Right Under My Nose (Part 2)

And to Martha's ever practical point — the stench was definitely deafening, stiflingly suffocating.  The stench of the dead come forth is in fact quite suffocatingly sickening.

Martha had a point.  The ever practical point.  Oh, but the stench!

I have lived under the stench and wondered at the ways we must learn to breathe buried under the suffocating stench.

I have lived choking, gagging.  Wondering at the way we must learn to breathe.  For He called them forth and commanded at the loosing — loose them, and let them go.  So, I have gagged and grappled, grappled and gagged with this question.  Oh, but the stench sweet Jesus?  But, the sickeningly suffocating stench?

My home reeked to high heaven.  The dead had come forth — called out of the tombs.  Buried deep in the dirt, sunk in the rotten soils of sin — now called forth.  They had been called forth and I had been commanded at the loosing, loose their grave clothes.

Oh, but the stench.  The stench in the home.  And I wondered, wavered and worried at the work to be done.

And yet . . .  "And the house was filled with fragrance of oil."  (John 12:3)

But, I had just read this earlier truth   . . .  "but Lazarus was one of those who sat at the table with Him . . . "   (John 12:2)

It was there, right before my eyes.  Right under my nose  .  .  .   all along!

The house was filled with the fragrance of oil and yet, there Lazarus sat.  Supping with his Savior.  Sitting in his seat, supping amidst the stench.

Lazarus had just been brought forth — called from the dead.  Out of the tomb, buried under the burden of grave clothes and stench, he had just come forth!

And here he sat, stinking to high heaven Lazarus, sitting with his Savior while supper was served.  Oh, but the stench!

How could it be?  That now the fragrance of oil filled the house.

For certainly I see now she had done this thing — this costly thing — there is always a price to be paid.  And she had spent her savings, counted the cost and covered our God with her worship.  And the fragrance filled the house, the home was where she worshipped.  Wiping his feet.  Pouring forth the fragrance of her costly gift of praise and the house was filled . . .  the house was filled.

The dead called forth was now free to sup with his Savior.  Heal in His presence.  For the stench was wiped away as the fragrance of costly oil was poured throughout.

Dinner was served.  Oh, but the stench?   No matter Martha!  The fragrance now filled the place, her praise occupying the space.  And the stench no longer noticed under the weight of worship, the cost of the gift — the praise poured forth now filled the place.

He had sat down to dinner, supper was served and the stench was lost amidst her praise.

And Lazarus reclined, relaxed and was restored as he sat with saving Savior.

Her praise had filled the place.  Her worship now occupied the space.  And the stench was no matter for the fragrance filled the home.

Had it been there all along?  Right under my nose?

The stench stifled, the house filled with fragrant oil, spikenard spent on Savior and they all supped.

Had it been there all along?

Lazarus had sat, sat at the supper table, the dead called forth had come to dinner.  And yet night was filled with fragrance of Father, not the stench of the sick and dying for she had poured forth the costly gift of adoration.

And the house was filled  . . .  with the fragrance of oil.

The home smelled of heaven.

With the dead called forth seated to supper  . . .  the home smelled of heaven.

She had done this thing — this adoring her Master — glorifying her Savior — regardless of the stench about — she has poured forth the oil of her praise.

And her home smelled of heaven.  The stench no longer stifling.  The dead were there to dine.  This was no matter of prim and proper as Martha craved but a matter of place given to the Proper One.  Praise put in the Proper Place and her oil of praise poured forth opened the Heavens above and her home filled with fragrance.  Her home filled with Heaven.

How had I missed that?

Had that not always been the intent?  The hope?  To bring the dead called forth to dine, to give Hope to the hungry, to serve a supper here that would save?  For the Savior sat amongst us, ready to save.

That had been the hope.  But, I had faltered, failed under the stifling stench.  Uncertain.  Unsure under the stench of us all.

But, it had been there all along.  Right under my nose.

The house filled with fragrance.  the home smelled of Heaven.

She has poured forth the costly gift of praise.  Thanksgiving.  And worship.  Adulation and adoration untold.

And it is a costly gift.  To sacrifice the praise amidst the stench does sting.  My natural self wants to lament under the labor of loving amongst the stench of sin.  It will cost me something.  The cost will sting.

But, the cost was spent and the fetor of sin was lost amongst the fragrance filling the space.

And the dead called forth relaxed and were restored.  Supped with their Savior, they did.

And she chose correctly.  She worshipped rightly.  And Heaven filled her home.

It had been there all along.  Right under our nose.

Deafening Stench (Part 1)

The stench was deafening.  The bile rose in my throat and the vileness flooded my ears.  Deafening was the stench.  I could hardly hear a sound above the foul reek, the fetor of sin filled all my senses.  And the stench was deafening.  And I was choking under the heaviness of it all.

I awoke most mornings under a deep sense of dread.  Ominous.  Foreboding.

