“Will God
really dwell on earth with men?” The question falls from Solomon’s lips as he
stands before the great temple he has built. His eyes sweep over its spacious
courts and massive pillars, and he sees the towering majesty of its soaring architecture,
then he lifts his gaze beyond the highest pinnacle to where the great blue dome
of heaven arches over it all and is overawed by its vastness.
This great temple,
created by the wealth of the richest man in the world and the artistry of the
wisest man in the world, is dwarfed by the universe in which it stands. He
knows when darkness falls that same dome will be lit by millions of star lamps
glittering from immeasurable distances, and far beyond them, mysteriously vast,
will be the far pavilions of “the heaven of heavens.” He is overwhelmed with
the staggering contrast (2 Chronicles 6:18). God, on earth? Living with men?
Unthinkable.
How, indeed,
can you localize the infinite? How can you harmonize the incompatible—bridge
separation between a holy God and a rebellious race? How can you verbalize the
inexpressible—translate the free-flowing poetry of eternal truth into the
stilted prose of human speech?
To man “come
of age” in a world of radio telescopes and space probes, the realization of the
size of the universe creates a problem which is even more staggering. Man’s
greatest explorations are nothing more than riding a fairy cycle round the
backyard, and his search for secrets in the cosmos like digging holes in the
beach in the hope of capturing the ocean.
Moreover,
such knowledge as he does have fills him with a sense of his own insignificance
and vulnerability. As modern poet, Edward Shillito, put it,
The
heavens frighten us; they are too calm.
In all the universe we have no place.
Our wounds are hurting us; where is the balm?
Lord Jesus, by thy scars we claim thy grace.
In all the universe we have no place.
Our wounds are hurting us; where is the balm?
Lord Jesus, by thy scars we claim thy grace.
The answer
to that cry for help—and to Solomon’s question—lies in John 1:14: “The Word
became flesh and dwelt among us.”
The
incredible has taken place! In the person of his Son, who as “the Word” (Logos)
is the perfect expression of His infinite glory, God has stepped down into time
and revealed Himself to fallen men. In Jesus Christ, He “became flesh and dwelt
among us" (John 1 :14)—“moved into the neighbourhood” (The Message),
pitched His tent in our squalid encampment and shared our limitations.
“He who was rich
became poor for our sakes” (2 Corinthians 5:21)—He who had lived eternally
amidst the mountain freshness of the uplands of heaven came down into the fetid
atmosphere of earth. Then, fragrant in personal holiness, He waded into the
filth-laden sewer of human degradation to unblock the massive build-up of sin,
guilt, and shame that separated us from God. He whose slightest gesture moved squadrons
of angels into instant action “became obedient unto death, and that the death
of the cross” (Philippians 2:8) in order to give us life eternal.
God has
“moved into the neighbourhood,” but the sad thing is that, like the first
Christmas, many of us don’t seem to want to have much to do with the Man who
has come to live next door (John 1:10–12). lt’s time to invite Him in
(Revelation 3:20).
Excerpted from Reflections: Looking at Timeless Truths in a
Changing World, with permission, copyright © John Lancaster 2010
No comments:
Post a Comment