Annie, Ann, and Seeing God

      I spent a night at the beach a few weeks ago and lay out on a rooftop deck watching the stars breathe out and in. They twinkle with a sort of a heartbeat, a pulse. I tried to spot constellations, but stars are dizzying. As I focused on one star at a time, I wondered if they moved or if I just imagined such dancing. Shivering a little under my blanket, I felt lonely in the quietness, vastness, and other-ness of the sky. I wonder how many stars there are that we just cannot see. “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims His handiwork” (Psalm 19:1). His hand is over the still and steady sparkle of the stars.

       He has created so much good, like wild beach heather, whispering dune grass, warm cappuccino waves, swirled blue skies, and sun that “comes out like a bridegroom leaving his chamber, and, like a strong man, runs its course with joy” (Psalm 19:5). But waves crash unpredictably, and I can't see the end of the sea. Its “waters roar and foam” and “the mountains tremble at its swelling” (Psalm 46:3). I've been thinking a lot lately of how the natural world fits into our continual seeing of God. Nature is a precious tool, and God uses it throughout Scripture to point us to Himself. At the same time, there is so much that general revelation can't say. Even being out in nature, we can feel excluded, and general revelation makes no promises and gives no assurances. Creation is big and beautiful, but it does not welcome us into the dance (Lewis 40).

      We can't know that God is on our side from bare creation. In A Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard poignantly paints the unpredictability of nature and our separation from its Creator. Throughout the whole book, she tries to make sense of the death and seemingly senseless pain in the natural world, even in relation to small things, like insects, and she tries to reconcile this pain with the life and seemingly senseless beauty found in these same things. She questions the reader and puts God in the dock, wondering if He is duping us. “Or is beauty itself an intricately fashioned lure, the cruelest hoax of all? […] Could it be that if I climbed the dome of heaven and scrabbled and clutched at the beautiful cloth till I loaded my fists with a wrinkle to pull, that the mask would rip away to reveal a toothless old ugly, eyes glazed with delight?” (255). She watches Tinker Creek, “waters of beauty and mystery,” which are also “waters of separation: they purify, acrid and laving, and they cut me off” (256). She writes of the Biblical waters of separation, the cleansing rites of the priests, purifying the people so that they might draw near to God. “This special water purifies. A man – any man – dips a sprig of hyssop into the vessel and sprinkles – merely sprinkles! - the water upon the unclean, 'upon him that touched a bone, or one slain, or one dead.' So. But I never signed up for this role. The bone touched me” (256). Here Dillard reveals what all men know. We cannot draw near to God on our own; we must be purified. At the same time, she questions God for the brokenness and accursedness of this world, because she refuses to admit her sin. Creation is cursed and its Creator is against us because we have sinned. Just so, we have all touched the bone.

      In the face of a Creator God who is outside of us, who is glorious and just, Dillard must lie to herself for comfort. (“If I am a maple key falling, at least I can twirl” (257).) She is absolutely right that the “universe was not made in jest but in solemn incomprehensible earnest,” yet there is no assurance for us in creation or in our sinful selves that this earnestly beautiful God is for us (259). “Shadow Creek” cannot comfort sinners (260).

      More than shadows, we have Jesus Christ and the Word of God. His incarnation, death, and resurrection speak of nearness to our Creator, peace for His enemies. General revelation can show us a glorious God exists, but it cannot bring us near to Him; such knowledge only condemns us. Though creation can speak of a glorious Creator, it alone excludes sinners from Him, because He is far more glorious and perfect than we are. So I am so glad that He has given us His gospel, a clear message of the cleansing blood of Christ that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel (Hebrews 12:24). Contrary to Dillard's waters, this blood of sprinkling does not separate us from God, but through it Christ secures our “eternal redemption. For if the blood of goats and bulls, and the sprinkling of defiled persons with the ashes of a heifer, sanctify for the purification of the flesh, how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered Himself without blemish to God, purify our conscience from dead works to serve the living God” (Hebrews 9:12-14). “Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that He opened for us through the curtain, that is, through His flesh, and since we have a great high priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water” (10:19-22).

       Following in the footsteps of Dillard, Ann Voskamp, author of One Thousand Gifts, writes of many spiritual experiences she received through nature and the world around her, like traveling to Paris to “make love to God” (Voskamp 201).* From the excerpts I have read of her book and the pieces I have read on her blog, I've found a lack of Christ and clear cut gospel (particularly discussion of sin, not imperfection or weakness or piles of dirty dishes or overdue library books, but downright sin and the forgiveness of it). While I don't mean to review Voskamp's work, I find this type of thinking dangerous and infected with lies. God's blessings cannot provide the comfort and joy for us that Christ, our Savior, does. As the enemy works to blind us to the light of the glory of the gospel of Christ (2 Corinthians 4:4), I think it is sad that we seek communion with Him more in shadows instead of the substance of His Word and gospel. It is not that shadows are bad, but it is that shadows are not where we see Him best. With only shadows, we are outcasts. It is at the cross that we find peace with Him, and it is there that we see His glory shining the brightest. Living in a cursed world with so much sin around us and dealing day by day with indwelling sin, we need these starry sights of Him in the gospel.

