deep calls to deep

Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers have swept over me.

By day the Lord directs his love, at night his song is with me—
a prayer to the God of my life.

                                                                        Psalm 42:7-8

 

Deep calls to deep.

 

The aching agony of a world of brokenness set against the backdrop of a God so whole. This hurts deep. The soul can only take so much. And these needs—this destitute state—serve as the great breaking point. I am being swept over by your anger and sorrow for a world gone wrong.

 

How can I do anything that will pick up broken pieces? How can I do nothing?

 

There is an angst in the everyday when I start to see with eyes you’ve given and love with a heart not my own. I am so helpless myself; so in need of the rescue that gives breath and life. There is an angst; a hurt. An anger and restlessness that cries of how I must reach out—I must reach in and share with souls long lost of a love that has found me.

 

Where are you in the midst of all this heartache and why have I been so comfortable while the nations rage?

 

Deep calls to deep.

 

Deep within a cry is forming; a cry from my depths to the deepness of God. Come and rid me of this comfort for the everyday and the ordinary. Come and bring your wholeness through me to the broken. Come with your gospel truth and resurrection power. Come Jesus, and resurrect my own heart from apathy and the paralysis of so much need and so little me.

 

Come and free me from making it about me. It is you, only you.

 

Deep calls to deep and you are calling me.

 

From somewhere deep within you are whispering gently and shouting violently for those who call themselves yours to live as such. To step up and step out. To reveal wholeness and Jesus and resurrection power that heals souls.

 

I am in turmoil as I see the needs of those who surround me and know my own need too well. It is too much, there is too far to go, to high to hope that I could do anything for others when I need like I do.

 

And yet…by day your love directs me. By night your song is with me. Your  song is my prayer to you. Deep calls to deep to remind me that it has never been me; it has always been you. You working in me you working through me. You and you and only ever you.

 

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?           Psalm 42:2

 

You are here and here and always here. And deep within I feel you calling from somewhere deeper still. Calling me to you and calling me to your broken world.

 

 

There is a dissatisfaction even in the writing of these words. The calling, the cry, the angst is deep and words are found lacking. My soul is thirsty and the deep call is reverberating. I simply pray that I can find ears to hear and a heart to receive this song of the Lord’s love. May it be my prayer back to him.

 

good intentions

So I say, let the Holy Spirit guide your lives. Then you won’t be doing what your sinful nature craves. The sinful nature wants to do evil, which is just the opposite of what the Spirit wants. And the Spirit gives us desires that are the opposite of what the sinful nature desires. These two forces are constantly fighting each other, so you are not free to carry out your good intentions.       Galatians 5:16-17

 

I have a lot of good intentions. I mean well…most of the time. I don’t want to do harm, to hurt, to deceive. I don’t want to just not care enough to love others well. I have better intentions than these. And yet, I still find myself doing harm, caring too little and hiding behind masks far too often.

 

Much of the time when I realize this I will, with great exasperation, ask myself what my problem is. “You know better than to act like this. You say you want to live better than this. Why do you keep carrying the same bad attitudes, the same passive aggressive tactics, the same lack of loving well? What is wrong with you?!” But I know what my problem is even as I ask.

 

I’m also learning that most other people are generally well-intentioned too. They don’t always think like me, talk like me, or make the same choices I would, but they intend well. They have good intentions just as I do. It’s just that they too struggle to follow through on the best of intentions. They too get side-tracked by behaviors that are never what they wanted.

 

They have the same problem I have. We’re broken. We do what we don’t want to do. We behave in ways contrary to what we’ve been called to and how we want to live. Sin has this twisted way of causing us to think we want what we don’t want. We crave the very things we will regret. There is a fight over us. The Spirit is fighting for things opposite to our sinful nature. And good intentions just aren’t enough to overcome.

 

Let the Holy Spirit guide you.

 

The simplicity of this call to let ourselves be guided by the Spirit belies the complexity of living it out. It sounds so simple. Let yourself be guided. It sounds easy, but as Paul says: there is a fight going on. Everything the Spirit calls us to is contrary to what our sinful nature wants. And it’s a hit to our egos to have to admit that we chase after things that are self-destructing and we don’t have the power to stop ourselves.

