a parable

There was a great temple court, with many people walking around in it. And as I looked, I saw that each person, in their hands, held one or more stones. Some of them held common pebbles; some held lovely-colored rocks; some held pearls, sapphires, and rubies. And every now and again someone would approach the altar, kneel in prayer, and, sometimes with merely a sigh, sometimes with tears of anguish, would drop whatever stone he or she held. That person would kneel empty-handed for a moment-- though sometimes, watching them, it felt much longer-- and then a wonderful thing happened. A new stone appeared in the person's open hands, and the new stone was always of greater value than the one the person had released.

Now as I watched, two men caught my attention. The first was tall, neatly dressed, with an air of wisdom about him. And the stone in his hand was very lovely indeed-- I believe it was an emerald. And as he walked about the temple court, many people approached him, asking for his insight or assistance, and he always gave it gladly, and his words were always wise. I watched this man for a long time-- it seemed sometimes many years-- and in time something struck me. In all his walkings about the court, he never went near the altar. And it seemed to me, though I may have been imagining it, that he even avoided looking at it, except out of the corner of his eye.

As I saw and puzzled over this, a second man approached near where I stood. He looked very poor indeed, dirty and tired. I looked to his hands, and saw that they held only dripping mud. It dripped everywhere he went, and its stains were covering his clothes. He came to the altar very slowly, on halting feet, and knelt as an old man kneels. Then he stayed motionless, mud still dripping, even staining the ground near the altar. At last he cried out in a loud voice, "Father, I cannot drop it! But take it from me if you will."

I left the temple soon after that, and have never returned. But I think sometimes of those two men, and wonder which of the two stands nearer to God's heart? And if I returned, which one would I now see more richly blessed?

On Lazarus

Jesus wept at the tomb of his friend.

Of all the mysteries of God and love, this is one of the strangest to me. Jesus already knew he was going to raise Lazarus: he'd said to his disciples, "Our friend Lazarus sleeps; but I go, that I may awake him out of sleep." He already knew-- he was there to heal-- but he wept.

Why? I've never quite understood it... but I think it's related to something in my earlier post. Death is a product of evil, a destruction of what is precious to the heart of God, and he grieves over it...

...even while he prepares to restore it.

a poem by someone else

O yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;

That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroyed,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;

That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not one moth with vain desire
Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another's gain.

Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last--far off--at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.

So runs my dream: but what am I?
An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.

-Tennyson

***

And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.

These truths are not written for the times when they are easy to believe.