Torn Away

There it hung that afternoon, as it had year after year after year: the temple veil. Yards and yards of blue and purple and scarlet, twined linen with cherubim embroidered into it, tall and thick; a complete and absolute barrier. What was inside? The presence of the Almighty, holy, eternal God. Outside, all of us.

For centuries now, that veil had stood between the people of Israel and their God. Only one person ever went past the veil each year, and only in the prescribed way: with blood. If that high priest went behind the veil into the Holy of Holies without the blood of the sacrifice, he would die. And if anyone else ever ventured inside on their own terms, they would die. Simple as that. Sin cannot stand in the presence of the Holy God, and since all have sinned, no human can stand in His presence. In that light, the veil was a merciful provision to allow the people to come even that close to Him without being killed. The blood of the sacrificed animals, taken into the Most Holy Place by the appointed High Priest and sprinkled on the Mercy Seat once a year to cover their sins, made atonement for the people, allowing them to live near the Presence and worship Him.

But what the people did not seem to grasp was that all of this was only a shadow of the real thing. The blood of goats and rams covered their sins, but it could never take them away; it was  mere picture of the true Sacrifice to come. The veil stood between the people and the Presence of God; but He did not want it to stay that way. The priest entered the Most Holy Place once a year to make atonement; but a High Priest was coming who would make atonement once for all.

That Friday afternoon in the Temple, the priests had no idea that the moment had come for God to reveal the spectacular beauty of His eternal plan. They did not realize that they were seeing the last of the shadow pictures, the system God had put in place to point to the reality. And never in their wildest dreams did they imagine that the blood of the true Sacrifice, the spotless Lamb of God, was shed that very day outside the city.

However, though they did not understand what was happening in the eternal realms that day, they saw the repercussions of it. For the moment Jesus gave up His life, the unthinkable happened: that tall, thick, beautifully crafted mass of a veil that divided God from His people was torn in two. Split, from top to bottom. Jesus entered the Holy of Holies to make atonement for us, not with the blood of bulls or goats, but with His own blood. And the moment His work was done and His blood brought before the mercy seat, He tore away that great dividing curtain forever.

Heb 10:19-22 “Therefore, brethren, since we have confidence to enter the holy place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way which He inaugurated for us through the veil, that is, His flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith…”

Poetry: a genetically carried tendency?

I was tossed about

Filled with fear and doubt,

Seeking happiness apart from God;

Then His pow'r divine

Changed this life of mine

As I plunged into the crimson flood!

Matchless grace and love

Sent from Heav'n above--

Jesus Christ came down to die for me

By His wondrous grace

I shall see His face

And shall reign with Him eternally.

Now day by day,

I walk with Jesus hand in hand

I'll follow Him

At His command

This my song shall be, through eternity:

Jesus Christ is everything to me!

--Valerie Fluegge (now Mydske)

sometime in the 1940s

I didn't even know my grandma wrote poetry. Going through old pictures as we prepared a little video slideshow for their sixtieth anniversary coming up, I ran accross this little book made of rough-edged paper and covered with a plaid upholstry-type fabric. Inside, as I gingerly held the book to keep the pages from falling out, I saw a letter addressed to Grandma's mom, dedicatingthis little book of poems and pictures to her. Thumbing through the pages, I asked her and found that she had written most of the poetry herself.

That blessed me. Being an aspiring poet myself, I was delighted to find that I was not walking a new path in my family. Someone had gone before me; not only in piecing together words and lines, but in putting them together in a feeble attmept at expressing who Christ is and what He has done.

Thank you, Grandma! And thank You Jesus, for letting me see this glimpse into the past, this new appreciation for my heritage.

Doulos -- The King must be crazy

“Pssst!"

I jumped when a light finger tapped my shoulder from behind.

“What do you want?” I whispered. It wasn’t much of an invitation to visit, but the man took it as such and settled down next to me in the middle of the dismal cell.

