Treasure

In the quiet of a Nazareth night, while her family slumbered around her, Mary lay awake, pondering what the angel had told her. She turned the words over and over in her mind, in no doubt of their meaning yet filled with wonder and even fear, at what was in store for her life. The Son of the Most High. Of all the mysteries the angel portended, this was the treasure she held closest to her heart. The Messiah, her child. She hugged her knees and smiled in the dark.

She cherished the secret alone until her cousin, Elizabeth, felt her own unborn child leap in her womb at the sound of Mary’s voice. Filled with God’s Spirit, Elizabeth spoke forth the truth of the holy one to be born of the pure young woman before her. Mary’s inner meditations became a song magnifying the Mighty One who had done great things for her.

On the night she gave birth in Bethlehem, a humble band of shepherds came to the stable to see the child. Their faces shone from witnessing the glory of heaven proclaim who this child was and what he had come to do. When Mary heard their story she treasured up all that they said, holding it close within herself.

As he grew, she stored up in her heart other events in the life of her unique son, knowing intuitively there was significance in each one. She was a simple country woman, yet she had been taught about the Messiah, a savior of his people, never imagining how his coming would impact her personally. Simeon’s words the day her child was presented at the temple and given the name of Jesus, and the visit of the Magi from the east, bearing treasure for a king; no detail of these occurrences escaped her keen observation. She absorbed them into her soul where they grew more precious with each remembrance.

Every Advent season brings us an opportunity to treasure up all these things and ponder them in our heart, just as Mary did. The scriptural narration of the coming of Christ is a beautiful, mysterious story, full of details and revelations never to be fully fathomed. Each facet sheds a glorious light on the treasure at the center, Emmanuel, God with us.

At a time of year when there are numerous distractions, it can be difficult to find quiet moments for our mind and heart to dwell on the Incarnation, to soak in the wonder of mighty God becoming a mere infant, to remember the purpose which compelled Him. But it is a worthy quest to seek after the riches found in all the Christ child brought to us at His coming. Like Mary, ponder them in your heart and the treasure who is Christ will flood it with His love.

“I want them to have complete confidence that they understand God’s mysterious plan, which is Christ Himself. In Him lie hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.”
~ Col. 2:2-3 New Living Translation ~

The Shape of a Heart

There is a woman who walks beaches and forest trails in search of heart-shaped rocks. Not large rocks, just ones the right size to tuck in her plant pots or heap in a clay bowl on her table. Some are smoothed by the sea and sand, some chipped off a craggy cliff, but they all have the familiar shape of two rounded wings and a downward-pointing tip.

The woman who collects them has a passionate heart, a fiercely loyal and loving heart. It is also a fragile heart, wounded early in childhood then mended by the love of Jesus, yet still bearing scars that go deep. These scars resonate with the scars of other hearts, giving her the ability to connect to the hurting on a level most cannot. Because she lives and speaks from her heart, it is vulnerable and sometimes wounded. If not for the love of Jesus holding her heart in His nail-pierced hands, it could easily be broken beyond repair.

Perhaps she collects heart-shaped rocks because she has encountered so many human ones in various shapes, sizes and conditions. They may be a reminder of her own heart which has gone through multiple transitions, yet remains undivided. Like the psalmist, she often prays to the keeper of her heart, “Teach me Your way, O Lord, that I may walk in Your truth; give me an undivided heart to revere Your name.” (Ps. 86:11 NRSV)

That is the secret — maintaining an undivided heart, not allowing it to be diverted from loving and obeying God. There are so many distractions and temptations that can splinter a heart, weakening its devotion to the One who made it.

The apostle Paul, whose heart underwent rigorous refining at the hand of God, spoke from his own experience in writing to the Thessalonian believers about keeping their hearts undivided.
– He wrote of not trying to please men but God, who tests our hearts.   (1 Thess. 2:4 NIV)
– His desire was for God to strengthen their hearts so that they would be blameless and holy in the presence of their God and Father. (1 Thess. 3:13)
– His prayer was that the Lord Jesus Christ Himself and God our Father, who gave eternal encouragement and good hope, would encourage their hearts. (2 Thess. 2:16)
– He prayed confidently that the Lord would direct their hearts into God’s love and Christ’s perseverance. (2 Thess. 3:17)

The woman who collects heart rocks has learned Paul’s secret of how to keep her heart undivided. She puts it in the keeping of God. He is the One who tests, strengthens, encourages and directs her heart. Each time she picks up a heart-shaped rock, brushes off the dirt and warms it in her palm, she remembers Who keeps her heart whole and she commits it again to God.

