The word "all" is a black-hole of a word. This word sucks in every object, motionless or breathing, every situation pleasant or intolerable, lovely or painful, to every person, friendly or downright mean. Can I really, in all situations, to all people, all the time, be without grumbling and without complaint? Really, God? (note how this question itself is a form of complaining).
If God were to answer that last question, he wouldn't. I don't think God spills his words uselessly. I believe He would not repeat Himself. He already said it. Paul already wrote it. I know it in heart. It sits on my desk, just not in my heart. What doesn't sit in my heart? The command: do all things without grumbling or complaining?
Well, yes, that.
But there's also something else going on here. Before words materialize in the air between you and eye, or before the lights hit your eyes, there's is a forgetfulness in my heart that has taken place. I have forgotten something essential. I have forgotten the gospel. My condition of wretchedness, my blameworthiness. It is the reality of the God-man Jesus that has fallen from sight. His glorious life lived, his body tragically pierced with more twisted villainous rugged metals, bones, woods, whips, fists and spears than I can properly envision, and his travel from heaven to earth, from earth to hades, and hades to heaven with a brief showing in Jerusalem, these are forgotten and lost. The gospel somewhere inside flickers faint when grumbles stir and ingratitude mount. I forget my new position thanks to my resurrected Savior.
This is at work in this body of death and fire-breathing mouth: the sin of forget. I forget my First Love, and remember my trivial complaint.
Lord, forgive my forget.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment