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. 

Seeing in a Different Light

"Every possible statement that can be made about God expresses some possession or virtue of God, rather than God Himself. The conception of God as He is can only be grasped in one way—by thinking of Him as a Being whose attributes and greatness are beyond our powers of understanding, or even of thought." ~Novatian

When the sun rises or sets we get a glimpse of light and colour as its rays filter through the clouds and atmosphere. We would say we "saw the sun set." But we didn't. We saw aspects of the sun, not the sun itself. We all know that if we saw the sun, we would never see again.

One of the snares most common to humankind is pride. It shows itself blatantly through bragging, belittling retorts, or physical snubs. It shows itself subtly through false-humility, refusal to accept a kindness or gift, or avoidance of a certain person or people.

Pride also subtly creeps in puffing us up with our own knowledge. This is perhaps the most dangerous rearing of pride's ugly head.

Satan's downfall was pride. He said: "I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will make myself like the Most High."

Where did Satan go wrong? He assumed he knew the Most High. He who masquerades as an angel of light thought that the light equaled the sun. If he had truly known Yahweh, he would have also known he could not compete.

What about our pride? Do we think, as Christians especially, that we can describe God? Do we feel the necessity to defend His reputation to one who's grieving or hurt?

It may seem so easy to enlighten others until our own world falls apart. Then, lest we cling to Him, we may fall away because He no longer fits our understanding of a "loving God." Tragedy is personal.

One parent who lost a daughter eight years ago shares it this way:

If the whole thing comes crashing down because my daughter died? That makes me the center of the universe. This is something that happened in our lives, and it’s hard, but it’s still part of God’s plan.

Being able to accept the mystery of God is a maturing process. Our desire to be able to explain God is not necessarily good. To long to know God and pursue knowing Him is commendable. To want to define God, however, is a desire to defang the Lion of Judah, render Him helpless to harm us or those we love, make Him safe.

Mrs Beaver: "[I]f there's anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking they're either braver than most or else just silly."

"Then he isn't safe?" said Lucy.

"Safe?" said Mr Beaver; "don't you hear what Mrs Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you." (The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, Chapter 8)

Yahweh is so much bigger than we can comprehend. When we believe we "know God," in the complete sense of knowing Him, we enter the danger of pride. God is always surprising. We need to foster that sense of wonder and discovery. We must always be learning about Him, talking to Him, reading His Word.

"Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." (1 Corinthians 13:12)

The more we grow in our faith, the more we will realize how much there is to know about God. He becomes like the "Lover" in the Song of Solomon. Our hearts ache for Him, and we delight to pursue and be pursued by the One we love; ever seeking a glimpse of His shadow.

The immature see one aspect of God and think He's complete. The mature realize that three pounds of brain is not capable of knowing God. We grasp whatever "possession or virtue of God" we can understand and surrender in trust what is beyond us; ever pursuing the sweet mystery of His love.

Magical: Mysteriously Enchanting

What is it about childhood that makes this time of year so magical?

While I was growing up, from '77 to '84 we lived in Minnesota. For me, those are my favourite memories of Christmas. We have a large family. In MN, all the family was together. This spelled lots of laughter, as my older siblings are some of the funniest people I know.

Around this time, we'd assemble our fake Christmas tree. It may not seem magical to you, but as a family activity, it was one of the best.

Christmas morning, my parents made a rule that Kevin would get up first and make the fire (that kept us from waking my parents too early). When it was going, he'd come up to get me (I remember laying awake listening for his footsteps coming up the stairs), and we'd sit before our stockings (me peeking, but Kevin much more disciplined). At a set time, 7:00, I believe, we'd wake Mom and Dad and, eventually, the rest of the family.

Mom always made fresh sticky buns for Christmas morning, and, later in the day, Dad made the egg nog. We'd open our presents. And an aunt, uncle, and cousins would come for dinner. There was snow, Christmas carols, and lighted services at church. The atmosphere smiled around you.

There was a suspense building up to Christmas day that went far beyond the gifts.

Jesus understood the ingrained mystery that children accept about Him, but we, who have to have all the answers, often miss.

"But when Jesus saw [His disciples turning the children away], he was indignant and said to them, 'Let the children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.' And he took them in his arms and blessed them, laying his hands on them." (Mark 10:14-16)

Jesus- mystery in the flesh, God made man; Immanuel, God with us!

Scholars in ancient times understood many things about the prophecies of Jesus coming, but they also confused details of the Messiah's coming, so much so that they missed it. Even the disciples, with Him everyday, misunderstood numerous teaching of Jesus until after His resurrection.

Scripture clearly teaches essential truths that we can know about our Messiah. However, much mystery still enshrouds our Saviour; mystery which excites expectation of things yet unseen. Our hope!

My wish for all of us this Christmas is that we may return to the joy of God sending the long-promised Messiah, and that we may also embrace the mystery of our Lord and return to the magic of Christmas.

What is death?

Strangely enough, with the celebration of Yeshua's birth, I find myself contemplating many aspects of death. Sounds morbid maybe, but, along with taxes, isn't it one of the certainties of life?

Charles Dickens, in A Tale of Two Cities, described death as the closing of a book or water freezing over. "It was appointed that the water should be locked in an eternal frost, when the light was playing on its surface, and I stood in ignorance on the shore." Each one is a mystery, Dickens says, to every other. When that life has ended, the mystery is buried.

What is it in human nature that seeks to know, to understand, to solve? Even the tritest thing--an allusive fact one should know, a name--irritates one's mind until it is recalled. Might this not be a small thread in the large shroud of death? Might this unsolved mystery in a loved one be what keeps us wanting to know more, even unconsciously, and thus the feeling of loss, of being cheated when death cuts short the breath and stills the heart?

In Love Letters from Cell 92, Dietrich Bonhoeffer and his fiance' Maria write of the hopes they have that the Nazis will find him innocent of the conspiracy to kill Hitler, and they will at last be able to marry. Reading these letters is both beautiful and tormenting. Watching the dates of the letters progress and knowing that Bonhoeffer will die a couple days before the Allies victory, sets an eery back-drop to their love. It also poses the question--why? Why so close to victory, does he have to die? Why with all their hope in God's deliverance is he not spared...is she not spared? It's too easy to come up with answers: answers to defend God, answers that might try to comfort the grieving.

We probably all know many who grieve during this season. Memories of celebrations past always seem to make Christmas' time one of the hardest to bear loneliness and grief. Friday afternoon, I heard the cries of a co-worker on the phone, "Oh, no! No! Please, no!" then heart-wrenching sobbing. It was repeated. I have heard it before. Cries like the dry vomiting of the heart.

Even with hope, with knowledge that the one who died is in heaven, will be seen again, there is an earthly finality. The mystery is cut short. Their touch is lost. Death itself is a mystery. Our Creator's thoughts are a mystery. Maybe the greatest comfort I can give to one grieving is not words, but touch; not knowledge, but presence.

I'm trying to grasp reality: the balance of laughter beside grieving, of hope beside despair, of comfort beside helplessness; to give the hugs, to hold the hands, to say the words now before the mysteries I love close to me and open in eternity.