 

But this is where we live. This is who we are. And we need the Spirit to guide us. Otherwise we will never be free to carry out our good intentions.

 

Those who belong to Christ Jesus have nailed the passions and desires of their sinful nature to his cross and crucified them there. Since we are living by the Spirit, let us follow the Spirit’s leading in every part of our lives.        Galatians 5:24-25

 

The truth that Paul wants us to recognize is that our sinful nature has no more power to draw us away from the things of the Spirit than what power we give it. Our sinful nature has been taken care of, crucified with Christ. We have life by the Spirit when we accept this—when we accept Jesus. But now we have to follow his lead.

 

Father, may we follow well today. May we live in the truth of a powerless sin nature and a powerful Spirit to lead.

new clothes

We watched her from our window. It was late in the night, but here she came—not on the sidewalk—right down the center of the street. It probably felt safer out there in the light of street lamps, rather than the shadowy walkways that lined its sides. And besides, no one was out driving the streets at this hour anyway; at least she probably hoped no one was.

 

As we watched her pass it felt a little surreal. Here we sit, in the home we’ve made with our little ones sleeping a few feet away and just outside a whole world we cannot yet fathom. Had I seen it in a movie I would have thought it too cliché, too over done with stereotypes. But there she was: hunched over old woman, shrouded in a long and tattered black trench coat, pushing a shopping cart filled with what I would assume to be all her earthly possessions. The consummate bag lady.

 

She was moving quickly too. Moving from one place—a place I can’t even imagine—and looking for another. Where does one go at midnight in the middle of the city? I probably don’t want to know…

 

Where does she “live” if she has no home? And what makes her move in the middle of the night? Again, it is easier just not knowing.

 

We prayed for her safety, for her life, for her soul. We grieved for the dangers she must face and the atrocities that must plague her in the darkness of night where it seems no good can happen. We thought of her and ourselves. Her life and ours—so different and yet so close.

 

She is why we came here. She is why we have moved to this place where all the people live such different lives in such close proximity to one another. We are in the center of the city now because of her, and all those like her. Our family is here because these people’s lives are so different from us. And because the people themselves are not so different.

 

I can’t help but continue to think of her tattered coat blowing behind here as she trudges up the dark street moving as quickly as her cart can be pushed. I wonder what she truly looks like underneath. Is she old? Is she weathered? Or is she young and still wrestling with how she got here?

 

As I think of here beneath that coat I think of the words of Paul.

 

For you are all children of God through faith in Christ Jesus. And all who have been united with Christ in baptism have put on Christ, like putting on new clothes. There is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female. For you are all one in Christ Jesus. And now that you belong to Christ, you are the true children of Abraham. You are his heirs, and God’s promise to Abraham belongs to you.       Galatians 3:26-29

 

She is shrouded in homelessness and poverty. I have put on the new clothes of Christ. Underneath though, we are not so different. She needs the same things I need. She has a soul broken and bursting with pain and sin and lost-ness. I have the same. I have taken off my clothes of poverty and put on Christ, but beneath it—without him—we are the same. And what I realize in thinking of her is what I wrote just a moment ago. She is why we came here; why we moved our family and home. She needs what we need. Since we’ve found it we’ve realized we need to bring it to her; to her and all the rest still wearing poverty of the heart and lost-ness of soul.

 

It’s so easy to look at people and see only the differences. To see only the ways we cannot relate. It’s even easier to find ourselves in circles that only reflect exactly what we are; to live in places that simply reinforce what we like about our own upbringing and hope to get for ourselves. It seems right to raise a family in a place where questions about sinful choices and lifestyles and why God lets people be homeless can be avoided or put off until later.

 

It seems easier and justifiable and in some ways it definitely is. But at some point we have to start living in a way that forces us to look past what shrouds the people who seem so different, whose lives we don’t know how to relate to. We need to see that beneath it they are just like we are. They need what we need. We look different and live differently because we’ve put on the new clothes of Christ, but their souls are frantically searching for the very same.

 

And when these who are so different do put on these new clothes, this Christ, they will be just as we are. Completely the same in the eyes of our Father. Why would we not want them in the family? Why would we not do everything, live anywhere, befriend anyone in order to offer them these new clothes?