      Because of Christ and His cross, I can enjoy glimpses of a Creator who is both transcendent and immanent. The stars dizzy me, but they twinkle like the heartbeat my loving Father put within my chest. I think God wants Christians to see His lavish, almost wasteful, beauty in His creation and be reminded not just that He is beautiful, but that He is for us. I think He wants us to see all things in connection with the grace He has lavished upon us as He has revealed the truth of His gospel to us (Ephesians 1:7-10). “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea” (Psalm 46:1-2). Beauty smiles, and it is to welcome us. He has marked us and engraved our names in the palms of His hands (Lewis 40, Isaiah 49:16). Our greatest communion with God is not through creation or His gifts to us but through the Word, sacraments, and prayer as He reminds us of the gospel. We are loved by and love God at the foot of the cross as He freely blesses us with faith in His Son. We see Him best on this side of heaven not in shadows, but in seeing our sin forgiven and His arms open wide to welcome us because of not our work, but Christ's.

Dillard, Annie. Three by Annie Dillard. New York: Harper Perennial, 1991.

Lewis, C.S. The Weight of Glory. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2001.

Voskamp, Ann. One Thousand Gifts. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2010. *I accessed this quote through a detailed review by Bob DeWaay on this site - http://www.cicministry.org/commentary/issue120.htm. I haven't read the book personally, but from this review and others, along with reading some of her material myself on her blog, I think my explanation of her ideas is accurate. For a helpful review, see http://www.fightingforthefaith.com/2014/01/mystical-estrogen.html

Good Friday

I drove by a lake cloaked in fog and imagined a man drowned there. Sometimes doubt cloaks my mind, far heavier than fog, thoughts that You're a miser, a sadist, a tyrant. I like to pick my scabs to the irrational scarring of my skin, blood under my fingernails, bitten low. Perhaps it's the control. Sometimes the sight of my own blood makes me woozy, like the thought of drawing it out with a piercing needle. Maybe that's control too. I want control and I want freedom and the two are like oil and water.

There was a heavy weight on Your shoulders, far heavier than I know. Did it feel like You were drowning when You hung there so, pushing Yourself up, scraping Your raw back against the wood, struggling for a gasp of air, for life, His smile? I will never know it, never bear it. What was it like for you, a free bird, to be bound? As the blood flowed out and Your heart beat frantic, did water gather around Your heart in sacs full and ready to burst? You were thirsty.

On my way home that day it started to rain, the heavy spring way. It was Good Friday. This day, Father, You did not spare Your Son. This day blood rained down from Your forehead and into Your dearest eyes, and there was no one to wipe them for You. This day life poured out of You. This day, like the water and blood that ran freely from Your pierced side, the floodgates of free love ran pure and clean and just, clean wetness running, rushing, as a river from Your open side. This day You spared nothing. This day You gave everything. This day You purchased my freedom; I'm no longer under law but under grace. This day the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. This day is for freedom, for knowledge, for nearness. Keep me in this freedom of knowing; to know You is eternal life.

Zephaniah and an Unexpected Song

     We grow up performing, and we want to be safe and shameless. Though we don't trust Him or seek Him, we, like tired virgins, lie to ourselves, ignoring the judgment we know we deserve, the judgment that is coming upon all men (3:1-2, 1:12). Because of the very nature of performance, a fake, outward layer of “goodness” keeps us from the joy of being fully known and totally loved. He weeps and wants us to come close to Him, but so often we reject an offer so precious. His jealousy burns and will bring a just holocaust, a fiery jealousy and flaming wrath that will consume the whole earth (1:17-18, 2:1-2). Like self-righteous Judah, we may think we'll escape His wrath and that our false hopes will give us good, but such people will stand with the Pharisees, estranged and outside of His sacred camp forever, unclean.

      Our idols cannot save us. He will “famish all the gods of the earth” and they will bow before Him (2:11). Will those whom He will famish satiate our hunger? In a delusive security, we have shamelessly exulted in ourselves and the gods we have made and said in our hearts, “I am, and there is no one else.” How dare I. How dare you. How dare we.

      The I Am who is Everything will not let us mock Him with a crown of thorns forever. He will pour out His indignation, all His burning anger, and consume the whole earth in the fire of His jealousy (3:8).

