Friday, April 3, 2015

He Still Sends Rain

Shrouded by early mornings darkness, I listen to the steady rain.
It sounds like a rushing river on the hillside before me.

 I am at a loss for words.

What do I say to Him on this anniversary day? This Good Friday.This dark Passover. How do I pray?
'Thanks' seems to minimize the sacrifice and praise meager in its offering.

Far be it from me, Oh, LORD, to spit out words of worship and petition.
For even in my most humbled effort I fail to truly comprehend that I am handling holy things with my mouth--syllables and sentences that rise upwards to your sacred sanctuary.

In my distress I called to the LORD; I cried to my God for help.
From His temple He heard my voice; my cry came before Him...
Psalm 18:6

It is inconceivable to realize my voice travels beyond galaxies and constellations and nebula's and black-holes and time itself. 
That my words arrived in a holy place above-- the heavenly tabernacle, the very chamber of God where angels tread and God resides.

Did a heavenly hush fall in those courts? 
Did the holy congregation slowly turn their eyes to the sound of words?

I imagine that awkward moment of charging in tardy to a staff meeting, a wedding, a seminar, or even a church service during the offering of silent, congregational prayer.

Every head looks up. All eyes on you.

Woe to me! For I am a man of unclean lips...and I am undone!" 
Isaiah 6:5

Who am I, LORD, that you are mindful of me.
Psalm 8:4

Is it possible the whole of heaven grows fearfully silent, turning its full attention to the intrusion of our  prayers?

Such knowledge is too...lofty for me to comprehend.
Psalm 139:6  

But here I am on bended knee, peering into the forested deep of morning and mouthing morsels for your ears, O, LORD, all the while knowing that as soon as I rise, I will fall again.

Martin Luther's cry becomes my bewail: "O my sin ! my sin ! my sin !"

Suddenly the firmament cracks and the thunder of  God's voice is heard.

Listen! Listen to the roar of his voice; to the rumbling that comes from his mouth. 
Job 37:2

And the rain follows then; rivers of life that flow from the Holy Temple.

What wondrous love is this?
Who can comprehend, who can comprehend this grace gift?
This unspeakable, incomprehensible, unfailing, redeeming, raining love?  Who?

Like a devoted parent caring for a helpless child, you carefully minister to your afflicted children.
Changing our clothes, washing our minds, renewing our hope and tending to this broken temple that houses your name.

The rifts and ravines of our life course like errant rivulets seeking direction, thirsting for truth.

Damaged DNA from the garden's trespass are we--
man and beast and bird and dirt and air and tender shoots and flowering bulb and weeping willow.

All of earth has been fractured by the fall of Eden. Infected. Wounded.

Earths soil is stained with the sin of it all.

"For the creation was subject to the frustration" (the err of Eden)... and "We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time."
Romans 8:19 and 22

We are webs of twisted twigs reaching broken, upwards, for life giving water.
Tiny, fragile buds on life's branches, we desperately push to break through the hardened bark of this ole troubled world.

Wretches of the world but saved by grace for those who know your name.

Still, you tenderly care. You send refreshing.
You ride the skies to rescue us.
You send grace in spite of our guilt.
You send the rain and remind us that we are yours, you have heard our prayer and--
you are making all things new;

Father, let your teaching fall like rain on our hearts and your words descend like dew on our souls, 
like showers on new grass, like abundant rain on tender plants.
And we will proclaim the name of the LORD.
Oh, praise the greatness of our God!
Deuteronomy 32:2

For you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings.
Malachi 4:2

*A HUGE thanks to Kent Burgess for permission to use his incredible photo's. *