Windows

I've been trying to write a new post for some time now...not so much because I think it will benefit anyone else but because there have been so many things lately which I've read and thought about and encountered in conversations and seen which took my breath away and challenged me and grieved me and exhilarated my spirit. So many things, in fact, that I haven't known which one to write about or how they connect yet or whether they connect at all beyond their unified pointing to Christ in one way or another. So I've decided that to avoid losing sight of them all together, I'm just going to write some of them down in bits and pieces...individual windows, as it were, out and up into everlasting beauty and the glory of God...but passing by and out of sight too quickly for careful examination. Like colorful advertisements under dim lights in a subway tunnel at night...only a picture of the real thing and only visible for a second, but treasured up in the heart for the real image they bear.

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1) A passage from The Man who was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton

“Have you noticed an odd thing,” he said, “about all your descriptions? Each man of you finds Sunday quite different, yet each man of you can only find one thing to compare him to—the universe itself. Bull finds him like the earth in spring, Gogol like the sun at noonday. The Secretary is reminded of the shapeless protoplasm, and the Inspector of the carelessness of virgin forests. The Professor says he is like a changing landscape. This is queer, but it is queerer still that I also have had my odd notion about the President, and I also find that I think of Sunday as I think of the whole world.”

“Get on a little faster, Syme,” said Bull; “never mind the balloon.”

“When I first saw Sunday,” said Syme slowly, “I only saw his back; and when I saw his back, I knew he was the worst man in the world. His neck and shoulders were brutal, like those of some apish god. His head had a stoop that was hardly human, like the stoop of an ox. In fact, I had at once the revolting fancy that this was not a man at all, but a beast dressed up in men’s clothes.”

“Get on,” said Dr. Bull.

“And then the queer thing happened. I had seen his back from the street, as he sat in the balcony. Then I entered the hotel, and coming round the other side of him, saw his face in the sunlight. His face frightened me, as it did everyone; but not because it was brutal, not because it was evil. On the contrary, it frightened me because it was so beautiful, because it was so good.”

“Syme,” exclaimed the Secretary, “are you ill?”

“It was like the face of some ancient archangel, judging justly after heroic wars. There was laughter in the eyes, and in the mouth honour and sorrow. There was the same white hair, the same great, grey-clad shoulders that I had seen from behind. But when I saw him from behind I was certain he was an animal, and when I saw him in front I knew he was a god.”

“Pan,” said the Professor dreamily, “was a god and an animal.”

“Then, and again and always,” went on Syme like a man talking to himself, “that has been for me the mystery of Sunday, and it is also the mystery of the world. When I see the horrible back, I am sure the noble face is but a mask. When I see the face but for an instant, I know the back is only a jest. Bad is so bad, that we cannot but think good an accident; good is so good, that we feel certain that evil could be explained. But the whole came to a kind of crest yesterday when I raced Sunday for the cab, and was just behind him all the way.”

“Had you time for thinking then?” asked Ratcliffe.

“Time,” replied Syme, “for one outrageous thought. I was suddenly possessed with the idea that the blind, blank back of his head really was his face—an awful, eyeless face staring at me! And I fancied that the figure running in front of me was really a figure running backwards, and dancing as he ran.”

“Listen to me,” cried Syme with extraordinary emphasis. “Shall I tell you the secret of the whole world? It is that we have only known the back of the world. We see everything from behind, and it looks brutal. That is not a tree, but the back of a tree. That is not a cloud, but the back of a cloud. Cannot you see that everything is stooping and hiding a face? If we could only get round in front—”

2) Another passage from The Man who was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton

There was complete silence in the starlit garden, and then the black-browed Secretary, implacable, turned in his chair towards Sunday, and said in a harsh voice—

“Who and what are you?”

“I am the Sabbath,” said the other without moving. “I am the peace of God.”

The Secretary started up, and stood crushing his costly robe in his hand.