 

This Man

Beards jutting, black robes rustling, the assembly of Jewish elders stared with contempt at the prisoner before them. They saw a man swaying with exhaustion, dark bruises swelling, blood dripping from ragged wounds. Enraged before the Roman governor, they cried, “We have found this man subverting our nation. He opposes payment of taxes to Caesar and claims to be Christ, a king!” How could such a miserable piece of humanity claim equality with God? Standing before them in humiliation, he incensed them to anger tinged with apprehension. He moved the hearts of the people; their presence only fostered fear. If they were to retain their power, this man must die.

Pilate, the Roman governor, thought he had side-stepped the troubling issue of what to do with the Galilean, charged with sedition by the Jewish elders. Learning that Jesus was under Herod’s jurisdiction, he sent him to Herod, who sent him back, his wounded frame mockingly draped in a rich robe. Even in disgrace the prisoner imbued the robe with an air of dignity. Pilate recalled his earlier sardonic question to Jesus, “Are you the king of the Jews?” He hadn’t expected him to answer affirmatively. Regardless of the forceful entreaty of the elders, he could find nothing in the prisoner to substantiate the charges they brought against him. To appease the mob, he offered to punish then release him, but they kept shouting, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” Pilate washed his hands of the distasteful business and granted their demand, though he could find no basis for a charge against this man.

The thief knew he deserved death by crucifixion, though he fought against dying without hope. Through a veil of blood and pain he watched the face of the man on the cross beside him soften with compassion as he murmured something about forgiveness towards the mocking crowd. He and the other thief were ignored in the spectacle directed at the middle cross. People jeered and soldiers ridiculed the man they mockingly called “the king of the Jews”. The other criminal hurled insults, demanding that if he were the Christ he should save himself and them. The thief found himself rebuking him.“Don’t you fear God, since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.” Hope flared within the thief, sparked by the innocence of the man beside him. He believed he was who he claimed to be…the Christ, the Son of the living God, assuring him in truth, today he would be with him in paradise.

In the throes of death, the man on the middle cross held the attention of the Roman centurion. Gambling for clothes at the foot of the cross did not interest him. Just hours before as the last nail was pounded through this prisoner’s feet, darkness laid eerie claim to midday light. Then someone reported that the veil in the Jewish temple was ripped apart. Somehow the centurion knew these mysterious events were connected to the man on the cross. Suddenly the crucified man cried out, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” Then he breathed his last. The very one who wielded the hammer, fixing the prisoner to the cross, now declared, “Surely this man was the Son of God.”

(based on Luke 23)

© Valerie Ronald and scriptordeus 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Valerie Ronald and scriptordeus with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

An Everlasting Mountain

I used to live in a house with a view of the mountains. Every morning I would enjoy their changing aspect. Clean and pure in winter snow, verdant evergreens thick on their slopes in springtime, peaks aflame in a summer sunrise, mists encircling rocky summits above the gold of autumn. I received inspiration from those mountains because they reflected spiritual truths I needed to draw on during a difficult time in my life.

Psalm 121 begins, “I lift up my eyes to the hills; where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.”

When I looked at the mountains I had to lift my eyes above the everyday scene on the street. Taking my attention off problems on the human level and focusing on the majesty of the Lord helped me to put things in a right perspective. I was reminded that the Lord dwells in the heavens and His ways are higher than mine. I was His small creation, beloved by Him but mortal and muddled. I needed to look up to Him in dependence and often in desperation. I could not understand the reasons for the hardships I was experiencing but I could entrust my future to the Lord whose omniscient vision could see His perfect purposes for my life.

The mountains beyond my window represented permanence, stability and agelessness. Every morning I could depend on them being there when I woke up, and they would probably be there for many years to come. But God reminded me that there was something even more immovable than those geological formations of rock and dirt.

‘Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet My unfailing love for you will not  be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed,’ says the Lord, who has compassion on you.” (Isaiah 54:10 NIV)

What promises to cling to when the very foundations of my life were crumbling beneath my feet! I was abandoned and rejected, yet God loved me with unfailing love. I was beset by problems and turmoil, yet God would not remove His covenant of peace. I was destitute and critically ill, yet God had compassion on me.

I no longer look at mountains outside my window. I look at a wide open prairie. God has brought me to a time of peace and blessing, no longer hemmed in by mountains of trouble but in a place where I am reminded of the vastness of His mercy and the limitless capacity of His great heart of love. He is greater than any mountain and cannot be moved.

Before the mountains were born or You brought forth the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting You are God.  (Psalm 90:2)