Holiness: The Covering, The Call, and The Cost

Part One:  The Covering

It was a perfect autumn day.  The kind of day that just begs a boy to engage himself in all things mischievous.  With the armor of childhood surrounding him, and mom sufficiently occupied inside the house, my eldest son slipped into the backyard with a pocketknife hidden in his pocket.  He searched until he had found the perfect dull stick and he settled on a large rock under the sugar maple tree.  He had a plan.  He was going to whittle that dull stick into a very sharp stick.  His plans were top secret because he had been told many times not to play with the pocket knife, but warnings of danger only made his plan more enticing.  In his nine year old mind nothing could go wrong.  And as he started to shave the bark off of that old stick it seemed like his plan was yielding great results.  The tender white flesh of the stick was barely visible when a slip of his hand drove the blade of that knife deep into his index finger.  The knife, being new, was sharp and the incision precise so the pain did not come all at once.  Instead, the pain, like the blood, welled up from beneath the surface.  Seconds passed like hours until every blood vessel, every nerve ending began to sound the alert.  The pain was mixed with fear.  He was not supposed to be playing with that knife and he knew that he had been disobedient.  Somewhere in his third grade mind he reasoned that if he could just stop the bleeding he could hide the injury, and therefore, hide the crime.  He reached down to the only covering that nature offered and covered his wound with a handful of freshly fallen, golden, sugar maple leaves.  It may have worked temporarily but soon the leaves crumpled under the weight of his affliction and he realized he could not handle this on his own.

And such is the state of the human condition. Ever since Eve lopped off that first fig leaf and tied the branch around her waste, mankind has been trying to cover his sin.

We cleverly try to disguise the sinful deeds that have left us stained and scarred.
We wrap our iniquity in a robe of innocence.
We hide our sin behind a swathe of saintliness.
We cover our blemish with a mask of blessedness and to God's nostrils its like trying to cover the stench of week-old garbage with a spray of cheap cologne.

If the fig leaves of paradise were not sufficient to cover the shame of sin why do we think our efforts will stop the bleeding?  The covering is not just inept, to God it is insulting.

Isaiah 64:6 says, "All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away." (NIV)

We've replaced "clean-ups" with "cover-ups."  And, in doing so, we have allowed sin to infect every act of righteousness.  Our prayers and our praises are all spoiled with the putrid smell of sin.  We are shoving dirt and debris into an open wound and instead of stopping the bleeding we are exposing every fiber of our being to the filth of this world.  

That which you think protects you has imprisoned you.    

Your camouflage is now your confinement.  

This disguise has become your dungeon.  

The sin that you think you have so carefully controlled, now controls you.  

It is in the wilderness that we meet her.  An Egyptian slave-girl, pregnant and driven away as a misguided attempt by Abraham and Sarah to cover their faith failure. (Genesis 16:1-4)  She stands, back against the wall,  beside a spring, on the Road to Shur hoping to cross the wilderness and return to Egypt.  The road is a caravan route through the desert.  It is arid and rocky, inhabited only by wolves, thieves, and every other countless, nameless beasts of prey.  

Even with its unforetold dangers there was some safety in the wilderness.  She was far from the whispers and humiliation of those who knew her affliction.  

Nevertheless, she was at the last stop on a dead end road.  Going backward would cost her her freedom.  Going forward would cost her her life.  Standing on the bridge between a painful past and an ill-fated future she must have lingered a little longer than necessary at that spring taking it all in:  one last drink, one last second of surety, one last dream of deliverance.  And in that hopeless, helpless, silence, He whispers her name.  

Her name is Hagar but that isn't so important.  Her name could have just as easily been your name, my name, or any other unremarkable name.  

His message was simple, "I  see you.  I know you.  Turn around.  I will redeem you."  

And then this lowly servant girl who has never had a say in the events of her own life speaks words that will ring into eternity.  This nobody, from nowhere, that had for the most part been invisible in the scriptures up until this point, stands in the spot light and introduces us to El Roi, The God who continually sees me.  

To the world she was a means to an end.  She was disposable. She was so insignificant that no one even noticed she had run away.  But God had never taken His eyes off of her.  He had seen her every step and her every misstep.  It was not enough for His eyes just to watch her.  He made a point to let her know that He was near.  It is a message that speaks life into every wandering, dying soul,  "You are the God who sees me," for she said, "I have now seen the One who sees me."  (Genesis 16:13 NIV)

If not for her lonesome journey, we might never know the sweet secret that can only be found in the wilderness.  It is here that we learn there is no place, even the deepest, darkest, farthest-off-the-map spot in the badland, that is beyond the sight of God.

Gods eyes are continually on you.  He is not preoccupied in another room.  He is not weary of watching you.  His delight is in you and His eyes are on you.

"Remember how the LORD your God led you all the way in the desert these forty years, to humble you and to test you in order to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commands."  Deuteronomy 8:2

Sometimes God allows things, people, situations in our lives that drive us to reveal what is in our heart. Not for His sake, He knows what is in your heart, but for your sake, to break down the barricades. 

God's eyes see beneath the manufactured coverings.  So you can put them away.  Recognize that you can not stop the bleeding.  You can't clean yourself up.  

God sees you now.  

He sees your future.  

He sees your past.  

He even saw you before you were knit together in your mother's womb.  

He saw you before the foundation of the world was laid. 

Your sin, and your pitiful attempts to cover them up have not caught Him off guard.

God has seen the darkest moments of your life.  But instead of going all "Sodom and Gemorrah" on you He is calling out your name.
"I can clean that wound if you'll let me."
With the piercing eyes of El Roi and the callused hands of a carpenter He begins the process of tearing down the walls and rebuilding your life.
"This might sting a little,"  he says as He removes the dirt and debris, "but only a little.  'Behold, I am making all things new.'"  Oh, the joy that is waiting on the other side of the wilderness.

Close your eyes.
Listen.
Linger here a little bit longer.
Listen.

I think I hear Him calling. . .

. . .calling your name.