ugly

"She carries a pearl in perfect condition

What once was hurt, what once was friction

What left a mark
No longer stings..."--Bono

It had really gotten ugly; this long complicated disaster of a marriage between God and Israel. She had become a splinter in His side. A wound in His story. And He cried out 'I hate divorce' but there seemed no other way. In this fallen world even He could not stop her. How do you live with someone who continually sleeps with other men? All the time. And it left a mark. And it seemed over.

For God and His beloved Israel.

But just then, when the time had fully come, when time was so pregnant, just then, the water burst. And new life came.

Aren't so many stories just like this. At the final moment something turns the tide, changes everything. But it often comes with a price; bloody and broken. Shamed and humiliated. In the end she comes bearing a pearl. She commits herself to him. He to her. So beautiful she comes out. And what once was friction no longer stings. When the two cover one another as One.

A pearl comes from the Oyster. She is born out of a foreign irritation. The instinct of the shell is to 'cover' itself. The formation of a natural pearl begins when a foreign substance slips into the oyster between the mantle and the shell, which irritate­s the mantle. It's kind of like the oyster getting a splinter. The oyster's natural reaction is to cover up that irritant to protect itself. The man­tle covers the irritant with layers of the same nacre substance that is used to create the shell. This eventually forms a pearl.

God the shell. Israel the irritant. Jesus the pearl. It is the way it works.

And the two are one at last. And I swear on the days that are left we will walk in fields of gold. In a place called heaven. It could be Oz. It could be Neverland. It might be the 'walkabout' of Australia or the top of the staircase in The Titanic. It could be named anything. But it represents everything we ever want or need. It is a place that has to be believed to be seen. There is no place like home. And I will 'see it'.

One day. On 'that Day'.

All things will become new among the fields of barley.

Because God never makes promises lightly. And a covenant is a promise, no less. And He makes right all that went wrong along the way. It has already begun. But He could not do it alone.

It is not good to be alone so God created her again.

Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold

You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley

The west wind moved in Jerusalem after 430 years of silence. God had not spoke. The wind had been silent. But then, you could feel the storm coming, the wind picked up. When John the Baptist entered the scene saying; after me will come one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not fit to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand... the wind began to blow on the fields of barley.

It still moves on those who watch. And with vision they can see the final act of this love story.

On these proverbial 'streets of gold' we will walk together. And they will be there, this pair. This Pearl, this Covering. This beauty; this bravery. And there will be children there. Created by the wind. Playing without any thought of the morrow. With laughter unabated. And I will be one of them. And the children won't remember the pain of the falleness. And either will you. Or Him. Or Her. We won't even know we were orphans once.

All things will become new among the field of barley.

We need this more than anything else ever.

More

written by Brian Doerksen

More than oxygen, I need Your love
More than life-giving food the hungry dream of
More than an eloquent word depends on the tongue
More than a passionate song needs to be sung

More than a word could ever say
More than a song could ever convey
I need You more than all of these things
Father, I need You more

More than magnet and steel are drawn to unite
More than poets love words to rhyme as they write
More than the comforting warmth of sun in the spring
More than the eagle loves wind under its wings

More than a word could ever say
More than a song could ever convey
I love You more than all of these things
Father, I love You more

More than a blazing fire on a winter’s night
More than the tall evergreens reach for the light
More than the pounding waves long for the shore
More than these gifts You give, I love You more