Preservation

In speaking about lukewarmness, as in the previous post, the whole point is taking something perishable and preserving it until the time comes when it is to be enjoyed.

This is a perfect picture of what God is trying to accomplish within us. On this earth we are eternal souls in a temporary, perishing world, fighting to remain in the faith.  His goal is that we "endure until the end," are "able to stand in His presence blameless with great joy" that we would have "faith to the preserving of the soul."  

What a wondrous thought! 

In the natural world we use the word preserves while talking about sweet fruit which is jarred, sealed, and kept until it is to be tasted and enjoyed.  While reading  Hebrews 10:39 many years ago it occurred to me that faith is the jar that holds the fruit of His labor - our redeemed souls.  


We are sealed with the Holy Spirit, we will be preserved until the day that He opens the lid and enjoys.



"For without faith it is impossible to please Him...."  Hebrews 11:6

A Different Perspective On Lukewarm

"I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth."

Rev. 3:15, 16

This verse is famous for the fear it grips in the heart of sincere believers.  Usually, the application is  regarding the temperature of water or something to drink. Some years back, I had a different thought.

Wouldn't it be more appropriate to consider the effects of lukewarmness in something perishable, like meat, for instance? To be preserved, it must be kept cold or hot.  Long term exposure at room temperature will render it spoiled. The stench of neglect will fill the room and the thought of ingesting it is unthinkable. While spitting out lukewarm water seems harsh, expelling bad meat is reflexive and completely understandable. 

Before we run to our Bibles or let condemnation settle into its established religious groove, let's consider what our souls truly need. I don't believe it's increased spiritual calisthenics, added to the pile of already burdened religious duty. Who needs more of that? How could we ever pray enough or do enough or even keep ourselves in life? Do we generate God's life within our hearts by doing "religious" things? I don't think so.  

The key is simply keeping our souls in the love of God. A love that is perfect and without selfish motives. A love that doesn't compare itself to others or measure its worth by outward activity or the things one does as "ministry."  A love that remembers Him with a heart that flexes the muscle of gratefulness,  able to remain a humble recipient of endless mercy and grace.   All the way to the end. 

Thankful Still

I cried for my mother yesterday.

What is it that brings out the longing that is so often just a quiet ache?

Sitting with my middle daughter and my sister, trying to choose the menu for the wedding my parents will miss, I felt the sad reality that they have died and will not be there.  It washed over me at the moment my brain was needed for other things.  (Like choosing food for the big party!)

Months have passed since I wrote the first lines of this potential blog. Months that have been achingly sweet.

2011 has brought me blessing. Our first grandchild, a new son-in-law, graduation of our youngest child, a blessed and hopeful future stretching out before me, filled with the promise of something I've often ached for: time.

Nothing can come close to having the choice to linger longer. I seem to revel in solitude. Delighting in stretching out moments filled with gratefulness. Our God is so good.

This short post began with the ache for my mother, but it ends with the ache satisfied by Someone so much better. An excerpt from a prayer written in the 1700's:


        My Saviour wept that all tears might be wiped  from my eyes,
          groaned that I might have endless song,
          endured all pain that I might have unfading health,
          bore a crown of thorns that I might have a crown of glory,
          bowed his head that I might uplift mine,
          experienced reproach that I might receive welcome,
          closed his eyes in death that I might gaze  on unclouded
          brightness, died that I might for ever live.  


                            Going into 2012, I am thankful still.