Only a Shadow of Good Things

Have you thought much about shadows?

It's interesting about shadows that they may closely resemble the object they portray or they may completely distort it. How truthfully they reveal the original object depends on the position of the sun.

To the eyes of children, a shadow may be the image of a loved parent returning to gather them up or it may be the distorted form of a monster creeping close to steal their soul.

"The law is only a shadow of the good things that are coming—not the realities themselves. For this reason it can never, by the same sacrifices repeated endlessly year after year, make perfect those who draw near to worship." ~Hebrews 10:1

In one of C.S. Lewis' books (I believe, The Weight of Glory), he talks of the blandness of heaven as described in the Bible (and don't tell me you haven't thought so too). Shadows.

Have you ever thought or heard that the "God of the Old Testament" is an angry God unlike the "God of the New Testament"? Shadows.

Have you ever read all the do-nots or must-dos of the Bible and thought "how restricting!"? Shadows.

A shadow gives a glimpse of something real beyond what we see before us. A shadow may misshape, discolour, or appear to misrepresent the real object. But a shadow's purpose is not to show you the object. Its purpose is to make you aware that the object exists.

As with all analogies, there is a point of break down. With a shadow, more often than not, one can look up to see the exact object that is being projected in dark twisted shapes beneath it. With spiritual shadows, our looking up will be hereafter. The shadows are reminders that our faith is based on Something and not our own imagination.

In Hebrews 10, the author describes the law as "only a shadow of the good things that are to come." How many of us think of the law as pointing to hope of a good thing instead of something to avoid breaking or avoid being caught bending?

The author of Hebrews points to the fact that the law, as defined in the Old Testament, never could save those who followed it. It was a shadow of a better thing to come.

The bleating goats, baaing lambs and flapping birds, whose blood were shed as a reminder of the ugly consequences of our sin—could never save, but instead foreshadowed One whose blood would save.

The burning candles, bloody altars, daily bread, glittering temple, mysterious ceremonies, and hidden rooms—their services never ushered a soul into heaven, but they foreshadowed a Most Holy Place where Yahweh is truly enthroned and the Lamb has made an entrance for us to follow.

The world around us appears so real that the shadows of Scripture get lost in the darkness. Without constantly seeking out the Son, we forget the presence of shadows and, more importantly, the Object they represent. It is for this very reason, the author of Hebrews admonishes us:

Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds. Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching. ~Hebrews 10:23-25 (Emphasis added.)

Sometimes shadows look harsh and scary. We need to remind each other it is merely the skewed view caused by unseen elements. If we encourage this faith and hold to this hope, one day we'll see before us the Face of Love unmasked by shadows. 

To Describe God

Below is an edited version of a prayer I wrote in February 2005. I’m posting it because I think to at least some of it you’ll relate.

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If I should try to describe You, God, I might say You’re like a mist; You form various shapes, but appear everywhere and different. I trust You to know my heart and know how I would not accuse You of changeableness, but accuse my understanding of not grasping You.

You are like a firefly on a dark summer night. I may believe You are there, but until you turn on Your light, I’m not certain where.

Sometimes You appear as a possible predator to my happiness; like a rattlesnake somewhere on a ranch, and I’m praying none of mine will step in Your path and take death’s poisonous exit.

Sometimes I long for You, ache for You, despair of being had by You. You stand nearby as my Invisible Observer, but You don’t make a sound. I end up on the floor with my paper gods with faces cut from magazines, little creatures no bigger than myself whom You have made.

Sometimes I listen for You and feel proud that I actually want to hear You. I hear buzzes, I hear cars, I hear the whistle of a train, but not one small whisper from Your lips.

I panic sometimes. If You should ever leave it to me to find my way Home, I’d be lost forever.

But I believe in You, God. You have been my Father, my Guide, my Strength, my Sustainer. In You is the only hope in which I can dream.

Funny. It is good to say that—the only Hope in which I can dream. Getting here has not been so easy. I’ve come kicking and screaming, but You didn’t put me down.

Oh, if only this was the end and all the refinement I need could be made with these “small” losses; if only I didn’t know greater sacrifices might await me. Oh, how lonely and scary and heart-wrenching one short life can be. You do not ask for more than You gave. You ask for everything.

What will Home be like with You? How is it that our tasks will look so small from the light of Home? What do I need to know or realise in order to let go and let You hurt me and still trust You completely?

Open my eyes wider. Not inwardly. Upwardly. Father, I see a shrivelled worm as I look inward. I see a sad excuse for a human—talentless, friendless, pointless, but still holding on to my pride to not get hurt and to my mini-gods.

What does it mean to be a Christian? What is it like to be free of myself? Where is the dividing line, the gulf that I can cross or be flung over and become the outward clothes of the Living Son of God? Where do You begin and I end? Draw it up. Point me there. It’s time that life began—No turning back.

Here are my fears. You’ll need to check all my pockets and hiding places. There are always some fresh ones lying around.

Here is my fear of losing those I love—of dying while they live or living after they die.  Here’s my fear of getting older and my desire to die early. Here are my fears—of rejection, of being unchanged and entering eternal shame, of success, of failure. Here’s my fear of never getting any closer to You or of getting too close to You.

Father, these are scary things to give up. All these fears, these quirks…You aren’t going to find anything left of me when they are gone.

It’s a starting place. I already feel myself reaching for my comfort “blankets.” I’ll take them all back, if you let me. PLEASE don’t let me. Let’s go forward, Father. It’s time. It’s past time.