Faith is both affective and cognitive. Which is to say that we not only know about God, but we know him and are known by him. He moves us. He is close. He is immanent. Even (and especially) at those times when we are simply drinking coffee in the morning.
I need to remember this. Because often I need to be moved, changed, shifted in perspective and focus – away from my own navel, and the things that would bind, and towards the God of love. And then I can move, and bless, and do those life-giving things. Because of him.
When you move, you move all our fears
When you move, you move us to tears…
Because when you speak, when you move.
When you do what only you can do
It changes us, it changes what we see and what we seek
I came across Andrew Peterson a little while ago and recently downloaded his album “Counting Stars.” Peterson is a wordsmith and it shows in his songs. Their strength is their lyrics. I have found them to be extremely useful in my ongoing quest to have a more doxological life.
Currently my preference is for more declarative lyrics – worship in the sense of “Holy God, you are like this…” But if you are going to get personal and reflective this is how you do it, connecting to God and the arcs of salvation history:
In the Night Andrew Peterson
I am weary with the pain of Jacob’s wrestling
In the darkness with the Fear, in the darkness with the Fear
But he met the morning wounded with a blessing
So in the night my hope lives on
When Elisha woke surrounded by the forces
Of the enemies of God, the enemies of God
He saw the hills aflame with angels on their horses
So in the night my hope lives on
I see the slave that toils beneath the yoke unyielding
And I can hear the captive groan, hear the captive groan
For some hand to stay the whip his foe is wielding
Still in the night my hope lives on
I see the armies of the enemy approaching
And the people driven, trembling, to the shore
But a doorway through the waters now is opening
So in the night my hope lives on
Like the son who thought he’d gone beyond forgiveness,
Too ashamed to lift his head–but if he could lift his head
He would see his father running from a distance
In the night my hope lives on
I can see the crowd of men retreating
As he stands between the woman and their stones
And if mercy in his holy heart is beating
Then in the night my hope lives on
I remember how they scorned the son of Mary
He was gentle as a lamb, gentle as a lamb
He was beaten, he was crucified, and buried
And in the night, my hope was gone
But the rulers of earth could not control Him
They did not take his life–he laid it down
All the chains of death could never hope to hold Him
So in the night my hope lives on
I can see the Son of Man descending
And the sword He swings is brighter than the dawn
And the gates of Hell will never stand against Him
So in the night my hope lives on
My wife and I recently celebrated our fifteenth wedding anniversary. Which is cool and fantastic. And then today she found this video. It says it all. Perfectly. Absolutely freaking perfectly.
Faith is both affective and cognitive. Which is to say that we not only know about God, but we know him and are known by him. He moves us. He is close. He is immanent. Even (and especially) at those times when we are simply drinking coffee in the morning.