“I have news, Doulos,” he told me, and an odd look on his face made me suddenly curious. I motioned toward Ebed, sleeping in the dark corner, and put a finger to my lips. “Go ahead.”

The man took a deep breath, as if unsure how to start.  “I – I suppose you are aware of our plight,” he said.

I nodded. That now-familiar mix of fear and anger began to rise up in me, and I could not speak.

“I suppose you already know that nothing can take away our sentence. There is absolutely no way to repeal the death penalty. Bloodshed is demanded and cannot be– “

“Stop!” The hurricane force of emotion let loose inside of me. I thrust out my hand, trembling, in front of the man’s face. “I know,” I panted, and looked down to hide my sweaty, anguished face. “I already know. It haunts me every second. I am going to die…”

The man nodded, thoughtful. “That is exactly why I thought you might find my news of interest. See, there is one way to escape execution.”

I shook my head and groaned. “You are wrong. The King is not unjust; He cannot forgive sin.”

“No—unless…”

I turned and stared at him.

“Unless someone else dies instead. If a perfect man—one with no rebellion, no imperfection, and perfect toward the King—is executed, we would be free.”

I slumped back down into my original position, knees up against my chest, head down. “Forget it,” I growled. “There is no such man as you say. Don’t you understand? No man is perfect – except the King. And even if there were a perfect man, would he want to come down here into this filth, and – and look around at all this mess and all the people who hate him, and then walk out there to the executioner and – and die? That is craziness.”

I looked away, so I didn’t see the man rise quietly to his feet. But his last whispered words remain with me to this day.

“Then I suppose,” he said, “that our King must be crazy.”

I stopped breathing for a moment. Then I gasped, “what?” and sprung to my feet. My eyes darted to the door, but the man was gone. “What are you saying?” I whispered, but even as I asked, it hit me. My chest rose and fell in great heaves, and I began to shake all over. “It cannot be!” And then suddenly I was in a heap on the floor, face to the cold, dirty stone, sobbing like a little child.

After a long time I lifted my head and looked into the corner where my friend slept. “Ebed,” I whispered, “Wake up!”

He opened his eyes slowly, hesitant.

“Ebed,” I cried, gripping his shoulders, “You won’t believe this. You know that death sentence you told me about? It has already been served! The King—the ruler of all—has taken our punishment.”

The old man’s parched lips parted in astonishment. I will never, ever forget the look of indescribable joy that came over his face.

Doulos -- an allegory of the Fall

I slumped to a sitting position against the cold, damp wall, and sighed. “I just don’t get it,” I breathed. “If He is good King, and if we were made to live… free…” I said the word haltingly, unused to saying it. “Then why are we here?”

I thought I heard a faint groan as Ebed turned to look out the tiny, barred window. “It is our fault, Doulos. We put ourselves here. We sealed our own fate.”

“But—“ I stammered. “But I don’t even remember coming here. I do not remember ever being free.”

“Because you never were. You were born a prisoner, like all of us. Way back at the beginning, when the King created the first man and woman, He gave them very specific instructions on how to live. His instructions were not hard, but He left the choice to them…” His voice seemed to evaporate into memory.

I waited a few moments before turning to him. “And?”

“And they failed, Doulos. They believed the cursed deceiver instead of their King. Oh, oh!” His voice sounded so pained, I winced. “They must not have realized! How else could they have given it all up: the beauty, the perfection, the very nearness of the King Himself… Think of it, Doulos. Just think of it! Walks in the cool of the day with the King.”

“But— why? What would make them rebel against Him?”

Here Doulos looked at me, and I had to look away because of the intensity in his eyes. “The very thing that makes us do the same,” he said. “Sin. We want our own way. We think we know best. We want to be free from the restraint of His law.” He chuckled, but it sounded cold and harsh. “Just look where that freedom has gotten us.”

I tried to take a deep breath, but my chest felt heavy. Never before had I seen the horror of my situation.  “So—“ I faltered, “What is there to do?”