 

claim us

God invites Moses back up the mountain, back to his presence, back to receive commandments. Again. And when Moses arrives, when he encounters God, the Lord speaks and calls out great things about himself and Moses falls on his face in worship. And then Moses speaks.

 

O Lord, if it is true that I have found favor with you, then please travel with us. Yes, this is a stubborn and rebellious people, but please forgive our iniquity and our sins. Claim us as your own special possession.          Exodus 34:9

 

Claim us. This is a prayer of surrender, a prayer of humility. A prayer that says, I will no longer be my own, I will be yours. I will no longer have my agenda, my lists of requirements, my self-focused priorities. I will let you tell me what’s important, ask you to align my heart with what is true. I will be your possession. I will surrender.

 

And Moses is honest because he says, “we are stubborn, we are sinners we are rebellious. Please forgive us as you claim us.” Essentially he is admitting: we have baggage. This is a call for God to claim us, not because we are so great or worthwhile. It’s a plea for claiming even with our junk and brokenness.

 

Everything about today’s society rejects this. Everywhere we are told to be our own boss, make our own rules, decide for ourselves what is true. Relativism is the standard of our day. If it works for you it’s true. If it’s convenient for you it’s acceptable. No one promotes sacrificing or working for things. Everything is something we feel entitled to. And everything is justifiable—well, almost everything. Our self-serve culture has made us self-serving.

 

So Moses’ words today are words that call us back to the gospel of Jesus. A gospel that says Jesus came not to be served, but to serve. And our attitude should be the same. We should serve like he served. Following him means not making a name for ourselves. It really means not making for ourselves at all. It’s not about us.

 

I read these words of Moses and my first thought was just how wonderful this is; this “claim us” reality that we can have with God—the beauty of relationship with him.  And it is great and it is amazing and beautiful, but it is also far more serious than I often give attention to. Asking God to claim us is a cry of submission and surrender. It is a life of serving and giving of ourselves. It’s not how the world does things—it’s a call to be different.

 

But among you it will be different. Whoever wants to be a leader among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first among you must become your slave. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve others and to give his life as a ransom for many.  Matthew 20:26-28

 

Father, claim us as your own special possession. Make it not about us, but about you. Teach us to serve and give and love; not for ourselves, but for others to see you. We surrender. We are yours.

 

consequences

The Lord said to Moses, “Get going, you and the people you brought up from the land of Egypt. Go up to the land I swore to give to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. I told them, `I will give this land to your descendants.’ And I will send an angel before you to drive out the Canaanites, Amorites, Hittites, Perizzites, Hivites, and Jebusites. Go up to this land that flows with milk and honey. But I will not travel among you, for you are a stubborn and rebellious people. If I did, I would surely destroy you along the way.”       Exodus 33:1-3

 

Sin has consequences.

 

I realize that in many places within the Christian church the consequences of sin are beaten over people’s heads and guilt is utilized to try and manipulate people into behaving. But just as the consequences of sin can be misused and overly focused on the reverse can also hold true. Sometimes in a culture that preaches and celebrates grace this reality can be forgotten. Sin has consequences, even when there is grace and forgiveness.

 

God said to his people, “I will not travel among you…”

 

Consequences.

 

God displays amazing mercy and grace. He doesn’t completely destroy a people who prostituted themselves for an easier religion and momentary pleasure as soon as they thought God wasn’t looking. He could have. But just because God gave forgiveness and mercy doesn’t mean the matter is settled. Our sin, whether great or small (not really sure when we started ranking sins), causes all kinds of ripple effects in our life and the lives of others. Consequences.

 

There are some unstoppable ramifications of sinning. When we rebel against God and his ways and his values we set in motion the fruits of our choices. Some of these things cannot—or will not—be stopped. And so the world continues to deteriorate and rot. Because sin has consequences.

 

For all creation is waiting eagerly for that future day when God will reveal who his children really are. Against its will, all creation was subjected to God’s curse. But with eager hope, the creation looks forward to the day when it will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay. For we know that all creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. And we believers also groan, even though we have the Holy Spirit within us as a foretaste of future glory, for we long for our bodies to be released from sin and suffering. We, too, wait with eager hope for the day when God will give us our full rights as his adopted children, including the new bodies he has promised us.         Romans 8:19-23

 

And until that day when Jesus restores all things we wait, and we groan, and we decay; because sin has consequences.

