, afflicted, stripped and striped.
He is falling.
The King of Glory is hung from His throne of blood.
He is falling.
He is denounced, we are delivered.
He is beaten, we are beloved.
He is rejected, we are received.
He is smitten, we are strengthened.
He is humiliated, we are honored.
He is cursed, we are kissed.
He is hurt, we are healed.
He is accursed, we are acquitted.
He is falling into the deepest abyss of sin, sorrow, darkness and death.
He falls until He can fall no further, no deeper, no lower, no weaker.
It is finished.
The Father calls His Son home.
And the Sun of Righteousness rises with healing in His wings.
We are falling.
Falling.
Falling at His feet.
And singing love songs to Love Himself,

“Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!”

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picture originally uploaded by James Jordan

In one voice, the people exclaimed thanksgiving to the Lord, singing

“For He is good,
for his steadfast love endures forever toward Israel.”

In this little song, they were remembering the songs of Solomon’s court when the Temple was dedicated to the Lord. By God’s grace, Solomon rose to glory and power and wisdom in a way that attracted the awe and attention of all the world.

He built a glorious golden Temple to the Lord so that all Israel and eventually all the nations could stream to Mt. Zion and proclaim praises to the Lord Most High. And now with the foundations of a new Temple laid, the people sang and rejoiced in hopes of restoring the glory of Solomon’s Temple.

Even as many of the people rejoiced, some of the people wept. They actually remembered Solomon’s Temple. Living in the last days of the kingdom, they still remembered the glory of the Temple. They remembered Josiah’s restoration of the Temple and the glorious renewal that swept the land under Josiah’s rule.

His faithfulness to the Lord brought hope of a return to the glory of ancient Israel. The glory of David’s warriors. The glory of Solomon’s rule. Many in the land anticipated and longed for a renewal of this glory in the Holy City and throughout the land. But Josiah was killed in battle and their hopes died with him.

Shortly after his fall, the nation begin to fall. Corrupt and wicked leaders made foolish decisions and bad gambles, leading not simply to their demise but the demise of the kingdom. Babylon crushed the people, destroyed the Temple, burned Jerusalem to the ground, and dragged the nation to captivity in Babylon.

Now 70 years later, a tiny band of struggling people begin to rebuild the Temple and the nation. But the glory still feels like it is gone. They are too poor and too few to rebuild a Temple like the one Solomon built. The young people rejoice, but the old people weep for they cannot stop remembering.

They not only remember the glory of Solomon’s Temple, they remember the glory of the Exodus. Moses led over 600,000r 600,000
English: King James Version (1611) - KJV
Izbrano poglavje ne obstaja! Štetje svetopisemskih vrstic se za?ne z ¹! Vrstica ⁰ ne obstaja!

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But all those days of glory are passed.

A little over 40,000r 40,000
English: King James Version (1611) - KJV
Izbrano poglavje ne obstaja! Štetje svetopisemskih vrstic se za?ne z ¹! Vrstica ⁰ ne obstaja!

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Haggai writes to the grieving new settlers and assures them that the glory of this latter house will actually surpass the glory of the former house. But how can this be?

It is the glory of God to conceal a matter,
But the glory of kings is to search out a matter. (Proverbs 25:1Proverbs 25:1
English: King James Version (1611) - KJV
25 ¹ These are also proverbs of Solomon, which the men of Hezekiah king of Judah copied out.  

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This smaller, austere Temple built during the reconstruction of Israel is more glorious than the stronger, more luxurious Temple built during Solomon’s reign. And after this Temple another Temple will eventually come, and it will be the most glorious of all. This newer Temple will be be smaller, more fragile and eventually destroyed.

But on the third day it will raise again.

It is the glory of God to conceal a matter. Jesus comes to reveal the glory of God. Peter, James and John rejoice on the Mount of Transfiguration for the glory of God has been revealed. But this is not the great glory. This is a step toward the glory.

As Jesus spends his final moments with the disciples, he prays about the impending cross. He asks the Father to “glorify His son.” Soon the greatest glory of all will be unfolded, the glory of Jesus suffering and dying on the cross.

