Each Shall Resonate.

I think a bell choir is a beautiful picture of The Church. Everybody has a note to play, and if someone doesn't ring, the song doesn't happen.

I was watching a bell choir the other day at church, and it really is quite an apt portrait of the Body of Christ. Now, I'm certain that people's hearts were beating quicker in anticipation of their turn to ring their bell, and perhaps a few people rang their bell at the wrong time. It didn't matter, though. The song was heard anyways, because a song is more than the sum of its parts. And the choir is unified by the song they sing...or ring, as the case may be.

"No man is an island," they say. For that matter, no one should be a lone bell, either. We all have our notes to play, but if you "play the loner," it's not too much of a song on your own (there's only so many songs you can play with one or two notes). See, what happens is every bell has a place. It takes every note to make a song. Some people feel bad that their bell isn't as impressive as another's. But all notes are important--it's the smaller bells that play the higher notes, you see.

"But now God has placed the members, each one of them, in the body, just as He desired. If they were all one member, where would the body be? But now there are many members, but one body....Now you are Christ's body, and individually members of it."
I Corinthians 12:18-20,27 (NASB)

It's real beautiful when all the notes play together. You see, it's in the variety of bells that the music comes to be.

The funny thing is, we have a tendency to try and make everybody the same note. Now why do we want to go and do that? What's so scary about difference? That's where the music lies--in difference. So, sure, that person next to you may have a different sound than you. But try harmonizing. Try being a part of the bell choir.

Play your note--it's yours alone to play, but to not play alone.

And Jesus' Love is the song we play.

"The Prettiest Picture I've Ever Not Yet Seen"

My life has a way of just happening. I know I always have choices to make, but God has always been there to put the path in front of me. Most people don't believe in luck. Those that do might call me a pretty lucky guy, what with how good I've had it. Personally, I think luck is perhaps just another name for God's blessings and grace. Like a puzzle I'm a part of, God always seems to manage to get the pieces to fit, even when I don't understand the unfinished picture. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that I'm not the only one who's active in putting it together (it's a good thing, too--I get bewildered so easily). It's funny how often He reminds me that He's the one who's putting the puzzle together. God's a much better picture-maker than me, anyway. I figure it's best just to let Him put the pieces in place. He's good at beauty, and He shows me just how good everytime Life springs up unexpectedly. This is a poem I ran across the other day (I'm not sure who wrote it, but it wasn't me) which I think puts it nicely:

"My life is like a painting
the Lord creates for me.
I cannot choose the colors,
They're only His to see.

Sometimes He paints a rainbow
and my joy is at its height.
My heart sings songs of gratitude
because I can see God's light.

Sometimes He paints a dark cloud,
So dark I want to cry,
and I forget that only He
knows the reason why.

For in this masterpiece called life,
The palette is in God's hand,
and with His brush He paints for us
the picture He has planned."

Beacon

“On Fire”

I am here atop the mountain,
And my Fire burns on high,
A Beacon for the world,
A Pillar of Faith and Light.

“Be on fire!” they told me,
“Let the wind not defeat,”
But a fire only lasts as long
As wood provides it meat.

I have need in the valley
To fetch some kindling sticks,
But my friends bid me stay
Where the Fire squirms and kicks.

“God wants such Fire,” they say,
“Keep it burning long.”
How am I to keep it so
If I’ve no wood to keep it strong?

It has my zeal, my fervor–
Desire is its ration,
But Fire doesn’t last too long,
On twigs and leaves of passion.

The wood lies in the valley,
And the Beacon’s need is dire.
I must go down the mountain,
To find substance for my Fire.

I take a torch in hand,
The Beacon fades and dies,
But the Fire remains with me,
Putting Light into my eyes.

Life is not a mountain,
But has need of valleys, too.
Beacons only last as long
As unfed passions do.

I wrote this poem last summer, as I tried to deal with the phrase, "being on fire for Jesus". I've always had a bit of trouble with the mentality that spirituality is all about emotional highs and feeling good. Life, you see, is not always a mountaintop experience. There are valleys, too. And I'm finding this is most true in the areas of love and zeal--their flames are nothing without the substance of Christ to feed the fire, and He is often found in the valley.