 

For the Israelites the consequences are painful and abrupt and, I would imagine, very devastating. God, who has led them out, who has fed them daily; God who has walked before them and behind them; God who has been in their midst since coming out of Egypt is not going to travel among them for a while. It’s not that he isn’t going at all. God just needs some space.

 

Ultimately this is the largest, most consistent effect of sin. It causes separation from God. It divides and distances us and our life suffers for lack of presence. This is why the world decays. This is why it’s all falling down around us. This is why we have sickness and pain and brokenness. Sin has consequences and chief among them is a God who withdraws from the world and from the people of sin. Not completely or permanently, but with ramifications for a people created for the sole purpose of relationship with the Creator.

 

It’s easy to forget. It’s more desirable to just focus on the grace of God and be thankful for forgiveness and forget about consequences. Then we wonder why we feel lost and alone and distant from God. He forgives, yes. He always forgives when we repent. But sin has consequences and there is ground lost and intimacy severed and distance created when we sin. And it takes time and effort to restore what we lose. Sometimes God withdraws to a place a little off from where we are. Not to punish us or torture us, but because sin wounds him. Sin angers him. Sin is a rebellious, selfish act against him. And sometimes the God who consumes all space and time needs a little space and time. And sometimes we need to be reminded of the painful truth that when we sin, even with grace and forgiveness at the ready, our sin has set brokenness in motion. Until Jesus comes back and puts an end to all sin our sin will continue to wreak havoc and decay.

 

There are consequences for our sin, and chief among them is the way it wounds our relationship with the only one who can free us from this sin. Perhaps if we keep this in the forefront of our minds it will help us on this journey, in these choices, and even when we sin, to make things right again.

 

devouring lion

Sometimes words can haunt us. I don’t mean in a bad way. I mean that they can find their way back into our lives over and over again. Often times—most of the time—for me those words are directly from Scripture. But sometimes they are other words. Words that keep cropping up and speaking into my life. Words that challenge. Words that I have a love/hate relationship with. When I read the words Brennan Manning wrote about Jesus as the lion that would devour us I was captured. These words have come around again and again and challenged me where I have stood. They do so again.

 

I will not leave you alone. You are mine.  I know each of my sheep by name.  You belong to Me.  If you think I am finished with you, if you think I am a small god, that you can keep at a safe distance, I will pounce on you like a roaring lion, tear you to pieces, rip you to shreds, and break every bone in your body.  Then I will mend you, cradle you in my arms, and kiss you tenderly.       –Brennan Manning, Lion and Lamb (The Relentless Tenderness of Jesus)

 

It’s no wonder Jesus called on people to count the cost of discipleship. To consider what following him would require. We like to think of following Jesus in terms of us following, choosing, wanting to be with him and that is all true. But genuine following also means belonging to him, not ourselves.

 

“You are mine…You belong to me.”

 

Do we even grasp what kind of love is so deep as to willingly pounce, tear us to pieces, rip us to shreds, break every bone, just so it can mend us together again in ways that are more whole? I don’t think I comprehend a love that deep. Except in the ways I have been personally ripped apart and tenderly mended together again. Even then, my understanding and appreciation is small at best.

 

Today I am considering Jesus’ call to count the cost of following him. It will take everything. He will devour me, my loved ones, my things, my pride. He will take it all. And not necessarily with gentleness or anesthetic. He will rip it from me so that all I have is him. Then he will mend me together again with love and tenderness. The cost of following is only everything.

 

A large crowd was following Jesus. He turned around and said to them, “If you want to be my disciple, you must hate everyone else by comparison—your father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even your own life. Otherwise, you cannot be my disciple. And if you do not carry your own cross and follow me, you cannot be my disciple.

“But don’t begin until you count the cost. For who would begin construction of a building without first calculating the cost to see if there is enough money to finish it? Otherwise, you might complete only the foundation before running out of money, and then everyone would laugh at you. They would say, ‘There’s the person who started that building and couldn’t afford to finish it!’