This next week the church begins to celebrate the cross. We are celebrating the glory of God. And even as we celebrate, we prefer to look away from the horror of the suffering Savior. But this is the greater glory. The body is broken for us, and the blood is shed for us.

And even as we partake in the feast of His love, we hear His call to “Follow Me.” He is inviting us, compelling us to follow Him in the path of love. Even as we seek to obey and follow the call, we may look back to “greater glories.”

We may be like the ancient exiles who looked back to Solomon’s Temple. We may look back to the glory of the twelve disciples. We may long for the glory of the church in Acts. We may look back to earlier times in our own lives when the glory seemed so full and real.

But he is calling us forward to the cross.

He is calling us to walk from glory to glory. He is calling, leading and drawing us into greater glory. He is calling, leading, and drawing us into the cross. We are being hid with Christ in God. For in that hidden place of glory, in the place of trust, in that place where we no longer control the glory but fall in weakness before Him. He is revealing a glory that we won’t fully grasp until the full light of day.

Let us join in one voice with thanksgiving to the Lord, singing

“For He is good,
for his steadfast love endures forever toward Israel.”

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picture originally uploaded by Akbar Simonse

There are times when the symbols, the dreams, the vision of our world comes crashing down. We listen for God.

But He is silent.

Throughout much of the Bible He is silent. We can remember when He spoke the Word of Life that woke our heart to love. This Word came as a fresh spring, as pure joy, as heaven’s bounty. But then in the dire anguish of suffering: silence. Nothing. Where did He go?

We grope. We ache. We wonder. We grieve. We grow weary. We may even curse and shake our fist at the heavens. Or in the blinding grip of life’s struggles, we may simply turn away and look for lesser gods. The gods of technology. The gods of sexuality. The gods of spirituality and religion. We turn to gods of our own making for comfort and satisfaction.

Strangely, these self-made gods have real power. But the power is not freeing. It does not lead us to deeper and truer love. It stirs in us lust for power. Power to control. Power to protect.

I will never hurt again if I can control this situation, this person, the job, this group, this family, this church. We seek refuge in the slavery of other gods, other pharaohs.

Sadly, the gods of our making really do enslave us. Really do cut us off from the freedom of love. Enslaved by the passions, we can no longer love or be loved. We simply lust to consume, and so we are consumed. The gods of our making not only enslave, they eventually kill us. Our families may die. Our friendships may die. Our churches may die.

Everything we once held dear may be sacrificed to the idols of our making. Our beautiful homes are filled with beautiful furniture and broken people. Families, marriages, children that have been offered to the gods of our consumption, to the ravages of passion, to the coldness of convenience.

In the pain of great loss, we may brood and rage and then repeat our deadly rituals to new gods of death and indifference.

Into the darkness of our self made tombs, the shuddering silence pierces us. The Lord extends an invitation of freedom. He speaks to the entombed heart, “Come forth!” He does not invite us to a life void of suffering. We awake to a world where hurts still hurt and pain is still very real. And His Silence is still Present.

But instead of control. Instead of a method or a god to control the pain, we are asked to simply trust. Let go of control. Let go of trying to live pain free and sorrow free. Let go into the promise of God’s faithful love.

This complete love is revealed Word-made-Flesh. Jesus the God and King who embraces our suffering, who bears our sorrows, drinks full the cup of pain and suffering that floods our world. And yet, He continues to love. Hanging from the cross of shame, He looks upon those who are taking His life and cries out, “Father forgive them.”

Some suggest this was weakness. And that our God is weak and frail and the Creator of weaklings. They are right. It is weak but not powerless. There is power in brute force and power in absolute weakness.

Brute force requires someone else to sacrifice for my satisfaction. Brute force will master and control for a short season. But it is no match for the power of absolute weakness.

Jesus reveals the absolute weakness of love.

Love completely trusts the Lover and in so doing becomes all power and all glory and all wisdom and all strength both now and forevermore.

Following the call of Jesus, does not mean learning how to control this world and avoid all pain. It means trusting in the love of the Father. The unfailing love. In this mystery of trust, we might, by His great and wondrous grace, learn to love. We might become the true and complete images of God that have moved beyond the childlike power of creating and controlling to the uncontainable power of loving relentlessly.

