Your Love Is Extravagant
My roommate is currently writing a song for her Prophets class where she ties together the motif of "I will be your God, and you will be my people" with the multiple perspectives of both God and the people of God in the book of Isaiah. So, last night, we were discussing how stretching it is to read, not only the constant search the people must go through to find their way back to God, but also the arduous task it must be for Yahweh to continually seek to bring the people back.
The more we chatted the more we drifted into the topic of reflecting the image of Abba, which always gets me a little teary and jittery at the same time--we'll blame it on Dad (my biological one). There are certain concepts within scripture that literally send chills down my spine, and for some reason the idea that the Creator is reflected in creation will always be one of them.
I can barely cross the threshold of what all this entails, but in the context of Isaiah I think it has to mean that the Lord of the Israelites was broken by the chasm between the Creator and the created even more than the people. From the very beginning of the text you can sense the pain in Yahweh's words as we read,
" 'Come now, let us reason together,' says the Lord. 'Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool' " (Isaiah 1:18).
It's as if the speaker is simply pleading with the people to see their own potential.
Here's where I get really excited--although the people continue to cry out to Yahweh in the midst of their sufferings, the suffering doesn't immediately subside. Nevertheless, the one who desires nothing more than to be Lord of their affections and their lives does cry out to them in return. Neither party's struggles are immediately alleviated, but they become partners in the hope of a future together. They are mutual prisoners of hope* (see Zechariah 9:12 and footnote).
Slight tangent--I attended a wedding this weekend for one of my dearest high school friends, Amber. She may be one of the sweetest, most vivacious personalities I have ever met, but her relationships with men have never seemed to be uplifting or edifying for her; in fact, they usually left her more broken than Humpty Dumpty.
Then she met Justin, and as we watched them take their vows on Saturday, vowing to love God first and each other second above all others, I thought, "Now there are some prisoners of hope."
So, as Jess and I sat around last night and talked about how the "poetic etymology of juxtaposing/paradoxical terminology within prophetic texts has the potential for significant ties to current eschatological worldviews" (Phew, don't ask; I barely know what that means), I remembered Amber and Justin taking communion for the first time as a married couple while a church member sang the most poignant and appropriate song I have ever heard in a Christian wedding ceremony. "Your love is extravagant. Your friendship, it is intimate."
And a voice in my head that I barely know as my own said, "How extravagantly intimate your love must be that you would want to be a prisoner of hope with me, Abba."
*Dr. T. Scott Daniels did a great sermon on Prisoners of Hope a couple of weeks back if you would like to hear it.
The more we chatted the more we drifted into the topic of reflecting the image of Abba, which always gets me a little teary and jittery at the same time--we'll blame it on Dad (my biological one). There are certain concepts within scripture that literally send chills down my spine, and for some reason the idea that the Creator is reflected in creation will always be one of them.
I can barely cross the threshold of what all this entails, but in the context of Isaiah I think it has to mean that the Lord of the Israelites was broken by the chasm between the Creator and the created even more than the people. From the very beginning of the text you can sense the pain in Yahweh's words as we read,
" 'Come now, let us reason together,' says the Lord. 'Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool' " (Isaiah 1:18).
It's as if the speaker is simply pleading with the people to see their own potential.
Here's where I get really excited--although the people continue to cry out to Yahweh in the midst of their sufferings, the suffering doesn't immediately subside. Nevertheless, the one who desires nothing more than to be Lord of their affections and their lives does cry out to them in return. Neither party's struggles are immediately alleviated, but they become partners in the hope of a future together. They are mutual prisoners of hope* (see Zechariah 9:12 and footnote).
Slight tangent--I attended a wedding this weekend for one of my dearest high school friends, Amber. She may be one of the sweetest, most vivacious personalities I have ever met, but her relationships with men have never seemed to be uplifting or edifying for her; in fact, they usually left her more broken than Humpty Dumpty.
Then she met Justin, and as we watched them take their vows on Saturday, vowing to love God first and each other second above all others, I thought, "Now there are some prisoners of hope."
So, as Jess and I sat around last night and talked about how the "poetic etymology of juxtaposing/paradoxical terminology within prophetic texts has the potential for significant ties to current eschatological worldviews" (Phew, don't ask; I barely know what that means), I remembered Amber and Justin taking communion for the first time as a married couple while a church member sang the most poignant and appropriate song I have ever heard in a Christian wedding ceremony. "Your love is extravagant. Your friendship, it is intimate."
And a voice in my head that I barely know as my own said, "How extravagantly intimate your love must be that you would want to be a prisoner of hope with me, Abba."
*Dr. T. Scott Daniels did a great sermon on Prisoners of Hope a couple of weeks back if you would like to hear it.
posted by Mel at
4:35 PM
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