“Or what king would go to war against another king without first sitting down with his counselors to discuss whether his army of 10,000 could defeat the 20,000 soldiers marching against him? And if he can’t, he will send a delegation to discuss terms of peace while the enemy is still far away. So you cannot become my disciple without giving up everything you own.        Luke 14:25-33

 

You cannot become my disciple without giving up everything you own.

 

And when I try to take it back, try to make it mine, try to be in control, he will pounce. I am so grateful for this ruthless love. Jesus is a ferocious lover of souls. He tears us and devours us so as to mend us. He breaks in order to heal rightly that which was twisted and bent. If we think he is finished with us or that he is small and easily held at a distance he may soon come calling, come devouring. And then we will see that he is indeed a devouring lion.

 

pieces

 

Every morning
you’ll hear me at it again.
Every morning
I lay out the pieces of my life
on your altar
and watch for fire to descend.   

 

Psalm 5:3 (MSG)

 

I will lay out the pieces of my life.

 

It’s odd how willing I am to do this when I am desperate; when I’m in need. I rush to this end, giving him all the pieces, all the broken mess. I need him and I’m okay with it. But when times are better, or at least easier; when I don’t have pressing needs that feel overwhelming…I’m less inclined. I like to hold some pieces back. I prefer to pick and choose. “You can have this piece and this piece. Perhaps you can fix those today.” As if God will fix anything before he has everything.

 

But this says every morning. Every morning I lay out the pieces of my life. Every morning I meet with God. Every morning I give it all back…again. That’s the invitation. That’s what it looks like to live in Life and wholeness.

 

And I like the imagery given by The Message. Most other translations say something about waiting with expectancy or expectantly. But The Message says, “and watch for fire to descend.” It’s essentially saying the same thing except that it brings some context to mind for those who are familiar with God’s interactions with people throughout the Old Testament. It can bring to mind times when sacrifices have been laid on the altar and a waiting for God to come has been practiced.

 

It brings to mind Genesis 15, where God stoops down and makes a covenant with Abraham—then just Abram. Abram cut the sacrifice to pieces, laid it out, and waited for God to come. And God did come, and he made an agreement—started a relationship—not just with Abram, but with his descendants; and ultimately with all of us.

 

It brings to mind 1 Kings 18, where Elijah lays out the sacrifice on the altar, and drenches it with water, and then waits. He invites God to show that he is God and he just waits.  And it says that the fire of the Lord fell on the sacrifice and consumed it all. And the people cried out, “The Lord—he is God!”

 

So the imagery of the Psalm is to lay out the pieces of our lives; they are a sacrifice. And to do so with expectancy; God will come. And the words that are key—at least for me today—are the words every morning. The pieces of our lives have a bad habit of crawling off the altar. And so again this morning—every morning—I lay out the pieces of my life. And I wait. Not for the miraculous or spectacular, but just for the coming, the descending of God.

 

On second thought, the fact that God will come—that he will descend to the pieces of my life—is pretty miraculous and spectacular.

 

new self

You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.     Ephesians 4:22-24 

 

It would seem reasonable, even expected, that putting on a new self would be easy. What has the old self given us anyway? It’s broken after all! Why should we wear it’s ill-fitting, unflattering tatters any longer? It would seem reasonable that to be naked and without self at all would be a better option than clutching at what never really fit in the first place.

 

And yet we do. We hold tightly to the old self.

 

We’ve taken this new self—these rich robes like Joseph’s many colors—a gift from our Father. We’ve taken them and we celebrate them…and still we keep the old. Tucked back and away of course. Not worn everyday or everywhere, but still we tend to keep them.

 

Why is it that once we are made new we like to live as if we are left old? Why is it not so simple to turn and walk and never look back?

 

We know the truth of it: Our old self lies to us. Our old self has nothing to offer us. But it is ours. It feels like a belonging we fear to leave; albeit a hurtful belonging. And so we seek to live in Life while still clutching shattered death. We want to keep in step with the Spirit and walk the narrow way, but cannot seem to let go. It does not make sense and it is a daily struggle, this leaving.

 

Now we look inside, and what we see is that anyone united with the Messiah gets a fresh start, is created new. The old life is gone; a new life burgeons! Look at it!          2 Corinthians 5:17 MSG

 

Look at it! Look at this new life we’ve been given. See it in contrast to the life we’ve left. A fresh start, a clean slate, no remembering for yesterday’s corruption. We are new, may we leave the old behind.

