To will one thing

This morning Paul and I read Psalm 27 together before I left for work (incidentally, I like reading the Bible together with Paul because different aspects of the passages will stand out to us and then we both get to see more in the words by sharing our thoughts), and I noticed especially verse 4:

"One thing I have desired of the Lord,
That will I seek:
That I may dwell in the house of the Lord
All the days of my life,
To behold the beauty of the Lord,
And to inquire in His temple." - Psalm 27:4

 It always challenges me, this verse. (It especially challenges me today as I have been reading a discourse by Kierkegaard on how purity of heart before God consists of willing only one thing - the good - in truth). Do I honestly desire just one thing? Or do I spread my heart thin in the multiplicity of my desires, in the quagmire of double-mindedness? If I truly desired this one thing of the Lord (namely, to know Him), then I could pursue it with my whole heart, with the confidence of faith, turning my eyes from the temporal goods (that are not good because they fade away and perish) that tempt me in order to seek this one eternal and unchanging good. But I think that all too often I don't just will this one thing - I will also for the approval and respect of others, and I will to avoid pain and heartache.

So how ought I to go about correcting the confusion of my mind and the desires of my heart? The Psalmist and Kierkegaard concur again on the answer to this question, I believe: to sincerely and seriously repent, taking my sin in my hand before God with sorrow and confession, and to commence traveling once more on the good path; with humility in the realization of my inability to continually and wholeheartedly follow God, instead of rash confidence in my own power and goodness.

"O You who give both the beginning and the completing, may You give victory on the day of distress so that the one distressed in repentance may succeed in doing what the one burning in desire and the one determined in resolution failed to do: to will only one thing." - Soren Kierkegaard, Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits 

Merry Christmas!

I'm sorry it's been so long since I last posted! The week before Christmas was very busy for me, as most of my gifts were food-related and thus required an investment of time in the last few days before the holiday. And honestly I've been a bit exhausted at the thought of writing - I've been tired of the words, tired of trying to write something worth reading, tired of trying to be interesting or original or deep or meaningful. So I didn't write.

But I hope you all had a marvelous Christmas! Mine was wonderful (and delightfully spread over two full days, with my in-laws on Christmas Eve and my family on Christmas), full of the beauty and joy that seem particularly present on this day out of all the year. And I will endeavor to write more this week! :)

Fear-fighting

Here's my dilemma: my pastor told me (well, told the whole church during the sermon on Sunday) that the Holy Spirit is at work in the world and in my heart and that the choice lies with me to either quench the fire He is building (by not doing what He commands or prompts me to do) or actively work with Him to make it burn more fiercely. That is, if I ask the Spirit to lead me and transform me, He will; I just need to actually follow the leading He gives instead of closing my eyes and my ears and going my own way. But you know what? It is far easier to ask the Spirit to do those things in my life than to change the way I live and the choices I make in response to the work He is doing.

There are two fears fighting against my desire to submit to the will and work of the Spirit in my life, I think. The first, which is lesser, is the fear of coming up short - the fear that, after asking the Spirit to lead me, I will fail at following Him, and in so doing disappoint God and render my witness ineffectual. "Why ask at all," this fear whispers, "when the result could be more humiliating than if you had never tried in the first place?" But this fear is feeding me lies, because our approval from God, as Christians, comes from the righteousness of Christ, not our own ability (or lack thereof) to follow God as He desires. So my failure would not cause me to lose God's love, and I believe that He would rather have me try to follow Him than have me simply give up in despair before beginning. As Screwtape said (and I paraphrase), the sin of despair is worse than the sins that lead to it.

The second fear, which is stronger, is the fear of having my life turned upside down - of being called to do crazy things, and having to deal with the reactions of my family and friends and acquaintances, and having to give up the comforts I enjoy or my little happy dreams or the cozy small plans I've made for my life. If I honestly and wholeheartedly followed the Spirit as He led me, I guarantee you that things in my life would have to change. Many of these changes would be small, but I think some might border on the extreme, especially if I begin by obeying those small leadings rather than quenching the Spirit in those areas. And I'm afraid of what might happen, because it is so unknown and because God gives no promise of safety or comfort (He never does, you know). My heart wants to hold on to the small things that don't matter, and so it is afraid of following a God who emphasizes the temporal nature and insignificance of those things. This fear isn't feeding me lies, but it is hiding the truth. All these things might indeed happen if I began to truly follow God, and there very probably would be some degree of emotional pain involved, but what this fear conceals is the depth of joy and the fulfillment of being that is only found in trust in and obedience to God. Am I not willing to trade in the (at least relatively) shallow happiness that I can make for myself by going my own way for the unfathomable joy that I could find by knowing God and going His way?

