Did you sense a drawing of spirit, hauling of heart, or tender tug on your soul to enter the house of Jesus Christ yesterday? Did you follow and find yourself in a place of opulent opportunity, or did you cave and let the other cares of the world crush the quiet calling?
The world and all its cares can effortlessly crush the calm, quiet voice of the King, creator of the cosmos and His counter for all the corruption and calamity that contain us. The astounding, ardent advocate will not abduct your soul or beat you into capitulation. He will not clamor, cry or compel your compliance just as He did not clamor, cry or compel His rightful consign among us, as God, allowing Himself to be beaten, bruised, humanly broken; the calm, quiet voice of the King momentarily extinguished by the clamor of the crowds crying to crucify Him.
It seems as if time has tried to tarnish the true temper, the foundational forging of the unleashed authority rising in opposition to the cajoling; calling to kill the King, completing the task. What wings it's way into my wayward heart? What man, God or not, would willingly, willfully walk with resolve in ridicule, to His death in such a manner as Christ? The earth quaked, the sky grew dark, as He breathed His last. Who could order such things? Who could hang in such opposition to the depravity with us? Surely, as the Roman centurion pronounced,
"Surely He is The Son of God."
Indeed, an opulent opportunity has come and gone. And for many, the clamor of our world will overwhelm the gentle tugging call of the powerful, purging, purifying servant, who gave His life for us all. With whom will we walk today? Will we be established in His house next week? Will our lives wander, weave, waver and willingly wax over this washing of our souls? Give us eyes to behold the beauty of our Savior, the opulent opportunity for our hearts to serve You, oh God, every day, and yes, for Sundays to come.
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