For All Nations

These I will bring to my holy mountain and give them joy in my house of prayer. 

Their burnt offerings and sacrifices will be accepted on my altar; 

for my house will be called a house of prayer for all nations."

Isaiah 56:7

It was a vision.  Clear.  Vivid.  A vision.

Liat felt the press of bodies; her feet had been stepped on more times than she could count and the dust from the road was coating her throat, dry and persistent, like a waterless tide.  Relentlessly, the crowd moved forward toward the door - entry to the temple.  The temple of God, the One, the Holy.  She held her scarf in her left hand, reaching up with her right to touch the stone wall.  

The Lord our God, the Lord is One

Yes, she had been born into the right family.  The right clan.  The right people.  The chosen ones. Yes.  Even her name you are mine proclaimed who she belonged to.  Who she was.

She felt the breath being squeezed from her slight frame as she squirmed her way through the threshold.  It was her first time, and she was determined to stand in the courtyard of love and prayer - determined to demonstrate her devotion, to prove herself worthy, to make her insignificant presence known to this mighty God.  

The air was thick with smoke and noise.  The air inside this gateway.  The stink of the bodies assaulted her nostrils.  She pulled the veil across her face so that her eyes only, wide and staring, were visible.  This was not what she had expected - this noise, this filth, this sea of humanity.  She was about to enter the courtyard of the presence of God; she had done everything correctly; she had been taught correctly; she had earned this right, this passage.

She was proud of her heritage, her family, her people.  Proud of the traditions laid down by the prophets of old.  Proud of the books of rules and law.

Proud of being different than the other tribes - the unknowing - the unchosen - the others.

She sensed, rather than felt at first, the thinning of the crowd.  The air cleared as the stone walls widened.  Stepping away from the tunnel, Liat allowed her veil to fall.

This too, was unexpected.

The Lord our God, the Lord is One 

Gone was the noise from the entry - the narrow door - the temple gate.  Gone.  The pushing and pressing.  Gone.  The dust, the smoke, the fetid odor.  Gone.

Liat stood in an open courtyard and her heart skipped a beat.  Before her - a radiant structure, focal point to countless people - all colors - all races - chosen and unchosen - they streamed around and through the steps and columns, around and through the wide rectangular doors.  Not crowded.  Not noisy.  Reverent.  Prayerful.  Raising their voices in praise.

Awestruck, she looked back toward the tunnel.  One by one, men and women were stepping out from the tunnel - the narrow, confining passageway of rock and dust.  Children spilled out from the crowd behind.  Some stumbling, some releasing hands on veils as she had.  All looking around with wide stares and open jaws.

In the next heartbeat she recalled the prophecy of the man, Isaiah...And it will be called a house of prayer for all nations.  She could see them - all nations - coming into this place, this holy place of prayer and worship.  She saw other narrow tunnels leaking with strangers, dark and light, in exotic costumes of unusual texture and detail.  She saw caravans picking their way across wide, open fields.  She saw wide roads and tree-lined drives.  All leading here.  To this place.

Unexpected and surprisingly wonderful.  Children of the One God.



I have been reading about division.  Not the math kind.  Division of ideas, division of beliefs, division of cultures, division of religious.  I see it on the news everyday.  Political division.  Even bands of weather and storms.  Boundaries.  Fences.  Locks.

I think about my last job.  The one I resigned from - the class I couldn't teach.  And what divided us.

I think about Christ.  And God.  New and Old Testaments.  Legality and Grace.  I think about differences and the lines drawn to separate, to categorize, to confine.

And I come back to this passage in Isaiah.  Put into the eyes of the vision of a woman who traveled a narrow road to reach a destination she really wasn't prepared for.  Kind of like that narrow road of law.  Kind of like that narrow road of right choices.  Kind of like that narrow road of not-good-enough.  Kind of like that narrow road of you-have-to-do-things-my-way.  Surprised by the others who also arrived through different paths.  Leading to a destination not earned.  I think about our Pastor who invites everyone to the Communion Table - to a destination freely given to all who seek it.  God's house.  A house of prayer for all nations.

