I had what you might call a Corinthian Valentine’s Day.
On Sunday the 14th of February I indulged in not one but two communion services. Like a drug addict getting his morning and evening blast, I got my morning and evening fix of the elements. As in Aspen, this Valentine’s Day the blackcurrant juice flowed like wine, and I drank till I was merry.
I have to say, there was something quite special about breaking bread on Valentine’s Day, the day of love. Saint Valentine, after all, was (allegedly) a martyr for the sake of Jesus, who himself died for the sake of others. And before Jesus died, he had one final meal with the ones he called “friends”.
It was not an especially romantic meal, but love was in the air. True love. The kind of love that compels a master to wash his servant’s dirty, dusty feet. The kind of love that causes someone to dedicate themselves to having their body broken and their blood shed, for the sake of others and for the sake of newness and for the sake of making things right.
(It’s worth noting that there’s not even a hint of sex in the above description, which is so foreign to our thinking today that all but equates love and sex.)
At my evening fix, one of my fellow “young adults” gave a short talk before we shared in The Lord’s Supper which really brought things to life. He had several points, but one in particular resonated with me. It was simply this:
Jesus isn’t afraid of our sin.
So often we think that we have to get ourselves right before approaching God; before being in his presence. But in fact it is the very presence of God that makes us right. As Jesus demonstrated throughout his life and at his death, his wholeness is more powerful than our brokenness. It does not scare him away but rather incredibly, it draws him near; near enough to touch us and to change us. It is we who are afraid, but we needn’t be. We are encouraged to encounter god’s grace boldly, because we are dealing with a prodigal god who just can’t help himself when it comes to loving us.
Communion on Valentine’s Day was a moving way to remember this, and amidst all of the hype and pseudo-love, it helped me to fix my eyes on what love really looks like.
On Sunday the 14th of February I indulged in not one but two communion services. Like a drug addict getting his morning and evening blast, I got my morning and evening fix of the elements. As in Aspen, this Valentine’s Day the blackcurrant juice flowed like wine, and I drank till I was merry.
I have to say, there was something quite special about breaking bread on Valentine’s Day, the day of love. Saint Valentine, after all, was (allegedly) a martyr for the sake of Jesus, who himself died for the sake of others. And before Jesus died, he had one final meal with the ones he called “friends”.
It was not an especially romantic meal, but love was in the air. True love. The kind of love that compels a master to wash his servant’s dirty, dusty feet. The kind of love that causes someone to dedicate themselves to having their body broken and their blood shed, for the sake of others and for the sake of newness and for the sake of making things right.
(It’s worth noting that there’s not even a hint of sex in the above description, which is so foreign to our thinking today that all but equates love and sex.)
At my evening fix, one of my fellow “young adults” gave a short talk before we shared in The Lord’s Supper which really brought things to life. He had several points, but one in particular resonated with me. It was simply this:
Jesus isn’t afraid of our sin.
So often we think that we have to get ourselves right before approaching God; before being in his presence. But in fact it is the very presence of God that makes us right. As Jesus demonstrated throughout his life and at his death, his wholeness is more powerful than our brokenness. It does not scare him away but rather incredibly, it draws him near; near enough to touch us and to change us. It is we who are afraid, but we needn’t be. We are encouraged to encounter god’s grace boldly, because we are dealing with a prodigal god who just can’t help himself when it comes to loving us.
Communion on Valentine’s Day was a moving way to remember this, and amidst all of the hype and pseudo-love, it helped me to fix my eyes on what love really looks like.
Nail pierced hands, wounded side
This is Love
This is Love
Thank God. I'm breathing again.
ReplyDeleteIt's so true Dec. We get right when we approach Him, because we can only approach him in humility, yet with boldness also.
ReplyDeleteAs for our brokenness drawing Him, I love this idea. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart He will not despise. This is something that has exercised me for a long time. I have tasted a little (very little) of this brokenness in my life, and of the intimacy with God that it seeems to enable. There is great freedom in brokenness, even if there is much pain too. The danger is, if we are not exercised properly by it, we can become resentful and bitter. I know this too. I was talking to one of the guys at work about this today. He laughed and spoke of all the sad little broken christians, all the helpless little "me" folk. But I know he just didn't understand. Let's face it, if you're not in on the "joke" then it all sounds a bit crazy.
Why the need for this brokenness I do not know. Perhaps the hard, protective shell that sin builds around our hearts makes it inevitable that brokennes must come, that a path for God's healing into our hearts might be forged. Certainly, when Jesus said that narrow is the way to life and few there be that find it, he was, amongst other thigs, talking about the need to experience brokenness. In the Old Covenant the path to God involved the sacrifical system. David, in his own brokenness, and seeing beyond the surface of this sacrifical system, received the revelation that the sacrifices of God are a broken spirit. This is what He treasures, beyond the blood of bulls and goats, and looking into the broken heart of His own dying Son, He sees that hard shell of sin around your heart and mine, and so longs for our brokenness too.