It is Saturday morning. The wind is brisk and carries with it winters embrace. I am moving towards my first cup of coffee awaiting me on the counter and I catch sight of a friend and I move towards encounter. I am greeted with warmth and welcome, an invitation to fellowship. I have known this man for nearly twenty years, I know much of him. I know his song and his dance; it is an aria of Pentecostalism and salesmanship with a series of movements clad in tap shoes made of spiritual gifting’s. He is a loving man. He is a passionate man. And he is a prisoner.
One of millions of prisoners who wander creation in the institutional garb of self. He is not unique, or special in his affliction and blindness, he is just human. Broken and yearning for meaning that accommodates the failing vision in a world gone mad. As I sit and listen to his heart, the words fall like tears wrapped in self-definition and painted in scriptural citation and stained theology. I too walk in these failings, desperate to shake free from me with every passing second of the day. Lost in myself and my desires adorned in heavenly decoration; I too sing a lot like him. And as I listen to his beating heart, each beat becomes a mirror, each word casts a reflection, and I see myself, and I see us.
Lord Jesus have mercy on me.
My friend's words flow as a torrent, noble and turbulent, declaring faithfulness and purpose. Yet I strain to see His face, His wounds, His death, His resurrection, oh where is Christ in your hymn, our hymn, of self-declared purpose? My friend, my brother you speak of your gifts, your ideas, of apostolic and prophetic desires, you speak with jewels of scripture strung as radiant garland decorating the halls of your aspirations. Alas, where is He? Where is Jesus in how you have defined your mission? You adorn the air with majestic declarations on a soapbox made of insecurities and yet our Beloved is not in attendance. We are all guilty of being delusional beggars screaming our fears to the wind in a mania bound to our brokenness.
Lord Jesus have mercy on me.
My friend is not an evil person. He is not dim. No, my friend, just as you and I, loves our Father, our Jesus, and the Holy Spirit but we do so as crippled beggars. Why do we fail, with terrifying consistency, to allow our first Love no space in so much of who we are? Why do we resist or neglect the mercy of His leading? Our words betray us. I want. I feel. I am called. I know. I am. Oh Jesus. Oh Father. Oh Holy Spirit. I am sorry.
Lord Jesus have mercy on me.
Jesus calls us to listen, as He has since time began, show us, show me what The Way truly means not by my understandings, but Yours. I want to see my reflection in Your heartbeat and my face in Your words. Heal me. Lift my words beyond me and set You first in my song and my dance. Let me, let us join with Mother Mary in praise crying forth My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has been mindful of the humble state of His servant. Help us pour ourselves out for Your glory. Make my words, our words, Your words, oh beautiful and gracious Logos.
Lord Jesus have mercy on me.
Comments