Communion Meditation on Isaiah 5

‭Isaiah‬ ‭5‬:‭20-24‬ NASB:

Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; Who substitute darkness for light and light for darkness; Who substitute bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter! Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes And clever in their own sight! Woe to those who are heroes in drinking wine And valiant men in mixing strong drink, Who justify the wicked for a bribe, And take away the rights of the ones who are in the right! Therefore, as a tongue of fire consumes stubble And dry grass collapses into the flame, So their root will become like rot and their blossom blow away as dust; For they have rejected the law of the LORD of hosts And despised the word of the Holy One of Israel.

It would be easy to apply these words to our nation's reaction toward the recent Supreme Court ruling allowing homosexual marriage in all 50 states. 

If you're on social media, you've probably noticed a flood of posts over the past few days, saying things like, At last: equality!" Or "Everyone should have the right to love whoever they want."

And it wouldn't be wrong to make this application. God's word clearly says that his design for marriage is one man and one woman, together for life. Any sexual relationship outside that definition is likely to bring pain, guilt, and loss, both for those immediately involved and for society at large. This is true regardless of the relationship's legal status.

But it would be wrong to stop our thoughts on this passage there. Isaiah is a prophet, and prophecy is intended to make us contemplate our own sin problem, not other people's.

So I confess before you and the Lord this morning that I am guilty of the things Isaiah lists here: 

I have called evil good, and good evil.

I have substituted darkness for light and light for darkness.

I have substituted bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter.

I have gone to great lengths to justify my own wickedness.

I have been wise in my own eyes and clever in my own sight.

I have rejected the law of the LORD of hosts and despised the word of the Holy One of Israel.

Therefore, I have justly earned God's condemnation: As a tongue of fire consumes stubble and dry grass collapses into the flame, so my root deserves to  become like rot and my blossom deserves to blow away as dust.

But God wasn't willing to leave me there, in a place of hopeless, well-deserved condemnation. And He wasn't willing to leave you there, either. That's why we've gathered here today: To celebrate the sacrifice that transferred us from a kingdom of darkness, death, and damnation into one of light, life, and love. 

Because Jesus died on the cross for us, we can have forgiveness and restoration through him. When we place our faith in him, his blameless life and righteousness displace our sinful selves. Christ's life becomes who we really are, and we leave behind our old, corrupted natures.

Let's thank God for his merciful, life-giving work on our behalf.

Communion

You are first among the many

Who gather this morning,

Brothers breaking your very body,

Sisters sipping your very blood,

Bread and wine standing in

For sinews and muscle,

For plasma and marrow,

A feast made no less gruesome,

No less costly, no less terrible,

By our symbolic commemoration.

You meant what you said:

We must consume you,

Body and soul, to be whole,

To be rid of the death we've earned,

To be healed of our brokenness:

The brokenness we inherited,

The brokenness we sought out.

They couldn't take it that day,

Those hungry men looking for bread,

So they left disgusted, 

Hungry,

Unfilled.

But my hunger is insatiable,

And my pockets are empty,

So I will take

And eat

And drink

And I will do it

In remembrance of you.

Everything Changes

A response to today's Wednesday Poetry Prompt.

here he comes at last,
the long-awaited one,
with a lifeless alien face,
eyes sealed shut,
perfectly motionless,
motionlessly perfect.

i wonder, at first,
is everything all right?
he should be louder,
or friendlier,
or angrier,
or something more,
something less
breathless.

in this moment,
my hope pauses,
my breath catches,
and she starts asking
if everything's all right,
and i don't really know.
even if he was breathing,
i wouldn't know.

over these months,
my all has been
subsumed, slowly, into
this searing moment, into
this pregnant pause, into
this silent question mark.
i'm not sure
if everything's all right
because i don't know anymore
what everything is
(or what all right is, for that matter).

and then his eyes open
and he screams like
the tornado siren
on the roof of the school
behind our house,
and that sound is
a sacred seal,
a holy reassurance,
and i suddenly know
that whatever everything is now,
it's all right.