Then the call of God and the cry of our soul become one: “Let me love God with all that I am and love other people with all that I am.” May love prevail in thought, words, deeds.

Have mercy Lord. We are weak. Make us weaker still.

As I wrote this meditation, I was think about a quote from a book I read several years ago called, The Heart of the World by Hans Urs Von Balthasar. I think this quote is worth reading and rereading as we traverse along the Lenten byways.

And now God’s Word saw that his descent could entail nothing but his own death and ruination—that his light must sink down into the gloom—he accepted the battle and the declaration of war. And he devised the unfathomable ruse: he would plunge, like Jonas into the monster’s belly and thus penetrate death’s innermost lair; he would experience the farthest dungeon of sin’s mania and drink the cup down to the dregs; he would offer his brow to man’s incalculable craze for power and violence; in his own futile mission, he would demonstrate the futility of the wolrd; in his impotent obedience to the Father, he would visibly show the impotence of revolt; through his own weakness unto death he would bring to light the deathly weakness of such a despairing resistance to God; he would let the world do its will and thereby accomplish the will of the Father; he would grant the world its will, thereby breaking the world’s will; he would allow his own vessel to be shattered, thereby pouring himself out; by pouring out one single drop of the divine Heart’s blood he would sweeten the immense and bitter ocean. This was intended to be the most incomprehensible of exchanges: from the most extreme opposition would come the highest union, and the might of his supreme victory was to prove itself in his utter disgrace and defeat. For his weakness would already be the victory of his love for the Father, and as a deed of his supreme strength, this weakness would far surpass and sustain in itself the world’s pitiful feebleness. He alone would henceforth be the measure and thus also the meaning of all impotence. He wanted to sink to low that in the future all falling would be a falling into him, and every streamlet of bitterness and despair would henceforth run down into his lowermost abyss.
No fighter is more divine than the one who can achieve victory through defeat. In the instant when he receives the deadly wound, his opponent falls to the ground, himself struck a final blow. For he strikes love and is thus himself struck by love. And by letting itself be struck, love proves what had to be proven: that it is indeed love. Once struck, the hate-filled opponent recognizes his boundaries and understands: behave as he pleases, nevertheless he is bounded on every side by a love that is great than he. Everything he may fling at love—insults, indifference, contempt, scornful derision, murderous silence, demonic slander—all of it can ever but prove love’s superiority; and the black the night, the more radiant does love shine.
Hans Urs Von Balthasar from “The Heart of the World”

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For those taking time to reflect and meditate during the Lenten season, here are a few thoughts from Evagrius of Pontos. These are translations by Scott Cairns in his recent book, Love’s Immensity. This is a great little book for prayer and reflection (see my previous review of Love’s Immensity).

If you would come to know your own measure, you will taste
a sweeter sorrow, and will say, as Isaiah said, I am
a miserable wretch. You know you are impure, your very lips
have been defiled, and you stand among a horde
of scheming rebel ingrates. And yet, you dare
to stand before the God of the righteous.

***

And even so, if you would pray in truth, you will
suspect a deeper sense of curious confidence.
And a host of angels will walk beside you
Showing you the purpose of created things.

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Pilgrims in towns, villages, cities and deserts around the world started a journey last week. They began walking the ancient paths into the Lenten wilderness. While some are physically walking most take pilgrimage in the heart. For forty days they will reflect upon the journey of Christ through the wilderness to the cross. Some will express their devotion by giving up a luxury or pleasure to demonstrate their greater dependence on the Lord. Others will express devotion by giving out of their abundance to the poor and needy around them.

Millions of Christians will pray and fast and focus upon the cross of Christ, and His redeeming power revealed in the power of the resurrection. In some ways, Christians will be following in the steps of early Christians who spent forty days leading up to Pascha (or Easter) as a time of reflection and prayer in preparation for their baptism into the church. Their was a time when most believers where received into the church officially on Pascha Sunday as a sign that they had been resurrected in Christ.

During this season of prayer and devotion, I hope to offer a few meditations on the path leading to Calvary. Whether Lent has been part of your devotional life or not, I would hope to offer a few thoughts and reflections that might stir your heart to faith and encouragement in the Lord.

