2022-10-04 A Meditation on Empty of Meaning

“Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead.” (2 Co 1:9 ESV)

When nothing seems to make sense, we are new kind of inspired; call it crazy; call it no holds barred; call it happenstance, “Oh, you think you can out-crazy me?”; we await from a loving Father above rest, recovery, reboot. All life has gone topsy-turvy. Classical equations are storm-tested; these proverbs and rules and sanities cannot in the end save us; we need the red pill; we need the simple religion that dwells near to the Cross, all scriptures, all habits, all proverbs and lamentations informative but not in the end salvific. Only something at work on our own heart’s operating table, can do the job.

We are knowing a beheldedness that we do pray does swoop in and become manifest reality to the one in a famine-stricken land, gaunt, and looking wearily heavenward. We are experiencing a status of “strapped in” that dwells near to the point of impact, emerging with life on holy pause, to take our stroll towards Heaven; we are full of wondrous ideas, yet these are merely the delighted applause of acolytes to the Throne; visions of a future civilization communicating with us through the Spirit, praying for us that we not eradicate such-and-such flower in the vineyard of life and evolved Being. Praying for us that we fight a future war towards a cold and calculating interstellar enemy that hates Life. Such a future spirit does dwell in us as represented as a historic spirit; Jesus comes as the result of a few thousand years of prophesy; were there scribes and civil society sufficient to record, then how many prophets have there been in this meek history we share? Yet God saw fit to make One, and to have all things attest to this One; we are tested for our suitability for a future role; we leap forward a thousand years with work accomplished Today; leapfrog, some fear, for they worry their own deeds will pale in comparison to what all society gets itself up to this generation; but all hands on deck, the deeds done in faith no reason to fear nor to apologize. We are encouraged to believe in a timeless abode called Soul, called “Me and You”, called “Black and White”, Indigenous and of Color or Creole, Slave and Free, where it does Matter: Do you believe? Have you prayed, I dare say “sufficiently”, for comprehension of this thing called Dove Salvation? Yet no amount of prayer does replace the innocence of first things, first faith, first coming to know Jesus.

So we pray when nothing seems to make sense, that the assaults on our sanity, on our peaceful logic, on our situated selves, child’s mobile now grown up to a sphere and world that we are accustomed to peer out unto, now topsy-turvy, but too the embrace of God, of Man for his fellow Man, Woman for sister Woman, each for the other, when a hug is what we need because try as we might we are sensitive and affected. We are not dwelling in soothsaying and fortune telling, but always expect strangeness and spiritual battlelines, reality, while only asking after the Spirit wherein dwells our Lord, our Friend, our Near Encounter with a Person—not a ghoul, not a magician—who stayed tuned deeply in to human need and human folly. So we love our spiritual occasions to remember a friend, and this more than a friend, a sister, a brother, a comrade in arms, spiritual agreement and Encounter such that we can walk together this battle track, and be the Inspired and Freed from former lives of sin, together.