The Green Veil

This "middle ground" time of year between winter and spring can be one of the most fascinating and frustrating: it's so neat to watch the shadow of new life preparing to burst on the scene, and frustrating that it's not quite here yet. My mama has a term for that shadow of coming that I absolutely love: "the green veil."

You can see the veil get greener as the trees' buds swell into leaves, the dead grass starts to give way to the new shoots peeking just above the surface, and as the crops take root in the newly-tilled fields.  That last part was a sight I didn't grow up with, but treasure more and more as I get older. We moved to a rural area from Surburbia, USA in the late spring of 2011, and missed the phenomenon by several weeks. Actually, we landed on the old family dairy farm smack in the middle of tornado season, surrounded by the bugs and stifling humidity of early May. If I remember correctly, the soybean crop across the highway was already dark green, marching stolidly in thick green lines through the fields. 

In the ten years since then, the green veil is something I eagerly look forward to. To me, it's more than just "spring is coming:" it's a season that comes loaded down with all kinds of symbolism that strikes the eyes of my soul. And it seems that every year, a different theme takes the foreground. One of my favorite authors of all time, J.R.R. Tolkien, wrote a line in The Fellowship of the Ring that sort of touches on that phenomenon: "In every wood, in every spring, there is a different green."

The theme that has taken the stage this year is one that takes a bit of explaining. So grab a snack or something; we might be here a little longer than usual. :P

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Some years, the anticipation of spring makes my throat squeeze a little bit with all of the emotion: an eager expectation for what the future may hold that's almost overwhelming. There are other years where my heart and body are weary, and those emotions are much quieter: the difference between a bright bonfire with a laughing group gathered around it, and that same fire at 1 in the morning when all of the people have all retreated inside to warmth and rest. It's the same fire, and it's still burning, but it's different. The past two months have been one of those 1 A.M. fire seasons. 

It's not something that I see touched on often, but the Christian life (like all life) is cyclical. There are times of spring-like energy to pursue the Lord accompanied with a sense of His precious closeness: a season of rapid and exciting growth. Then there are other times where all is quiet and cold; nothing seems to be happening, and even the ability to care seems to fly away south. I hate those seasons of winter in my soul. The natural me panics in that situation. "What did I do wrong?" "How did I get here again?" "Could I have done something to avoid this?"

I think that I certainly do land myself there because of my own sin far more often than not. It's so easy to grow complacent when everything is going well: I don't "need" the Lord then as much as I do in other seasons. And in those times He is so gracious to bring me again to the realization of my intense dependence. But I also think that there are times where the Lord brings us through this type of season as part of His sanctification process: rather than just a response to sin in our lives. Or perhaps it can be a mix of both causes.

As I was planning what to write the other day, I realized that back in January, (when I had all the desire and drive to be in regular prayer) I had asked for the Lord to continue making me humble, and to help me become more aware of my daily sin. I fully believe that "the Lord only answers His own prayers," and I'm pretty dang positive that that prayer was His. 

So, here I am, in between a winter and spring of the soul. It's not comfortable. To be completely honest, it stinks. My sin is distasteful to me, but it still doesn't feel like it's as abhorrent as it should be. And I certainly feel humiliated: it seems that my failure to pursue Christ with discipline and joy in this season is in front of me at all times. But just on the horizon, in the marrow of my bones, I know new life is coming. I can see it in the slow rekindling of my desire to be in His Word, in the longing to be in fellowship with Him again, and even in the realization that this was something I asked for. There's a miniature green veil growing all over my heart, if you will. 

But the biggest encouragement outstripping all else is the bright light of His good and faithful character shining on all of it: the good, the bad, and the ugly. At the end of the day, because of Christ's sacrifice for my sin, the Father's faithfulness to complete the good work begun, and the Holy Spirit's guidance of my often wandering heart, God will be shown faithful. He will be glorified.

You might be wondering, why am I telling you all of this? Well, dear reader, I am for  several reasons:

One - I want you to know that I am far from perfect. I fail: miserably and daily. 

Two - I hoped that my frankness might encourage you. The road we walk as believers is not all sunshine and roses. More often than not, it's just the opposite. But! That's when Christ shines brightest, the contrast of His sacrifice for our sin is sharpest, and the prayer "Thy kingdom come." is dearest. If you're in the trenches like I am right now, take heart: we do not walk alone, and this is for His glory and our good. Keep at it brother or sister, lean in as far as you can; He is worth it. 