Lent is part of a larger rhythm that the church learned from ancient Israel. Every year Israel celebrated festivals that helped them to remember God’s act of deliverance in their history. The primary story always focused on the deliverance from slavery in Egypt but over time Israel remembered more acts of deliverance. These festivals reinforced God’s provision for His people and helped define their identity.

Following this ancient pattern, the church gradually developed a cycle of remembrances that centered upon our deliverer, Lord Jesus Christ. Just as the ancient Hebrews paused every seven days to remember God’s completed work in Sabbath, Christians pause every seven days to remember the resurrection of Jesus on what we call the Lord’s Day.

There are six primary seasons in ancient Christian year: Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, and Pentecost. These six seasons are connected in two cycles: Advent-Christmas-Epiphany and Lent-Easter-Pentecost. While there are other days of celebrating these two cycles help us to remember to fundamental movements of Scripture.

The first cycle, Advent-Christmas-Epiphany, focuses on the coming of the Lord. There is a season of waiting (Advent), incarnation (Christmas) and revelation (Epiphany). During this season we celebrate God becoming man. God comes to His people and calls us by name.

One way to understand Advent-Christmas-Epiphany is to think of God’s call to man. When you call out for a lost dog, you sometimes have to go search for him. Eventually when you find him, you call his name and hopefully he comes running into your arms. Then you embrace his and bring him home.

During the “Christmas season” we celebrate the Good Shepherd who came searching for us lost sheep, calling us by name. He calls us like He called out to Adam in the Garden, “Where are you?”

Makes me think of the old story Martin Buber once told of the atheist guard who asked the Rabbi why God had to ask Adam, “Where are you?” The Rabbi replied, “God didn’t ask, “Where are you?” because he didn’t know where Adam was. Rather, he asked “Where are you?” because Adam didn’t know where he was. Then the Rabbi looked the guard in the eyes and said, “And God will come to every man in the garden of His life and ask, “Where are you?”

God comes calling out to us. In His call alone, do we hear our true name, “Beloved of God.” The response to that call comes during Lent-Easter-Pentecost. If Advent-Christmas-Epiphany tells the story of God calling out to man, Lent-Easter-Pentecost tells the story of man answering God.

In one sense the whole Christian year might be understand as a celebration of the call of God and the response of man. Call and response. This rhythm undergirds almost every story in the Bible.

During Lent, man answers God. I might properly write Man answers God. For Jesus Christ comes as the second Adam who faithfully answers the call of God. He responds completely to the love of the Father and reveals God’s love to the world. In Lent-Easter-Pentecost, we realize that we fail to heed the call of God.

We are like the puppy that runs away and keeps running away. Or more correctly, we are the wolves that attack the Lord of glory and feast upon His blood. For when the owner of the vineyard came, we killed Him. And in the great mystery of grace, we the enemies of God are made friends of God. Jesus’ death becomes the complete response to God’s love.

Jesus alone makes a way for us to hear and heed the call. In and through Him, we hear the call. Jesus turns to each of us and says, “Follow me.” During the Lenten journey, we learn to follow. And as we follow, we hear the lover of our souls saying, “If any man would be my disciple, let him take up his cross and follow me.”

He is calling to the brave and the cowardly. He is calling to the strong and the weak. He is calling the whole and the broken. He is calling. He is calling. “Come, follow me.”

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“Vindicate me, LORD,” cries the psalmist. And in these words, I hear the ache from countless tales of injustice. I hear the cry of the mother of six children as she struggles in poverty after her husband the doctor abandons the family for his young mistress. I hear the cry of the aging advertising executive who loses his position as the company decides to save expenses by hiring a cheaper, younger replacement. I hear the cry of the husband cut off from his children by a spiteful ex-wife.

I hear the cry of countless people in my own city who are stuck in circumstances with no apparent resolve. They suffer the pain of broken relationship, financial ruin, job humiliation, devastating deception, church division, and more. I am surrounded by people who have been trapped, sometimes for years, in painful circumstances that appear to have no resolve.

