This morning I was writing out notes to some of you back in the States and had my iTunes set to play through my Andrew Peterson CDs. I had gone through Behold the Lamb of God and was halfway through Carried Along when I heard the lyric, "Cause I've carried my cross to the dens of the wicked/And I blended in just fine." The song was from "Come, Lord Jesus," one of my favorite songs from that record, but for some reason I had always missed the point of that line or something. (It takes my mind longer than others' to enter facts--especially along the lines of spiritual truths. For example, the other day I read 1 Cor. 8 for probably the millionth time, and I feel like I understood it for the first.)
One of the most paradoxical things about the Christian life, is that if we're to follow our Savior's steps, we're to live among the sinners, since they're the ones who need a physician. Yet, even though we live among them, we are not to resemble them. After years of thinking about counter-culture vs. building bridges and common ground (the latter of which I discovered just a year and a half ago was a lie), I've realized that once more, following Jesus boils down to knowing Him, loving Him, and then resembling Him. And it's daily, or one could easily carry his cross somewhere only to turn into the exact thing he is trying to reach.
One of the things God warns the Jews throughout the Old Testament is conforming to other cultures. The Israelites were supposed to be set apart as the nation of God, but they failed repeatedly in all phases of Jewish history. Quickly, what was foreign to your character becomes familiar, even a part of you.
A year ago I didn't eat rice two times a day, I didn't wipe my mouth with toilet paper, the thought of drinking hot juice sickened me, I didn't see at least three cockroaches a day, I didn't share a bedroom with lizards, and I didn't hear the adhan five times a day. It's amazing how quickly I could adapt physically, but even scarier how easily I could adapt spiritually if I would allow my flesh the pleasure.
Come, Lord Jesus by Andrew Peterson
Tonight in the line of the merchandise store
While they were packing up my bags
I saw the pictures of the prophets of the picket signs
Screaming, "God hates fags"
And it feels like the church isn't anything more
Then the second coming of the Pharisees
Scrubbing each other 'til their tombs are white
They chisel epitaphs of piety
Oh, there's a burning down inside of me
'Cause the battle seems so lost
And it's raging on so silently
We forget it's being fought
So, Amen
Come, Lord Jesus
Amen
Oh, Amen
Come Lord Jesus
Amen
It's taken me years in the race just to get this far
Still there is no end in sight,
There's no end in sight
'Cause I've carried my cross into dens of the wicked
And you know I blended in just fine
Well, I'm weak and I'm weary of breaking His heart
With they cycle of my sin, of my sin
Still He turns His face to me and I kiss it
Just to betray Him once again
Well, I've got oceans down inside of me
I can feel the billows roll
With the mercy that comes thundering
O'er the waters of my soul
So, Amen
Come, Lord Jesus
Amen
Oh, Amen
Come, Lord Jesus
Amen
Tonight in the light of the gathering rain
I could hear creation groan
And a sigh rose up from the streets of the city
To the foot of Heaven's throne
Oh, and the people hear the sound of a sweet refrain
An absolution in the fray, in the fry
It tells of the death of the one for the lives of the many
More than any picket sign could say
So, Amen
Come, Lord Jesus
Amen
Oh, Amen
Come, Lord Jesus
Amen
...listen to Andrew's new CD -- my connection is too slow, unfortunately
...preorder Andrew's new CD