“I know what you mean,” he cried, “and it is exactly that that I cannot forgive you. I know you are contentment, optimism, what do they call the thing, an ultimate reconciliation. Well, I am not reconciled. If you were the man in the dark room, why were you also Sunday, an offense to the sunlight? If you were from the first our father and our friend, why were you also our greatest enemy? We wept, we fled in terror; the iron entered into our souls—and you are the peace of God! Oh, I can forgive God His anger, though it destroyed nations; but I cannot forgive Him His peace.”

Sunday answered not a word, but very slowly he turned his face of stone upon Syme as if asking a question.

“No,” said Syme, “I do not feel fierce like that. I am grateful to you, not only for wine and hospitality here, but for many a fine scamper and free fight. But I should like to know. My soul and heart are as happy and quiet here as this old garden, but my reason is still crying out. I should like to know.”

Sunday looked at Ratcliffe, whose clear voice said—

“It seems so silly that you should have been on both sides and fought yourself.”

Bull said—

“I understand nothing, but I am happy. In fact, I am going to sleep.”

“I am not happy,” said the Professor with his head in his hands, “because I do not understand. You let me stray a little too near to hell.”

And then Gogol said, with the absolute simplicity of a child—

“I wish I knew why I was hurt so much.”

Still Sunday said nothing, but only sat with his mighty chin upon his hand, and gazed at the distance. Then at last he said—

“I have heard your complaints in order. And here, I think, comes another to complain, and we will hear him also.”

The falling fire in the great cresset threw a last long gleam, like a bar of burning gold, across the dim grass. Against this fiery band was outlined in utter black the advancing legs of a black-clad figure. He seemed to have a fine close suit with knee-breeches such as that which was worn by the servants of the house, only that it was not blue, but of this absolute sable. He had, like the servants, a kind of sword by his side. It was only when he had come quite close to the crescent of the seven and flung up his face to look at them, that Syme saw, with thunder-struck clearness, that the face was the broad, almost ape-like face of his old friend Gregory, with its rank red hair and its insulting smile.

“Gregory!” gasped Syme, half-rising from his seat. “Why, this is the real anarchist!”

“Yes,” said Gregory, with a great and dangerous restraint, “I am the real anarchist.”

“‘Now there was a day,’” murmured Bull, who seemed really to have fallen asleep, “‘when the sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan came also among them.’”

“You are right,” said Gregory, and gazed all round. “I am a destroyer. I would destroy the world if I could.”

A sense of a pathos far under the earth stirred up in Syme, and he spoke brokenly and without sequence.

“Oh, most unhappy man,” he cried, “try to be happy! You have red hair like your sister.”

“My red hair, like red flames, shall burn up the world,” said Gregory. “I thought I hated everything more than common men can hate anything; but I find that I do not hate everything so much as I hate you!”

“I never hated you,” said Syme very sadly.

Then out of this unintelligible creature the last thunders broke.

“You!” he cried. “You never hated because you never lived. I know what you are all of you, from first to last—you are the people in power! You are the police—the great fat, smiling men in blue and buttons! You are the Law, and you have never been broken. But is there a free soul alive that does not long to break you, only because you have never been broken? We in revolt talk all kind of nonsense doubtless about this crime or that crime of the Government. It is all folly! The only crime of the Government is that it governs. The unpardonable sin of the supreme power is that it is supreme. I do not curse you for being cruel. I do not curse you (though I might) for being kind. I curse you for being safe! You sit in your chairs of stone, and have never come down from them. You are the seven angels of heaven, and you have had no troubles. Oh, I could forgive you everything, you that rule all mankind, if I could feel for once that you had suffered for one hour a real agony such as I—”

Syme sprang to his feet, shaking from head to foot.

“I see everything,” he cried, “everything that there is. Why does each thing on the earth war against each other thing? Why does each small thing in the world have to fight against the world itself? Why does a fly have to fight the whole universe? Why does a dandelion have to fight the whole universe? For the same reason that I had to be alone in the dreadful Council of the Days. So that each thing that obeys law may have the glory and isolation of the anarchist. So that each man fighting for order may be as brave and good a man as the dynamiter. So that the real lie of Satan may be flung back in the face of this blasphemer, so that by tears and torture we may earn the right to say to this man, ‘You lie!’ No agonies can be too great to buy the right to say to this accuser, ‘We also have suffered.’ 

