The gospel is his weapon that beats back the darkness — “I AM the Resurrection and the Life. Bow your head, bend the knee when I walk by.”
Years pass. Storms pass over the churches. Visits from strangers. Stammering and haranguing and coaxing and pleading for the fragrance of grace to give just a little action to our vowels, expressing the bumps and boasts that accompany God’s blessings. We dream that we are becoming ghosts less than holy. Still no I AM. There is no I AM moving in our direction.
Then one day, when we are less ourselves and more a prayer, the secret things appear, hidden things, mysteries. We behold them and him who has brought them to us. We see a great old growth tree that looks just like a modern church because God’s Word tells us it has that name: a sacred forest full of mystery with the Tree of Life at its center, spreading out his branches, roots wrapping round the foot of the altar, great characters growing as fruit, saints and angels and archangels.
Now we find ourselves in the company of the Holy Ghost in full communion with the heavenly host. We can name some of them out loud, the ones we love most, a few ancient saints, an archangel or two, and the One who unites us. It’s all quite natural and organic. There were two then eight then twelve then seventy then a multitude; seeds scattered upon the land, yielding much fruit. And where they go, his name accompanies them.
He does not dictate his name to us, but gives it to us to behold. Heaven and earth, and in the Underworld, all must receive his name. It blazes up before the cosmos with power and authority. And all we do is quiet down. Listen to what he is promising. The words we witness coming from the pulpit are a phenomenon, alien to us, yet they grip our soul. This is the beholding of Paradise, God announcing that the gates are open again. Jesus was pierced with the angel’s blade. His blood has been painted on the lintels. The Tree of Life is pregnant with good fruit that must be eaten.
In these times it is not the moment to start dictating but beholding. There is a profound cosmology that requires our attention. There is heavenly meaning draped over animals, weather, nature, each person and every constellation. But we will only see these things when we behold Christ hanging on the tree. Then we are standing on substantial ground, holy land.
He takes us along the long route of hope, articulated by his preachers with coherent attention to the details of God’s promises.
Our Beloved goes looking for us, seeking us out. The I AM attends to us, giving words of blessing away with no thought to personal advantage. We may be hurting, bewildered, furious beyond comprehension, but lower our gaze a little, and we behold the mysteries, the words, water, bread, and wine through which he comforts and strengthens us. His love settles us in this way. The old ways find their way back to us in our modern churches. They are currency we can comprehend, adore even because they are from God, and he talks so that we can hear his voice often speaking to us.
When we kneel before the altar, in the shadow of the Tree of Life, Jesus speaking to us, attracting us, intriguing and sometimes infuriating us, it means we have what people used to call rapport. It means we have our final nesting place. We have a dialogue with the divine that shapes our identity, disciplines our character, and influences our daily work. If we didn’t have this rapport we would most certainly experience feelings of becoming ghosts most unholy once again.
Jesus’ rapport with us is something quite specific. He says, “Don’t go back to sleep. Stay awake. Remember what I said at the beginning. The kingdom is at hand.” No shortcuts. He takes us along the long route of hope, articulated by his preachers with coherent attention to the details of God’s promises. I AM takes his time, leading us through the Underworld into Paradise. This is painful, potent, deep stuff. The gospel is his weapon that beats back the darkness — “I AM the Resurrection and the Life. Bow your head, bend the knee when I walk by.”
As years and storms pass over the churches and strangers enter into our communion, this is where to begin. Heads bowed. Knees bent. Mouths professing the glee of our hearts. Body and blood soothing the rawness of flayed souls. Wine in our cups. Blessed food on our altars. A deep light that illuminates our waking and rest.
God’s blessings. The I AM, Jesus Christ, moving in our direction.
