At the Margins

So many Christians are focused on the fact that Jesus died for us. One of my favorite things to tell people is that “He lives for us,” not to mention “in us” through the Holy Spirit.

Sure, He definitely died for us, but I’m not so sure that that was the sine quo non of His earthly mission. It seems to me the fact that He came to live as one us for 30 odd years is pretty important, not to mention the fact that He still lives now. Oh yeah, and there’s the whole ressurection thing.

I’ll be the first to proclaim that the cost of discipleship is death. Followers of Christ must both figuratively die to themselves for Christ and others and be willing to, in the model of Christ, literally die for Christ and others.

Fixation with Christ’s death however only fuels the oft-quoted, but seldom contextualized, Nietzschen axiom that “God is dead.”

The Church really needs a God that is not dead. A God who is speaking and active in His people. A God that is equipping His people to “to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners” (Isaiah 61:1). A God who continues to reveal Himself to us and show us the Way. A God who is actively involved in the continual transformation and liberation of His creation.

This morning I awakened early (about 5:30) and went into the city to serve at the Urban Prayer Breakfast, a program that seeks to have table fellowship with the homeless and working poor every weekday morning, where I have been working a couple of mornings a week for the last couple of years.

As I began my commute, I looked up into the sky–bright blue rising from a fiery horizon. The distant-most clouds were bleached white from the rising sun’s illumination, while nearer was a streaked patchwork of grayish blue. It was magnificent.

As I consumed the view, my heart began to realize that it was for me. That my Father had painted the sky that morning just for me. Tears welled up.

I am used to thinking of God creating for us, but not for me. I know God loves me, likes me, even delights at me, but it’s most-often hard for my heart to believe it. I think, “of course God will equip me for His work,” but that He would give me a gift of such decadence, of such abundance and excess, remains difficult for me to even begin to comprehend (and at times to accept).

Thinking of God as my Father, as my Savior, as my Lord, is so much easier for me than thinking of Him as my Lover. But what an act of passion, romance, and pursuit for Him to paint the heavens this morning just for me!