Cylinders

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The two were there on the subway bench—just like countless others who had sat in their place before. Yet, they were different. They carried awestruck joy in their disposition as a private moment was shared in a very public place. A roll of paper emerged from her bag, possessing five black and white images in a sequence, all a little blurry while still identifiable as to what they were. He took her hand and traced her fingernails, one by one, as they traded glances between each other and these images self-evident of the new life that is to come. It was all optimism, all wonder, all joy, all pure hope on display. As they descended the subway car, he took her carefully with his arm on her back, guarding her with his life—the one who carries the shared life they will be bringing forth in months’ time.

...


As the morning’s steps are traced once again, the path of ten minutes by, there are innocent babes bundled up and ported on wheels. Slightly older young blokes and misses propel themselves to their destination with a push off one foot and a gliding platform holding the other, all with their watchful caretaker following closely behind. There is one in particular—dare I call her self’s favorite—that tries to defy her previous high of reached speed every morning. She hurls down the sidewalk, leaving her mother exasperatingly far behind her, but her mother seems to bear consolation in that her little one is fearless. Still, there are others more cautious, like the little lad who needed his mother to hold his hand down every step in the passage to the subway, all while bearing a Toy Story helmet with Buzz Lightyear on it—presumably one of his favorite idols of whom he wishes he could be like, but is not there yet. By those charged with care, there is such patience on display even if a straining reach is what achieves it.

...

Almost everyday, his hope seems to parallel that which is in the crate set upon the corner bearing his possessions…tattered, scattered, bearing little substance beyond the scraps of the meal begged for the day before and the cardboard sign on which his life is laid bare with just a few words. Some days, he stands, hunched over in the path of those who pass through, hoping that he will be noticed and seen. Other days, there is resignation to simply sit and be ignored. Is he not too a son? Or maybe even a father? With an aching heart, this self wonders if there are others who see him, and most of the days, the heart continues to ache. Yet then, that one morning as self’s steps led up to his corner, a man of dignity in the world’s eyes met the one without for a moment and gave an offering to provide for his needs, all while the eyes locked and a shake of hands was shared. Strikingly evident, this man of dignity in the world was also one of dignity of heart.

...

A pane of glass set in brick and mortar tucked away in the intimacy of self’s street—today the shades descended, revealing three generations behind. A dinner table up to the window ledge, set with the bodies of young boys eagerly peering with wondrous eyes at the sights passing ever by. A mother and grandmother observed and watched while conversing themselves, only to detract the boys’ attention for a moment in order that all could burst forth with a peal of laughter, one that comes from the gut and a lightness of heart. A simplicity in youth, wisdom, and old age, all intertwined for those few moments that remind us that we are not so far apart as we think we are.

...

For once, the heavy sights recede a while…for now, there are no crashing waves of a slap across a child’s face, a cursing mouth of a parent, an ignored cry of plea by a helpless one, a continued neglect of the displaced—known one made invisible—on the same corner everyday. For today, the bubbles of isolation make contact with another, causing them to shatter and be now exposed. To this, we remember…we all rise and fall together; we are gathered mist that will return again to its own ring, only to be set forth once again to become cylindrical and rise with a blow of air.

Measured Recklessness

Statue at Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, 2011 ©EG

You are stronger and more fragile than you ever mean to be.

In a given moment, you may be blissfully aware of your strengths, painfully aware of your weaknesses, or ignorant to one or the other or even both.

So often you live your life as your own. It is easy to do this when triumphs, blessings, and growth roll your way. Invigorating. Exciting. Blissful.

Yet, in the next moment, it all can change—circumstances conspire that creep up slowly or fall heavily as if the weight of the world were suddenly dropped. It is then you remember there are so many things out of your control. Change. Sickness. Loss. Death. Visible signs that this world is not yet fully redeemed. And then, it creates times when you wonder if it ever will be. Painful. Humbling. Sobering. And there are other times when it's incredibly convicting that you are not who you wish to be. Despite all your best actions and intentions, still you fail, still you fall short, time and time again. You are left wallowing, discouraged.

And you wonder, does anyone know?

Does anyone know exactly what you feel, what you are going through, what you are thinking? You have those moments of encouragement, when it seems someone is able to empathize, right? But the other times in between seem to be filled with words being spoken to you, noise in the situation in which you find yourself in…

Empty words.
Idle words.
Repetitive words.
Trite words.
Hurtful words.
Or a complete lack of words.

It sometimes seems to drive the point further home that you might have to try to figure this out alone. Yet, alone? Relief and dread come instantaneously. If then, there is no one, then there must be someone? At least One who knows, who hears, who understands, in a sea full of others who don't.

