No one has ascended into heaven, but He who descended from heaven: the Son of Man. (John 3:13)
He who descended is Himself also He who ascended far above all the heavens, so that He might fill all things. (Ephesians 4:10)
Somebody wiser than me once observed that in the first half of life, a person adds to their life, but after middle age, life subtracts.
At first you gain opportunities, core relationships, milestones, disciplines. Perhaps you meet a life partner, have children, watch them meet life partners and have children of their own. But once you cross the midpoint, you begin to lose more than you gain. Where once a person leaned on the wisdom of stewarding gain, now they begin to resonate with Paul in 2 Corinthians. You know more deeply that you are a cracked jar of clay. You resonate with weakness.
The worship calendar of the body of Christ begins with Advent. We eagerly await the coming of the Promised Child, the Prince of Peace on whose shoulders will be the government. We see Him lying in the manger, full of promise, and we marvel: the pure spotless One being prepared to shed his blood for the atonement of the world. Advent is a beginning. Lent, however, is a descent. Lent marks the season of losing. Lent is a confession of weakness.
The kingdoms of the world and the sense of security they projected are falling apart. My world too is falling apart, by design as we prepare to move to the field: furniture given away, artifacts of life dismantled piece by piece, goodbyes said to dear people, friendships changed or lost, budgets and wills drafted for unpredictable shocks, knees that ache and a mind that may not be as sharp as it once was. Many friends (perhaps you too, dear reader) are also grieving the dismantling of comforts, hopes, and deep desires left unfulfilled. The awaited Christ-child has come, and He is very, very good, but perhaps He has not brought the Messianic vision we had hoped for. We thought He was headed to a mountaintop to reign over our flourishing, instead it appears that He is headed towards a hilltop to die.
We Christians know that for Christ, reigning and dying are two sides of the same coin, but knowing and embracing are two different things.
After dying on the cross, Christ was carried back down the hill and into a garden tomb. There He stayed until the third day, when He resurrected. Christ ascended a hill to die, and descended into glory. This strikes me as an important detail to consider as I prepare for the field. Am I as willing as Christ to allow a descent in myself that the nations might see His reigning? Will I embrace the heartbreaking subtractions in my life, and let this be the gospel I proclaim?
I pray a lot these days, but I don’t have many words to my prayers. Paul Washer says his most powerful prayer is: “Lord, You know. And because You know, I can go to sleep tonight.” Tonight, that prayer preaches the gospel to me.
Chris
Not By Sight 