Living Stones

Remnants

The lot was empty, long has been the time since it last held a structure or building.  Trees had already begun to take root and weeds freely spread throughout its empty crevices.  Roots and rocks pushed through what once may have been beautiful and grand.  The image of a glorious temple, pillars of marble and stone, great doors of wood and bronze, with inlayed designs of gold and silver.  Such a structure would have been a glory to behold.  Then with the sweep of a hand it disappeared into the fire.  Stone smashing stone and walls pushed to earth, it disappeared into infinity.  The place that people flocked to see, the structure that was the pride of its nation, was just a thorn of memories to those who looked upon its remains.  Would it ever be rebuilt, would there ever be another?

Over time feet refused to tread these hallowed grounds, grounds where death had taken its victory dance.  People would take other routes to their destination.  Going miles out of their way to avoid this place, averting the feeling of an uncomfortable encounter.  No one wanted to remember the defeat, the hopeless lose it conveyed.  But was that the end?  Was there no hope left?     

Even the rocks themselves lost hope of ever being remembered.  Would anyone ever seek them out, pursue them for a purpose greater than this?  The sun baking down and ground drying up, they just lie in wait.  With only a sliver of hope to hold them together, lest they turned to dust on the spot, they waited. 

“Coming to Him as to a living stone, rejected indeed by men, but chosen by God and precious, you also are living stones, are being built up a spiritual house, a holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.”  1 Peter 2:4,5

But then the day came, feet ventured in, ever carefully treading.  Each step taken in care and confidence.  Hands taking up rocks and pebbles alike.  Wiping away dirt and muck, to see the shining beauty locked beneath.  To the center of this abandoned lot He ventured, to a place long forgotten by all.  A stone He placed there; vary different than others.  This stone shone no beauty or gloss.  It was scarred and scratched with colorless facade.  A stone rejected by all of the builders preceeding.  But it stood strong and welcoming to those stones that lay around it.  It welcomed the broken and forgotten to come, to be part of its design.

With care and intricate work, the builder labored, placing one stone on another.  Hours passed and still He worked.  One on another He placed them, cleaning and caring for each one as He went.  Hours became days and weeks and months.  What once was one wall; became two and then three and four.  Rocks came from all around, rolling in to take their place in this new structure.  Even rocks broken and faded came to be part.  No rock was turned away, all were welcomed in. 

“For you were like sheep going astray, but have now returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls” 1 Peter 2:25

What once was an empty lot, now housed a structure like no other, a new temple.  It did not hold the grand stones of its predecessor with marble strength and gold and silver inlay.  This new temple housed living stones, stones of all shapes and sized.  Some small, some large, some flat, some round but each one had its place in the building they constructed.  Each one served a purpose.  Each one was placed with care. 

And that stone that the builder placed, the first, the stone no other builder would have used, it stood as the Cornerstone for all the others.  On it shoulders it carried the weight of all that came to It.  It stood as the conqueror that no enemy would destroy.

“The stone which the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.  This was the Lord’s doing; it is marvelous in our eyes.  This is the day the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”  Psalm 118:22-24  

Mirrored Reflection

Rippled Reflection

 

I stand at the glass and see the image of reflection it projects. I do not recognize the image set before me.  The shriveled creature with fear and worry shackled to the wrist and ankle.  Eyes swollen in agony, hair matted in shaggy clumps, clothing covered in filth and blood, bruised and broken.  Chains of binding sin and death pull back in an unrelenting torment.  Who is this creature, it surely cannot be me! 

“The pangs of death surrounded me, and the floods of ungodliness made me afraid.  The sorrows of Sheol surrounded me; the snares of death confronted me.”  Psalm 18:4, 5

Am I this broken creature, unrecognizable as a human being?  I touch the reflection to find the image, to feel it’s shriveled skin but cold hard glass is all that greats me.  The chains pull and cut at my skin, muscles scream at the restraints that bind me.  Fear surrounds me.  Worry and anxiety come down like a flood water to engulf me.  Is there no freedom from these binds?  Is there no air to fill these starving lungs.  I cry out in my agony, I cry for help in my distress.

“In my distress I called upon the Lord, and cried out to my God; He heard my voice from His temple, and my cry came before him, even to His ears.”  Psalm 18:6

I fell against the glass, searching the image beyond for anything, any hope of freedom from this tomb.  I beat on the glass, desperate for relief, desperate to be free.  My tears touch the image, my hands press on its hands, trying to feel something except cold hard loneliness.

“The Lord thundered from heaven, and the Most High uttered His voice, hailstones and coals of fire.”  Psalm 18:13 

Crack!  The image shatters before me.  The pieces fall to the floor in a shower.  I huddle back in fear, bewildered by the event before me.  Who shattered the image, who shattered my tormenting companion?  I uncover my face, wipe the dirt from my eyes.  An image stands before me, one different than before.  This image is not me, this I feel sure.  With hands pierced with holes and robe dipped in blood, He stands tall, confident, true!  Eyes clear and wide, He smiles back, an expression foreign and otherworldly to one as me.  I reach to the glass, my fingers searching for understanding.  What before was cold and hard, now feels soft and inviting.  The image in the glass reaches as well, reaches through the glass, fingers on fingers, inviting, welcoming. 

“He sent from above, He took me; He drew me out of many waters.  He delivered me from my strong enemy, from those who hated me, for they were too strong for me.”  Psalm 18:16, 17

 He pulls on my hands, pulls me forward into the glass, into the image of who He is.  The shackles that bind me brake and fall.  The flood that filled my lungs is held back as this person, this image of someone stronger than I, pulls me in.

“He also brought me out into a broad place; He delivered me because he delighted in me.” Psalm 18:19

“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live but Christ lives in me; and  the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.”  Galatians 2:20   

Within the glass, I am wrapped in a hug of warmth and peace. I am no longer alone, no longer afraid or dead.  Light surrounds me and life fills me.  The image, the reflection is no longer a mirror but a tomb for the death and shackles of sin and fear that once held me.  They cannot pass through the glass, cannot penetrate into the image of the One who now contains me.  I am no longer the reflection in the glass.  I am free from the shackles, barred by the impenetrable barrier that blocks them.

“As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us.”  Psalm 103:12

“For You will light my lamp; the Lord My God will enlighten my darkness.”  Psalm 18:28