Saturday, March 15, 2008
The seers and the prophets had foretold it long ago
That the long awaited one would make men stumble
But they were looking for a king to conquer and to kill
Who'd have ever thought He'd be so meek and humble
He will be the truth that will offend them one and all
A stone that makes men stumble
And a rock that makes them fall
Many will be broken so that He can make them whole
And many will be crushed and lose their own soul
Along the path of life there lies a stubborn Scandalon
And all who come this way must be offended
To some He is a barrier, To others He's the way
For all should know the scandal of believing
It seems today the Scandalon offends no one at all
The image we present can be stepped over
Could it be that we are like the others long ago
Will we ever learn that all who come must stumble
I’m writing this in the middle of a massive storm on the shoreline of Myrtle Beach South Carolina- The wind is swirling and I’m trying to wedge myself against the pane of the sliding glass door as not to get wet from the downpour or hit by the trenchant lightning display. Safety is somewhat relative at the moment- due to the blaring warning coming off the TV, stating that there is tornado activity and possible touching down. My husband Phil is looking at me with that familiar quizzical glare that says… “Are you flipping mad!”--- With the grin that says….. I know you feel safe in HIS storms.
But I just can’t close the door … it would muffle the intensity of such a convergence.
The sweet smell of a torrential down pour from the heavenlies mixed with the salt whaling cry of a surging sea with lighting regaling it’s cleansing splendor and thunder echoing refrain; is powerfully drawing me to the knowledge of the finiteness of being.
The timing of the waves merged in sounds of thunder reminds me of grey tempest like Jazz. In the natural, I’ve never been drawn to that style of music. I much preferred the story telling of Folk or the intensity driven surging rifts of classic rock… but the intuitive song of my soul, has always been a mixture of E minor chords, sailing arias, Middle Eastern rhythms, Djimbays, dulcimers, frame drums, Celtic-lamenting bag pipes, monastic chants with a shofar call to worship or war.
- Even in the storm, the ocean sings a lullaby to my Spirit and I counter weave a harmony of my soul. I’ve yet to hear on this earthly plane, the composition of the nations- that only in thin places, where the veil is made permeable, I’ve heard played in the third heaven.
The white caps seem to dance higher with each flash from the nights sky as the waves pour out their strength on sands of this shore. I remember how God brooded over the waters at creation and wonder in His foreknowledge did the weight of His tears and the emoting of His passion cause such a love storm.
I’ve always had an infatuation with ocean storms; perhaps it’s that recklessness of youth where fear did not hold me captive. I was never ignorant of its danger, but more of renegades resolve that drew me there.
I’ve stood on the shores of Israel in Tel Aviv in 2000, just a few months before the pending storm of war, yet the seas prophetic portents gushed and receded in lament; before all hell was about to break loose. It was there the first day, on Shabbat, that I read the book of Esther and God reminded me of my queenly, yet warrior stature.
I understood that steadfast prayer and resolve were one and the same; that what matter most to HIM was the willingness to stand in the gap and love- despite hope deferred. Somehow, I knew that He had been training me from my youth and the vast wadi like experience of parched love to learn to love as the alabaster jar, of future poured out, like water.
I grew up with summers spent at the Jersey Shore where the temperature of the waters never got above my teeth chattering. I always climbed out on to Jetty rocks at the inlets where one slip would have met with crashing waves and a crevice I couldn’t possible have gotten out of…. and 9 times out of 10 I was alone. I always went to the shoreline during Nor’easters or hurricanes.
I’ve driven to the outer banks in North Carolina, Christmas eve with my puppy Selah in the middle of a snow storm, over a 10 mile bridge that was swaying from the wind with sleet daring my tires to stay on the road, only to drive on a strip of a 2 lane highway for 60 miles where the snow & sand was blown like a big broom would sweep across the road and I think only by angelic assistance did I actually not find myself crashed on a sandbank at 2 AM.
The most recent memory before tonight, was standing on the shoreline in England, my friends had no idea how much those waters touched my heart and soothed my spirit. It’s reminder of despite shifting sand… that the rock I stand upon was also once the Scandalon thus became the corner stone.
During the most intense and painful times of my life have I found myself seeking shelter at coastlines, praying for the storm to remind me that fleeting trials and circumstance only pales at the raging beauty and love MY FATHER has for me.
It’s there/ here….. I’m reminded, amidst the rhythmical heartbeat of waves crashing and wind ripping, that HE did not speak in the lightning or the thunder, while I was hiding in some cave of my heart. He spoke quietly my name and drew me out into the battle – knowing that in HIM always will be my refuge and safety.
Perhaps, it’s His love for me that would remind me of the salt water, wept tears of the womb of God, perhaps because I was taken from an earthly womb prematurely HE would call me back again and again to restore that which was stolen. Redemption and recompense is the crest of His Hearts wave that brings me home.