Monday, November 06, 2006

Psalm 8 (a paraphrase)

O Lord, my Sovereign, how majestic is Your name which shadows and haunts my life.

You've placed Your glory where I can see from afar, and yet not conceive of it or lay hold of its understanding. From small, simple places You haunt Your words and the pulse of passion into my overblown, inflated life. There is no argument against You because You leave us all aloof and perplexed. But when I look at the immensity of Your fingerprint on the world and the inconceivable galaxies, who am I that You would waste even a thought on me; my spirit that You would aportion breath and sustenance and even the slightest of pleasantries. Yet You made me in Your image; Your composure; managing the same emotions as You. And You delegated Your energy and creativity and love as a mark to my species. You even allow me the honor of responsability in this madening, stubborn place. I am unbound with dominion over every other living thing.

O Lord, my Sovereign, how majestic is Your name which shadows and haunts my life.


Ever since I can remember, I have been fascinated with the philosophy of death, but never before have I seen it so unromanticized, or come so close to it's brutality, as during the past 15 months of my life. Starting last year with my only slightly scary bout with Mono, followed by the loss of a Grandmother, and ending (hopefully at least for a time) last week with the tragic death of a co-worker's boyfriend, I feel as though for the first time I have been formally introduced to the undeniable problem of pain and felt the sobering moment of its slap across my face.

This morning as I stood along the back wall of this boy's Memorial Service, having arrived a little late from my monday morning trek up the hill, all I could seem to feel was a certain sense of remorse for the man I had become. I didn't know him at all really, aside from the shape of his form passing by my cubicle day-in and day-out, but the profundity of words spoken about the man painted a picture of someone much more kindhearted and happy than I; a man much closer to Christ and more beloved by those around him. Suddenly cornered by a desperate search for hope, a trial began deep within and I began to cross-examine my own heart. I demanded an accounting for my own existence. I didn't bother waiting for answers I knew would never come either. I simply asked the questions...

How did I become such an ineffective and non-descript witness to the Gospel?
At what point did I lose sight of the prize of God's glory and the meaninglessness of this world's problems?
What do I stand for? And who could testify on my behalf?
Who would come to bid my earthly remains fairwell? And would they cry for the absense of my light in a cold and callous world?
Would anyone's life have been changed ... truly and meaningfully changed?
Would people remember me years from now?
To where has my joy departed?
Am I truly known by another living soul on this earth?
Has it all been for naught?
Will even an ounce of my life's offerings survive the purifying fires of righteousness?
Do I really know Christ ... the intricacies of His person and the whisper of His voice within?
Have I truly loved people?
Have I served enough?
Please tell me ... have I lived at all?

I don't really know how to end this. It's time for a change in me. It's time for this man to get real. I no longer want to strive after futility. I want to meet Christ all over again, even as if it were the first time. I want to truly sense my existence as a NEW creation in Him and start afresh. I want all of you to know the glory of who God has made me to be, and what's worth standing for in this life. And to give God something real in return! Break me down and build me back up from the ashes, O God. Tear down this fortress around our slumbering, degenerate hearts and be the coming Messiah of Hope again! Or take my life now and spare the world my meaninglessness.