The Rhythm of Life
There is a rhythm to the heartbeat of the planet. It is felt in the perpetual pounding of waves against a battered shore, seen in the sleepy movement of constellations across an ebony sky, heard in the early cooing of morning doves as they welcome the sun. Our universe is centered in its meter. I love this about God. I love the Musician who keeps our world in motion, who intermingles visual art and song.
Eons ago, when all was void, the Voice broke the silence with, “Let there be light.” Splashing brilliant hue across His canvas, He began a song that has continued to echo timelessly. The first three verses started simply, ascetic contrasts becoming more extravagant: night and day, heavens above the waters, land and vegetation. And it was good. The creation hymn continued as the cadence built: sun and stars transforming the night and day, birds soaring against the pale blue of the heavens and sea life filling the waters, ground creatures fleshing out the land. Days four, five and six were in syncopated beat with the first movement of the Designer’s Symphony. And it was good. With the arrival of man, it was very good. The finale, however, in understated tones, was simply delightful. For on the 7th day, God rested, giving us a foreshadowing of promises to come.
Flash forward to a different time. The beat continued; the song played on. The sun rose, the sun set. The seasons turned. Men were born, lived and died. Then one day God said, “It is time.” A people of promise lived as slaves in a land not their own and Yahweh heard their cries. After deliverance, one of the greatest gifts He gave this people, was a continuance of that rhythm He began so long ago. The Sabbath. The 7th day. A day of rest.
Shortly thereafter, the Giver passed on additional blessings. He gave His people feast days and sacred times. These were to continue year in and year out, marking the passage of time and the development of a history. The redeemed were to remember who they were and how far they’d come. Passover, Pentecost, Feast of Trumpets, Day of Atonement, Feast of Tabernacles. They were a people of the Word, and their Word had them living in a rhythm that corresponded to the things they knew, to the tangible things they could see and feel: changing seasons, new soft growth under their feet, later sunsets, colder nights. These days not only anchored their lives but they pointed to a time that was to come. Though they didn’t understand, the rhythm would carry them and find its fulfillment in a tiny stable in a seemingly insignificant Roman province.
Too many of us have lost the rhythm. The sad thing is that most of us don’t even realize that anything is missing. We are a discordant people and have become paupers too blind to beg at the King’s banquet. The Sabbath is gone and we never cease our work. We hurry from one project to another, with lives full of busyness but aching for substance.
Buried beneath the rubble that our self-indulgence has wrought are the dusty remnants of ancient holy days. But they were for a different people, you say. We live in a different time; we aren’t under the old law. Yes, there was a new covenant cut with the flesh and blood of a Redeemer, but the foundation for that promise was laid in the cycles of years that came before. The feasts and festivals instituted under that Sinaitic Covenant had beat in the hearts of the Israelites to prepare them to recognize the Messiah when He appeared in their midst. Every sacrifice laid on the altar spoke of the blood that would eventually cleanse all sin. Every festival pointed to a marriage feast that would come when the Bridegroom called His Beloved. Our ignorance of these times and our neglect of the things that went before, have left us almost rudderless. Our foundation is weaker. The Word may have become flesh in a town in Judea, but He didn’t begin there. John tells that He was present in the beginning. Just as significantly, He was present in the middle. He’ll be there in the end as well.
The church has continued through the ages since our Shepherd established it. Christians seem to come in all shapes and sizes. Some have always embraced the cyclical nature of God’s work and have followed a liturgical calendar. Others disdain what they perceive as form lacking substance, ritualistic words void of meaning. I wish we could find a balance. A life focused on the rhythm of the God-given seasons and days can enrich us. And a better understanding of the Jewish holy days can make our faith more than head knowledge. It can seep into the marrow of our bones and give strength to sinews and ligaments. The blood washed over the doorframes of ancient homes must still wash over the entries to our hearts. It is the same Lamb, after all.
Eons ago, when all was void, the Voice broke the silence with, “Let there be light.” Splashing brilliant hue across His canvas, He began a song that has continued to echo timelessly. The first three verses started simply, ascetic contrasts becoming more extravagant: night and day, heavens above the waters, land and vegetation. And it was good. The creation hymn continued as the cadence built: sun and stars transforming the night and day, birds soaring against the pale blue of the heavens and sea life filling the waters, ground creatures fleshing out the land. Days four, five and six were in syncopated beat with the first movement of the Designer’s Symphony. And it was good. With the arrival of man, it was very good. The finale, however, in understated tones, was simply delightful. For on the 7th day, God rested, giving us a foreshadowing of promises to come.
Flash forward to a different time. The beat continued; the song played on. The sun rose, the sun set. The seasons turned. Men were born, lived and died. Then one day God said, “It is time.” A people of promise lived as slaves in a land not their own and Yahweh heard their cries. After deliverance, one of the greatest gifts He gave this people, was a continuance of that rhythm He began so long ago. The Sabbath. The 7th day. A day of rest.
Shortly thereafter, the Giver passed on additional blessings. He gave His people feast days and sacred times. These were to continue year in and year out, marking the passage of time and the development of a history. The redeemed were to remember who they were and how far they’d come. Passover, Pentecost, Feast of Trumpets, Day of Atonement, Feast of Tabernacles. They were a people of the Word, and their Word had them living in a rhythm that corresponded to the things they knew, to the tangible things they could see and feel: changing seasons, new soft growth under their feet, later sunsets, colder nights. These days not only anchored their lives but they pointed to a time that was to come. Though they didn’t understand, the rhythm would carry them and find its fulfillment in a tiny stable in a seemingly insignificant Roman province.
Too many of us have lost the rhythm. The sad thing is that most of us don’t even realize that anything is missing. We are a discordant people and have become paupers too blind to beg at the King’s banquet. The Sabbath is gone and we never cease our work. We hurry from one project to another, with lives full of busyness but aching for substance.
Buried beneath the rubble that our self-indulgence has wrought are the dusty remnants of ancient holy days. But they were for a different people, you say. We live in a different time; we aren’t under the old law. Yes, there was a new covenant cut with the flesh and blood of a Redeemer, but the foundation for that promise was laid in the cycles of years that came before. The feasts and festivals instituted under that Sinaitic Covenant had beat in the hearts of the Israelites to prepare them to recognize the Messiah when He appeared in their midst. Every sacrifice laid on the altar spoke of the blood that would eventually cleanse all sin. Every festival pointed to a marriage feast that would come when the Bridegroom called His Beloved. Our ignorance of these times and our neglect of the things that went before, have left us almost rudderless. Our foundation is weaker. The Word may have become flesh in a town in Judea, but He didn’t begin there. John tells that He was present in the beginning. Just as significantly, He was present in the middle. He’ll be there in the end as well.
The church has continued through the ages since our Shepherd established it. Christians seem to come in all shapes and sizes. Some have always embraced the cyclical nature of God’s work and have followed a liturgical calendar. Others disdain what they perceive as form lacking substance, ritualistic words void of meaning. I wish we could find a balance. A life focused on the rhythm of the God-given seasons and days can enrich us. And a better understanding of the Jewish holy days can make our faith more than head knowledge. It can seep into the marrow of our bones and give strength to sinews and ligaments. The blood washed over the doorframes of ancient homes must still wash over the entries to our hearts. It is the same Lamb, after all.
posted by Kaye @ 2:37 PM
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