“Nothing.” he said. “All we can do is sit here in our chains, dead men in prison, and await execution.”

“Await… what???”

Ebed sighed again. “We did it to ourselves. I told you already. We broke the King’s law, so we deserve death.”

A wave of mixed anger and fear crashed over me, and I began to tremble. “You are lying to me,” I whispered. “The King wouldn’t do that. It is not fair! I never did anything that bad. You—you are lying, Ebed…”

But deep down, I knew with all my shuddering heart he was right. I knew I had broken the righteous laws of the King, and I deserved death. I knew He was too good to overlook my crime, and could do nothing but administer justice.

I looked away from Ebed. I wished I had never spoken to him. But little did I know that understanding my problem would open the way for me to see the answer when it came.

Tropical Depression Lee

 

Rising up in crests of chiseled emerald

Crashing into shards of liquid glass

This stormy sea gives me a glimpse of majesty

My small view of You is fading, and fast

I stood on the shore, captivated by the beauty of the waves. Their crashing, surging, roaring majesty made me remember the greatness of my God. I spread my arms wide and faced into the wind.

“God,” I said, loudly, because no one else would hear over that thunder, “I need You, again.” The thick, exciting air filled my lungs and made me wish I could take it all in. I wanted to loose myself in the wonder of the scene, worship Jesus with utter abandon, let Him speak to me, feed me. But my heart was heavy. I felt dull, strained, and a bit overwhelmed. “God, I need You to speak to me. What are You wanting to do here? How do You even want me to pray?”

I knew this weekend would be stretching, and I knew it would be beyond me, but I do not think I realized just how much I would be thrown upon His strength to perform His work. Sure, I had been to summer camps before, but never as a speaker or leader. When May first asked me to come help, I was thrilled and honored, though as I thought and prayed about it in the weeks and months that followed, I began to feel more and more inadequate. However, I knew that since God had given me this opportunity and must want me there, He would come through somehow. Now, standing barefoot on the sand in the stormy breeze of the ocean, I wondered how.

So far, everything had gone great. Getting to spend time with the six other Ellerslie Alumni was even better than I thought it would be, and we had had a wonderful time the day before, getting prepared and organized before the kids came. Then, at last, the bus had arrived, and 50 sleepy, disheveled youth had crawled out of it and into the chairs we had set up for them on the basketball court. I was so excited.  This was going to be an amazing weekend. Memorable, if nothing else.

The first session took place earlier that morning, after breakfast and a game. We wondered how well the kids would listen, but decided to believe the best and ignore the youth leader’s warning that they only have a twenty-minute attention span. Kramer delivered the message—“The Gospel”—clearly and well; and they actually listened. I saw that as I talked with my group of eight middle school girls after the message. Sure, some of them sat there looking bored and cautious and not saying a word, but others seemed hungry to know more.

But still, by this time, I was seeing my need for help. The task of getting these young people to see who Jesus really is and what He is calling us to seemed so much bigger than I could even hope to accomplish. And that afternoon, I felt lacking in vision and direction, not to mention strength. With such a big operation on our hands, I needed a sense of what God was wanting to do, and His strength to do my part.

“God, I feel confused right now, and tired, and I need You to speak to me, and I…” I stopped for a minute, and just looked out over the waves and listened.

Be still and know that I am God.

I took a deep breath and released a faltering, relieved chuckle into the wind. “Oh yeah,” I whispered. “I think I’ll let You talk for awhile.” And as I stood there, He reminded me of how big He is, and how small I am. That I am not the one coaxing His participation in my situation, defining how He should work, moving His plan along. That this roaring ocean is only a tiny glimpse of the power in His hand.

