God of the Compost, Conclusion

From Glory To Glory

The things I have described in this series of articles are glimpses of the glory of a God Who has not abandoned His creation to the dust of history. These small illustrations hint at the deeper and grander work He has taken on of reclaiming and remaking His human creation.

God of the Compost, Part 2

Life From Decay

My wife and I have enjoyed the wonders of growing plants, both edible and ornamental, for many years. One of the early revelations we received in this pursuit concerned the power of the compost pile.

The Gift of Pain

Human language struggles to express the experience of pain, but falters and fails. We cannot help but make circular reference as we attempt to describe it– "it burns like fire," "it pierces like an ice-pick," or "it pounds relentlessly." When it catches us off-guard we blurt out "Ow!" or "Ouch!," and when it takes us beyond all endurance we groan and cry out with inhuman screams.

The Fatal Fall

I grew up in a household of mostly boys. Constantly looking for ways to entertain ourselves, we three brothers invented countless curious psychological games. The way the brain works, and how it connects with the real, objective world constituted for us an endless source of fascination.

In the Belly of Sheol

Death and taxes—the inevitability of these two provoke the cliche. And while the forcible extraction of citizens' finances generates endless debate, the ending of life enjoys no such conversational popularity.

Separation

Sin? No one "sins" these days, or has "sin" in them. We have dumped "sin" into the ashcan of obsolete English words. We may possess "weaknesses," and we may "make mistakes" (it amuses me when I hear the popular "I mis-spoke" used seriously in public discourse), but "sin?"– what kind of Neanderthal creature would use such an archaic, judgmental, and demeaning word?

Only Celebration

The early morning sun rose over the cemetery, and the long shadows cast by hundreds of gravestones shortened. Though the day was young, sweat already trickled down my forehead. Like a pack-mule, I carried my year-old daughter in a carrier on my back, and the walk to the graveside service was long. A couple of decades had passed since, as a boy, I last attended a funeral, and this was my first since fully arriving at adulthood. Uncertain emotions flooded my soul.

Transfusion

A calloused hand grasped the handle of an earthen pitcher, tilting it. Cool water tumbled out of the spout, falling in a twisting, twining stream, making its way downward, earthward.

Much earlier in the day, the Rabbi sent two of his students ahead of him to prepare the Passover meal. When they inquired how they could know the place in which to make preparations, he responded that–

Two Cries

Two profound "cries" stand as boundary stones of the Incarnation– the cry of the Child as He entered this cold, rough world of pain and drew His first breath, and the cry of the Man as He suffered the pain of torture and experienced death for the punishment of this world's sin.