Psalm 24

It is all his anyways,

all it holds and hides and lays bare.

Every anthill and tamarind tree, every gushing river and heart beating under fur or scales or skin.

We are all his, every person on the face of the planet.

Not someday. Not hopefully.

Now.

Every one of us.

We belong to him.

Because, in the beginning

he pressed down the reared head of the foaming sea

and told it to be still.

And on its bound limbs he built beauty and pattern and purpose.

Over the fathomless depths of chaos,

he built a world of teeming, towering life.

Who dares look into the eyes of the ones who did that?

Who could possibly reach out to grasp those hands?

And yet…

We are invited to be so bold.

Are you deeply aware of your place in this existence?

Can you distinguish truth from its cheap, glistening imitations?

And are you willing to give up everything else in pursuit of it?

Are you honest and humble and kind?

Then grasp those hands with confidence.

And when you are plagued by doubt and dark memories,

remember the name he has chosen for himself.

I am of Jacob, he says.

Jacob.

Lying, scheming Jacob

who nonetheless saw truth one dark night

and wrenched loose his bones to grasp it.

Take heart.

That is the name he chooses to wear.

Look into his eyes without fear.

Ancient doorways and passageways, rusted and corroded shut for centuries are now creaking open.

Those same hands that balanced creation on chaos are now prying open ways long shut.

Who are you? the spaces and and souls within quiver in anticipation. Who are you?

He is the master craftsman here to reclaim his masterpiece.

He is powerful, and hungry to bless.

He is the King of glory.