"And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth; we have beheld his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father." (John 1:14)
We are made of clay. I think that it is why Jesus taught us stories with real objects. If you know the greater story at all, you will know it is why He incarnated Himself into this drama. In other words, Jesus is not an abstraction.
But how can I see, smell, or touch His glory?
Periodically, after a summer storm, a bow of banded colors spreads like unfurled valor across the neighboring field, with a 3-D promise - Rainbow! (Oh, how I hope when it does that you go running for a loved one, to say, "Hey, Look! It's a rainbow! Wow." Or, at least, pause in reverent awe.) Or, have we noticed the scent of honeysuckle that hangs heavily on the drops of humidity. Or cedar breath, or pine, along the shoreline? Or have we heard waves thundering wildly, only to watch them rush like a teeming tease, purring and prancing now like kittens at our toes, tickling and licking. Or, have we known the touch of a gentle hand on a sore or weary spot.
Do we see the glory? Do we participate with it, or are we stones, immovable, unfeeling? (If we are without feeling, without freedom to move near, to rise up and to grasp hold of the glory of God in even small ways -- like the child too small to reach the top of the gate to peer beyond at the stamping stallion -- please do not despair. It all is an act of grace, to behold. I think that it begins with becoming still, and turning our faces toward God who thought of you (and me) in the first place. And in turning toward Him, in recognizing dependence, the capacity to live fully gets restored (renewed). Read the Scriptures, the theme of such is written throughout them.)
To touch upon this idea a bit more, the idea of idea incarnated, specifically, of God's glory in minute measure, and even more particularly, I am reminded of love.
I find it particularly easy to make an abstraction out of love, but particularly difficult to scrub the toilet. Yet Jesus was brave. Yes, Jesus was unflinchingly brave. He bled on two crossed beams. He hung there for hours in humility. There the abstraction ends. But, can I hear, and grab hold of His words, "Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest"? Luke 11:28
This, my friends, is no abstraction either - the touch of the Savior's hand on a sore and weary spot, no matter how deep it goes. No matter.
We are made of clay. I think that it is why Jesus taught us stories with real objects. If you know the greater story at all, you will know it is why He incarnated Himself into this drama. In other words, Jesus is not an abstraction.
But how can I see, smell, or touch His glory?
Periodically, after a summer storm, a bow of banded colors spreads like unfurled valor across the neighboring field, with a 3-D promise - Rainbow! (Oh, how I hope when it does that you go running for a loved one, to say, "Hey, Look! It's a rainbow! Wow." Or, at least, pause in reverent awe.) Or, have we noticed the scent of honeysuckle that hangs heavily on the drops of humidity. Or cedar breath, or pine, along the shoreline? Or have we heard waves thundering wildly, only to watch them rush like a teeming tease, purring and prancing now like kittens at our toes, tickling and licking. Or, have we known the touch of a gentle hand on a sore or weary spot.
Do we see the glory? Do we participate with it, or are we stones, immovable, unfeeling? (If we are without feeling, without freedom to move near, to rise up and to grasp hold of the glory of God in even small ways -- like the child too small to reach the top of the gate to peer beyond at the stamping stallion -- please do not despair. It all is an act of grace, to behold. I think that it begins with becoming still, and turning our faces toward God who thought of you (and me) in the first place. And in turning toward Him, in recognizing dependence, the capacity to live fully gets restored (renewed). Read the Scriptures, the theme of such is written throughout them.)
To touch upon this idea a bit more, the idea of idea incarnated, specifically, of God's glory in minute measure, and even more particularly, I am reminded of love.
I find it particularly easy to make an abstraction out of love, but particularly difficult to scrub the toilet. Yet Jesus was brave. Yes, Jesus was unflinchingly brave. He bled on two crossed beams. He hung there for hours in humility. There the abstraction ends. But, can I hear, and grab hold of His words, "Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest"? Luke 11:28
This, my friends, is no abstraction either - the touch of the Savior's hand on a sore and weary spot, no matter how deep it goes. No matter.
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