Today I struggle with division.  With redemption.  With grace.  Today I am filled with joy at the thought of a house of prayer for all nations.  Undeserved yet freely given.  Unexpected and surprisingly wonderful.  We are His Children.

Thank you, God.  Thank you for your Son.  Thank you for Jesus. 

Linking with TellHisStory
Imperfect Prose
Three Word Wednesday

A Cup of Cold Water

Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division.

Luke 12:51

"Come to the fountain and drink."  

The maiden was young, and he could tell, shapely beneath her robe and veil.  It had been a long, hot, dusty day for him and he was thirsty.  His sandals were wearing blisters on his feet; it was time to stop and rest.  It had been a long, hot, dusty day.

He watched as she leaned over the low wall, holding back her veil with one hand as she used the other to dip the long handle of the drinking ladle into the water - the clear, cool, soon-to-be refreshing water.  Precious water.  Precious youth.  Precious woman.  Cracks on his lips, the grit of the road on his face, he was tired.  Tired of this journey.  Tired of travel.  Tired of all of the nots he had grown used to.  Not sleeping in his own bed.  Not eating regular meals.  The people who were not understanding his message.  

He shook his head slowly, as much to stretch and work his neck and shoulders as to shake out his thinking.  

She held the ladle toward him, eyes downcast.  "Drink", she said, simply.  And he did.  And it was all he thought it would be.  His head tilted back and back until the cup was empty.  He could feel the change immediately, new strength, resilience even, flowed into him.  Renewal.  Yes.  It was just what he had needed.  Gazing at his men - his followers - he saw that they, too, had been renewed by the rest, by the refreshment, renewed by the view.

They were scattered around the fountain, sitting and standing in clusters, like heads of grain - some here, some there - full and ripe and waiting for the threshing floor.  And he knew what they didn't.  The threshing floor was close before them.  A time of separation.  A time of division, of conflict.  A time of winnowing, cleansing.  He knew the things to come, and they were not easy.  But they were necessary. 

 He was molding soldiers for his Kingdom.  He was preparing the way.  He closed his eyes.  Father, they want it all now, he prayed, they want instant everything: instant riches, instant glory, instant peace.  Show me, help me to make them see how far they need to go, how long and how difficult the road is.  God, like water, flowed through his limbs.  He could feel the power, the resolve.  Standing, he called his disciples to him.  He was about to turn their world upside down. 

"Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth."  

He saw the confusion on their faces, he felt their puzzlement.  The women at the fountain stopped filling their water vessels.  Even the breeze had silenced, as if the world stood still.  

"I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to turn a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law—a man’s enemies will be the members of his own household.   

Glancing toward heaven, he silently thanked his Father for the words, the words from the ancient scripture, words that everyone knew.   

“Anyone who loves their father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves their son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me."   

Upside down.  On the threshing floor.  Confusion, like a wall, pushed at him from all sides.  But his time was so short, and there was so much to be understood.  He tried to explain again, another way.

"Whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me."

Some of his followers were nodding in assent.  He could sense the wall coming down.

"Whoever finds their life will lose it..."

More confusion.  Upside down.  This was so difficult - one of the nots.  They were not understanding, not comprehending.  He was losing them.  Some of the women had turned away and were beginning again to ladle water - precious, change-making water into their jars.  The clay jars, vessels of life.  He spoke louder, turning toward the women at the fountain.

"...and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it."

He had found life at the hand of the girl.  Renewal and refreshment.  What were they, after all, but vessels of clay, made to hold that life.  This, the people understood.  This, he could use.

“Anyone who welcomes you welcomes me, and anyone who welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me."  He pointed toward heaven, lest there be any doubt.  And appealed to the age-old custom of hospitality.

"Whoever welcomes a prophet as a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward, and whoever welcomes a righteous person as a righteous person will receive a righteous person’s reward."  This they understood.  They had grown attentive again.  He walked, purposefully, toward the young maiden who had given him refreshment.  He smiled at her, encouraging her to look at him, eyes at him.

"And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones who is my disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward.”

Father, sometimes we want peace now, everything now.  Sometimes we over-simplify.  

Thank you for showing us that conflict and division can grow us in you.  

That understanding sometimes comes from faith.

  

Linked with Monday's Musings

Hear It On Sunday