I walked back to the retreat center with a much better perspective. That night, God defined the battle before my eyes, gave me His burden for these kids, and allowed me the privilege of standing with Him for these souls. I saw 50 teenagers walking the wide road with all their friends, their leaders following a little ways behind, shouting out suggestions about the narrow way in between encouragement for their good intentions. I saw the enemy, crouching nearby and ready to snatch away the seed being sown as soon as everyone looked the other direction. I saw his other attempted attacks: problems with the sound system, distraction for the kids, anxiety over the message. But I saw my Commander, and His face did not show fear or despair. So I imitated His stance, and walked to the back of the room during the sermon. From that position, I saw Him work. I saw Him pour His strength and His words into Paul as he poured out his heart to the kids. I saw the atmosphere change, and the kids listen. Later that evening, as I sat with my girls in the cabin discussing the message, I saw the impact that it had had on them, and I knew afresh that He is God.

The next day was even harder, and we were even more pressed beyond our ability as we tried to point these kids to Jesus. But as we relied on His strength, He proved Himself faithful. The four of us girls spent hours that afternoon in intense and prayerful discussion about the girl time we would have that evening, and He led us in knowing what to share. That evening was to be an absolutely beautiful time of testifying to His worthiness, His power, and the freedom that comes only through surrender.

Before the evening session, I went down to the beach again. This time I ran down the shoreline until I was completely alone with God and the ocean. I shouted into the wind as loudly as I dared, praising Him. I leapt into the air, I danced in the shiny wet sand, I spun around in the ecstasy of the raw power all around me.

And God came through, of course. He put words in my mouth and strength in my soul, and I saw that His power really is made perfect in our weakness. Oh God, let me never forget it.

Dios es Bueno

        God is good.

No, no; wait—stay with me a moment. You nod and manage a pathetic smile as your attention shifts somewhere else. But do you understand what I just said? He is good.

Okay, now you heard me. But now that I have your attention, you give me a guarded look, barely concealing a lifetime of hurt and disillusionment  in your eyes. I know; too many of us can relate to you. We have heard it all before. We grew up singing ‘God is so good…’ with all the other little Sunday school pupils. But now we have seen too much pain, too much heartache. We struggle to put that together with the idea of a good God.

For some of us, this means backing away from this God, heart bleeding with the sting of betrayal. You said you loved us, we force out in a hoarse whisper. You promised peace and joy and protection. So what is this? How could You punish anyone, if You are good? So we decide He isn’t, and refuse to let Him near.

What a small picture of God we hang on the wall of our mind! It is as if we have a picture of a pine forest, and cannot bring ourselves to believe that the picture of a rock cliff could actually be part of the same mountain.  Oh, but if we only knew how far He exceeds our greatest imagination, we would throw away our little picture frame and stop trying to fit Him into it.

He is not a tame lion, as C.S. Lewis so beautifully put it; but He is good. Ps. 145:9 says, “The LORD is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works.” Everything He does, even the things that seem harsh or cruel from our puny vantage point, are done out of His goodness and governed by His tender mercies. And when we begin to see ourselves—how dirty and deserving of punishment we are because we have rebelled against the Almighty, Holy, Righteous Judge who created us and told us how to live and promised all His good to us if we would obey—we see that He is not cruel or unjust at all, and we marvel at the great lengths He took in order to save us from what we deserve. Over and over throughout history, God has given us another chance; but over and over, we have disobeyed and refused the blessing that He offers. Because of our sin, we are separated from this Good God.

But He yearns for us, longs to have compassion on us. He chose to pay Himself the extravagant price for our ransom, and so broke down that wall of separation. If we doubt His goodness, we need only to look at the cross to be silenced. Jesus is not a contradiction of justice and mercy; He is the fullness of both, the essence of beauty, and the embodiment of love. Incredible freedom comes when we simply give Him our confusion and disillusionment and let Him define Himself.

“O taste and see that the LORD is good; How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him!” (Ps. 34:8) Lift up your eyes and dare to look on His face, and you will soon join the chorus of praise that the whole earth and universe has been shouting, singing, whispering, and proclaiming since the beginning of time:

God is good!