There are definitely people who mock the idea that the Lord will lead, scorning dependence. But what else is there? The world scoffs at God's sovereignty and plans her days as though she were master of them, all the while the Lord sits in the heavens and laughs at the futility of such ignorance. Far better, then, to submit to the reality that He prevails. When I sin, yes it's my own. But when He is glorified through sanctified, righteous efforts that even marginally conform to a bare shadow of His goodness, then that is wholly by His grace and guiding strength, within.
So, what does it mean, to walk by the Spirit? Doesn't it mean putting to death the deeds of the flesh? Setting the mind of Christ, trusting Him to guide? Why does there have to derision at the idea of God guiding?
If there is holiness, it's by His hand. And if the fruits of the progression are of righteousness, truly righteousness--not as the world defines it, but as God as evidenced per His self-revelation in the Word--that would be a testament. We do know to distinguish fruits, if we are to judge righteously, as Christ directed.
And all the while, only ever discerning and pleading from a position of recognizing our own abject dependence upon the mercy of God.
I'm struggling with some things, right now. Each of us before our own Master stands or falls. Yet we do have such tendency to heavily judge one another. And the way that plays out with me, is that there's whiplash of sorts: after faltering thus, myself, then a heavy-handed measure of recrimination and punitive discrimination swings back upon my own heart and ways. Even as much as the case of others is that I can only distinguish according to the Word and wisdom granted by God, acknowledging still that ultimately knowledge and power are His...just as much do I have to submit to Him my own ways, pleading only Christ as the sole source and means of any righteousness. I have none of my own. I have no goodness, apart from Him. All is darkness, otherwise.
Except that He works His own will, I would only ever remain in darkness, still. Though there is so much I long to be conformed and transformed, to be free from--even only recognizing the presence of certain wretchedness now, having been given eyes to see and a heart to despair of the truth...then, all the more do I know there's nothing I can do but cry out to Him for help. I cannot change that which is horrid, but only layer further measures of self-generated wretchedness atop if I were to seek in my own strength to alter the whole. I cannot cleanse. He must. I cannot purify. He must. I will turn to His Word. I will relish His presence, and plead with Him that He will draw me nearer and increase my fervor for Him, to turn to Him all the more, once again.
But it's all of Christ, or it's nothing of worth.
So, I will wait upon Him. Diligently. Pleading still for the zeal to return, once again. The joy of my salvation, the wonder of being enrapt by His love and wholly transfixed by amazement of drawing near through His Word and in prayer. I long to long for that, at least. Which is more fervor than a month ago. I despair increasingly of my relative insouciance, where concerns matters of God and being filled with His Word. This is His work. I cannot dredge up that which I do not possess. I can only plead--a beggar in need of mercy, always.
All the more a wretch for having fallen so many times. And to fail to desire Him above all things, wholeheartedly? What insipid, incomprehensible malice that truly is, toward a God who is all-wise, all-loving, all-powerful, and all-merciful toward me, through the shed blood of His very Son.
Yet if I stayed there, only seeing the horrors of my own depravity, there would be no reason for hope. There would be no reason to rejoice. I am nothing to inspire hope. I am nothing to inspire joy. I am nothing to inspire love. And yet, He has loved me. He has rejoiced over me, counting it as nothing to despise the shame and endure the cross even for my own salvation, bought at the cost of His own life and tormented wrath-bearing. He has given me hope, even by entering into the depths of bearing the curse of sin and the very death which all would still own me, apart from Him.
How can I not by weep in relief and wonder, that Christ would own even me? We are, none of us worthy--none of us. Yet I keenly feel that and so broadly know it, knowing something of the breadth of my sins which taint so much of my bearing even now. But God...
Whatever must be done to seek Him, however viewed with scorn or as shameful to the human intellect, or beneath regard for those who are my betters, or whatever else...then, so what? I have fallen enough direly, and cling so desperately and weakly to the plea that He will preserve and deliver me, even now. If all must go, if all I have must go, and all I know be lost, then He will provide what is required for life eternal.
By grace, alone, we're kept if we're kept at all. If we are in the Father's hands, then it's He who holds us, and not our preserving power that we would cling to His palm or His thumb. Had we that strength, we would never still have had sense to climb there.
A sweet, dear sister of mine yesterday was discussing Ecclesiastes with me. It came to mind, one of the recent sermons revisited (and still, memory fails of who was speaking) noted that therein were given panoplies of that which is under the sun. Not of heavenly matters, of the Kingdom of God, but of the kingdom of man. Which, the sum of the matter still is that we are to seek God, yet...with a hope and privilege of rejoicing in Him which is belied wholly by the maudlin, pragmatic tone of so much of that yet very true account of our state of being. My dear sister pointed out, though, that there's some significant connotational import to the word used for vanity--the refrain of that book. It signifies a fog, something of a mistiness. And we discussed that as a sort of occlusion of clarity of vision. Perhaps even we now see as through a glass dimly...
...but then as face to face.
Oh, for that day!
Yes, it all does seem "vanity," now, in so much a manner of speaking. But we're not as those who are without hope. We labor, but not in vain. It is the Lord who has builded the house--even as a spiritual building, as a temple building built up within which His Spirit is to dwell. We are being built, even as living stones.
So, having done all...having girded ourselves with truth, been fitted with a righteousness not our own, and given a helmet which identifies us as spoils of a heavenly war--the treasures of God, plucked out from the fire, the mire, and fitted for His use--we are thus shod with a Gospel of peace, in which we walk and move, and have our being. In Him. Despite us. Oft in spite of us, as yet to His glory regardless of absolute insufficiencies and unworthiness.
So we take on that shield which He has also fashioned for us, quenching those matters which otherwise would consume us, and we wield His truth by grace, perfectly cast to demolish every fortress of the enemy--no gates prevail against Him. And we boldly go to His throne, ever with gratitude, openly speaking the truth of our hearts and seeking conformity to His--desiring refinement, all the more--and making our requests known to our Father, in whom there is no shadow of turning, from whom all good gifts do come. And having done all, we stand firm in Him. By His Spirit. Knowing we know naught as we ought, but that we must pray and plead for His wisdom, and He will give and guide. And we will go on the morrow, if the Lord wills.
And in the meantime, though we plan, we know he establishes our steps. As hinds feet, steadfast, as He keeps us from stumbling. And the high places are brought low, and the low places exalted. As He makes our paths straight.
One moment to the next, He knows. And He guides. He has promised, after all--He will never leave us, nor forsake us.
So, all the more to set our faces as flint to seek Him. He has said to us, seek His face. Set your heart to do so. Ask Him for that grace.