There is real pain and real suffering all around us. Only when we come to face the overwhelming reality of injustice, can we understand the cry of the psalmist who cries, aches, and breaks for vindication.

As the psalmist cries out to the LORD, he is looking for covenantal justice. If YHWH is God and the just judge of His people, the psalmist believes YHWH is responsible to judge this case and deliver his oppressed child from the painful grip of unjust treatment. As the psalmist continues his prayer, he confesses his dedication to walk in the way of the LORD, his refusal to fellowship with the wicked, and his commitment to worship the LORD.

Is he trying to demonstrate before YHWH why he deserves vindication? Possibly, but there is another way to understand his language. Facing a situation that he cannot resolve, he chooses to trust in the faithfulness of the LORD. He rejects the allure of wicked ways to resolve his problem or bitter fruit to nourish his ache.

His cry for vindication takes us beyond the minor inconveniences of daily life, which challenge us to trust in the Lord’s goodness. His cry touches those aches and struggles and injustices that seem to offer no hope of resolution. Ever.

What happens when a family who enjoys a thriving business faces the sudden destruction of their building by an unexpected tornado. When they try to rebuild the insurance turns out to be unreliable, and they are forced into bankruptcy, losing their life savings and the fruit of their years of hard work. After exploring every legal option, they realize there is no recourse.

What happens when grown children watch their widowed mother remarry a man who proceeds to deplete her savings and cut off the rest of the family? Despite repeated attempts at legal intervention, they cannot resolve the situation.

It wouldn’t be hard for most of us to list page after page after page of injustices that people around us continue suffering every day.

This makes me think of another injustice. The gospels record the unjust sufferings of an innocent man at the hands of religious bigots. Jesus enters into the struggle of humanity, revealing the hope and love of God. He is mocked, beaten, and cruelly killed. There seems to be no recourse for such injustice, and in his great agony, he cries out, “My God, My God why have you forsaken me?”

There is no last minute rescue. He dies. He breathes his last breath. He drops his head. He is finished. The lifeless body is taken from the cross and sealed in a tomb. The joy, hope, and excitement of a new kingdom dies as Jesus dies. Now darkness fills the hearts of his people as they wander into a hopeless night.

After the night, after all hope is lost, after their is no future left, the Father surprises and shocks His people by resurrecting Jesus through the power of the Spirit. This resurrection is the vindication of Jesus. The just Judge heard his final cry and has responded. The just judge vindicates Jesus by raising Him up from the dead. And according to Philippians, the just Judge will vindicate Jesus in the sight of all men when every kneed will bow and every tongue will confess that Jesus in LORD!

Paul write Philippians to a people who are suffering. He encourages them that God will not forsake them and that He will complete the work He’s begun. He proceeds to encourage them that in the midst of suffering injustices, they can look forward with hope to a day of vindication. Just of Jesus will be vindicated in the sight of all men, his people will be vindicated as well.

This “good news” gives the Philippians and the psalmist hope that the injustices will not be forgotten. That in the end God will redeem, restore and vindicate the people of God. This hope gives the people of God the power to do the unthinkable. We can rejoice in the midst of injustices. We can see beyond the ache of unresolved abuses and serve those around us with a spirit of gentleness and love.

But lest we ignore all injustice in the world, this message of ultimate vindication gives us hope that all our efforts at resolving the injustices of others in this world will one day be fully realized. So we can serve the poor, help the needy and pray and serve those who suffer around us, trusting that our efforts are not in vain. For the just Judge will vindicate His Son, and in Christ all injustices will be made right.

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Clint Eastwood, like John Wayne, embodied the American icon. From the mysterious cowboys to the gun-toting Dirty Harry, many of his characters embodied traits that Americans readily identify: loners, anti-establishment, rebels, smart, pragmatic and intentional or unintentional redeemers of the downcast. In his recent, Gran Torino, Eastwood plays yet another loner, Walt Kowalski.

At the beginning of the film, his wife just died and he obviously has no relation with his children. Mr. Kowalski, as he prefers to be called, relates better to his dog than to other humans. He lives in a neighborhood that has gradually become home to a predominant minority Hmong population. His unflinching expletives and racial comments seem funny because they are so over the top, much like a Don Rickles performance.

