Nielsen’s Nook

Preface

A poem I jotted down today during a break between sessions on a staff retreat. I have been studying Deuteronomy for a sermon series I am preaching at an area church and was overwhelmed at the manifold ways in which my own heart breaks the first commandment to have no other gods before the LORD. I was amazed at oft quoted verses in 2 Chronicles, “If my people, who are called by my name, will turn to me … I will heal their land…”. The problem with preaching that as a call to repentance is that it glosses over the fact that Israel, the original audience, never turned to God and yet salvation from God is bigger than they imagined. Often God takes us into desert places not to punish us but to reveal more of himself to us. Then we become complacent because of the great blessing of his presence and the process starts over again. Ezekiel 8 teaches us that God is one who goes into exile with his people, into Babylon. While Babylon has historically been the symbol of apostasy, it is not so here. It is the desert place of discipline where God reveals himself to his people even in the context of great suffering. If that is where Jesus is, then that is where I want to be. I don’t want to be like those Ezekiel rebukes who remain smug at home in Jerusalem, failing to recognize that the Glory of the LORD had left the temple and gone into Babylon with His people whom He disciplined.

Thank you for silence
a most rare and precious jewel
that fills the room with angst and awe.
A subtle gray light growing hot white.

As it illumines, my heart falls faint,
lunging, longing that the bulb would fuse
and in the darkness still and noisy
might I, in my sin, bemuse
its hiddenness and stealth.

But oh God! would you drag me out to Babylon,
for I, your son, am want to turn.
Burst these bonds of religion-steel cast
that bind my heart in pious farce.

At least in Babylon, hands now free to embrace
you, my Lord - to yourself exile me.
My many gods crushed and hubris rent
from these hands that formed countless idols,
hewn from the quarries of Old Man bent
deep in deviance and divorce.

But you, O Lord! have renewed.
You have become my last and lasting word
that redefines and reforms - even suffering.

Oh that Babylon would be mine
if more of you would be had there.
In humiliation might I find the Humble One.

In suffering the dross is dropped.
In the desert place the God of Abraham
would in my heart and soul and mind
be finally unstopped.

O the deep, deep love of Jesus!
Vast, unmeasured, boundless, free;
Rolling as a mighty ocean in its fullness over me.
Underneath me, all around me, is the current of thy love;
leading onward, leading homeward, to thy glorious rest above.

O the deep, deep love of Jesus!
Spread his praise from shore to shore;
How he loveth, ever loveth, changeth never, nevermore;
How he watches o’re his loved ones, died to call them all his own;
How for them he intercedeth, watcheth o’er them from the throne.

O the deep, deep love of Jesus!
Love of ev’ry love the best: ’tis an ocean vast
Of blessing, ’tis a haven sweet of rest.
O the deep, deep love of Jesus! ‘Tis a heav’n of heav’ns to me;
And it lifts me up to glory, for it lifts me up to thee.

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My pastor, Skip Ryan, preached today on Luke 7:36-50. We closed with the above hymn. Dr. Ryan reminded me of the relationship that my view of sin has to my view of the Savior. If I would see Jesus in a fuller capacity, I must also be willing to take a sober look at my sinfulness in a fuller capacity. Christ has not come to save, nor does he work diligently to sanctify, the healthy but the sick, those in whom the very fabric of their souls lies tattered.This deep love of Jesus is certainly seen in the marvelous tapestry that he does and is in fact weaving from the tattered fabric that we call the Church. But what is more is that his love is not first seen in the finished product, but in his willingness to submerge himself deeply into my context, my life, even into my hidden cesspools. Not only has Christ come and met me at these very points, but he has bound himself to me at this very point of death, that in his death and resurrected life I might also participate. In this way the Christian’s old man is shed, like a snake sheds its old scales to put on newer better ones.Yes, it is true, my faithful pastor, that the Savior is undervalued when our sin is understated. I wonder if this is not because we have been all too willing to leave Christianity in the systematic and abstract, being fearful to remember that Christ has made himself known in the mess of the Historical, in the raucous of the concrete. O the deep, deep love of Jesus!

Luke 7:36-50 (ESV)
36 One of the Pharisees asked him to eat with him, and he went into the Pharisee’s house and took his place at the table. 37 And behold, a woman of the city, who was a sinner, when she learned that he was reclining at table in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster flask of ointment, 38 and standing behind him at his feet, weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears and wiped them with the hair of her head and kissed his feet and anointed them with the ointment. 39 Now when the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what sort of woman this is who is touching him, for she is a sinner.” 40 And Jesus answering said to him, “Simon, I have something to say to you.” And he answered, “Say it, Teacher.” 41 “A certain moneylender had two debtors. One owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. 42 When they could not pay, he cancelled the debt of both. Now which of them will love him more?” 43 Simon answered, “The one, I suppose, for whom he cancelled the larger debt.” And he said to him, “You have judged rightly.” 44 Then turning toward the woman he said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. 45 You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not ceased to kiss my feet. 46 You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. 47 Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven—for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little.” 48 And he said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.” 49 Then those who were at table with him began to say among themselves, “Who is this, who even forgives sins?” 50 And he said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

One of the dangers in trying to blog about things like suffering or sanctification (i.e., the process of a Christian becoming more and more like Christ) is that given the very limited space there is a temptation either on my part to give a pithy post or for you, the reader, to think you will find a simple answer about things that do not by their nature lend themselves to simple or pithy approaches.

My pastor, Skip Ryan, used the following illustration last week in our order of worship, which I found very helpful in grasping some of the pathos and psychology involved in growing up in Christ.

As we grow in Christ, we become aware of two things with respect to our discussion here. First, we grow in our awareness of the holiness of our Triune God, it is a holiness that is full of awe for us. At the same time, we become increasingly aware that we are distinctly not like God in this respect. In fact, some of the most mature Christians are those who are painfully aware of the great incongruity that exists between God and us.

The thing that often happens is that as we grow in our awareness of God’s holiness and our sinfulness, our knowledge of Christ and the salvation that he brings us in Himself somehow stays stagnant, a stale proposition caught between the cogs of rationality and logic. While rationality and logic and propositions are absolutely essential to Christianity, they are easily exhausted and surpassed when the subject matter is the Triune God and His saving works on behalf of His people. To put it another way, our apprehension of Christ does not grow proportionately with the awareness of God’s holiness and our sinfulness.

So why does the Cross remain locked away, increasingly just a proposition of the mind? Part of the answer to this question would seem to lie in the fact that Christ beacons us to come and die with Him and we avoid suffering with all that we are. In other words, Christ will have himself found in suffering. When we avoid it, we should not be surprised that we do not find Christ, and that the Cross – the pinnacle of suffering and glory – is reduced and diminished into the void of propositions.

“Christ died for the sins of the world”. That is not only a proposition, but a redemptive historical matter of fact. He who bled the ground red at Gethsemane anticipating the blood he would finally shed upon the Cross outside Jerusalem is redeeming and has redeemed even suffering. That does not mean that you should just quote a Bible verse when all Hell breaks loose in your life. It does mean that the God who created and is recreating the world is in the midst of that chaos. The God whose Spirit hovered over this world when it lie formless and void in chaos, that One spoke and life and order emerged.

That God, our Lord Jesus, speaks now into the formlessness and voids of our own lives with the full undeniable purpose of transforming and renewing us into the unblemished likeness of our Maker. He is able, even to give us hope in hopelessness, light when our eyes would seem as though they were gouged from our heads. He loves this world that much. May we move towards Him as His people in the chaos to find that He wields not a battle-axe but a scalpel towards us.