The weather is turning and the slow march to winter has begun. I've started to think of closure. Of ending. Quite frankly, it will be good to see this year behind us. There are no sufficient words to describe what our world has been/is going through. We have holed up and shuttered the windows against the onslaught of fear and panic - masked our weary faces and souls. Hope has sputtered and flickered behind closed doors. Friends have retreated. Saints have departed. Our hearts are rough and calloused from all the caring. This year, more than ever, I find myself yearning for a banquet season. Pulling out the china and setting places, trying once again to make the chicken dressing like Mama, even if there are only the two of us around the table most of the time. Dreaming up menus and arranging peonies in the blue jars. Calling on Alexa to play the hymns of thanksgiving and praise.
I had a little epiphany this morning as I listened to the daily reading from Pray as You Go*. This longing for a special meal, a banquet, is more than a physical or even mental hunger, it is a holy desire - a gravitational pull toward God. Insatiable by any but Him. A table spread with gospel-welcome-cloth and plenty of seats. The aroma of grace awaking slumber-paralyzed lungs. The answer to every craving heaped onto platters and passed from hand to hand like a precious salvation-sacrament. Whispers of prayer lighting once dead candles. Celebration blooming again in clay jars. Yes, yes, says my soul. This is what I have needed. This is what I have missed. This is why I am alive. The waiting is long-over. The Feast is ever with us. Pull up a chair. Dig in. Selah.
God’s Hand Rests on This Mountain - Isaiah 25 - The Message
God, you are my God. I celebrate you. I praise you. You’ve done your share of miracle-wonders, well-thought-out plans, solid and sure. Here you’ve reduced the city to rubble, the strong city to a pile of stones. The enemy Big City is a non-city, never to be a city again. Superpowers will see it and honor you, brutal oppressors bow in worshipful reverence. They’ll see that you take care of the poor, that you take care of poor people in trouble, Provide a warm, dry place in bad weather, provide a cool place when it’s hot. Brutal oppressors are like a winter blizzard and vicious foreigners like high noon in the desert. But you, shelter from the storm and shade from the sun, shut the mouths of the big-mouthed bullies. But here on this mountain, God-of-the-Angel-Armies will throw a feast for all the people of the world, A feast of the finest foods, a feast with vintage wines, a feast of seven courses, a feast lavish with gourmet desserts. And here on this mountain, God will banish the pall of doom hanging over all peoples, The shadow of doom darkening all nations. Yes, he’ll banish death forever. And God will wipe the tears from every face. He’ll remove every sign of disgrace From his people, wherever they are. Yes! God says so! Also at that time, people will say, “Look at what’s happened! This is our God! We waited for him and he showed up and saved us! This God, the one we waited for! Let’s celebrate, sing the joys of his salvation. God’s hand rests on this mountain!”
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