2023-06-24 A Meditation on Soulful Imprint
“19 For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, 20 and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross.” (Col 1:19–20 ESV)
Perfectly storm-tossed, perfectly weathered, a certain combination of being held and being nurtured can create conversion. Conversion can become a rich prize, won for all time as an imprint Triune on the heart. It is a strange relative of submission: we submit, insofar as acknowledging a natural tendency that is frightfully tenacious, clutched, increasingly covetous and harbored: to convert is finally to make the trust fall, to be friends even despite all the aggressions that formerly classified us as enemies.
If successful, if we get our birthright as Created Beings and our money’s worth, it makes us people of generous spirit, willing to hear any and all U-turns and appeals for first steps taken with trust and renewed mutual appreciation in mind. By our former foes. By those who say “We would, were it not impossible; we are too far gone by this stage…”.
Therefore, we get starry-eyed at the full-body endearing sentiment: God loves us. We are soldiers insofar as we learn a certain call for intervention: a certain Lord of the Harvest and decisiveness; we go so far as to say on some level we decide on behalf of this our peer. Yet only on his or her behalf when it is classified as genuine parental or amical love for those in need. Only when they are fresh out of deservedness or safe harbor; when they are in need; when they are at wit’s end; when they are with miserly, regrettable tenacity holding on to a proud thought. “Do me a solid and be my person-in-charge during my absence…”
To intervene, then, is theologically understood as something getting “better with age”. We intervene like Christ did on His hill and His Cross, distant from where people are situated, but hopeful that the tectonic depth charge will bear fruit. It was a genius move, a simple salute, a forward operation, a joint drill, as disciples and mother took up their respective role in this franchise, this togetherness, this display for the ages.
The movement is forward, aggressive on some level, purposeful insofar as we are just as eager for unction and wondrous acceptance on display, as we once were for sin. That is, we have no quiet days: each hour is a tug-of-war, yet we are those whose very deeds are shared with Christ’s, so we can find rest. We can delve in, stir the pot, rediscover the patient Love, with eager hearts and willing bodies. All these things are possible in the uniform of finally merging hostility with patient longing, with peace.
Hostile to sin, hostile to complacency, hostile to the spirit that separates men and women from each other under the name of enmity; to all this we shine forth a Cross and a Virgin Birth and Blessed, Teaching Years of meaning and faith shining light upon the dastardly impasses that seem to shelter no path forward. Our path forward is the receipt given us by the One who hears our patient prayer. Who lifts up the downtrodden. Who empowers the regretful. Who builds up the slandered. Who is our cabin and lock on the door of things done Rightly, with Loving discretion, with obstinate principles sheltered from Man’s ennui by Grace. Grace, the one-up ante, while the family principles, the solo journier’s almanac, the servant’s pat on the back; these things are attractive, in pleasant guise, ours to stand up for and be counted.