“It is not true that we have never been broken. We have been broken upon the wheel. It is not true that we have never descended from these thrones. We have descended into hell. We were complaining of unforgettable miseries even at the very moment when this man entered insolently to accuse us of happiness. I repel the slander; we have not been happy. I can answer for every one of the great guards of Law whom he has accused. At least—”

He had turned his eyes so as to see suddenly the great face of Sunday, which wore a strange smile.

“Have you,” he cried in a dreadful voice, “have you ever suffered?”

As he gazed, the great face grew to an awful size, grew larger than the colossal mask of Memnon, which had made him scream as a child. It grew larger and larger, filling the whole sky; then everything went black. Only in the blackness before it entirely destroyed his brain he seemed to hear a distant voice saying a commonplace text that he had heard somewhere, “Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of?”

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3) In Silent Pain the Eternal Son

As I searched for the music to accompany the Tenebrae Readings at Westminster, I ran across this hymn and have found myself returning to it again and again these last days.

In silent pain the eternal Son

hangs derelict and still;

in darkened day his work is done,

fulfilled, his Father's will.

Uplifted for the world to see

he hangs in strangest victory,

for in his body on the tree

he carries all our ill.

He died that we might die to sin

and live for righteousness;

the earth is stained, to make us clean

and bring us into peace.

For peace he came, and met its cost;

he gave himself to save the lost;

he loved us to the uttermost

and paid for our release.

For strife he came, to bring a sword,

the truth to end all lies;

to rule in us, our patient Lord,

until all evil dies:

for in his hand he holds the stars,

his voice shall speak to end our wars,

and those who love him see his scars

and look into his eyes.

4) "Taste and See" Class

A new set of Sunday school classes have begun at Westminster and I got to join one with the title above in which we eat delicious food together every week and then explore a robust theology of food. One of the texts often referenced in the class is a book I have long wanted to read and finally just ordered a copy of this week. Every line induces delight and a deep "Amen." I highly recommend 

The Supper of the Lamb: A Culinary Reflection by Robert Farrar Capon. 

 Here are just three of many quotes to come from this book. 

“Why do we marry, why take friends and lovers? Why give ourselves to music, painting, chemistry or cooking? Out of simple delight in the resident goodness of creation, of course; but out of more than that, too. Half earth's gorgeousness lies hidden in the glimpsed city it longs to become.” 

“Every real thing is a joy, if only you have eyes and ears to relish it, a nose and tongue to taste it.” 

“Only miracle is plain; it is the ordinary that groans with the weight of glory.” 

5) Psalm 5:11

But let all who take refuge in you rejoice;

let them ever sing for joy

and spread your protection over them,

that those who love your name may 

exult in you. 

6) An exchange of garments

As part of the new BSF (Bible Study Fellowship) class that I've been going to, we were asked the significance of the Jesus being stripped of his clothing on the cross. We were to consider whether there was perhaps any symbolism to be observed and what difference it made in our lives. At the time I read the question, I didn't think much of it...it seemed a bit obvious and scribbled out an answer in a hurried fashion and moved on to the next question. But as I discussed this question with Josh later that day, I was struck with the startling mercy of that scene as he described his pondering on that question.

He - the Holy One - was stripped of his garments and clothed in ours - the filthy rags of sin.

He - the Holy One - stripped us of our garments and put them on himself. These unseen rags were tunics of Unabashed Lust, Arrogance and Self sufficiency. They were cloaks of Self-intoxicated Anger, Bitterness and Laziness. 

And in place of those garments he clothed us in His own robes of Righteousness, Sonship and Glory. 

"I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one - I in them and you in me - so that they may be brought to complete unity. Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you loved me." 

Of course the analogy is far from complete in its description of what was accomplished at the cross. But the snapshot it does capture is enough to render one speechless with the unmerited grace and astounding love of the Triune God. 

