The Bible’s gold-edged pages fan out on the kitchen counter, like an invitation to dine, to savor.
And I do. I devour old words.
This is the best meal I’ve had in a long time. It’s one of those days when a second-helping isn’t enough, when you know that a soul can emaciate without this. Sometimes, it’s feast or famine around here with the Scriptures. And I know it’s not right, but that’s the truth. I need a steady diet; I know that.
I’ve had this particular meal of words before, but I hunch over top of these words, like I’ve never tasted them before. You know that feeling? Like it’s the first time you laid eyeballs on some passage, and — pow — it smacks you somewhere under your ribs, to rattle your soul.
These were the words-like-thunder that did it to me:
“In the beginning was the Word,
and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God.”
— John 1:1
These words pierce me through, all over again, marinate on the inside, pour over me.
And I’m smitten with the One who crafted these lines,
fulfilled these lines,
IS these very lines.
The Word was God.
What am I tasting here? What is this?
Why is He called the Word?
I consider reading the study notes or consulting the commentaries, but that would be like asking for the recipe before really taking a bite. I want to test my palate first, want to talk it over with the Cook. Want to savor every bite.
Right now, I don’t need Google; I need God.
I don’t need commentary; I need Christ.
I light a candle, and in shimmering light, something flames up in me, too. The Word is living and active, and I want to plumb its depths.
I grab a pencil and a scrap of paper. I doodle, swirling sloppy loops and letters and names. Every word I write is a Jesus word: Messiah, Creator, Alpha and Omega.
I write the names of God.
With every pencil stroke, I taste more of the Word. I’m seeing it come together like a picture, how you can’t separate the God-man from the Word, the Logos — λόγος. With words, God spoke all Creation into being and wrote His Son into the story in an unexpected twist —
The Word became flesh.
Word became man, with tear-ducts and fingertips and wisdom teeth and sinews and DNA and fingerprints and elbows that could skin, and tonsils that could swell. He became man with shoulders broad enough to carry a cross up a hill.
Logos became a person, and I press lead to paper imagining the absurdity of a King wanting to exchange Heaven for this rancorous place.
I shake my head, awed and grateful. I write more words: Yeshua. Savior. Sustainer. Perfect Sacrifice. Bread of Life. Is there no end to who He is?
Word, who existed in the beginning, swirled through the cosmos down to Earth. And somewhere on Earth a mama whispered a word: “Emmanuel.”
I scratch that name down, too.
I write more words, all the names for God that I can think of, and still it’s not enough. There just aren’t enough words to define the undefinable. … But on the page, I see it clear —
He’s coming more alive to me.
See now, these ancient words? See them here?
They are more than letters dropped on pages.
These words are a Person.
“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.”
— John 1:14
Just a small post from the archive. Battling illness here.
What name of God means most to you today?
So, what’s your Story? A #TellHisStory is any story that connects your story into the story of God.
For details on the #TellHisStory linkup, click here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/tell-his-story/. Be sure to find someone (or two) in the link-up to encourage with a comment. Come back on Friday to visit our Featured #TellHisStory, in the sidebar.
Your words matter to God. They matter to people. And they matter to me!