new life

You (and I, and we all) take God’s breath away

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Photo: CKirgiss"I will take out your stony, stubborn heart and give you a tender, responsive heart."
Photo: CKirgiss
“I will take out your stony, stubborn heart and give you a tender, responsive heart.”

It’s a very big day. For shoppers, at least.

Black Friday. Sales. Deals. Drastic cuts. A shopping day to make one’s heart race.

All is well. (Indeed.)

Meanwhile, there is this:

Good Friday. The crucifixion. The substitution. The redemption. The superlative act of gracious, undeserved, breathtaking love.

These words I have spoken to thousands of people regarding the Creator’s love: You take God’s breath away.

You. Take. God’s. Breath. Away.

The Creator of the universe – who set the stars in place, who suspended the planets in the spheres, who ordered the species, who painted the landscape with unimaginable life – that God, that Creator, that infinite source of power, majesty, and grace – – – well, He finds us each (and oh, how can this possibly be?) breathtaking.

Indeed He does.

Utterly. Thoroughly. Completely.

What manner of love is this that He should love such as I?

And yet He does.

So then it should come as no surprise (but oh, it does – comes as a surprise that I cannot fathom or comprehend or grasp in my tiny hands) that on this day, more than 2000 years ago, He would demonstrate this endless, boundless, ceaseless love on the cross.

But He did.

Willing death.

Voluntary suffering.

Immeasurable sacrifice.

For those He finds breathtaking.

For me. For you. For us all.

We take God’s breath away. Once and for all at the cross. Each and every day in his love.

“At noon, darkness fell across the whole land until three o’clock. Then at three o’clock Jesus called out with a loud voice:
           Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachtham?
Then Jesus uttered another loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain in the sanctuary of the Temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.” (from Mark’s gospel)

You take God’s breath away. That is how He loves – on that day, on this day, and on every other day that will ever be.

All is well. Indeed.

YTGBA
Photo: CKirgiss
“He breathed his last…”

[All content copyright Crystal Kirgiss.]

Winter in Spring (or: This, Then, is March 2013) (or: When Narnia comes to Indiana)

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So, March 20 was the first day of spring in this, the year 2013.

Ergo, yesterday – March 24 – was the fifth day of spring. As in the season the follows winter.

But there must have been some confusion because last night – the fifth evening of spring – looked like this:

Photo: CKirgiss
Photo: CKirgiss

Note, if you please, the white-covered branches. I half expected a faun to the step out from among the trees into the light of the lamp-post, holding an umbrella in one arm and carrying several brown-paper parcels in the other.

Admittedly, it was quite magical for any number of reasons. The still silence. The storybook setting. The anticipation of curling up in a warm bed under a pile of toasty blankets.

Best of all, I did not have to sneak silently back to a distant wardrobe, trusting neither tree nor bird, but rather could joyfully re-light my Christmas tree that is still standing because, well, it’s made of books and so it still is. (I find it quite impossible to contemplate a home where it is not, but of course one must prepare oneself for the possibility.)

Photo: CKirgiss
Photo: CKirgiss

Thankfully I do not live in a land where it is always winter and never Christmas. Where there is no sight of spring. Where grace and hope and love are hidden away in small and secret places.

I live in a land where winter – even if it lasts for ever so long – is always filled with the joy of Christmas and always followed by the miracle of Easter. Where grace and hope and love are free for the taking.

That is: the sun always shines, no matter how dark the wintry clouds may be. And just when it is needed most, it pierces through the air and sky and soul to shatter our little world and save our desperate hearts.

The spell, you see, is broken. The patches of green are growing bigger. The patches of snow are growing smaller. The mist has turned from white to gold. And overhead, there is blue sky between the tree tops.

Photo: CKirgiss
Photo: CKirgiss

Rest assured: underneath the deep, deep snow, springtime and new life are bursting from the ground.

All is very, very well.

(Select descriptions of both winter and spring borrowed respectfully from Narnia.)

Another Newborn Babe

ckirgiss4 Comments

Long ago and far away, on a deeply dark night and after a weary day of travel, a young woman labored long to deliver her son into the world.

He rushed forth from her womb, leaving behind its warmth and safety to enter a world of both pain and love, joy and sorrow, birth and death – just like other newborn babes.

Someone scooped him up, wiped him clean, bundled him tightly, and lay him at his mother’s breast – just like other newborn babes.

Someone named him, held him, gazed at him lovingly, and brought him home to safety and warmth – just like other newborn babes.

Someone counted his fingers, counted his toes, stroked his delicate skin, fingered his silken hair, marveled at his quivering eyelashes, and traced his perfect face – just like other newborn babes.

Someone basked in the glow of new life, marveled at this bundle of humanity, and rejoiced in his miraculous breathing, wiggling, yawning, crying, sleeping, and eating – just like other newborn babes.

But this was not just another newborn babe.

This was Mary’s child. The carpenter’s boy. The son of God.

This was God himself, come to earth as a helpless babe, rushing forth from Mary’s womb – the Creator of everything, reduced to this wiggling, yawning, crying, sleeping, eating infant.

Jesus certainly was not just another newborn babe.

But because he willingly became a newborn babe, and then willingly went to the cross for all of humanity, we are offered life that only He can give – the kind of life where Jesus now washes us clean, names us, holds us, numbers the hairs on our head, and basks lovingly in the miracle of our new life – just like other born anew babes.

Breathe deeply and rejoice both in the miracle of newborn life and life born anew because there is nothing “just” about either one – for the first is undeservedly miraculous and the second is miraculously undeserved.