Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Then God Passes By...

The screaming and kicking and clawing at open air. The dry tongue clinging to the roof of my mouth. Shaking lips and grasping fists. The wet fluids under and around my soft, vulnerable skin. A moment of truth. A portrait of reality. A message of unsanctified pain. Way deep in our human conscious, we remember our heritage. We weren’t really anything to be counted on or reckoned with. We were a cut-off carcass. Wallowing. Our wailing and howling did not render us attractive.. .so irresistible to the Beholder. But, we wail and howl anyway….

Then God passes by…

Works of strength and intelligence, wealth and ingenuity… .none of it washes or renews. Climbing higher. Reaching taller. Giving my body to be burned. Speaking eloquently. Winning applause. Obtaining reward or recognition. My head exalted above my peers. Standing on a platform that tremors and shakes… .often. My fame does not render me more clothed….

Then God passes by…

Messages. They are written everywhere on my soul. Messages of friendship and adversity. Messages that exalt and topple me. Messages that wash and shame me. Messages….

Then God passes by…

Unceasing remembrance. I am filled up with questions. Challenges for the Divine. All my past Fathers and Mothers asked them. They are stirred up in me. My condition is a message. My exaltation is a message. My shame is a message. Messages that arouse many questions….

When God passes by…

Aroused… .to many things. Humanity is all stirred up on the inside. Who am I? Who are You? Why have I been left here? Where are We going? What was My past and what will be My future? Explain My thoughts. Explain My feelings. Explain My condition. Explain Your intentions. Explain!

And, when God passes by, all of this is going on. He has got an awful lot to undo and to do.

I can’t make sense of my own heart most nights. I would much less feel adequate to make sense of yours. But the portrait of an Infant in Human blood… .well, there it is. It’s what we look like in our deficiency. It is our hearts lying there among many messages, both ancestral and atmospheric. It is our hearts wailing there and determining to resurrect themselves by use of their own strength. It is our hearts governed by the disconnected Human cord. And it is our hearts that the Creator passes by…

“Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit, says the Lord of hosts,” Zechariah 4:6. “And when I passed by you and saw you wallowing in your blood, I said to you in your blood (in the midst of your ancestral arguments and humanly inherited shame), ‘Live!’ “Ezekiel 16:6.

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