I need a Christ who cares for my humanness—the joys, struggles, needs, wounds, and delights. I need a Lord and Savior who is redeeming me in my humanness. I need a Christ with dirt under His fingernails and oxygen in His lungs, who is bringing new order to the old chaos, new life to the old, worn-out wastelands. This Christ is not erasing the human story. His coup de grâce against the curse upon humanity is not the removal of my humanity. His final triumph is undying humanity— His physical resurrection, in which human thriving is defined. + Joel Briggs, The Gardener
For this City Notes (CN), I am reflecting a bit on my limited humanness and what it means to be anonymous, like Jesus often was, trusting the good work of God in me and through me will (and should?) most often go unnoticed for the good of myself and others, and for the life of the world Jesus is bringing resurrection and renewal to.
The start to summer can give me the gift of "Holy Saturdays" throughout these few calendar months, and with it the experiences of the closing of some things while awaiting for the arrival of others. Especially when it comes to wanting my friends and neighbors to know the love that God has revealed to them in Jesus. My, my. Help me, Holy Spirit. It's why in nearly a decade of ministry, these words from Jesus continue to give me hope:
I tell you, open your eyes and look at the fields! They are
ripe for harvest. Even now the one who reaps draws a wage
and harvests a crop for eternal life, so that the sower and
the reaper may be glad together. Thus the saying ‘One sows
and another reaps’ is true.
+ Jesus (John 4:35b-37)
It takes practice to listen to Jesus, stop and "open my eyes" again to see where He's asked me to garden, to wait on the seeds with hope in the rain and the dark, trusting Him with the sowing and the reaping. Just like it is good to make time to reflect on the depth of a work of art like the painting above, it is good to make time to not move too quickly through the still meditations and slow moments of life that the Gardener is cultivating in me and the world around me.
Otherwise, I might miss what Jesus is up to incognito even in the most seemingly deserted spaces in my heart and mind that prove to be the holy wild I'm supposed to be in all along with the Gardener who's ready to dig in the dirt of my soul and bring forth abundance.
"The Gardener" by Joel Briggs (see painting above) shows the risen Christ as wounded and in the midst of a scorched earth. The landscape is bleak. It’s real to our condition. But with His dove, a seedling to plant, and His shovel to dig into the dirt, He looks ready to turn the tide of ruin. If death could not destroy Him, a ravaged earth will not either. ... Jesus calls us even as He comforts us. His first concern is not our materialistic gain, our affluence, our prosperity, but rather our participation in His great restoration project for a groaning creation.
+ Peter J. Schuurman, "She Supposed He Was the Gardener"
Anonymous | A Tree Planted by Streams of Water, Which Yields Its Fruit in Season
In winter, are the trees bare? Yes.
In winter, are the trees barren? No.
Life still is.
Life does not sleep — though in winter she retracts all advertisement. And when she does so, she is conserving and preparing for the future.
And so it is with us. Seasonally, we too are stripped of visible fruit. Our giftings are hidden; our abilities are underestimated. When previous successes fade and current efforts falter, we can easily mistake our fruitlessness for failure.
But such is the rhythm of spiritual life; new growth, fruitfulness, transition, rest ... new growth, fruitfulness, transition, rest. Abundance may make us feel more productive, but perhaps emptiness has greater power to strengthen our souls.
In spiritual winters, our fullness is thinned so that, undistracted by our giftings, we can focus upon our character. In the absence of anything to measure, we are left with nothing to stare at except our foundation.
You are coming to Christ, who is the foundation (i.e. living cornerstone ... ) ... As the Scriptures say,
“I am placing a cornerstone ...
and anyone who trusts in Him
will never be disgraced.”
+ 1 Peter 2:4, 6
Remain in Me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in Me.
+ John 15:4
Risking inspection, we begin to examine the motivations that support our deeds, the attitudes that influence our words, the dead wood otherwise hidden beneath our busyness. Then a life-changing transition occurs as we move from resistance through repentance to the place of rest. With gratitude, we simply abide. Like a tree planted by living waters, we focus upon our primary responsibility: remaining in Him.
In winter are we bare? Yes.
In winter are we barren? No.
True life still is.
The Father's work in us does not sleep — though in spiritual winters He retracts all advertisement. And when He does so, He is purifying our faith, strengthening our character, conserving our energy, and preparing us for the future.
The sleepy days of winter hide us so that seductive days of summer will not ruin us. ...
Obedience to this God who appreciates the visible and invisible equally has led many truly great souls into long seasons of anonymity. Some emerged from obscurity into eminence. Others remained relatively unknown.
All agreed that God never wastes anyone's time. ...
Consider the growth of a plant. Before a gardener can enjoy a plant's fruit, she or he must tenderly and strategically attend to its root. So a plant's birth begins with its burial. The gardener commits a generally unremarkable seed to the silence of the soil, where it sits in stillness and lightlessness, hidden by the smothering dirt. Just when it appears as though death is imminent, its seeming decay reveals new life. The seed becomes less and yet more of its former self, and in that transformation takes hold of the darkness and reaches for the sun. All that is to come rests greatly upon the plant's ability to tightly and sightlessly develop roots in unseen places.
I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives. + Jesus (John 12:24)
+ Excerpt above from Alicia Britt Chole's Anonymous: Jesus' Hidden Years ... and Yours
 |
| Seeds of Hope by Bette Dickinson |
Here are links to other recent City Notes (CN) books:
Seeds of Hope in the Rain & the Dark; Wrestling with God in Doubt; Baptism as the Way of Life; Being with God; Listening Closely & Paying Attention; Living and Loving Curiously with Wonder; Waiting is the Womb; In the Holy Wild with the Lion Who Offers Us the Stream; Yeshua; An Unexpected Story of Discovering Jesus; Only One Thing Is Needed; No Secrets Are Hidden; Be Still Practice
Christ is all,
Rev. Mike “Sully” Sullivan
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