Gloryteller

I must confess that, at times, usually only briefly, my faith becomes rigid and cold – stark and inanimate. I get the picture of a steel beam lying on the ground. It is of no real use there. Waiting.
It gets that way when my understanding fails. When I think of the rape of an innocent or the murder of a child . . . I am so horrified that I wonder why God is not horrified as well. My distress asks “Why do You not intervene?” That is when my faith goes still and cold, yet I hang onto it and grasp it as if it is my last treasured possession. If I went right now to research answers, I could find dozens of rational answers. Maybe even comforting answers.

At this moment, I just want to see what my own heart says:
That He is God and I am not.
That my understanding is shallow and incomplete.
That He loves the soul of the most demon-possessed murderer as much as He does mine/me,
and He gave Jesus’ life so that one, too, might be saved.
That His forgiveness of a repentant believer is unconditional, as is His love.
That, except for His grace and mercy, my situation could be just like theirs – or worse.
That He doesn’t want to lose even one soul to Darkness.

It is a most difficult concept for me to love that person, or, at least, their soul, as much as I do my own. Just maybe, it might be that the faith and understanding of the above-mentioned innocent child is more animated and warm than my own. Would they gladly give their life for the healing and saving of the soul of their tormenter if Jesus were right there to explain, and help them, and teach them?
After all, He suffered the same horrors.
He understands what is at stake.
Would they gladly forgive?
Would I?
Can I?
Do I?
I should.
I am supposed to.
But, being an older human, it is hard.

The people opposed to God say that they won’t believe in a god who doesn’t have compassion for the innocent – who will not intervene in their behalf when they think He should – a god who loves murderers. If He were the kind of god that they have invented in their minds, they might be right;
but they don’t know Him.
Everyone “murders” something, in some way, nearly every day.
He does intervene in ways unseen.
Jesus was innocent.
He does have compassion.
He IS compassion.
And that, my friend, is the point at which the rigid, cold, stark, inanimate faith that I could only hold onto like a waiting seed, once again comes to life!
Warm, pliable, animated, and comforting because of His compassion and His love.
A gift amidst the horrors of a broken world.
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