Feb 22
2019
A Liturgical Audit
Jesus asks, “What do you love?” Notice the question isn’t what do you believe or what do you think, but what do you love. This is because humans are desiring creatures. We are lovers. What drives us is what we love.
There are a ton of children in our church’s neighborhood who do not know what it is like to have their basic needs provided for, who do not know what it is like to have a functional and happy home, and are completely uncertain of their future, but I am certain that Jesus loves them and wants us to receive these children in His name, so that we can show them the ultimate love and care and steward them into the family of God.
My trials and suffering feel like the squashing of color and blurring of lines to the point that my portrait isn’t the perfect and skilled mimesis of what the world expects. Yet, there is so much more depth, so much more character.
Living under the new covenant of Jesus’ blood, we also get to see the beautiful picture of Jesus drawing people from every nation, tribe, and tongue to Himself.
We look forward and say there is a better day coming because of Jesus. And not only do we look forward, but we hasten it by living today as a renewed people in the midst of that broken world.
Sometimes, hard things happen, and they’re just hard, and no ah-ha moment comes later when you realize how every painful piece of the puzzle was indeed working together for your good.
As we deal with so much uncertainty in this life, what do we do with that? More often than not, we try to create safety, security, comfort, “home” in the temporary things of this world.
"Loyalty to petrified opinion never yet broke a chain or freed a human soul" -Mark Twain
This Sunday, as we unpacked hospitality, and love was intertwined in every part. Fear creates exclusive community, but love gives way to inclusive hospitality.
If I truly understand that God loves me, not just in some generic sense but intensely and personally, it changes everything. Love like that isn’t something that can be met with indifference, any more than I could respond to a marriage proposal with a shrug.
The good news is God is a homemaking God.
The love that can really change things here in our city, that redeeming love, is always sacrificial. My gut reaction to this is to wonder if I can schedule that into my life: like maybe I have a window on Monday mornings I could give sacrificial love to my city. After all, I’m a busy person. But what would it mean for me to just start to go about my day caring more, noticing more, loving sacrificially?
It is so tempting to pray for circumstances to change, to get mad at God when they don’t, and to hold a grudge of resentment rather than “accept with serenity” the things that cannot be changed.