He Leads Me By Still Waters…
…and rushing waters… and babbling waters… and yesterday, He led me by partially frozen waters.
I’ve never lived in a completely land-locked city. Every town has either had a lake (hometown), four lakes (college town), a river (law school town), or two rivers and a bay (future job town). This is quite nice for me, because I have a habit of going down to watersides to contemplate, to pray, and to meet God in a deliberate way.
I don’t know exactly why I’ve chosen water to symbolize my special communion with God and my expression of complete openness to Him – but I suppose in some ways it makes sense. Biblically, water is used in baptism – a symbolic expression of our new life in Christ by faith in His death on the cross. Biologically, water sustains all forms of life – just as Jesus is Living Water and sustains our souls. Geologically, water flows mysteriously and continuously throughout the earth – from mountain waterfall to river to ocean, evaporating up to the sky, then descending as rain and snow, surrounding us as mist, appearing at dawn as dew – God is thusly eternal and omniscient, never ending and always the same–yet appearing and acting in so many different capacities. I’m sure it’s some sum or fraction of these reasons that have led me to seek Jesus especially at particular and special moments by some water’s edge.
Yesterday I walked by the river, contemplating the sermon (on Matthew 26:20-35) that we heard at church. As we enter further into the season of Lent, we are reminded of the events leading up to Jesus’s betrayal, crucifixion, and ascension back to heaven. This week, the pastor discussed Judas – who so often is (and understandably so) the focus of the Easter story. Judas, after all, was the one who betrayed Jesus, so that He was handed over to be killed.
The point of yesterday’s sermon, however, was that we can look at Judas all we want – turn up our noses at him, and echo Peter’s indignant cry – “Surely not I, Lord! Master, I would never betray You!” But in the end, each of us have betrayed Jesus ourselves. We’ve betrayed Him with our undue pride, our hidden motives, our secret unholy thoughts, our anger, jealousy, bitterness, lack of faith, and gossip. And a host of other things. Despite all of this, however, Jesus loves us – because Jesus loves sinners. He died on the cross even though He Himself had done no wrong, so that He could pay the ransom for all the rest of us, and so He could redeem us with His blood.
And if we can just believe in Him, and believe that He is God and have faith in His sacrifice and power to raise us each to eternal life, then our sins will be forgiven and we will be clothed in His righteousness. Not because of anything that we have done, or because we are anything special – but because of God’s infinite grace and love. This is incredible. God knows our hearts and He knows from our birth that we will betray Him, but He does not let sin have the last word. He lifts our souls from their despair and helpless estate, and gives our hearts reason for joy and hope in newness of life.
These are incredible truths, and as I walked by the river, watching gentle ripples lap over thawing ice, I started talking to God – trying to be open and dialogue with Him about everything going on in my life. But eventually, as I ambled along, I fell silent. Not because I had nothing to say, but maybe because I had too much to say: too much gratitude for His generosity of grace and blessing, too many questions that tug in my heart about the unknowns that lie ahead, too strong of a desire to see Him face to face and know Him in a more experiential way.
So I just kept on wandering along the river, letting the sunshine warm my face, feeling my feet pad rhythmically over the uneven muddy earth, keeping my eyes trained on the body of water flowing to my right. And I just walked – with Jesus – in silence. I think it may have been one of the most worshipful times that I’d had all week – not saying anything specific to God, but just being in His presence, being aware of Him, and being still in my heart and silent before Him – contemplating in wonder at this incredible gift of a personal relationship with Jesus, who knows all the sin in me, yet loves me more than anyone else ever can or will.