When I was young, the gray hairs would professing the aging sweetness of a simple Gospel and I wondered how their dependence could be growing if every day took them nearer to Heaven.
Instead, wrapped up in ‘doing’ and confident aspiration, the Gospel becomes loops and tangles to my mind. Like the lists for my day, it can too quickly become a check mark, a ladder, a building block to happy days. The kernel of something good, but just the beginning…or perhaps…not for me at all
And my heart grows weary, fool’s promises like ash from a Fall fire.
So the man tells me of a medicine he knows. When condemnation grows and my efforts fall short…when my boot straps are frayed from the tugging, he says with words of love, “Speak to the Lord and agree with Him.”
Agree that words smack of sin, that actions shake their fist. Agree that my soul deserves nothing and my grief is indeed well place.
Agree. Feel the burden and then agree again, that He is enough to lift it. That He is enough to forgive it and call me His own. That my heart is remade. It is changed. That my heart is loved and in all this, the soul crushing weight of shame can turn to joy.
So then I see the old faces again, and their faith for what it is. Far from an attainment or arrival, but a clinging to the Cross that set them free.
Let it be simple and let it be rest.