I often detect a strange coldness in my heart which prefers to deal with the clothing of Christ's truth rather than His actual person. Of course, what we know about someone affects how we relate to them and what we think of them. But when we admire the clothes of shining knowledge more than the person who embodies truth, we are mere idolators of needlework, failing to see the stunning genius of the tailor who made and adorned them.
It's the domestic hazard of 'growing up Christian'. I can tick all the boxes and score high marks on a Bible comprehension exercise, but unless I am in love with the One who is Wisdom then it becomes a knowedge for the conceited.
I guess that's the problem with the Relay programme. It just cuts too much at the heart. If you haven't got the constant chiming of your supervisor ('so how does the gospel speak into that?') then you've got LG imploring you with his recurring 'don't you see?'. And they just won't leave me alone...
But I am glad. I am glad because my sick heart stutters and starts, chokes with rotten knowledge like uneaten food left out on the counter. Knowledge grows a plushy bacterial beard within days, and once it's taken root the fungi is there to stay. Still, knowledge was never meant to be stale, it was always embodied with spirit and truth and then with flesh and blood. A blood to gush away death and replenish us with life. Blood to whip up this old-man knowledge to a reinvigorated youth with strength to follow the drops to that gorey intersection between heaven and earth.
Because what I really need, but don't always want, is the Person not the clothing. Give me the tailor, the maker, the suitor. May I not stop at gold-threaded hems but instead meet His eyes in mine.
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