And, Three - I wanted to take my green veil analogy, and paint with a bit broader brush stroke than just one season of spiritual struggle. I've been mulling on a passage of Scripture for quite some time now, and if you don't mind, bear with me a little longer as we unpack it a bit. 

"He has made my teeth grind on gravel,

        and made me cower in ashes;

my soul is bereft of peace;                 

        I have forgotten what happiness is;

so I say, 'My endurance has perished;

        so has my hope from the LORD.'

Remember my affliction and my wanderings,

        the wormwood and the gall!

My soul continually remembers it

        and is bowed down within me.

But this I call to mind, 

        and therefore I have hope:

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases,

        His mercies never come to an end; 

they are new every morning;

        great is your faithfulness."

- Lamentations 3:16-23 (emphasis added)

I've got to be honest with you, I can seldom read this passage without it moving me to tears. And don't ask me to read it aloud: I'm barely able to pull it off in one go. Part of it has to do with the context of this book, and partly the words of this passage particularly. Let's look at the context first.

It's highly likely that the prophet Jeremiah wrote Lamentations, after he had witnessed the wholesale destruction of Jerusalem and the burning of Solomon's Temple by the Babylonians in mid-July to mid-August 586 B.C. 

(Thanks for the incredibly detailed intro to Lamentations, John MacArthur! Seriously, his study Bible is the best, check out his intro to Lamentations if you can!)

 Lamentations is written as a collective lament: a lament for the city lost forever, for an unrepentant and judged people, and a personal lament of intense, prolonged suffering.

Jeremiah had been Israel's one of only a few true prophets for 40 years before this tragic climax. I personally think his life had to be one of the hardest described in all of Scripture except for Jesus. Not only did God lead him to execute some of the most vivid and excruciating symbols of Israel's impending judgement, but it was all completely disregarded by the people to whom he was sent. By worldly standards, Jeremiah's entire life was "wasted" on a malicious and unrepentant people. And yet, Lamentations is not a giant "I told you so!" set to poetry. It's a humble and devastated lament of a faithful but fallen human servant to his perfect and just Master, grieving over the sins of his people. Jeremiah identifies himself with the Israelites instead of distancing himself from them, and it has cost him everything.

With that in mind, let's look at the words themselves, particularly verses 21 to 23.

"But this I call to mind,

        and therefore I have hope:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;

        His mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

        great is your faithfulness."

In the midst of some of the most intense suffering imaginable; the devastation of one's people, and the seemingly cold distance of the Lord, Jeremiah places his hope in a truth beyond his feelings. He stops to remember, to "call to mind" God's immutable character. And what is God's character? Justice with mercy. Judgement in love. Great faithfulness despite mankind's great infidelity. This is an Old Testament picture of the Gospel! Jeremiah didn't have the cross to cling to like we do, but he clung to what was given him: the knowledge of the beautiful, righteous heart of the God he served. The cross is the ultimate outpouring of that heart! 

The writer of Hebrews touches on this in Hebrews 11:13-16, and 39-40:

"These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had an opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is a heavenly one. Therefore, God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared for them a city... 

And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect."

Jeremiah and many others in the Bible saw and greeted God's loving rescue plan for mankind "from afar," and preached that the time was coming, yet didn't see it come to pass in their lifetime. But they trusted God's character, and submitted to His will. And because of that faith, the Father used them to point to His Son's coming, and made them citizens of a future, heavenly city of all the redeemed on both sides of history. They represented the promised kingdom coming.  An "already, but not yet" testimony of the advent, ministry, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

To me, they are a kind of green veil covering all of the wreckage and majesty of the Old Testament. 

And the same could be said for us! Like the prophets, we too have been redeemed by the death and resurrection of God incarnate. And we too look to that same city as our true and future home. 

 We represent a new layer of Christ's kingdom coming; the kingdom that makes new not only the spirits who have loved Him throughout all of time, but all things. The church, and you, and me - we're a testimony of the "already, but not yet" of the new Heaven and the new Earth, like the green veil of spring outside. And with spring comes work. Lots of it. Dirty, sweaty, beautiful, and worthy work.

And one day, when all is grown to the fullness of time, we'll be gathered in to the Father's arms to live in a new kind of springtime; one that doesn't exhaust, and never ends. What a day that will be! 

I want to close today's post with the passage that immediately follows the end of Hebrews 11. I hope and pray that this post encourages you, dear reader, writing it sure has encouraged me. Spring is coming. 

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and the sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the the throne of God."  - Hebrews 12:1-2