But where can He be found?

...

I look around...no one yet. I wander to find...nothing yet.

I listen to hear...hear...and I hear...

"Incline your ear, and come to me;
hear, that your soul may live;
and I will make with you an everlasting covenant..."

That my soul shall live? An everlasting covenant, made with me? By whom?

"Oh, seek me, I the Lord, while I may be found;
call upon me while you are near;
Forsake your wicked ways and unrighteous thoughts. 
Return to me, and I will have compassion on you,
and I will abundantly pardon." 

There is One near, full of compassion and forgiveness? Oh, the thought of this...I am moved to consider...

"My thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways.
As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts."

“For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven
and do not return there but water the earth,
making it bring forth and sprout,
giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,
so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;
it shall not return to me empty,
but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,
and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.


Do you believe that I sent this word for you?


I desire you to know Me, to believe that I wish you go out in my joy
and be led forth in my peace.

That when it seems that no one knows or understands, you can trust that I do. 

That when it seems the load is too heavy and the burden too great, I can carry it.

That when it seems you are a lost face in the crowd, you see that I see you. 

That in the times of despair and loneliness, I will cradle you.

That in the times You are wrong and fall short, I will give you discipline, yet with grace.

That in the times of great trial and strife, I will stand with you and fight for you.

That in the times of your joy of greatest measure, I will rejoice with you.

I know your heart, my dear one. I know you, and I will always hold you. 



So how then, shall you live?

Trust Me recklessly. 

Excerpts from Isaiah 55 throughout

Abide

At our church in NYC, we are going through the signs of Jesus in the Gospel of John. This week, we are going through the miracle of Lazarus being raised from the dead. In our community group, we were asked this question: "Martha has two interactions with Jesus where Jesus asks specifically if she believes Him to be the Christ not only as Savior for eternity, but for the here and now. Have there been times when circumstances have prevented you from believing in Christ for the here and now?" Some thoughts and reflections have come in the days since.

Living for the here and now asks us to reside in uncertainty of circumstances while abiding in the certainty of Jesus Christ.

We try to hold the realities of uncertainty at an arm’s length. We avoid the questions that ask us for answers we do not have. We avoid placing ourselves in situations where we do not know what to do. Simply put—we avoid situations where we do not feel we have a firm sense of control. This may work to an extent, but in full measure, it always fails.

For who here, on this earth, knows all there is and is to come? For who here never resides in a moment of uncertainty? There is no one—except the One who walked this earth long ago, fully God and fully man, and through His resurrection, we know He lives on and He knows.

This brings the necessity of abiding in the certainty of Christ. As surely as the resurrection happened and reminds us that Jesus lives on through the promise of the Holy Spirit, so we must choose to abide in the certainty only a choice of faith can bring.

Yet, there is a tension in residing and abiding. We are asked to embrace an uncertainty visible to us while placing our faith in a certainty that is not visible in the same way. And, it further asks us to embrace change in our circumstances that may never be forseen with our own eyes, and with it, to trust that God is sovereign and good with or despite it. We do not know His thoughts, His plans, and His ways. But, we can trust in what He has chosen to declare and make known, and walk with Him daily on the path where He may give further revelation in time.

Through Him is the path to righteousness. Through Him is abundant grace. Through Him is the promise of new life, not just upon the death of our earthly bodies or upon His second coming, but in the here and now.

The other day I went to an art exhibit that displayed Eastern Mediterranean relics from during the transition to Christianity in the 3rd to 7th century AD. There were many beautiful and incredible pieces…from large mosaics, ivory carvings, full head sculptures, coinage, and more. Yet there was a piece that stood out to me more than any other, as I walked by it.

An altar.

An altar from a 3rd century church, where the Eucharist was given upon. Body and blood, bread and wine. A reminder of the transformation of fully man and fully God connecting us through the death of His flesh those who were separated from Him. This was used over 1800 years ago, and it exists today. A beautiful symbol of the steadfastness that remains in this faith, this faith centered around this person, this death, this sacrifice.

This resurrection.

For to find our life, we must lose it, to find it once again and always, in Him. And part of losing our life means having the willingness to embrace uncertainty while embracing His certainty. It means not holding things and circumstances uncomfortable at an arm’s length, but rather living in the tension of residing and abiding.

He is Jesus Christ, the son of God. He is the One who came into the world. He is the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in Him, though you die, you shall live. Do you believe this? (John 11:25-27).

If so, it is profoundly simple.

Abide. 

"I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch of mine that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not abide in me he is thrown away like a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be my disciples. As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love. 

These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full. John 15:1-11