seal of apostleship
Upon reading 1 Corinthians 9 >>
I am free, because you have set me free. There is no cage that will ever hold me again, save your arms. Even in chains, I am not restrained because in you there is no limit to how far and wide I may roam.
I am an apostle, because you have sent me. And I have seen you, Friend, Brother, Master. How I long to look upon you with my waking eyes, face to face as with a friend. But for now my soul sees you in everything, and that is enough for me until that day, here or there. I remember, blessed are those who have not seen, yet have believed. There are many who would consider me no apostle, and they are right. But to the ones you have sent me, I am. And they are the seal set on my identity. But they are just the seal, not the identity itself. Just as a ring makes no marriage, nor a badge a hero, the seal is not who I am. Rather, it is a confirmation of authenticity. Sent by you is who I am, if I am faithful to the trust placed upon me. What results is only a confirmation of that reality.
If there is a danger to my soul, it is this hunger for my own fruit. For results and success. But my fruit is not for me. It is for the weary traveler, the child, the stranger, and the alien. Only a twisted and wicked tree consumes it's own fruit. No, a tree must drink from deeper streams. It must nourish itself from the soil where it is planted, weaving wind and rain and sun into strength and sweetness.
Though I have rights, I am not freed so I can demand them fulfilled or upheld. I am free to be your slave. Death is better than to loose this one boast: to know I have not, by my own demands or desires, stood in the way of the Kingdom coming into the life of the least of these.
Woe, to me if I do not proclaim this good news! I am compelled to speak it. I was made to cry out, like every stone and bird and tree. If I hold it in, it poisons me like pent up breath. It makes me sick and turns my strenght into bitterness and anger. Oh my soul, breath in deeply the Spirit, but exhale praise and proclaimation of what God has done.
This is great freedom: to know you and be so secure as your son, a co-heir with Christ, that I can make myself a slave to all humanity. If I am in you and you are in me, there is no rich nor poor, clean nor unclean, beautiful or base, strong nor weak whom I cannot wrap a towel around my waste and kneel before. But all this is simply to earn the right to speak your name to them, so I may enjoy the blessing of seeing you blossom in the soil of a life.
Teach me, Rabbi, how to run this race. Train me for I would be no shadow-boxer full of wind and impressive display, but no punch. This body must become a slave to my soul, and my soul a servant of my spirit, and my spirit, a friend and companion of yours. There are more than enough talking heads. I want to be a doer not merely a hearer of your words.
Amen.
I am free, because you have set me free. There is no cage that will ever hold me again, save your arms. Even in chains, I am not restrained because in you there is no limit to how far and wide I may roam.
I am an apostle, because you have sent me. And I have seen you, Friend, Brother, Master. How I long to look upon you with my waking eyes, face to face as with a friend. But for now my soul sees you in everything, and that is enough for me until that day, here or there. I remember, blessed are those who have not seen, yet have believed. There are many who would consider me no apostle, and they are right. But to the ones you have sent me, I am. And they are the seal set on my identity. But they are just the seal, not the identity itself. Just as a ring makes no marriage, nor a badge a hero, the seal is not who I am. Rather, it is a confirmation of authenticity. Sent by you is who I am, if I am faithful to the trust placed upon me. What results is only a confirmation of that reality.
If there is a danger to my soul, it is this hunger for my own fruit. For results and success. But my fruit is not for me. It is for the weary traveler, the child, the stranger, and the alien. Only a twisted and wicked tree consumes it's own fruit. No, a tree must drink from deeper streams. It must nourish itself from the soil where it is planted, weaving wind and rain and sun into strength and sweetness.
Though I have rights, I am not freed so I can demand them fulfilled or upheld. I am free to be your slave. Death is better than to loose this one boast: to know I have not, by my own demands or desires, stood in the way of the Kingdom coming into the life of the least of these.
Woe, to me if I do not proclaim this good news! I am compelled to speak it. I was made to cry out, like every stone and bird and tree. If I hold it in, it poisons me like pent up breath. It makes me sick and turns my strenght into bitterness and anger. Oh my soul, breath in deeply the Spirit, but exhale praise and proclaimation of what God has done.
This is great freedom: to know you and be so secure as your son, a co-heir with Christ, that I can make myself a slave to all humanity. If I am in you and you are in me, there is no rich nor poor, clean nor unclean, beautiful or base, strong nor weak whom I cannot wrap a towel around my waste and kneel before. But all this is simply to earn the right to speak your name to them, so I may enjoy the blessing of seeing you blossom in the soil of a life.
Teach me, Rabbi, how to run this race. Train me for I would be no shadow-boxer full of wind and impressive display, but no punch. This body must become a slave to my soul, and my soul a servant of my spirit, and my spirit, a friend and companion of yours. There are more than enough talking heads. I want to be a doer not merely a hearer of your words.
Amen.
posted by soulster at 9:37 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home