Gloria in Profundis

There has fallen on earth for a token
A god too great for the sky.
He has burst out of all things and broken
The bounds of eternity:
Into time and the terminal land
He has strayed like a thief or a lover,
For the wine of the world brims over,
Its splendour is split on the sand.

Who is proud when the heavens are humble,
Who mounts if the mountains fall,
If the fixed stars topple and tumble
And a deluge of love drowns all-
Who rears up his head for a crown,
Who holds up his will for a warrant,
Who strives with the starry torrent,
When all that is good goes down?

For in dread of such falling and failing
The fallen angels fell
Inverted in insolence, scaling
The hanging mountain of hell:
But unmeasured of plummet and rod
Too deep for their sight to scan,
Outrushing the fall of man
Is the height of the fall of God.

Glory to God in the Lowest
The spout of the stars in spate-
Where thunderbolt thinks to be slowest
And the lightning fears to be late:
As men dive for sunken gem
Pursuing, we hunt and hound it,
The fallen star has found it
In the cavern of Bethlehem.

-"Gloria in Profundis" by G. K. Chesterton 

This is one of the most hauntingly beautiful poems I've read--the perfect advent poem.

The Mystery of the Gospel

11 Therefore remember that at one time you Gentiles in the flesh, called “the uncircumcision” by what is called the circumcision, which is made in the flesh by hands— 12 remember that you were at that time separated from Christ, alienated from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers to the covenants of promise,having no hope and without God in the world. 13 But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. 14 For he himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility 15 by abolishing the law of commandments expressed inordinances, that he might create in himself one new man in place of the two, so making peace, 16 and might reconcile us both to God in one body through the cross, thereby killing the hostility. 17 And he came and preached peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near. 18 For through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father. 19 So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, 20 built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, 21 in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord. 22 In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit.

-Ephesians 2:11-22

Waiting in the "not yet" - Healing

The "already but not yet."
Facing the "hasn't been."

Instead of simplistically dichotomizing things as black or white, the Lord's allowing me to see the gray. And as things start revealing themselves more in a spectrum of grays, I see that I can hold different truths--one does not threaten the other. I notice this in various aspects of my life, and they all seem to point back to the biggest parallel: the Cross and Resurrection of Jesus.

There is the joy and triumph of the resurrection, but there's also the weighty theology of the cross--the waiting, the mourning, the silence.

Especially in this day and age where tragedy is far too commonplace, we are called to a paradoxical posture of fully mourning without dismissing hope. To hold both the cross and the resurrection just like Jesus did when he wept upon hearing that Lazarus passed, even though he knew full well that Lazarus would rise again.

There is an appropriate time and posture for everything. Holding this, I ask: Lord, what do I do in my questioning about healing?

I see the truth that healing in the name of Jesus is both biblical and possible. He's given us the authority, and we can place our faith in a God who is able and mighty. But I also see the truth that we are in the "not yet"--that the healing doesn't always happen in the "now," and my concept of time is far more limited than God's. In His timeline, healing and redemption of our bodies always comes. Always.

Maybe not now. Maybe not in this lifetime.

But there must be some intrinsic value in the waiting and longing, where true intimacy is often formed and the hidden parts of one's heart are unveiled and made vulnerable. Enough value where there's no need to paint things over with simple platitudes or parrot the phrase: just have faith.

Maybe it's not just "faith" that we need, but simply being present in the waiting. And though waiting and mourning are temporary, He calls us to mourn with the hurting because it is part of the inbreaking of glory. In the waiting, we are becoming who we are--fuller and more defined as He's crafted us.

It will always take the power of Jesus to bridge our already but not yets.
The present parallels that are set before us, both simple and complex.

Lord, help me walk with thee. 
Help me to be fully aware of the now
but never forget my Home. 

Waiting in the "not yet"

"To approach the cross with too much faith, to stand in its shadow with certain confidence of Easter light, is finally to confront no cross at all, only the unrepentant echoes of our religious noise. Amid the creation which groans for redemption, the church must stand as if before Easter: open to its inbreaking, but unassuming of its prerogative. There, in the community of victims and witnesses, the faithful silently wait together for the Kingdom of God." 

-Karl Plank, Mother of the Wire Fence: Inside and Outside the Holocaust

A Beautiful Paradox

“There is a huge and heroic sanity of which moderns can only collect the fragments. There is a giant of whom we see only the lopped arms and legs walking about. They have torn the soul of Christ into silly strips, labelled egoism and altruism, and they are equally puzzled by His insane magnificence and His insane meekness. They have parted His garments among them, and for His vesture they have cast lots; though the coat was without seam woven from the top throughout.”

- G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

Insane magnificence. Insane meekness. 

More and more, I am in greater awe of the mystery of Christ. The many teachings and characteristics of Christ and the kingdom appear to be a complete paradox: 

• the meek shall inherit the earth
• the last shall be first
• Jesus, the King, is gentle and lowly at heart
• unless you turn and become like children you will never enter the kingdom of heaven

I often struggle with understanding how such truths play out in the human experience- specifically, my own. How can there be glory in suffering? How can there be healing in the painful areas of life where Christ seems so far removed? How does knowledge transform into wisdom embedded deep within? 

How can Christ bridge this chasm? 

Because I couldn't make sense of this disconnect in my own life, I only brought to light the areas of my life that I thought were worth revealing. Perhaps a little dusty, perhaps a little bruised- but they were still the "better" parts of me. It just made sense this way. This, however, was not sufficient to truly start experiencing the transformative work of the gospel. 

Slowly but surely, the Lord began to kindly, yet boldly invade the hidden places of my soul that I had blocked off- the parts where Christ was not in the narrative, and I hadn't let the gospel touch. I thought, how can I bear to look at my own brokenness with nothing but utter hopelessness? It seemed far better and safer to keep them hidden and steer clear of any ounce of vulnerability. 

Yet in the process of allowing my brokenness to be met with the Lord's grace, I began to taste sweet freedom. To the parts of me that proclaimed "I am unlovable," the Lord covered with the truth that God, who is defined as love and is the author and finisher of our faith, has indeed created me with love. And He used people around me to preach that truth to me- you are loved. Even when you feel you have no love to give, you are loved. Even when you feel weak, you are loved. The scriptural truth, "we loved because He first loved us" (1 John 4:19) became so tangible in my weakness. 

Ah, the Lord is bridging the chasm. He is doing the sanctifying work of the Spirit, and I am partaking in it. 

As this work continues, I'm discovering more parts of myself that have yet to see the Light. Many of these parts are hidden memories that stir up both melancholy and uncomfortable familiarity when I revisit them. But now, I'm starting to recognize something: the fact that He isn't there. He isn't in this memory. And from this realization, I invite Jesus into that place in order to reconcile it with the reality of the ever-present God. 

In such ways, the transformative work of the gospel seems to be based on gradual growth starting with a renewing of the mind and inviting God into the dialogue, even if it may be of doubt and fear. It is slow and oftentimes painful because I see no end to it. However, in this process, my trust in the Father grows. My faith in the God who claims that darkness is as light to Him increases. My reality shifts from what I may naturally see and comprehend to the reality of Christ. And I can begin to confidently sing: Yes, Lord. Even here, Your hand leads me. 

Hallelujah.