The Love Beyond My Own--April 20, 2021
[About Christ, the Son, God says in the Scriptures:] "'In the beginning, Lord, you founded the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands; they will perish, but you remain; they will all wear out like clothing; like a cloak you will roll them up, and like clothing they will be changed. But you are the same, and your years will never end.' But to which of the angels has he ever said, 'Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet?' [Hebrews 1:10-13]
In the end, Jesus' goodness remains. Jesus' love lasts. Jesus' reign endures. Everything else will fall apart, perhaps, but through it all, Jesus persists. That's why he's worth putting our trust in... and building our lives on... and staking everything else on. He's the one who remains the same when everything else is turned upside down.
I had this moment over the weekend, watching my son play soccer, when I felt again the ruthlessly fast flow of time. I was thinking to myself, watching the second half of the game wind down, "It must be almost over," as I saw the kids starting to look tired out and slowing down. And as that thought crossed my mind, it occurred to me again, that this is exactly how life is, all the time--it is flowing and moving and going by all the time, and there's nothing to be done to stop it. You can either fuss about how fast life goes and try futilely to stop it or ignore the constant flux, or you can accept it, embrace it, and savor it, knowing that any second now, the whistle will blow and the game will be done. I've been watching my son play soccer for a few years now, and I know a game flies by... like a season flies by... like a year flies by, and I am just given this precious gift to watch and cheer and support him as he grows--in skill as well as in height! But his life, and mine, are both in constant flux--always moving, always changing.
And then, still in those fleeting moments as a Saturday morning soccer game wound down, it dawned on me, too, that as much as I want to be the unchanging, permanent, fixed source of stability for my son (and for my daughter) all his life long, that's not mine to get to be--at least not forever. Our relationship will change--it is changing, and it has changed already--as time goes by. I used to be the one who got him dressed and carried him in my arms, and already there is much he can do at nine that is far beyond me (these things often involve technology and athleticism beyond my grasp). Before long he will be taller, stronger, and probably more knowledgeable than I am, and I will feel like I have only blinked.
And as time goes on, our relationship will change in yet other ways. Of course, I will always, so far as I am able, want to be there to love and support him, but I know, too, that my own life will take its own turns. And there will come points when I am the one in need--when I am the one he waits for while I hobble slowly, or when I am the one who gets sick, or who becomes weak or feeble with age. I want to be the one who is the same for him, forever, but that's not mine to get to do or to be. I get to love these children, this family, this world of people among whom I have been placed, but I will change as well. I can't be the constant--that was never mine to get to do. And so, as much as I might want to cast myself as the dependable presence in any and all situations, a quickly passing soccer game and the letter to the Hebrews reminds me that I can't. But Jesus can--and Jesus does--endure.
As we've been noticing over these last few days, the writer to the Hebrews has been banging his drum to show that Jesus is superior to angels in this opening chapter of the book. And while that might not seem like a particularly pressing question in our day and age, once again, I find myself noticing that we sure do keep putting other things in a higher position--of authority, allegiance, or trustworthiness--than Jesus. And honestly, if angels aren't more dependable than Jesus, then surely I'm not more dependable than Jesus. If even the angels falter compared to Jesus' enduring goodness, then I surely dare not pretend that I am permanent and unchanging, as much as I want to be.
And that means in the end, for all the people I love--and all the people I do not yet love rightly, but am working on getting to love rightly--my calling isn't to get people to put their trust in me, so much as it is to let them trust in Jesus, who is infinitely more dependable than I, and who won't age, or get sick, or eventually wear out like a garment. And maybe, if I may be so bold, that's all of our calling as well. As parents or grandparents, part of our job is to be worthy of our children's and grandchildren's trust--but it is also more than that, to help equip and prepare our those next generations to know how to live beyond our own ability to fix or solve or protect them, but to commend them into the hands of the One who really is the same yesterday, today, and forever (to borrow a phrase from later in in this same book).
As people who work at jobs for companies, and as citizens of a state and a country, it's the same--we have a calling, to be sure, to be dependable and reliable for employers and customers, and to be decent citizens who look out for the common good. But we are also called to point beyond a corporate logo or a national identity to the Reign of God, marked by a cross, that will last even as every nation and company comes and goes on the world stage before getting tossed into the dustbin of history. And as humbling as it is for me as a parent to know that my kids' future isn't ultimately in me, but in Christ, it's humbling in a different way to know that the world's hope doesn't hang on GM or Apple, Facebook or whatever local industry is having a boom at the moment, nor does salvation depend on the continued existence of the United States, or Canada, or China, or Madagascar. We change. Systems, empires, and orders of the day come and go. The whale-oil industry is gone, and so is the Holy Roman Empire, and yet life has continued on. I have to learn to be ok with the things I am used to having around also having their own shelf-life. Our calling is always ultimately to point beyond any of these things to the One whose love endures even when everything else changes, fades, or passes out of existence.
Facing that calling takes courage, because it means being brave enough to face our own limits, our own lifespan, and our own reliance on God beyond our strength or power. But with that bravery we can be what our children, our grandchildren, our neighbors, and the whole world need us to be, rather than what we want to be--pointers to the Love that really does endure. And with that realization, we are free, too, to enjoy and to savor the moments we get as we get them, cheering and supporting the ones we are here for from the sidelines, for every blessed second of game-play we get with them.
And then, after the whistle blows, we commend ourselves and those we care for into the hands of the One who remains the same, who is our constant: this Christ of ours, whose steadfast love really does endure forever, even beyond my own.
Lord Jesus, give us the courage to accept our limitations--in time and power--so that we can point those we care about to your enduring goodness.
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