      And then He will sing, over me, over you, over us. He will save, drawing the lame to Himself, humbling the “proudly exultant ones,” and putting a song of joy in the souls of the needy, for while we were still sinners Christ died for us (3:11-20, Rom. 5:8). What we truly need is safety from His wrath and whole nearness to Him. Sinners who come to Christ are safe, secure, cared for, known and unashamed. The LORD, the I Am, takes away all of the judgment against us by placing it on the back of His precious Son, and in Jesus our Hope is secure. So much more than our defeated gods, our Jesus can save and He does save. He is with us, knowing yet loving, knowing and loving, singing an unexpected song of pleasure in His children. His voice must be so strong and so tender, so fierce and so pure, so full and so golden. In open Calvaried arms of immovable love, we are quiet and at peace. His "heart is a song that our Jesus sings."*

*from Showbread's "Sing Me to Sleep"

Quote: The Rent Veil

The broken body and shed blood of the Lord had at length opened the sinner's way into the holiest. And these were the tokens not merely of grace, but of righteousness. That rending was no act either of mere power or of mere grace. Righteousness had done it. Righteousness had rolled away the stone. Righteousness had burst the gates of brass, and cut in sunder the bars of iron. It was a righteous removal of the barrier; it was a righteous entrance that had been secured for the unrighteous; it was a righteous welcome for the chief of sinners that was now proclaimed.

Long had the blood of bulls and goats striven to rend the veil, but in vain. Long had they knocked at the awful gate, demanding entrance for the sinner; long had they striven to quench the flaming sword, and unclasp the fiery belt that girdled paradise; long had they demanded entrance for the sinner, but in vain. But now the better blood has come; it knocks but once, and the gate flies open; it but once touches the sword of fire, and it is quenched. Not a moment is lost. The fulness of the time has come. God delays not, but unbars the door at once. He throws open His mercy-seat to the sinner, and makes haste to receive the banished one; more glad even than the wanderer himself that the distance, and the exclusion, and the terror are at an end for ever.

O wondrous power of the cross of Christ! To exalt the low, and to abase the high; to cast down and to build up; to unlink and to link; to save and to destroy; to kill and to make alive; to shut out and to let in; to curse and to bless. O wondrous virtue of the saving cross, which saves in crucifying, and crucifies in saving! For four thousand years has paradise been closed, but Thou hast opened it. For ages and generations the presence of God has been denied to the sinner, but Thou hast given entrance,-- and that not timid, and uncertain, and costly, and hazardous; but bold, and blessed, and safe, and free. [...]

"May I then draw near as I am, in virtue of the efficacy of the sprinkled blood?" Most certainly. In what other way or character do you propose to come? And may I be bold at once? Most certainly. For if not at once, then when and how? Let boldness come when it may, it will come to you from the sight of the blood upon the floor and mercy-seat, and from nothing else. It is bold coming that honours the blood. It is bold coming that glorifies the love of God and the grace of His throne. "Come boldly!" this is the message to the sinner. Come boldly now! Come in the full assurance of faith, not supposing it possible that that God who has provided such a mercy-seat can do anything but welcome you; that such a mercy-seat can be anything to you but the place of pardon, or that the gospel out of which every sinner that has believed it has extracted peace, can contain anything but peace to you.

The rent veil is liberty of access. Will you linger still? The sprinkled blood is boldness,-- boldness for the sinner, for any sinner, for every sinner. Will you still hesitate, tampering and dallying with uncertainty and doubt, and an evil conscience? Oh, take that blood for what it is and gives, and go in. Take that rent veil for what it indicates, and go in. This only will make you a peaceful, happy, holy man. This only will enable you to work for God on earth, unfettered and unburdened; all over joyful, all over loving, and all over free. This will make your religion not that of one who has everything yet to settle between himself and God, and whose labours, and duties, and devotions are all undergone for the purpose of working out that momentous adjustment before life shall close, but the religion of one who, having at the very outset, and simply in believing, settled every question between himself and God over the blood of the Lamb, is serving the blessed One who has loved him and bought him, with all the undivided energy of his liberated and happy soul.

For every sinner, without exception, that veil has a voice, that blood a voice, that mercy-seat a voice. They say, "Come in." They say, "Be reconciled to God." They say, "Draw near." They say, "Seek the Lord while He may be found." To the wandering prodigal, the lover of pleasure, the drinker of earth's maddening cup, the dreamer of earth's vain dreams,--they say, there is bread enough in your Father's house, and love enough in your Father's heart, and to spare,--return, return. To each banished child of Adam, exiles from the paradise which their first father lost, these symbols, with united voice, proclaim the extinction of the fiery sword, the re- opening of the long-barred gate, with a free and abundant re-entrance, or rather, entrance into a more glorious paradise, a paradise that was never lost.*

Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that He opened for us through the curtain, that is, through His flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful.**

*From Horatius Bonar's The Rent Veil
**Hebrews 10:19-23, ESV