7) "It is Finished"

After BSF, Josh and I were talking about Jesus cry, "It is Finished" just before He died. Josh said something to the effect that it struck him in his study this week that we must participate in that cry as part of the transaction. Jesus declaration was in regard to the complete satisfaction of divine wrath...a marvel worth many pages. But for the transaction to be complete we must also renounce our sin: all the pride, all the clinging to ideas over Christ, all the selfish ambition, all the lust, all the friendships which sap our communion with Christ, all the wasting of time on pursuits that dull our appetites for truth and beauty and the glory of God. All these Jesus paid for in infinite pangs of agony. 

Can we look on them with any less finality of separation than Christ? When any shadow of compromise begins to steal over our motives or habits we must deal decisive, practical, active blows and cry out in faith "It is finished!" Christ paid the penalty for that sin and bore in his body and soul the full weight of divine wrath so that I could experience undivided communion with the Triune God.  Will I leave any tiny door open to those shadows which lead to death? 

Or will I live out "It is finished" and walk in the Light of Christ? 

"The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." 

8) Love Lusters at Calvary 

Before yesterday's Maundy Thursday service, Josh Mullins (our Worship Pastor) read one of my favorite puritan prayers from The Valley of Vision. I've come back to it in thought again and again since then and find myself praying it again now as the last moments of Good Friday slip away. 

MY FATHER,

Enlarge my heart, warm my affections,
    open my lips,
supply words that proclaim ‘Love lusters

at Calvary.’

There grace removes my burdens and heaps them

    on thy Son,

  made a transgressor, a curse, and sin for me;

There the sword of thy justice smote the man,

    thy fellow;

There thy infinite attributes were magnified,

  and infinite atonement was made;

There infinite punishment was due,

  and infinite punishment was endured.

Christ was all anguish that I might be all joy,

  cast off that I might be brought in,

  trodden down as an enemy

    that I might be welcomed as a friend,

  surrendered to hell’s worst

    that I might attain heaven’s best,

  stripped that I might be clothed,

  wounded that I might be healed,

  athirst that I might drink,

  tormented that I might be comforted,

  made a shame that I might inherit glory,

  entered darkness that I might have eternal light.

My Saviour wept that all tears might be wiped

    from my eyes,

  groaned that I might have endless song,

  endured all pain that I might have unfading health,

  bore a thorny crown that I might have

    a glory-diadem,

  bowed his head that I might uplift mine,

  experienced reproach that I might receive

    welcome,

  closed his eyes in death that I might gaze

    on unclouded brightness,

  expired that I might for ever live.

O Father, who spared not thine only Son that thou

    mightest spare me,

All this transfer thy love designed and

    accomplished;

Help me to adore thee by lips and life.

O that my every breath might be ecstatic praise,

  my every step buoyant with delight, as I see my

    enemies crushed,

  Satan baffled, defeated, destroyed,

  sin buried in the ocean of reconciling blood,

  hell’s gates closed, heaven’s portal open.

Go forth, O conquering God, and show me

  the cross, mighty to subdue, comfort and save.

9) Stay with Me

This entire album of Taize music has been an incredible blessing to me during this Lent season. The words are so powerful, the harmonies are rich and poignant and the repetition lets the truth and depth of each text sink deep into the soul. This song is the one I find echoing again and again in my heart tonight as I head off to sleep. Our Lord calling us to watch and pray as he steps obediently into the unspeakably agony to which his Father has led him. This scene has been much on my mind these last weeks. Jesus prayer of Luke 22 and John 17 molded themselves into text and melody in my mind which became the closing piece  (Like Drops of Blood)  for our Tenebrae services this year. The simple chorus is the cry of Christ in the garden as he began to bear the infinite intensity of emotional suffering that was itself part of the cross born for us. He could see in his divine wisdom the wrenching separation that was to come. He knew the weight of what he was to bear for us. And yet his obedience to the Father and his unfathomable love for us - for me - was stronger than the unspeakable grief and fear his incarnate body was being crushed beneath that night.

O Lord...must I drink this cup?
O Lord...must I drink this cup?
Oh Father, Abba Father!
Oh Father, Father, Father!
Oh Father -
Not my will...
but Thine...
Be done.