I'll provide the sacrifice
[Kim Walker Smith]
A sacrifice is always dead.
Let's be clear-- the simple fact of being dead doesn't make you a sacrifice. Jesus, our Lamb, became Jesus, our Fiery King, through the act of voluntarily sacrificing Himself for the sake of love. He tells us that if we follow His steps in self-sacrifice, we, too, will be raised up; if we pour ourselves out for the sake of love, if we waste our resources and time and energy not for our own good, the fire will burn but it will not decimate. Our heels will be bruised, but we will stand on the broken head of our enemy.
I don't know about you, but I want that more than anything. I want the powerful hope of resurrection; I want the power of Christ to fuel my days. I want to stop being afraid and angry, and be powerful and joyful instead. I want to look death in the eye and not flinch, because I know Whose and who I am.
I don't know about you, but I want that more than anything. I want the powerful hope of resurrection; I want the power of Christ to fuel my days. I want to stop being afraid and angry, and be powerful and joyful instead. I want to look death in the eye and not flinch, because I know Whose and who I am.
A sacrifice is always dead.
Advent is a fast, and fasts are about dying. But the most important part of Advent is looking forward-- expecting, waiting, hoping, longing.
Longing is a fearful and powerful thing. In Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, the dystopian society he's created is centered around weakening longing-- obliterating desire by constant self-indulgence, spreading out "love" to dodge the demands of committed self-sacrifice, diffusing the jet of human longing into a million tiny fountains that are harmless and powerless. It sounds an awful lot like what I do on a daily basis, honestly-- suffocate my hunger and pain and longing under a comfortable pillow and fleeting entertainment and a full belly.
There's nothing wrong with being full and comfortable and happy; there's only something wrong when I hear and feel and see the truth of my longing and instead dodge back into distraction so I don't have to come face to face with my pain, so I won't be disappointed if there isn't something powerful enough to satisfy and obliterate the longing.
A sacrifice is always dead, and part of Advent is making space-- dying to the old things to make room for the new.
The One Who names Himself Desire of Nations is not unfamiliar with the raw longings of the human heart; He isn't overwhelmed or irritated by our need, and He doesn't expect us to just get a grip and get over our fierce hope, our yearning for more. He wants us to feel our longing-- to honestly enter into the pain and frustration and discomfort of it, so that we can experience the intense satisfaction that comes only from His fiery love.
A sacrifice is always dead.
I don't know what it looks like for you to to hope and fast and long this Advent, but I think part of what it looks like for me is to make intentional silent space in my life-- to put aside, to die to, the noise and busyness and gratification that constant connectivity and entertainment offers me. What does it look like not to dull the pain and unmet hope, but instead point it at Jesus in a howl of honest longing?
Come, Desire of Nations, Come
Advent is a fast, and fasts are about dying. But the most important part of Advent is looking forward-- expecting, waiting, hoping, longing.
Longing is a fearful and powerful thing. In Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, the dystopian society he's created is centered around weakening longing-- obliterating desire by constant self-indulgence, spreading out "love" to dodge the demands of committed self-sacrifice, diffusing the jet of human longing into a million tiny fountains that are harmless and powerless. It sounds an awful lot like what I do on a daily basis, honestly-- suffocate my hunger and pain and longing under a comfortable pillow and fleeting entertainment and a full belly.
There's nothing wrong with being full and comfortable and happy; there's only something wrong when I hear and feel and see the truth of my longing and instead dodge back into distraction so I don't have to come face to face with my pain, so I won't be disappointed if there isn't something powerful enough to satisfy and obliterate the longing.
A sacrifice is always dead, and part of Advent is making space-- dying to the old things to make room for the new.
The One Who names Himself Desire of Nations is not unfamiliar with the raw longings of the human heart; He isn't overwhelmed or irritated by our need, and He doesn't expect us to just get a grip and get over our fierce hope, our yearning for more. He wants us to feel our longing-- to honestly enter into the pain and frustration and discomfort of it, so that we can experience the intense satisfaction that comes only from His fiery love.
A sacrifice is always dead.
I don't know what it looks like for you to to hope and fast and long this Advent, but I think part of what it looks like for me is to make intentional silent space in my life-- to put aside, to die to, the noise and busyness and gratification that constant connectivity and entertainment offers me. What does it look like not to dull the pain and unmet hope, but instead point it at Jesus in a howl of honest longing?
Come, Desire of Nations, Come
