When I travel with the socialites of aimlessness, I watch the lonely. They drink, then they get drunk. They find substance in materialism, and then they crash to sleep, full of emptiness. And I find myself beside them. They tell me that they think I’m judging them, because I haven’t fully given in to blind somnambulism. But they have mistaken the fear for judgement. I am afraid that I am the same.
I know myself well enough to know that if I am not desperately pursuing the Life-Giver, then the liar will try to whisper and convince me that my name is “Frailty”. And that I am sick. And that I have no worth. And when I am that alone, I know that I will seek community in spaces filled with people who have no interests and who desire no purpose, and I will try to find my worth in their void.
These Voids Are Boxes
These voids are boxes, stuffed full of people who are wheezing on self-sustained love. Their lack of space is mistaken for intimacy, their suffocating closeness for freedom. And I have found myself on the floor beneath them, crying out for the Life-Giver because all I see are the broken, bruised feet of aimlessness and the darkness that surrounds uncertainty.
But every time I’ve tried to stand up straight in those boxes to meet the empty eyes of a people who is loved but still asleep, I find myself on the cold damp floor again. Knees to concrete. I find that my eyes have lost sight of the Life-Giver and my heart does everything to find him again. Without me knowing, He fills my lungs and pushes growth through my knees, though my knee caps bleed and my limbs expand like a scene from Alice in Wonderland. No longer can I fit inside of the box—it breaks. Just as every box before it has broken. And when the boxes break, it never feels beautiful and brave, it feels loud and violent. I even find myself halted by the silence of the socialites—and they shame me for the mess I’ve made— because somehow I have torn down their walls. I see myself straightening my spine like an awkwardly tall 5th grader, confused and unsure of my surroundings. As I walk away, I hear the some of the same attempts to shame. They yell, “Who do you think you are?!”
To which the Life-Giver responds for me, “Beloved and Full.”
[And they are left with the Him to discover healing and space to cry ugly and know that they are forgiven and accepted. They are Forgiven and accepted because of Jesus, the one who has ultimately shattered the effects of darkness in the first place and offers life as a free gift.]
He has called me the breaker of boxes. He has called me to the boxes, as light to darkness.
It sounds strange, however you term it—salt, light, or soldier, but I know that he has wired me to break boxes—to show the socialites of aimlessness that they have purpose and validity in Jesus. I know this because he has to show me this very thing over and over and over again.
Once he has shown me, he calls me back to the boxes to sit with the aimless again and love them without agenda.
If none of this makes sense then know this
If I place the light of the sun in your eyes, then you will not see
You have to be surrounded by it to know its freedom,
You have to be bathed in it to know its warmth.
The gospel is about his love, not just our sin. No matter where I am, I become a more effective minister of the gospel when I am full of his love (not pride, not my zealous determination to see the “lost” saved, just his powerful, undiminished love). God is love. And wherever the spirit of the God is there is freedom. So if I am full of love, I am full of freedom. And if I am full of love, then I am full of purpose, because love is action—it cannot sit still. So, when I release the love of God over people, I release freedom and purpose.
Isaiah 60:1-9; 62:2-4; Romans 8:2; Romans 8:15-16
2 Corinthians 3:1-6
1 Corinthians 13
1 John 4:8
2 Corinthians 3:17