Slowly, but surely

Sitting quietly in the afternoon, my work gloves resting at my feet, I am directly underneath the middle window sill of the chapel getting the best light. Sunlight pouring in from these south facing panes, lightly tinted from the variance of color each pane contains – some amber, some blues, rose and tangerine mixed in. The prism of the window has refracted one sunbeam into a straight rainbow line and I am glad to see him, greeting him to my worship sanctuary. “Why, hello Mr. Roy G. Biv, it is a pleasure to have you with me this afternoon” having been introduced to him in kindergarten by name. Yet I had met him so much earlier, just never been formally introduced, how the placement of red, orange and yellow will always be the same, will always be delineated in refracted light identically every time…ROY. A friend he has been to me, I do so appreciate a cool, calm, collected, consistent spirit. Always showing up after the rain, summer, spring fall or winter, I am confident I have witnessed a rainbow in every season, uncertain which has ever been the most spectacular – how can you choose a favorite when considering God’s beauty? Mr. Roy G. Biv always keeps his colors in the same ordering, one next to the others; I can rely on him being there under conditions I expect. He occupies his place on the carpeted floor stretching the length of the chapel, diminishing his intensity of hue as he moves farther from the window. Exquisite.

Appreciating a fully sunny, spring day, I had taken advantage of the spring weather (it was 74 degrees on Tuesday) to tackle a necessary and waiting job – the weeds in the front portion of one of our corps. They have grown especially well, too well in fact, and the weather has been just sloppy enough for just long enough for me to have delayed this task. Most Tuesdays, Dave and I have a “Muscle Day”, one which has in its agenda the physical labor which needs to be done. Morning or afternoon (sometimes it’s been an all day event, but not very often) is a laser-beam specific push to get some big job done. Ministry is not exclusive to Sunday pulpits or library study, paperwork columns or statistical sheets, miles to travel or committee to adjourn, meals to cook or visitation with tea, little one’s sticky fingers or elderly rheumatic hands. Ministry frequently includes heavy moving, cleaning, lifting, painting, constructing, polishing, hauling, burning, throwing away, and disassembling. This is a fact I say, with my hand up.

These past 10 days have included four “Muscle Days” (chalk it up to spring cleaning, eh?) and my hands have taken a beating. Each job has been achievable enough, and I have worn gloves every time, but still there is pain in every one of my phalanges, metacarpals, thenal and hypothenal muscles, tendons, ligaments and opposable thumbs. My hands hurt, which is why I have placed myself beneath this window sill for its prevalent light. Tweezers in my right hand and magnifying glass balanced precariously upon my knee, I am seeking for fragments to remove. Fiberglass remnants. Thorns. Remainders of thistle. Metal shavings.

All of these have traveled through my work gloves from these different jobs, not felt at the time, but they remained in place from the activity several days before. No amount of lotion was helping: my skin wasn’t dry or raw; it was covered with this tiny, minuscule fragments of toughness. The only way to relieve the pain was to remove the pain-makers.
So slowly, but surely, I was removing these splinters my hands feeling slightly better already. There are no infections or injuries, swelling or scratches. These tiny pin-pricks of pain will cease screaming their protest. These hands would be fine in no time.
Slowly but surely, the natural passage of time has allowed the sun to move in the sky, casting its sunbeams of gentle light from one window to the next, my rainbow dissipating but in its place a substantial shadow of our Lenten Cross.
My heart resonates with its intensity:
Jesus felt pain, deep intense pain, suffering as a sacrifice on a cross of execution.
Jesus carried His mission, without interruption from beginning to end, without an interruption to remove the painful reminders and careless attacks upon Himself and His Father. His mission remained, no matter how painful:
: To cleanse His Father’s house
: To seek and save the lost
: To be Water of Life, the Sacred Vine, Bread of Life, the Door, and the Gate
: To be an ultimate, ever-given sacrifice for sin.





Slowly, but surely, I find myself kneeling at the base of this Cross, the faint fragrance of opened lily pods gracing the air I breathe, in and out so serenely. So emphatically.
Just above a whisper, the prayer of my heart,

Thank you Jesus Thank you Jesus Thank you Jesus Thank you Jesus

I surrender my life to Your blood. Make me holy, keep me holy. I want Your holiness.

Therefore, when Christ came into the world, he said, “Sacrifice and offering you do not desire, O God, but a body You prepared for me; with burnt offerings and sin offerings You were not pleased.” Then Christ said, “Here I am – it is written about me in the scroll – I have come to do Your will, O God.” And by that will, we have been made holy through the sacrifice of the body of Jesus Christ once and for all. Hebrews 10:5-7; 10