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Called Out

“Then Jesus, deeply moved again, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone lay against it.  Jesus said, “Take away the stone.”  Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “By this time there will be an odor, for he has been dead for days.”  Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed that you would see the glory of God?”  So they took away the stone. And Jesus lifted up his eyes and said, “Father I thank you that you heard me.  I knew that you always heard me, but I said this on account of the people standing around, that they may believe that you sent me.”  When he had said these things, he cried out with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out.” (Jn 11:38-43, ESV)

Deeply moved Jesus comes to us.  Deeply moved in his spirit he comes to us.  Greatly troubled he comes to us.

“Jesus cried.” (Jn 11:35)

He does not come to us in our obedience.  He does not come to us to reward our merit.  He does not come with commendation.

He comes to our tomb.  There our being lies without light. Cold. Decomposing, leaving only a putrid fragrance. Our only offering.

He comes to us in our death.  When he comes he sees no potential. No ability.  No movement.  No breath. No spirit. No-thing.

He comes to us in our restriction; in our grave clothes; in our limitations.

Deeply moved he comes to us.  Deeply moved in his spirit he comes to us.  Greatly troubled he comes to us.

“Jesus cried.”

The sister of the dead man says, “What is the use?”  The  sister of the dead man says, “What’s the point?”

The sister of the dead man says, “He’s beyond hope!”  The sister of the dead man says, “Don’t bother!”

The sister of the dead man says, “Let him be!”  The sister of the dead man cries behind doubt, “Help my brother.” The sister cries, “For he is me.”

Deeply moved Jesus comes to us.  Deeply moved in his spirit he comes to us.  Greatly troubled he comes to us.

“Jesus cried.” (Jn 11:35)

For me Jesus lifts his weary eyes to the Father.  For me Jesus lifts his tear moistened beard to the Father.

For me Jesus lifts the volume of his voice.  For me Jesus lifts a prayer.

To the tomb of my inability he comes. To the tomb of my filthiness he comes.  To the tomb of my slavery he comes.  To the tomb of my death.

Deeply moved.

Greatly troubled.

To my frozen death; to my stiff carcass; to my rancid state; to my sin; to my weakness; to my faithlessness,

yet, he comes.

In the silence, my soul’s ear hears a distressed, moved, troubled voice, crying for me,

“Christopher, come out.”

I have been called out.

I have been separated from death.  I am sanctified.  I am holy.  I am a saint.

“As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance,

but as he who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct,

since it is written, “You shall be holy, for I am holy.” (1Pe 1:14-16)

O Lord, my spirit weighs heavy on my heart when I try to thank you.

So let the life you have given me be that thank offering. I love you Lord.

O Lord, with a smile and misty eyes, I love you. I love you.