Life Which Is Life Indeed

I know, Christ announces.  Let it remind me of the real supernaturalness of my life.  It is a life spent in the scrutiny of a Lord invisible, but close to me and vigilant, Who never slumbers nor sleeps.  The Priest-King, Whom St. John beheld in Patmos, with the rainment as white as snow, with the repose and yet the omnipotence of sovereignty, is the constant Spectator of my unspoken thoughts, my careless words, my deeds which often are done automatically and without a moment’s reflection.  If I could pierce the thin veil which hides the unseen from my senses, I should find Christ standing immediately behind the veil.  Are not my ordinary days extraordinary?

I know, He declares.  Let it tell me of the quickening [reviving, cheering, reinvigorating] impulse of my life.  I never can be content with a slight and shallow history, or with a selfish and sinful history, if I am certain that the Eyes which are as a flame of fire are fastened on me everywhere and always.  To recollect Him is to cease to cherish a vague and nerveless faith.  To feel Him near is to be prevented from leaving the mountain heights of holy living for the marshlands of sin…I shall be ashamed of all disloyalties and unworthinesses, and shall turn again to my rightful King with the cry, Take away my iniquity.

I know, He proclaims.  Let it be a remembrance of the best encouragement of my life.  He at least overlooks nothing, appraises and appreciates all.  The little churches in Asia Minor had to put up with grievous disabilities, the world’s contempt, its dislike, its possible cruelty.  Who was the better, their members must have asked sometimes, for their perseverance and patience?  But Jesus knew.  It is my abundant comfort when I seem to spend my strength for naught.  Every act of faith, every ministry of self-denial, every humble acceptance of the cross, is acknowledged by the Master and is written in His book.

I know, He says.  Let it speak to me of the possible tragedy and shipwreck of my life.  He cannot be put off with disguises.  He is not misled by my fair appearances and loud protestations.  Sardis is pretentious and secure; but He tells her that she is a “lie, a vanity, tinsel and paint”.  Laodicea has no lack of goods; but, because she is lukewarm, she is poor and in danger of His rejection.  Is He to refuse me a place among His authentic disciples?  Is He, who searches me as with lighted candles, to pronounce me destitute of love and dead at heart?  O Lord, to whose gaze I lie naked and open, save me from the dreary shipwreck and the sore tragedy.

Life soars high when it is spent consciously with Christ.  Thus, and not otherwise, let me spend it hour after hour.

Alexander Smellie, taken from In The Secret Place

 Photo from Thistledown Cards