12.12.2009

Justice Dries The Tears (Excerpt from "Blue Coupe Theologies")

Curiously, through all this has been the reminder, not solely of God’s love for His children, rather I find it as an exordium to the testament to the Justice of a holy God. As I can only imagine the deepest sort of pain that God Himself feels at us, His children’s departure, truer still is the faint cry of a justice that has yet to be fully satisfied. This truth has appeared to me in several different avenues.

The first being the incredible patience, coupled by the subsequent, righteous wrath of God. For it is solely by God’s great grace and patience we are not fully consumed where we sit. The fire that must burn just beneath the merciful exterior of a holy Being! The disgust that must be felt as such a tremor; at every abandonment, snub, turning away of His beloved. The sickness of a broken heart is on familiar, an in this I, we, may find some semblance of comfort. If it is not enough for the Father to be torn at the swaying of His children, the apex came to at the cross. In this is the most wonderful paradox! It is in the heat of a Father’s pain that said pain is pushed even further, taking the wretched form of sin placed upon the Father’s begotten Son. This is the doubling of torment in that the folly of the adopted are made miniscule in light of the cancerous sin that once coursed through the veins of a perfect Being. It is in this true hell into which Christ the Son descended; that being made to take in the fullness of our cursed ways, and to have the One in whom there is no darkness turn His eyes.

And while this ultimate picture of pain is configured as a fashion statement, beneath and beyond the wonder of Agape, is the knowledge of the impending justice that must come forth. This, for me, has been a life line. For as I cling to the truth of grace and love, I grasp towards the hope, nay, the surety, of the Just.

What a comfort to know that the very pain we feel, the pain that inflicted our Savior, will not go unanswered. Unfinished. For it is found in the final words of our dying Lord, “It is finished”. It is found in the action our resurrected Lord, who formerly had been laid with such a burden, found release as it trickled down a rough, wooden tree. It is this resurrection in which we glory, for it tells all. It speaks of the final life, the restoration of all that was once marred and stained. It cries out for all the downtrodden to take cheer; all will be set true.

And it is this point on which I reach the second avenue upon which my peace is placed. The Justice that awaits the pain. How glorious the day when all that is done against me is thrown aside? How beautiful the face of the One that knows, feels, sees, and comprehends the very struggle that so often besets His children? The day is coming where that which kills will be fully destroyed. This is so wonderful. This is truth.

The third and final avenue on which we must travel is, perhaps, the most incomprehensible. That being the moment where all is wiped away; all pain, destruction, tears.

On a personal note, I have clung so heavily upon this promise. For all the fears I have, the biggest is for the soul of my sweet Jersie. How much I fear the worst. I know the truth. She is a sinner, by nature and choice. So, I plead for the sovereign God to elect, to pursue, to regenerate, to give preached grace, to permit converting grace, to spur on sanctifying grace, to provide empowering grace, and to hold all the way until glorification.

I have marked upon my body my deepest prayer: “Our Father who art in heaven, let not my iniquity be passed but rather grace, not my judgment but rather mercy, not my scars but rather beauty, for the life of Jersie I pray. Amen”.

And this is where I must hold fast. I know my God desires to be with her. He longs, He cries out, He pursues. I also know that her eternal destiny is known. The crux is the knowledge of knowing she may grow and yet never know the beauty of a new life. This frightens me beyond words.

All I may say is the final point. Somehow, at some time, in some place, even if I find myself eternally separated from that which I love beyond all life, somehow…that wonderful, beautifully scarred hand of my Refuge and Strength will reach out. In the hands that crafted man, in the palms that were pierced, in the touch of He who swept the blood from His brow in the Garden, with the fingers that held many a hammer before being disfigured by nails, with the rough skin of one who is familiar with labor, yet gentle as one who caresses the face of the woman who anoints His feet, somehow…..He will yet reach to me. He will reach to me. Touching my eyes, causing them to dry. My Savior, my God will wipe the tears, and somehow…somehow, I will be ok. I will spend my days simply gazing into His face, walking with Him, listening with my whole being. And I know I will be ok.

I will look into the eyes of the creator of my daughter, and somehow, I know I will see her. For He loves her. And I love her. And I love Him….and I will be ok.

1 comment:

  1. Oh Brent, this is beyond words for me!! How I love you. How proud I am of you. Thank you for this encouragment. You are so very loved. Mom

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