The Sacrifices of Our God

He Restores My Soul…
      ‘…Though He Lead Me Through The Furnace…’

A moment after my return to the states I walked a lonely corridor at Biola. My University sits silent these days in Southern California. The calm before the storm, I suppose, in a place that will soon flutter back to life with my friends and professors. Yet one man remained late into this night. An Artist. A Passionate Restorer. My University is home to “The Word;” a 30ft tall Mural of one man’s interpretation of Jesus. Over the years The Word has taken a beating. Vandalism and weather have worn and faded the once brilliant and bright colors used for Jesus’ robe and skin. And though the original artist has been ridiculed to some very real degree for his depiction of Jesus as a white-man, he sits late into the night, twenty-one years after his brush first touched that brick-wall, passionately restoring his masterpiece. In time, because of this man’s faithfulness, and because of his sure vision, the brokenness and stain of twenty-one years will hardly be a memory – the twenty-one year old “Word” will shine with the brilliance of her youth.

And here I am. Also a 21-year-old piece of God’s “workmanship” according to Ephesians 2:10. Flattered, I stand the art of the Master-Creator, spun up in His image… literally made with love. I am the living, walking, and talking extension of my Master’s creative mind, imprinted with a longing that is fulfilled by His touch only. And it is His loving touch that satisfies me to the uttermost, since it was for His touch that I was created. Just to sit and gaze upon Him, just to rest and listen to Him as He quiets me by His love, just to be still… and know that He is God.

And yet while I am the masterpiece of a Perfect Creator, I too am stained, vandalized, broken, and dirty. And since I am a living, breathing, talking piece of craftsmanship I may add: whored, self-mutilated, and ashamed. And as I sit thinking of this mural’s restorer, I am reminded of the faithfulness and strong hand of my Restorer. In love He sits, often waiting but never-tiring, sometimes late into the night, washing stains, blowing off dirt, and stripping gangrenous chips of the “old self” in order that He might paint the image of Himself more clearly over mine. The old self for the new self… disease for purity.

Yet the canvas of the human heart is not pressed into the contriteness demanded for the work restoration simply by stencil and brush. Rather, the tools used by the Original Maker are those of fire and a pruning blade. Though the poison of sin advances its death grip on the human soul, it is the contrite heart that allows the Vinedresser to commence the brutal work of restoration. And the contrite heart will notice the love in the eyes of God as He rips out that gangrenous flesh, since it is for our benefit. And once God has dealt with one part of the rebellious heart, it will be the contrite man and woman of faith who, after having once felt the healing pain of restoration, will look with a gritty smile into the face of The Holy God and say, “Don’t stop Lord, there’s more!”

While the academic will preach this on-going event using the word “sanctification”, I believe it’s important that we not remove ourselves too far from the words and ideas that Christ Himself used to express this concept… He remains the Vinedresser with a Winnowing Fork in His hand. Sanctifier, Yes – but may the religious and often snobbish connotations of the word never distract us from the fact that Christ deals in fire to refine us, and with a pruning blade to purge us of sin. It is a constant, life-long work… harsh and painful work… but a work of the Holy Spirit alone, and nothing less. May my heart welcome Him in with gladness as I find myself dirty, stained, vandalized, and whored. My gaze is upon Him, as He restores my soul.

Furnace. The only word I might be able to use to describe 6 weeks in Mongolia. Having come riding on the back of the most difficult semester of my life, I found myself in Mongolia… being asked to lead... completely ill-equipped in my spirit. Many journal entries read: “Lord… I made a mistake. Who am I to have led this team?” I admit in humiliation that I lost battles to my attitude every day. I admit in regret that I failed my team many times. I admit in sorrow that in many ways I feel more empty than when I left. Though He satisfies me, God seems distant… Like a forgotten word sitting on the tip of my tongue. I have been sustained by His goodness, but there must be more… a fullness that I haven’t felt for months. But I will not despise these valleys. I will not despise the furnace. For herein He satisfies my soul. And herein He restores its brokeness. My bent attitude will not stand in the way of His work, since He is faithful to finish what He has started.

I am reminded today… Today of all days, that it’s not about how I feel. Too little too late after a trip that gave me six weeks to surrender. But whatever the Lord is doing in me, it is a humbling work. I am reminded that “Faith,” though a gift from the Holy Spirit to saints, was not some supernatural “feeling.” Faith has NOTHING to do with feelings! Faith has to do with God, and while feelings change moment-by-moment, God is the same from eternity-to-eternity. And since I have put my faith in God, it ought be unshakable, save for the times that my flesh is on the prowl and tempts me to put my faith in feelings. Weren’t our brothers and sisters of faith commended for their obedience? By faith they… obeyed. When the way was blocked, when they were tired, persecuted, hungry, and lonely… they obeyed. No feeling, no hormone, no attitude could stop them from putting faith in God and pushing on past the hardship and their own fickle hearts.

My prayer is just for faith. A faith that transcends feeling and circumstance. A faith that drowns out the crowds and the dark parts of my heart which tempt me towards any other circumstantial response than worship. And I stand understanding that only the Holy Spirit can generate faith within me. The more He tries me, the more I will trust Him; and the more I trust Him, the more faith I will put in Him – realizing that He never fails me. So, though I am scared and anxious at the thought, may the Holy Spirit calm me as I welcome His trials and His furnace.

“Look! I have not refined you as silver, but I have refined you in the furnace of affliction.” – Isaiah 48:10

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Six weeks. 17 souls. 1 Gospel.

I doubt I need to share more.

The adventure was wild.

The journey into the love of God… so much more-so!

The love of the Gospel is SO SIMPLE! If milking goats, shearing sheep, collecting firewood and water, and eating weird foods is all I have to do to win souls, then what on earth is keeping me from dropping out of school today and throwing my life away for the sake of the Gospel’s love? If we exist to be loved by God and share His love with others, then we are distracted beyond belief! If there is anything in our lives that steals passion from either of these endeavors, then may the Lord convict us deeply and strip us of the idol – whether or not we call that idol something noble like: “work,” or “ministry.” May work and ministry burn if it’s end is anything but the furtherance of the truths of the Gospel in our own hearts and the hearts of others. I am growing impatient with my games of minimum integrity and the indecisiveness of my heart. I hear the Lord calling: “I would rather your whole heart follow me!” And today I am calling back: “You have my whole heart!”

He has broken my heart. He has made me contrite. Maybe, with my heart in this new posture, the Lord will begin a new work of restoration. Time for the portrait of the old-self to go. So may He sand my heart down to the canvas and paint thickly, in vibrant and everlasting color, the portrait of His Son.

Come Lord Jesus. Come!
           -Kyle