There is a sense in which my life has always been about reaching for a stage in my spiritual growth that I can only just imagine. I have never been able to really reach it, have only just barely experienced something like it, and only for a brief moment. I know enough to know it is there, and that I do not yet have it. It is a connection with my Master in which my thoughts are no longer truly mine, but His. It is when I no longer have to wonder what His will in any given situation might be, I will just know. I will be there when I am conscious of both this world and its hurts, and His heaven and its song. I will be both here and now, and there before His throne at the same time. I will live, breathe, and think every thought in worship.
I can imagine forgetting who I am. I can imagine being distracted by what I see, beyond what is simply before me. I can imagine seeing with the heart of my King and Master. I can imagine hearing with His ears. I can imagine, I can almost smell it as the morning scent of a bakery; almost taste it as the taste of pineapple on the Hawaiian breeze; the sound of it teases edges of my hearing; I can only just feel the warmth of it on my finger tips; and it is a shimmering colorful sight at the edge of my vision.
I called it living worship, but it would also be living prayer. It would be living service; living His word, immersed in the words, hearing them from His voice, not just reading them. Cultural differences would blend into a beautiful mosaic instead of assaulting my senses. The smell and sounds of the poor here and abroad would no longer frighten me, but draw me, my heart would already be there. I would be available to transients and locals alike. “Street people” and “corporate people” would both have my attention for their souls nourishment and healing, which they have alike.
I am not there yet. I can only just barely see it. The very idea scares me and hundreds of arguments against it rush through my mind seeking a hold. It is impossible, improbable, probably too invasive for my Master. And yet Paul seemed to be there. Peter seemed to be there as he led in Jerusalem. John seems to have lived it in both Jerusalem and Ephesus. It seems the characteristic of the heroes of the Book of Acts. It does sound impossible, yet congruent with what I read in Scripture. It sounds like I would be “spiritual” yet aware of my sin, my messenger of Satan. I know that even then I would not be perfect, but probably even more aware of my frailty of character and how far I miss the mark daily. Yet I would be even more aware of the grace of my Master which glues me to Him.
I want this so badly my words fail trying to relate the feelings. The chill of my drying clothes is only the outer chill, over top of the inner chill of this vision. I want it. I want that life, that peace, that joy, that unshakable connection to my Master. I want to know Him as if I were His cloak and He wore me around through this day. I want people to see through me, the garment, to the One wearing me. I want to be the house in the neighborhood people visit because the occupant is Jesus. I want to be His address, data about Him, part of the background of Him, someone people know only to get closer to Him. I want my life to be obviously about Someone else. Jesus is worth that and so much more. I am not enough of a gift, but I cannot truly give another because I don’t possess another.
Today, I hope to again touch this vision of a life, and smell the scent of it once more. My pattern is to muck it up somehow in the day, but perhaps I can pick it up again. How much of myself can I empty out so I can have more of Jesus within? I know there is more. Jesus, pour me out and fill me up!
Oswald Chambers' "My Utmost For His Highest": May 2nd.
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