Isaiak!

I pull her out of her seat at the table and set her on the ground as the next song begins to play off my phone. 

My Little Love runs into the next room as the words begin, “Isaiah 6:1-3.” 

“Isaiak!” she squeals, running back towards me. 

(She may or may not have Isaiah the prophet crossed with baby Isaac who we read about last night.  Or perhaps, it is Isaiah 6 she is trying to say.  I am not totally sure.  I smile at her.) 

“Yes.  Isaiah 6,” I affirm. 

I run downstairs to move some laundry over while she runs around on the wood floors—exploring, dancing, repeating the location of the verses in the song over and over.  “Isaiak.  Isaiak.  Isaiak.”   

The song plays on. 

“In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord, sitting upon a throne high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple.  Above him stood the seraphim, each had six wings: With two he covered his face, with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew.  And one called to another and said:

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts;
    the whole earth is full of his glory.”

-Isaiah6:1-3 (ESV) 

When she hears the word “Holy” she stops. 
  

It has been a word that she has been using for weeks or maybe even months now.  Holy and beloved.  Silent night, holy night.  She hears it and usually enters into her own moment of calling out, “Holy.  Holy.  Holy.” 

She sings “holy" at the table.

She sings “holy” while she plays.

She sings “holy” in her car seat.

She sings “holy” in the middle of the grocery store.  (This one surprised me.  But sure enough, the words to the music, as we rolled through the baking aisle in Meijer searching for food coloring, were saying just that.)

She sings “holy” as she lies in my arms before bed. 

I am amazed by this Little Love.  The way she is so observant and attentive causes me to pause.  As she begins to sing “Holy,” once again, with such earnestness and joy, I stop.  I don’t want to miss it! 

The God she sings about is holy.   

This moment we are living right now, holy.  It is a chance to live worship. 

And this holy God?  He calls me his chosen one, holy and beloved. 

Something in my heart changes in these moments.  I can’t help but think of Moses standing before the burning bush as God says, “Take off your sandals, for where you are standing is holy ground”(Exodus 3:5).

I can’t help but smile.  I can’t help but join her in this chorus:   

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts;
    the whole earth is full of his glory.” 

Because He is holy.  This is a moment to worship.  This moment is one in which I am invited to put on love. 

And so I do. 

***

Grace and peace be ours in abundance as we stop to embrace each moment as one to be lived worshipping the Holy One,  humbled to be called God’s holy and beloved children, and standing on holy ground. 

Jessica :)  

P.S.  Family Seeds Worship is wonderful.  It is Scripture set to music.  We usually listen at breakfast to begin the day off with God's Word.  We do more if my Little Love asks throughout the day, which she often does.  By listening she is memorizing Scripture and she doesn't even realize she is doing it.  I love that she is hiding God's word in her heart with such joy.

Wholly His, Holy Life

“John is seeing the holiness of God manifested in the life of the church as it lives in the world.”

When I read it in the Revelation study I’ve been working my way through something is stirred—a memory opens up. 

Didn’t I pen something like that—living holy and others seeing God?  I wonder as I run to the kitchen for an ice pack.

When I finish reading, I search through files of poetry from a few years back and find it—a few untitled lines, written in June 2011.

As I read them, I begin to remember something else.  These lines were inspired by Scripture and I was stirred enough to encourage my small group with the thoughts I had been thinking about. 

I wonder.  What was that Scripture?

I think I was reading through Hebrews or James about then.

I pull up my email and go searching through old sent mail.  After a few dead ends, I find it, a line of Scripture and a few wonderings.

  

“Make every effort to live in peace with all men and to be holy; without holiness no one will see the Lord.  See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many”  Hebrews 12:14-15

I wondered to my friends. 

Is it when we live life wholly His that we live holy lives?

And in living this way, wholly His, that through the things we say and the things we do, we pour forth the grace of God so “no one misses the grace of God”?

I read it and smile.

This.  This is the way we are meant to live in this world.  The more I read through Revelation, the more I become convinced of this.  When we live wholly His, we live manifesting the holiness of God to the world around us.

The words of Robert Mulholland, about the bowl imagery I’ve been reading through, come to my mind once again:

“To be part of the community of God’s people means—to become part of God’s response to the rebellion; to be drawn into the very being and nature of God so as to be shaped in the image and likeness of God; to be thrust out in the midst of Fallen Babylon to participate in God’s costly, redemptive response to the rebellion.  The vision portrays this meaning in the bowls, which, on the one hand are the prayers of the saints that open them to the shaping presence of God, and, on the other hand, being filled with the presence of God, are then poured out into the life of the world” (p.97)

I am struck by the way the lines I penned two years ago are in such alignment with what I’ve been reading about today, the bowls.  I would never have imagined it.

When I am wholly given to God

A life of grace pours forth—

Light, a shining beacon in this dark world

Mirror spilling out radiance

Present reminder of His glory.

A surrendered vessel

I live holy

And the world sees the Lord.

