2023-12-26 A Meditation on a Holy Perimeter

“15 “Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. 16 You will recognize them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thornbushes, or figs from thistles? 17 So, every healthy tree bears good fruit, but the diseased tree bears bad fruit. 18 A healthy tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a diseased tree bear good fruit. 19 Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. 20 Thus you will recognize them by their fruits.” (Matt 7:15-20 ESV)

Approaching holy things, there is a bit of a perimeter. There is a bit of an expectation. There is, in the right person’s eyes, a solemnity, reverence, respect, and caution. That is, loud boasts have no place. Grating claims take no hold. Taken-for-granted postures have no purchase.

Approaching holy things, the would-be diaconate and priesthood tires never of taking the humble perch. To sense Calling vis-a-vis reverence and respect. To sense Calling vis-a-vis an at times reluctant duty-bound willingness to Serve, yet not serve our own conceits and pride, but serve as time and circumstance would have it, out of necessity, out of duty, out of miracle-working.

For it is a miracle worked to see the composure of the would-be evangelist. The would-be evangelist never pauses, perhaps, to appreciate this, but their perch is a miracle worked over, walking on water, ingratiated into polite company because of a Savior inoffensive to all except to sin. Offensive to sin, He heard the grating boasts and Himself showed the better way, to the Cross, to the personal responsibility for the crimes of others, to the duty-bound sense of just how and why He owed so much to His people.

Dying away from their mad midnight scattered haste. Dying in a manner that slandered His entire earthly walk with incorrigible infamy: on a Cross, condemned, alleged to have been poison and temptation to these His rightful People, People who in some better telling of the tale did need Him, did live out all aspects of life because of His shadow and His presence and His simple Love. Simple Love being the most “illegal” kind of love, for what is there in it for Him the would-be lover?

The perimeter, then, is an end to gamesmanship and one-upping each other with our better “perch in Heaven”, the competition as to who or what is most holy, the exaggerated boasts of deservedness, of blessedness, of suitability for the task. We are suitable because of passing that perimeter’s checkpoint: cash out all pride, all boastful neediness, all accumulated ease or unprovocative coziness. To pick up once more the Good Fight. To be unafraid of the enemy’s gallows and guillotine, yes, to see this day an Immediate invite thus to walk the suffering servant’s path, the martyr’s last steps, the sadly Now call from within that perimetered city, Now to approach mighty heavenly things. Now to accumulate suitability to be Ones of His Own Choosing. Hidden mechanics and logic, Christian logic, of the immense blood sacrifice of Christ’s own, that was requisite and needful unto keeping the endeavor and enterprise underway. Things only those on a diet of meat might begin to see in fact, but not denying the milk to the innocently grateful, the child’s Thank You in itself respectful of something greater thus sacrificed, something deeper thus afforded, something prayerfully rich, something earned yet freely scattered abroad, unto all takers and with nary an imposition as to being more appreciative.

Free gift, the dying soldier outside the polite city walls, already having found battle joined whilst those for whom we and she and he serve, our merrily going about the day. Deep analytical insight, prophetic love borne in some brand of fast from what tempts or what emblazons marks against the character of the servant. Some sort of coherent end to the simpler fasts, with resounding acknowledgement: to Him to whom we pray as we prepare to eat, to Him be all honor and thankfulness. For this food, unperturbed and uncursed food. No sacrifice unto idols, but a basic Meal for the ages. Because the soldier was a little more alert, a little more defensive of what lies inside that perimeter, a little more hearing and sagacious and perceptive as to who and what the Evangelist’s boast is in.

It is a boast in a Lord on High, a boast that finally understands: man’s alleged fears and avoidances are not so simple as just making him or her over as skittish, but rather there are simple points of pride that we so foolishly will hold fast to even if it means our demise. There are simple self-made religions that we will not have the habit-formed around confessing them, repenting of all that poisons that perimeter or makes it a juggernaut of our own ambitions. We are no longer ambitious, but in confessing our heights of selfish interest, we become simultaneously Safe in Christ, and Martyred in Christ, our martyrdom being our own innocent sudden alert waking moment: Now, sacrifice is asked of you; Now, peace is yours to own; Now, you have fought the Good Fight. Now, you will go into the hereafter with nary a boast or oblique personal strength. Your personal strength is legend and manifest. Your personal strength, in the final issue however, is His strength. To whom we give all things. Into whose arms we fall at time of rest. Towards whom we the excited and mulling-about ranks of soldiers, do orient ourselves. Agitated, with peace agitated and stirred up: to the day’s Request of something plain-spoken and blood let, something Peace and Currency to all the ranks of soldier and citizen of this our Nation, His Throne Room, His suitability and strange largesse when, after all, we knew Him as servant to all and meek figure; central, yes, but meek.

Joy, to serve a Lord liminal and near to the twilight gate of the Hereafter. Joy, to bubble over in the believer’s heart. Joy, no flattery or restricted diet that takes on only good things; joy is the fruit of an incisive stomach for the Law as well: it is only an empty Joy if by “Grace” we mean ignoring evil things. No, we reckon squarely with the Law because it is defeated on the Cross. We reckon neatly with our accused and accursed state. We find Joy because of a tension that stretches onto the soul, like a violin’s taught strings, capable of making music and of lamenting or of celebrating as the occasion thus calls. It is that same perimeter that so sheltered and nursed the Christian’s confession unto its Debut in the light of day.

There is then an end to the madness of some situations, just because of a place where we can hear each other’s sides of the story. We make a religious inquiry around notions of getting-along. We are not excitable or “On” because of a dastardly bind, but lament the cheer and shared fellowshiping thus lost. In the Kingdom there will be plenty of time and space finally to laugh about how long some things take. There will be beauty, but also Accomplishment; beauty not the only final marker. The Accomplishment, like two friends praying and sitting at table together and healing from what eventually befalls any loving best friend status: argument, too much of a good thing together; harried words spoken in haste. And then the Gospel, primed and presented by that good picture of brother or sister at table with loving brother or sister. Just being silent, perhaps, or murmuring apologies if they will make any difference by now. Laughing at ourselves. Calmed but also reverent, on heightened alert status: let not this our disagreement persist or fester. And we are the stronger for having weathered the storm, but it is a storm we never would have wished upon ourselves.