Refuge

"See how the evildoers lie fallen--thrown down, not able to rise!" (Psalm 36:12)

I see bodies strewn all over the hillside: ragged, defeated, pathetic.  Their bodies still quiver with effort, their desire to reach the top overwhelming.  No matter how hard they try, they can't even get to their elbows to crawl the remainder of the way.  Suddenly, from the tree line at the base of the hill, there is an eruption.  Young and old sprint from the forest to try and get to the top of the hill.

They stumble and fall, face in the dust, only to rise again moments later.  Some of them pass by their fallen comrades but pay them no need.  Others grasp desperately at arms and try to drag some of the fallen but only succeed in collapsing themselves.  And there are still yet some who whisper encouragement and hold fast to arms, waiting for the fallen to give them the word.  Some of the fallen manage to rise on wobbly legs and limp their way to the top.  Others sprint only to fall again.

All of the bodies, all of the runners have two things in common: one is that they all have the same drive to reach the top of the hill.  Why?  Because there, they will find refuge.  And two, they all end up face down in the dust at one point or another...

....

Daddy,

I've realized that without heeding your word, without constantly spending time with you, we resort back to this "thing".  Instead of running up the hill, we end up rolling right back down again.  We become the humans you mourned before the Great Flood.  Godless, selfish, gluttonous, hateful, dead.

"The Lord was grieved that he had made man on the earth and his heart was filled with pain." (Gen. 6:6).  Grieved.  Is that not who or what we become when we disacknowledge you?  These base animals, writhing on our full stomachs, a sick smile on our faces, dullness in our eyes. Naked, bloodied, diseased, decaying, but content to writhe in ourselves; to feel pain and hatred and mourn--to be naked with no shelter, no refuge.  And it is our well thought-out choice, our all-knowing plan, isn't it?

We will squirm there until death opens its arms wide for a sweet embrace.  But they're not arms at all.  It's a gaping hole filled with razor sharp teeth that seem to go on forever.  Oh, it is waiting, indeed.  Waiting to give the reward for living as an animal and making the choice to do so.  So it waits for the slaughter, for a righteous ending.  Patiently, gleefully it will wait for us to slide down its throat, singing all the while.

"Then I passed by and saw you kicking about in your own blood, and as you lay there in your blood I said to you, 'Live!'"  (Ezekiel 16:6)  There is always a way out.  There is always more than one choice.  So often we choose the way we know best because it's right in front of us.  We can taste the blood, we can feel the nakedness, but that is "easier" for us than standing and following someone else who says they know the way.  We have to know best.  If we get up at all, it'll be in our time, our way.

But some of us just know there's no way we can stand unless someone carries us.  And so this Stranger that speaks life into the living dead offers us His cloak so we are covered.  He cleans us and wipes away the blood and grime.  "Come," He says, seeming to favor one word sentences.  But we do follow, don't we?  There's something that pulls us towards this mysterious stranger.  It seems like the answer as to why could be so complicated, so confusing... but it's not.  It's quite simple.  And we all figure that out eventually.  We all see that in return for shelter and cover, He just wants us to follow Him.  But we choke and stumble and balk at some of the paths He suggests and offers.  However, He will not waver.  So we do.

We throw His cloak back in His face and stumble down any path but His.  "He must be insane!  Does he honestly expect me to do that?  It's impossible.  It doesn't make any sense.  I won't do it. No. This way is much better..."

And so we stumble a little further either into a thorn bush or some quick sand or some gaping hole.  And we'll sit there for a while, struggling to be free.  To no avail.

Finally, despite our pride and arrogance, we call for help.  Looking up suddenly, we see that He is right there.  But... He had been there the whole time, hadn't He?

So He pulls us up and cleans us off yet again and clothes us, saying that bittersweet word, "Come."  This time we more or less understand what this journey will entail.

After a few more episodes of us fleeing a certain path He offers, we stand hand in hand staring at some trees. But there are tiny pinpricks of light beyond them...

This Stranger who is no longer really a stranger, winks at you and pushes the branches aside.  The sun hits you full in the face and before you know it, you're running. No, all out sprinting up some hill. You don't know exactly why you're running, you just are.

All of a sudden, your feet go out from under you and you end up with a mouth full of dirt.  Looking around you for the first time, you see that corpses surround you.  There are bodies everywhere.  Disgust and despair overwhelms you.  What made you think you could make it to the top?  It was clearly a fruitless effort.  This was where you were meant to be, the only place you will ever be, in the dirt.

Tears streak your face and you can hear the cries of the fallen around you.  You will never get up.

A roaring fills your ears and you turn your head slightly to get a better view of the rumble you feel in the earth.  A massive throng of people are making their way up the hillside shouting, screaming, laughing.

You watch with curiosity as many fall only to rise again.  Not once, not twice, not three times or four... Many, many, many times.

An increasing vigor fills your lungs and you look forward.  There's the Stranger, offering you His hand again.  Without needing a second beckoning, you grasp firmly and are pulled to your feet.

The running starts again.  And now you see what you are running for.  This little white house on top of the hill.  You trip and fall again, accepting the hand of a brother at your side.  You clap each other on the back and continue running.  You can smell the freshness of the wind and taste your impending victory.  Falling almost doesn't bother you at all anymore.  You rarely stay down for more than a moment or two.  And before you know it... You're cresting the hill...

"Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him.  He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.  My salvation and honor depend on God; he is my mighty rock, my refuge.  Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge." (Psalm 62:5-8)  Breaching the top of the hill, you run straight for the house and embrace it, kissing its walls and its windows.  You collapse to the ground, exhausted, but no worse for the wear.  Looking up, you see that the refuse you sought this whole time was none other than your favorite Stranger.

Using His famous one word sentences, He spreads His arms wide and says, "Welcome," and embraces you.

"One thing God has spoken, two things have I heard: that you, O God, are strong,and that you, O Lord, are loving. Surely you will reward each person according to what he has done." (Psalm 62:11-12)