These fears have to be addressed head-on, I think - to expose the underlying deceit, and to combat them with the strength of truth. Maybe I can ask the Spirit for His guidance and transformation... maybe I can seek to obey His leading with a heart that chooses to trust rather than to fear.

O Root of Jesse

Today's antiphon remembers that Jesus is the eternal king of the nation of Israel, because He has come to reign forever on the throne of David as God promised to David himself so long before, and it also hints at the whole-worldliness of the salvation Jesus came to bring.

O Root of Jesse, standing as a sign among the peoples;
before You kings will shut their mouths,
to You the nations will make their prayer:
Come and deliver us, and delay no longer.

In declaring Jesus to be the Root of Jesse, we are reminded of the greater picture of God's plan - we see the Incarnation in the light of history rather than as an isolated event coming unexpectedly out of nowhere. As God, Jesus sits on the throne of heaven; as man, He is rightful heir to the throne of David, and thus in His person unites the two thrones as a precursor to uniting the two kingdoms beneath them. It is symbolic of the reconciliation He makes between each of us and God the Father through His own body on the cross.

Similarly, by saying that the nations will make their prayer to Him, we see the future aspect of the event of the Incarnation. In the past, God was the God of Israel; in the future, He shall be the God of all peoples - and the great turning point was the life and death of Christ, who though coming of the house of David and the nation of Israel yet offered salvation to Jews and Gentiles alike through the sacrifice of His own body. We are no longer outside His walls; He has called us His people. The One who fulfilled all the prophecies, to prove His truth and faithfulness, has done a new thing: He has called all nations to Himself, and built His people from all the peoples of the world.

O Adonai

Today's antiphon recognizes God in His historical role towards the nation of Israel, for whom He is both the redeemer and the lawgiver:

O Adonai, and leader of the House of Israel,
who appeared to Moses in the fire of the burning bush
and gave him the law on Sinai:
Come and redeem us with an outstretched arm.

Adonai, meaning "lord" or "master," is the name of God that most highlights the direct authority of God over our lives; more than merely pointing out the objective and philosophical authority of God over creation as the Creator, it emphasizes the direct and specific authority that God has over each of us (and our thoughts and our actions). He is our Master, our Adonai, and as such has the right to give us laws to obey, as He gave to Moses.

But the wonder of the first coming of Christ is that this purely magisterial aspect of our relationship with God has been colored with new elements - replaced, even, with the deeper love and intimacy of friendship and even marital love. As Jesus told His disciples, 

"No longer do I call you servants, for a servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all things that I heard from My Father I have made known to you." - John 15:15

And again in Hosea, in the middle of a beautiful prophecy about the restoration and redemption of Israel with the coming of the Messiah:

"'And it shall be, in that day,'
Says the Lord, 'That you will call Me "My Husband,"
And no longer call Me "My Master"'" - Hosea 2:16

The One who came with fire in the earth-shaking power of His holiness, who gave us the perfect and unattainable standard of the law, has also come with redeeming love, and made a way for us to become righteous and be reconciled to Him, that He should be our Husband rather than our Master. This great transformation of our relation to God is the purpose of the Incarnation and the promise of Christmas.

O Wisdom

Beginning on the 17th of December, the great O Antiphons are incorporated into the celebration of Advent. Each antiphon is a prayer for Jesus's coming, and begins with a different name for Him, and meditates on a different aspect of His nature and relation to us. So for today we read:

O Wisdom, coming forth from the mouth of the Most High,
reaching from one end to the other mightily,
and sweetly ordering all things:
Come and teach us the way of prudence.

What stands out to me in this antiphon is the juxtaposition of the words "mightily" and "sweetly", pointing out how in God strength and gentleness, power and beauty, peacefully and perfectly coexist. There is no imbalance in His wisdom: He both commands as a sovereign King and whispers as a tender Lover; He both builds the world as a scientist and designs it as an artist. To put it simply, in Him is the fullness of wisdom.