Early in the film Kowalski gets caught up in a conflict with a gang that is harassing his neighbor. And in strange twist of events, this supposed racist becomes a savior for the Hmong family. Up to this point, Eastwood is playing the icon exactly according to the American mythic narrative.

We as a nation would just as soon keep to ourselves. We get in wars only when forced. We don’t want to be a part of some big global cooperative. We’d prefer to go it alone. And yet, we dream that we are really the world’s savior. Whether our mythic values are truly lived or not, Americans consistently reflect variations in our icons.

But then something odd happens. Kowalski is changed by the Hmong family. A Hmong shaman speaks the same words of wisdom that Kowalski’s priest has been trying to teach him. On multiple levels the family enters his life and begins to soften his heart and teach him how to life. Since he knows a lot more about dying.

Spoiler alert: As Walt softens, he can finally enter into relationship with other people including his priest. He is becoming more human. As he begins to live, he offers something Dirty Harry was incapable of offering. He loves. In his love, he is willing to die for the relationship, so that the Hmong family can really be helped instead of a temporary fix through an act of violence and vengeance.

In one act of sacrifice, Walt becomes father to the Hmong boy, judge to the gang, healer to the Hmong family and possibly even a prophet to his own family. Eastwood connects with the American icon but then challenges us to enter into relationship and to learn that sacrifice may open doors that power and violence cannot.

As I dream of what America could be, I am going to keep thinking about Walt Kowalski and the power of modeling the cross, laying down my life on behalf of those I love. And if I follow the rhythm of the gospel, this means loving my enemies as well as my friends.

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The psalmist cries out to the Lord,

“My soul clings to the dust; Revive me according to Your word.”

During Lent, the cry of the psalmist becomes the cry of God’s people. Like Adam we hear the resounding Word of God announcing, “For you are dust and to dust you will return” (Genesis 3:19Genesis 3:19
English: King James Version (1611) - KJV
19 In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.  

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Unlike the birds, we have flown beyond the horizon to the moon, and we may even fly to Mars. Unlike the fish we have learned how to live under the sea and upon the land. Unlike the ants, we’ve built buildings that stand and stand and stand and continue to stand. Unlike the apes, we’ve formed clans and towns and cites and nations.

While inspired by the world around us, humans continually discover new ways to rise above the natural order. Like gods, we create, we rule, we master, we thrive. In rain and drought, we survive. We work in darkness and light. When new obstacles cross our path, we learn ways to surmount the obstacles and even use the energy from our struggle to grow even stronger.

Diseases may threaten us but eventually, we find ways to overcome. Even while facing the dreaded cancer, diabetes, heart disease and AIDs, we don’t give up. In fact, we are discovering more and more solutions to fight and win the battle against these threats.

The accomplishments of humanity boggle the mind. We live in a time of such exploding innovation that no one can even keep up with all the new discoveries that surface day after day after day.

We are lords of creation, and yet, we are still nothing more than dust. In spite of our power, our creations, our glory, we are fading. Soon we will die. And soon we will be forgotten. Like the grass, we wither and fall and fade.

We are but dust and to dust we will return.

When God decided to image Himself, He created a world. From this world, He took the dust and breathed upon it, and “man became a living being.” In spite of our accomplishments, we have no life outside of the breath that sustains us each moment.

Take that breath away, and we falter and fade. Thus the psalmist prays, “My soul clings to dust.” And yet, even as he acknowledges his dustiness, he calls upon the Word of God to revive him. The psalmist knows that the Word of God breathes life into his dust, for the Word is forever settled in heaven (Psalm 119:89Psalm 119:89
English: King James Version (1611) - KJV
LAMED. ⁸⁹ For ever, O LORD, thy word is settled in heaven.  

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While we rejoice and celebrate the wonder of human accomplishments, let us not be intimidated by the appearance of human mastery. We are not of the universe after all. Our kingdoms fall. Our innovations fail. Our power fades. We are but dust.

As we journey through the Lenten wilderness, let us cling to the Word of the Lord. His breath sustains, his Word creates and re-creates us. And by His grace alone, we can feed upon the Word that will stand forever.

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