2015-04-19 1 John 3:1-7
Something God Alone Can See
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"See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God."
See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are. The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Beloved, we are God's children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed. What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is.
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When I walk down the aisle with a newly baptized baby, I say these words over her or him. "See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God." I'm walking and letting her look around. Everybody's getting their Kleenex out because in that one moment, we get it. Here's an infant, totally helpless, completely dependent, new to the world, perfect exactly as she is. We don't know what she'll become. We don't know the choices she'll make, things she'll do, the boys she'll meet, the clothes she'll wear out of the house over our dead body. We see the baby. That's all we see. We can't see the child, the girl, the young woman she'll grow up to become. We don't know any of that. We see a baby and we see hope. We see hope that she'll rise above the faults of her parents. We see hope that the world will be kind to her spirit. We see the hope that we'll be worthy of this life. We see the beautiful child. We see the hope. But how life's going to unfold? But what will happen to that hope? That's something God alone can see.
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Easter timed out pretty well this year. The Medieval monks with sundials picked a Sunday just after the ice storms and right as the dogwoods were starting to bloom. Easter danced on the cutting edge of springtime in East Tennessee. It signaled to the tulips we had forgotten where we'd planted that it was time to wake up. The carpenter bees came out of their shops and to start redesigning our decks. (Our tiny dog discovered the bees this year. It's so cute to watch him leaping and twisting to try to catch them. God forbid he ever gets one.) The forsythia nod their heads. The daffodils sway, showing off their coats of many colors. The hazy clouds of pollen gently waft above the parking lots, nature's reproductive system, moving us to choking spasms as we hide our eyes. The winter earth has been quiet, sleeping, waiting. In the damp chill and dirty slush of winter, you forget how beautiful the earth is when she lifts her head and looks sideways at you. You knew spring was there, hidden just beneath the sheet of frost. But when you can't see beyond the colorless cold of winter, the ribbon of new life is something God alone can see.
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Every now and then I'll get to a cemetery early. Most cemeteries are sublimely beautiful places. I especially love the little ones, the family graveyards, the ones beside little country churches on a hilltop at the end of a gravelly road. They're so peaceful. If I can avoid ridiculous conversation with the funeral directors, I like to just stand and listen. The birds, the breeze, the warmth of the sun. What better place to touch eternity?
Have you ever looked down into a grave? Around here, it's red clay walls, scooped clean by a backhoe. To tell the truth, they're kind of boring, especially compared to everything moving and breathing aboveground. Graves are just… empty. Which is how Mary Magdalene and the other disciples found Jesus' tomb on Easter morning. The stone rolled away. The graveclothes folded. The looked in and saw, well, nothing. At least at first. The life, the hope, the rebirth were all something God alone could see.
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See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are. The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Beloved, we are God's children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed. What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is.
When that baby is born, when God has yet to lift the pen to her unwritten chapters of life, we see hope. When earth brings birth to spring we see life reborn around us. It gives us faith to believe that if lilies of the field and birds of the air can sing the promise of the new year, so can we. When we look into the tombs of death but hear Easter halleluiah songs echo forth from the walls, we can laugh. The darkness has no hold on us. We know there is more.
There is more. There is always more. There is more than you know. There is more about you than you can see. There is more about the people you love than you can discover. There is more about the people who make life hard than you can conquer. There is more than winter's cold. There is even more than springtime's joy. How do I know this? I don't. But the Bible tells me so. This more, this depth, this redeeming new life has not yet been opened to us, not in fullness. But there is hope. What you will be, what we will be, what the others will be – isn't ready just yet for us. But it is there, unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.
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In the bulb there is a flower; in the seed, an apple tree;
In cocoons, a hidden promise: butterflies will soon be free!
In the cold and snow of winter there's a spring that waits to be,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.
There's a song in every silence, seeking word and melody;
There's a dawn in every darkness, bringing hope to you and me.
From the past will come the future; what it holds, a mystery,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.
In our end is our beginning; in our time, infinity;
In our doubt there is believing; in our life, eternity,
In our death, a resurrection; at the last, a victory,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.
- Hymn of Promise, by Natalie Sleeth
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