Picture this, if you can: The Lord God of Hosts stands at the church house door, at the pulpit, at the communion table, maybe even at the potluck dinner counter, hands perched on hips, lips pursed and brows furrowed, voice wavering with a parental mixture of broiling anger and urgent affection, saying:
What in heaven’s name has gotten into you dimwitted people of the Promise, you ninny-headed, shallow-hearted sucklings of the Most High God!
From the lofty perch of Creation’s spire, your presidents and parliaments, your bankers and barons—they all look pretty puny to me.
Do you think your sorrows languish, unheard; your groans muzzled, unheeded?
Get over yourself! You don’t know jack!
Get on with your mandate, resume your mission.
The Authorizing One, the guarantor of your liberty, is neither faint nor feeble.
The One who seeded the galaxies and sorted the microbes has a design beyond your knowing and a resolve beyond your will.
Your way shall be given, your weal sure-provided. No matter how dog-wearied, dead-tired you are, your anchor holds, your storehouse stands.
However way-worn you get, wait for it. Wait and do not fret. Your wings are being readied. Your stamina restored.
Watch and wait, at Pardon’s gate, and lay your burdens down
At Mercy’s feet, when Love’s complete, exchange for cross a crown.
©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org. Inspired by Isaiah 40:21-31.