Unable to place the source of it all.  Unable to breathe under the staleness of it all.  What had happened?  How had I come to this?  Captive in my own home.  Trapped amongst them all.  How had I come to this?

We had obeyed.  That was what had brought me to this place buried under the stench, choking for air amidst the fetor of sin.  We had obeyed.

                        "Jesus said, 'Take away the stone . . . '"    (John 11:39)

We had heard Jesus' command to roll away the stone and we had laid our hand to the plow, had worked the ground and removed the stones.  We had dug bare handed into the muddy mess of the sin sickened soul of humanity and had scratched and scraped and scrambled to haul the stones away.  For Jesus was calling the dead forth —

                            "Lazarus, come forth!"     (vs 43)

He was speaking into the soul of humanity and He was calling forth the dead among the orphans.  The tiny corpses.  The littles ones lost to despair, thrown into the fires of loneliness.  Now Jesus was calling them forth!

And we worked frantically, feverishly to clear the stone.  To prepare the land for the dead to rise.  Boulders and pebbles.  Rocks and stones.  We scratched and scrambled to haul them away.

And He called Lazarus forth.  The dead arose.  The corpses came calling.  The land was cleared and the corpses came clamoring our way.

It was magnificent!  The resurrection was astounding!  And it all happened it but an instant.

The countless stones we had dragged away, our bloodied hands had toiled to haul them all.  And then in a blink of an eye, for just a moment we marveled at the majesty of Master to call them forth.

So, how now after the majesty of the Master, had I come to this?  Buried under the stench of it all.  Gasping for air, the foul reek rising, always rising in my ear.  The fetor of sin screaming through my days, tearing through my home, gobbling the good I had known.  How had I come to this?

I had unwisely forgotten to count the cost, the full cost, the cost of the stench of the sick and dying.  I had forgotten the reek of my own sin before finding Savior.  Martha had warned me, said it, but I had unwisely forgotten —

              "Lord, by this time there is a stench . . . "     (vs 39)

She had warned me but I had not heeded this word.  There will be a stench.  The sick and dying do surely stink.

And I was now constantly gasping for air under the reek of us all.  The fetor of sin, theirs and mine, threatened to choke us all.

Martha had warned.  But, the stench, Jesus!  The reek of their sin!

Martha, always so practical, so tidy, so neat.  The smell, Dear Savior, oh Sweet Jesus, the reek of the dead!

And we too live amongst Martha's mentality — so proper, so prim.  Our homes, our churches, our dear children so gloriously proper and pretty.  And when Jesus calls us to roll the stone away — we all worry and wonder but Jesus, the stench and the sickening smell of the sinful and sick!

We bar the doors, we ban the sick, we roll the stone to block their way.  Oh, the stench!  Our pretty and proper and piously prim ways can not stomach the stench of their sin, the fetor of the sick and dying.

And I awoke choking on the sickness of it all.  And so soon began to wonder was it truly the stench choking, the bile rising vile in my ears that closed me to having, to breathing of the Goodness of God?  Or was it my own prim and proper ways that choked the Goodness of God from my days?

For Martha had said, "But the stench?!"  And yet, He had answered,

       ". . . if you believe you would see the glory of God."    (vs 40)

If we believe, if we will stare into the stench of the sickening sin and BELIEVE!  We will see the glory of God!  If we will set our face into the fetor of sin and not yet falter, nor faint — if we will BELIEVE in the suffocating stench of sin that He calls the dead to living, we will see the glory of God.  

"Lazarus, come forth."  And he did arise, amongst the stench and the filth he came forth.  Not for one moment did Jesus consider or worry over the rank, the reek of us all.  He calls us forth, come forward you filthy ones and see the glory of God.

"And he who had died came out bound hand and foot from the grave clothes, and his face was wrapped with cloth, Jesus said to them, 'Loose him, and let him go.'"  (vs 44)

It is a sickenly messy business this loosing of grave clothes.  The dead reek, Martha had warned us.  They come bound hand and foot, faces covered, eyes blinded.   They stumble about in their stench and sickness searching for a shred of light, reaching for their Savior.

And we unwrap the grave clothes, clean the scales form their eyes and it is a sickening process to clean the dead.  

How I do know the maddening hypocrisy, my maddening hypocrisy in my unwillingness to rightly remember the reek of my own wickedness when Jesus called me forth.

Maddening hypocrisy.

But, when we hear Martha's cry of warning and yet heed His call and do the dirty business of the unwrapping and loosening the grave clothes of sin — oh, the glory of God we do see!

No where in the prim and proper do the Marthas of the religious elite, the Christian west see the glory of God.

The glory is found amidst the gory.  The sanctification in the stench.  The redemption in the reek. Oh, Marthas, we do so hate to hear that glory is found in the messy gory but alas, it is a truth He does call forth.

I had not rightly counted the cost, not anticipated what the stench would be.  And I had faltered, for a time.  BUT — 

      "being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ."   (Philippians 1:6)

And I had begun to rightly remember the reek I was under once upon a called forth time ago.

