passion
“But you’re blind and brainless.
All you think about is yourself,
taking advantage of the weak,
bulldozing your way, bullying victims.” (Jeremiah 22:17)
“Someone wicked takes one look and rages,
Blusters away but ends up speechless.
There’s nothing to the dreams of the wicked. Nothing.” (Psalms 112:10)
“Then Pilate said, “So, are you a king or not?”
Jesus answered, “You tell me. Because I am King, I was born and entered the world so that I would witness to the truth. Everyone who cares for truth, who has a feeling for the truth, recognizes my voice.” (John 18:37)
It was a wicked time in Israel, and God was fed up. King after king that occupied the throne had not done right in God’s eyes, had taken advantage of the weak, had spilled blood. And God cursed it.
When we’re surrounded by wickedness, we always ask: where’s God? When things aren’t what they could be, when men bully men, when we’re too busy tearing each other down, when the strong lords itself over the weak, we wonder where is God in all of this. Where is God when independence is having a free reign?
From these passages, it’s clear God doesn’t turn a blind eye to matters of the Earth. He’s very much present in all the muck and mire. In fact, He hates it, detests the way we treat our fellow man, denounces those who only live for themselves, calls the dreams of the selfish nothing but air. So God cares. God deeply, deeply cares about Earth, and about us.
Question is, do I believe it? Do I believe that there is hope for my world? That grace is a power that conquers all, that redemption for us as kings is at work? And do I carry this hope like a cross, let it grip my heart, influence my thoughts, guide my actions? Where is this kind of godly hope in my heartspace?
The truth: it’s buried deep beneath a rising pile of independent living and merry-making. That kind of faith - that my world will know the truth that sets us free from slavery - it’s nowhere near the top of my heart’s passions. As God’s child, not caring about God’s agenda, that must be deeply disappointing.
Hearing Sivin share about the slain relief workers in Afghanistan, it struck me how comfortable my life is. It’s a nice plateau to dwell on - I make the calls, and I could even say it’s exciting and adventurous at times. But if I’m being honest, it is devoid of a burden. It’s empty of the kind of passion that braves bullets, swims into the deep sea, jumps off cliffs. It lacks a propulsion into God’s work - not that it needs to be like the kind done in Afghanistan, but still, an all-consuming burden that occupies my mind, that causes me to come to the Father on my knees, begging Him to guide and lead.
Do I want that kind of all-consuming hope? Because it’s painful. It’s a brand of suffering. It’s truly unsafe and dangerous, changing all I know to be my life’s path. I don’t believe this is a specific calling as much as it is a realignment towards the heart of God. But such a realignment isn’t just a shift in degrees, but a change in direction. A dangerous change, but a necessary one. One that first starts as a desire.
Lord, it’s an odd devotion, but there is a sense you’re pulling me to think, to dream, to feel bigger. I want to want your kind of hope - a hope for making this world what it should be.
Teach me your heart. Show me your passion. And lead me towards a burden for your children. Lead me.
Amen.
