Worthwhile Passion

As I sit here, I'm listening to the songs we sang while at the Passion Conference this year.  The impact of these memories is only heightened by the realization that two dear friends are now teaching in China.  My daughter is only two hours away, but her 20th birthday is tomorrow, and it isn't likely I will see her.  Meanwhile, my Dad is 3 1/2 hours north, and awaiting results of a PET scan that will probably give us some indication about how long we have with him on this side.

It is crazy what such a confluence of events will do to your heart when you begin considering what things are worth caring about.  No matter how much you want to win that game, no matter how much you want the United States to get the gold, no matter how concerned you are about that bill you have to pay; when eternal concerns are placed before you, all else pales in comparison.

In a very real sense, the typical trivial obsessions of our lives -- of my life -- are embarrassing.  It is very difficult avoid this tendency.  Clear evidence of this is found in the resonance of this allegation with so many people.  For most of us, this sense is cyclical.  For a moment, we apprehend truths of life with crystal clarity.  Gradually these realizations fade, and we find ourselves slowly slipping back into a familiar complacency.  Perhaps the best we can hope for is for the cycles of truth to gradually eclipse the cycles of triviality.  If we are fortunate to live long lives and still think soberly at the end of our days, we may find that on our death bed we see more clearly than we ever have before, but it is familiar territory for us.

When no emergent moment presses inself on our consciences, we desperately need something transcendent  to draw our hearts back to an eternal focus.  All sorts of things can suffice to take us to that point of spiritual sobriety.  But for me, it is more often music than anything else that drives me back to the foot of the cross and the heart of God.  I don't want these moments to ever elude me.  Whatever I need to do to recapture this sense, it is worth it, even if it sometimes involves repentance, confession.  The ability to truly apprehend the sublime sometimes requires the amputation of the mundane.  The trade is well worth making.

May we never settle for less.