And I did begin to believe that He was oh, so faithful to the calling forth AND to the messy madness of the loosening and letting go.  Oh, so faithful.

Jesus was ever present amidst our stench and stink.  Never offended by our offensive foulness.  Always so very near to the vilest of us all.

And now I do see the glory of God amongst the gory.  We must believe He gladly walks among the filth and the stench, searching, ever searching for His sheep.  To see the glory of God we must believe and walk with Him into the filthiness of the walking dead and grapple with the gravity of the grave clothes.  To touch the grossness of sin, the grossness of grave clothes — to bloody and mess our hands in the loosening, to hold the stench in our very hands, our very homes and BELIEVE.  BELIEVE.  EVER BELIEVE.  He looses and lets go from the fetor of sin, those of us bound but yet willing to believe.

The calling forth is glorious, but it is just the blink of eye.  The stinky, stench filled labor of loosening, the labor of love loosening bonds is yet the work of a lifetime.  A long, arduous labor of loving with bloodied, messy hands.

Jesus called Lazarus forth and then He commanded us to first believe and then to set about the work of — loose him, and let him go.

Let us not falter, nor faint under the stench of sin, theirs or ours.  When you once find yourself choking under the vile of the filthiness of those about — then you know you have rightly stumbled into the harvest to be loosed.  To be let go.  Here you set about the true work He has called us to.

May we run headlong into the stench and set about the work He has commanded.  Leaving behind the prim and proper, neat and tidy to see the glory of God!

Broken Beginnings

The next chapter would bring buckets of joy and much laughter.  After the weeping, had come much rejoicing.

And chapter one would round out with treks across a nation and the traversing of a mountain or two.  I would be forced to separate from curly headed, blue eyed darling in order to protect her.  And I would oh so quickly learn that parent (or protector) all too often means sojourning a road of sacrifice and heartache.  And heart break.  And mine would surely break a thousand times over as I parted with my blue eyed baby to create a safe space for her to be.  For her to grow.  Countless questioned me, judged me, criticized me and openly attacked me.  But, Warrior Father was working to take her and I into a broad place, a safe space where we could begin to heal from a handful of years of violent attacks.

Young life so desperately needs a broad place, a safe space to grow.

And it begins in the womb,
     that sacred cocoon.
That His skilled hand hath craft,
     so enemy desperately desires to snatch.
A broad place, a safe space.
Young life needs,
      and cries out for and pleads.
A broad place, a safe space.

It was given as gift to the whole of humanity.  Given to every man, with the millions of masses, the billions of bodies, and this singular sanctity given to each and every self.  A sacred womb, a holy cocoon — given to us all.  Regardless of place or station or race — we were each and everyone intended to plant, bloom and come forth from this sacred place, that holy place.  A little nugget nestled in mother's womb, safe from the gobbling guiles of enemy of our soul.  Tucked away tightly, listening to soft murmurings of mother whispering words of blessing, singing songs of simple love, an eternity of enduring devotion.

The frantic world rumbles around and wars may rage but brand new life grows tucked tightly within and all of humanity has new hope.  New life always bring miracle hope.

And enemy of our soul so deeply despises this singular gift given to the millions of masses, this singular gift that determinedly declares, "You are each and everyone so deeply and desperately loved by Father above Who carved this holy cave, a first gift given to each and everyone singular one!"  And enemy despises each and everyone one and he subtly steals into sacred space and desires to bring violence into that holy place.

He hates the singular gift given to each billions of bodies.

Oh, men and women of God!  How we must fight for this early gift of sacred cocoon, the blessed Mother's womb!

What do we lose?  Those beautiful lives murdered when we say — oh you may choose.

But, whose choice was it really?

Did terrified mother truly choose?  Or has years into decades of lies muddled the masses' minds?  Did struggling mother actually grasp the sanctity of her own bodily gift?  Did dejected mother ever hear that her body housed miracle hope?  A new life nestled in her holy, singularly gifted space?  Did she truly choose or has she just been doggedly deceived?  Systemically stripped of the truth that lies within?

It was our first gift gifted by Giver to brand new life.  Each and every brand new life was intended
to grow in sacred womb, holy cocoon.  Gifting Father has given that but the lying thief has crept into sacred womb and stolen humanities holy cocoon.

We have allowed enemy to break our holy beginnings.  A broken beginning.  A stolen sacred sanctuary.  And the soul of humanity languishes under the broken beginning.  Languishes.  Laments.

But, take courage, Dear Heart.

A Warrior Father is ready to redeem our broken beginnings.  He is but, looking, searching, waiting for His redeemed ones to war with Him — to restore that which was rent from the heart of humanity.  Our sacred womb, our holy cocoon made whole again.

Our broken beginnings give way to redeemed warriors.

Take courage, Dear Heart.

It is time to go to war.  Time to restore our broken beginnings.