 

never like this

When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

 

When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. 

 

“Where have you laid him?” he asked. “Come and see, Lord,” they replied. 

 

Jesus wept.     John 11:32-35

Why is Jesus crying? Is he unsure if he can bring Lazarus back? Did he not expect this? Did he think he had more time?

 

No. that’s just not it. But then what? Why?

 

This is all wrong. That’s why.

 

It was never meant to be like this. They created, they made, they brought it all into existence. All the tress, the flowers, the creatures, the people—especially the people. Made with image, made with soul, but not for this. Never for this. This just isn’t what they had in mind when creating. Separation is never what they have in mind. They made to be with. They made to have life.

 

All this ruin, this loss, this ending. No, this was never meant to be.

 

And so he cries. Cries for their loss. Cries for their pain. Cries in spite of the fact that he will bring Lazarus back. He cries because he knows—he knows they will all need to be brought back. Death is a ruiner, a separator, an ender. And yes, yes they had created, but it was not for this. This was never meant to be; never like this.

 

And he cries because this is why he came. To stop this madness; to put an end to the ending. Death must go down, it must be stopped. All this sorrow, all this pain of people losing people—it moves him deeply; troubles him in the soul.

 

He cries because he is dying to stop the dying.

 

Everything else he has seen: the legs that won’t walk, the eyes that no longer see, the skin that isn’t as it should be, all the healing he must do and has been doing. He knows that all of it is just this in disguise. It’s just this hinting at the corners of life. The ruin of death is the problem, because it was never meant to be like this.

 

And when it’s done—the crying and the rising; when it’s done Jesus says the words.

 

“Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”          John 11:44

 

These are the words we live for. These are the words our souls need. And this is why he came. To bring us all back; we all need bringing back. This was never meant to be—this dying and separation. But this is what is. So he comes. He comes to cry with those who lose what never was meant to be lost. He comes to take off grave clothes and let us go.

 

And that is what was meant to be.

 

cursed

 

 

I often think that the worst of the curse,

has nothing to do with these clothes or child birth;

the bruising of heels or the tilling of earth;

but the fact that the fruit didn’t keep to it’s word.

 

                                                -Levi Weaver, Good From Evil

   __________________________________________________________________________________________

Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?” The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but God did say, ‘You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.’ ”            Genesis 3:1-3

It promises but can never deliver. It whispers sweet sounds that will leave us wanting. It denies the truth to proclaim lies. It is the Forbidden.

It is the one thing—the only thing—God tells Adam and Eve they may not have. And it becomes the one thing—the only thing—they want. They trade all for nothing. They give eternity for a moment. A moment that is ultimately disappointing. And they leave us cursed. They leave us wanting. They leave us broken.

Forbidden. Cursed. These are the words of a people who have set their eyes on a must not, rather than the freedom of the ALL they may have. A people who listen to the other rather than the Creator. A people who see, want, and take.

We are these people. We are the cursed. We long for the forbidden. We lose sight of the ALL we are given.

And so we are pulled away; ripped from relationship. The very thing we were created for, intended to be consumed by, we are removed from. By our own hand. By our own selfishness.

But the Lord God called to the man, “Where are you?”      Genesis 3:9

 

And yet God comes looking. God comes pursuing. God comes for us. He knows our curse. He knows the stain of the forbidden on our lips. He knows the nakedness we hide and the lust we have uncovered. He knows us. And he comes looking.

 

And God sacrifices the life innocent to cover the nakedness of the broken image bearers. He sacrifices for the cursed. There is bloodshed in the perfect place; perfect no more.

It is a forth-telling of the future. A declaration of what is to come. God knew in that moment that more cursed would come, indeed that all coming would be cursed. And God knew that he would offer to cover all these cursed. That he would come looking, come asking, “Where are you?”

God knew that a Christ would be coming. A Christ for the cursed. The Christ for us.

Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us…          Galatians 3:13

 

Indeed it is by grace that we have been saved. And this could never be from us, because we were cursed when we were found. The Life Innocent was sacrificed, not just to cover, but to remove our curse.

Thanks be to God