“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.
