The pain creeps up on me again, tearing at the edges of my carefully maintained world. Is this what Jesus felt, as he agonised in the garden, the edges of the world coming apart?
Is the world bad enough yet for a miracle, God? Is it enough to provoke your mighty power? Or are we left on our knees in the mud?
It is so easy to look for a miraculous saviour, Jesus has been touted as such for generations, but that often doesn’t feel like what He offers.
Where is my miraculous rescue from this pain? Where is my healing? Where is the divine intervention for my anxiety and mental torment?
I know God is capable of this, I’ve heard the stories, so why doesn’t he break into my life? Why doesn’t he break it all wide open?
But I’m so tired of all this brokenness. It’s taken me so long to even slightly get used to this state, how quickly good I adapt again if it was all put to rights? Would I even know what to do with myself if I was made well? And anyway, healing me would do little to nothing for the broken world around me, the broken community, the broken people.
We pass each other on the streets, sit alongside each other at the bus stop. I try to smile, to encourage them in the ruptured, broken life we each live, but today my smile is faltering, the daily trips to school and kindergarten wearying beyond the bounds of my comfort.
This mundane, daily life, the slow repetition of going out and coming in, belies the way our God broken into our human world at Christmas. Where is our miracle? Where is the light bursting forth in my day-to-day?
Maybe this is why You don’t bring me healing, maybe this is why You leave me in my brokenness: because the cracks are where the light comes in. Maybe we too easily co-opt Your triumphant breakthroughs for our own. Or maybe it becomes too easy to miss You in the small things when we get used to looking for You in the big flourishes.
And my world is so cracked that I start to see You everywhere, nothing is left untouched.
And Your golden glow suffuses everything, reconstructing the very way I think.
Sometimes we need the big, dramatic shake-up, the wild break-in of divinity into humanity. Other days we need reminders layered in everywhere we go, little nudges back towards God and wholeness and Love. They are no less powerful. Tweet
Easter morning came, and our Saviour didn’t rise up in dramatic and majestic power, shaking the world and making himself known to all. He stole in around the edges of ordinary days, meeting people in their brokenness of fearful trembling behind locked doors, in the mundane of physical labour drawing nets, in the tedium of travel by foot on dusty roads.
So maybe instead of despising my brokenness, instead of railing at my god, maybe I can see the cracks around the edges (and right through the centre) as openings for God to come in. Tweet
Maybe we don’t need to be glowing like Moses to share God’s light in and through our lives, that might be too much to expect others to cope with. Maybe, like the ancients trying to puzzle out the stars, these holes in my being are space to let in the Light who surrounds the whole of life.
Almighty World-Shaker, help us to see you in the small, the ordinary, the broken. Help us to trust that You surround it all, broken or not, majestic or not. Tune us in to Your quiet whisper, may it drown out the shouts of pain, and help us allow You to suffuse our entire lives.