What a gift He has given to me by leading me back to these words of poetry today.

They are a gift He is reminding me to live--wholly His, a holy life-- as a surrendered vessel (a bowl filled with the presence of God and poured out) so others around me do not miss the grace of God.

***

Grace and peace be ours in abundance as we live wholly God’s.  In this may we find that we live holy—pouring out the grace of God on everyone we meet.  When they encounter us may others see the Lord.

Jessica :)



Even Criminals and Reprobates

I was sitting in room 485 of the Hamilton County Court House.

It was early when my aunt and I had shuffled in to meet my mother.  Now, the time was ticking on as we waited for my father to appear before the court.  He was on the docket for sentencing.  As we waited the court room bustled with the activity of lawyers and court officials preparing for their few moments before the judge.  I wondered if my father would appear before I needed to run down the street to work.  I hoped so, as I had a few words to offer the court.

After waiting for some time, the first case was considered.  The request for a man’s release from parole was rejected.  I wondered if this was normal.  I was not familiar with the daily workings of the court.  My knowledge of our justice system was what I learned in social studies about the set up and balance of powers, a trip to the Justice Center when I was in middle school, and through programs like Law & Order and Judging Amy.

A good deal of time passed, as we waited for the second case to come forward.  It involved the sentencing of a man who had robbed a bank.  His criminal history was recounted for the court—he had been in and out of the Juvenile Court system and Ohio Correctional facilities (aka prison) 4 times.  As I listened I wondered, what had happened to this man along the way?

Just as the judge was about to reveal the sentence for this man's crimes, she spoke a few cutting words before all who were gathered in her court room.

“There is no hope for this man’s rehabilitation.”

Then, just as a person might salt their food, she added a few years for this charge and a few years for that one, until she had covered all the points for which this man was being be convicted.  I counted it all up at the end.  He had been given 80 years.  Just like that.  Then, he was ushered out of the courtroom.

I was stunned by what I observed.  I wished I could have told the judge she was wrong.  I wished I could have told her that as long as Jesus changes lives there is always hope, however unlikely it may seem. 

 

My father did not appear before I had to leave for work.  The words I had to offer, words about what he had really felt the day of his crime, were left unspoken.  They were words he had spoken to me in a phone call that he didn't even remember making.  Instead, I left as a woman who was agreeing to plead guilty began to cry in front of the court. 

I walked the four or five blocks to school as my wandering thoughts formed a question in my mind.

Was this normal?

I remember thinking if it was, my dad, who was trying to do the right thing didn’t stand a chance at a fair outcome by choosing to plea instead of going to trial.  His case, which hinged on his mental health, was too complicated. 

I also thought about the judge’s words.  They had been seared into my mind.  “There is no hope for this man.”

I wondered what makes a person speak like that?  What makes a person think like that? 

Had she been burned, by believing people could change only to be disappointed later?

Didn’t she know, what we speak people become? 

My heart hurt for that man.  It still does.

I am reminded of this experience as I sit reading a chapter in John Ortberg’s newest book, Who is This Man?

He writes,

“Every human being has royal dignity.  When Jesus looked at people, he saw the image of God.  He saw this in everyone.  It caused him to treat each person with dignity.  This was the idea to which that little baby in a manger was heir, which had been given to Israel, which would be clarified and incarnated in his life in a way not seen before. […]  Since [Jesus’] birth, babies and kings and everybody else look different to us now—as in the poignant list of David Bentley Hart: “the autistic or Down syndrome or otherwise disabled child…the derelict or wretched or broken man or woman who has wasted his or her life away; the homeless, the utterly impoverished, the diseased, the mentally ill, the physically disabled; exiles, refugees, fugitives; even criminals and reprobates.”  These were viewed by our ancient ancestors as burdens to be discarded.  To see them instead as bearers of divine glory who can touch our conscience and still our selfishness—this is what Jesus saw that Herod could not see” (p.26,32 emphasis mine).

 

Perhaps, this is why I am still outraged at the memory of the judge’s words years later:  I believe that each person is made in the image of God and has extreme worth, because God has given it to us.

As I come to believe this more fully, I realize the difference between the bank robber and me is God’s grace. 

What might I have become had I not been born to my parents or raised with the support of mentors and people who believed in me?  I could have been the bank robber.

I am aware of these things as I read and look toward the visit I have with my dad later this week.

I think of the many times I have looked around the visiting room to the different men in orange jumpsuits.  They have sat in deep discussion.  They have enjoyed vending machine food with gratitude.  They have laughed with their family and friends.  They are not very different from me.

They may be incarcerated, but we share in common being created in the image of a holy God.  As such, they deserve to be treated with as much dignity as anyone else.  It may be the key to turning around a life.

After all, aren’t we all broken and searching for the one who can put us back together again?

***

Grace and peace be ours in abundance as we treat others with the dignity that Christ extended to all those who were broken.  May we find that caring for their troubles awakens something new inside of them and inside of us.

Jessica :)