It seems I’ve immersed myself into a self-inflicted bog of busyness. Student recommendations, ungraded tests, unfiled taxes, unpaid bills, incomplete online courses, daily lesson plans, and bible study preparations beckon my waning mental capital all at once. It’s not necessarily a lack of time, but a lack of unction that concerns me. It’s the direct result of a pathological procrastination that is my own (un)doing. When Spring HS football swings into full force (I’m coaching) I fear an outright quagmire will threaten to form.
More importantly, a loving wife and growing boy rightly claim my emotional capital. Not to mention the dirty diapers, dinners, Dora episodes and daily chores the whole family experience naturally brings with it. But my wife and son are my only earthly joys, and whatever competes with them gets swiftly pushed to the back-burner.
In the midst of these times, God gets the leftover scraps that remain of me. It’s not a complete overstatement to say God is the One that occasionally gets pushed to the back-burner when the activity reaches a frenzied pace. And much to my shame, sometimes I will keep Him there….for days at a time.
At this point, you may have made an astute observation along the lines of, “Quit writing this post you fool! Get to work and get off here!” Fair enough. But Blogs, Facebook, Youtube, etc. are all microcosms of the greater problem. In the end, we only do what we really want to do.
Now I am always mindful of God in my daily life. I do pray everyday, even though they mostly feel like the obligatory type, hastily tacked on at the end of a bedtime ritual. I am always chewing on some biblical truth in my thoughts, or applying a principle in some theoretical way. But when I get busy, that mental exercise has much more to do with relating some deep truth to people, not relating deeply to God. My spiritual life is thus projected manward and not Godward. I strain Him and His word just enough to squeeze out some substance for others, and when I’m done, I’m done until it’s time for others to be fed again. Many times public depth is just the bandaid over the festering wound of personal superficiality.
Let’s be honest. We know when we have communed with the God who is our Father and the Son who is our Bridegroom. We know when we have been gripped by a holy and high calling, ruined before His Holiness, and melting before His mercy in the cross of Christ. I ache for that to be my one vision in life, where despondency, laziness, lust, and fear are blown away by a baptism of redeeming love.
We can’t read the Acts narrative and not be swept up into the supernatural movement of God, the boldness of mere men, the fervent prayer life of the members, and the exponential explosions of the word and church (Acts 12:24, 12:5). We can’t help but notice how our local bodies (and individual body) seem to lack all of those norms for the early church. My personal lack of zeal concerning all these things can be deeply discouraging. And answers that bring up distinct dispensational ages are not satisfactory for me.
I appreciate the glimpses of personal humanity Paul gives in places like Romans 7:14-25 and 2 Corinthians 12:8-10. The Chief of Wretches didn’t wallow in self, but saw it as a malady to wage war against. It compels me further down the narrow road, to fight the good fight against self and sin (2 Tim 4:7, Rom 8:13).
Much more than that, I appreciate the glimpses of the humanity of Christ. That God would take on the form of a servant (Phil 2:7), humble Himself to the point of dying for His undeserving enemies (Phil 2:8, Rom 5:8), and then assure them of His daily presence and power (Matt 28:20).
I love the way a minor prophet puts it. While most of his prophetic energy throughout his book has been spent asserting the pending judgment of God for Israel’s idolatry, Micah leaves his readers with this gracious string of pearls, precious to all who would treasure Christ (Micah 7:18-19):
Who is a God like you, pardoning iniquity and passing over transgression for the remnant of his inheritance? He does not retain his anger forever, because he delights in steadfast love. He will again have compassion on us; he will tread our iniquities underfoot. You will cast all our sins into the depths of the sea.
God doesn’t just give mercy. God delights in giving you mercy. Like a father exulting over his blubberiing, wet, needy, newborn. It pleases Him, satisfies Him, gratifies Him in the deepest sense to express His mercy, even if that mercy highlights our own hardened deepseated iniquity. The cross shines higher and brighter with glory the more deeper it must plunge to forgive our depraved depths.
When our need of forgiveness is at it’s direst point, God delights in displaying His glorious sufficiency in feeling that need. If the cross speaks anything, it speaks to our utter depravity and inability to raise one finger to warrant God’s mercy or delight. As the only sufficient Giver of the mercy, He alone get’s the glory. And He delights in what gives Him the most glory. Because broken vessels of repentance and shame image forth the glories of His Son’s merciful and gracious sacrifice.
He really does delight to give us mercy. And He delights to cover us with the righteousness His mercy bought.
Where we see a wasteland of deserts and depravity residing within us, God sees the perfect precious blood of His dear Son and raging rivers of living water.
God delights in lavishing mercy on His remnant. Even those who are too busy, or lazy, or lustful, or fearful, or selfish, or depressed to see it or experience it this very moment. Even those who are prayerless and passionless. Praise God. It is His delight to give mercy to ones such as these.
Bryan
Mercy