Amazed by
grace, yet we confound
By following
our TV
We fix our
mind on image and sound
And build up
our own ‘me’
Frame after
frame of worldly pain floods our deepest sense of self. We gorge ourselves on every aspect that the
flat-screened casket spews into the pews of the gathered sofa church. A nationwide funeral homogeneously pelts out
the eulogy of the pre-supposed passing of poor old me.
We cling to
self importance, self worth, self indulgence singing the shallow song of doing
it all our way; being the one and only, somehow forgetting the one and only,
who gave it all for me.
In our
kingdom, we each are king; the greatest and the good.
Pious and proud we each look down and with scornful looks deride.
Yet deep
inside, past taught tripwires and bulky barricades lies a mirror – the very
heart of our being – the core of our consciousness. It reflects the very light of heaven, an
image of the Almighty. It puts to flight
the fight of those who seek to feed on our need; the carrion picking vultures
who vehemently seek to make us think
that our funeral casket is already being carried to our grave.
But if we
look deep, deep into the scratched mirror that lies dusty and forgotten in the
pit of our despair. Glancing through
grime that time has etched across the once gleaming glass, we expect to inspect
the image of the ‘me’ built up so selfishly, but shocked we see not me, but he!
Arms flung wide in love for me; he died for me; he lives for me!
We look
again, but still we see, the Christ reflected back. The healing hands held wide, wide open in
love. We wipe the mirror, now wet with
tears which tell of torments past. The
dirt gives way so we can see the way, the truth, the life.
Questions of
greatness now grieve as we perceive the future path. We conceive our greater need to breathe the
breath of God – to feed on that which freed our stumbling sense of self. To cut out that which cuts out light to the
life that we could lead.
The mirror
marks our march of transformation from the shallow selfish me once moulded by
me but now, step by stumbling step striving to mirror the Messiah modelled for
me by the higher power of the divine maker, creator and author of me, who put
the mirror inside of me, breathed life in me and as a Father longs for me.
The Kingdom
of Rust filmed in high definition with every passing particle captured in
chromatic climactic crowning glory is now eclipsed by my Messiah’s glory. My heartfelt cry claws at my throat as an
urgent utterance desperate to be declared.
Change me
Lord, mould me to be who you created me to be.
Let my image, my very self, reflect your image. Let others see what you want me to be and
your Kingdom be brought through me.
Amazing
Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a
wretch like me.
I once was
lost but now am found
Was blind,
but now I see.
Andy Stinson and John Newton
