In the last week or so, I've come across the song, Ring of Fire, at least 3 times. It was quoted in a book, Elijah asked something about it, and they played it at the ballpark between innings.
Today in my Bible-reading, the theme of fire and brimstone raining on those who would gather against the Lord in the latter days showed up in several different places. SO even though this morning I type to the sound of the first good soaking rain of the summer season, a nourishing rain--still, I know the word of the day belongs to Johnny Cash:
Love is a burning thing
and it makes a firery ring
bound by wild desire
I fell into a ring of fire
I fell into a burning ring of fire
I went down, down, down
and the flames went higher
and it burns, burns, burns the ring of fire
the ring of fire
the taste of love is sweet
when hearts like ours meet
I fell for you like a child
oh, but the fire went wild
I fell into a burning ring of fire
I went down, down, down
and the flames went higher
and it burns, burns, burns the ring of fire
the ring of fire
Johnny Cash's daughter, Roseanne, says her mother wrote it as she was falling in love with Johnny, but was burdened by his drug and alcohol addictions. Of the song's legacy, she claims: "The song is about the transformative power of love and that's what it has always meant to me and that's what it will always mean to the Cash children."
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Saturday, June 05, 2010
The Trail of Tears
"In my Father's house there are many mansions...I go to prepare a place for you."
I remember in the time of my half-life, the time before the first-death, I spent many hours envisioning how those mansions might appear. I even remember using faith-substance pictures of them to bring the more mystically bent to desiring such a place for themselves; but even my grandest predictions couldn't touch the reality. My conceptions in the days of half-life couldn't do justice to the nuances of this place.
What do I mean? Well...for instance, when I was initially brought into my own mansion, the first thing that struck me was a large window that dominated the entry hall. All the light in the place came through that window, and through what was in that window. You see, the window had many cubicles, and in each cubicle was a bottle, and in every bottle a clear liquid. I stood fascinated at that window, staring at the many little vials. Different shapes--some simple and elegant, some like fine cut crystal--and within every one of them: that gleaming, glittering liquid. It seemed to bring the light into the room not so much as a dusty beam, more as a thing alive, a thing that wanted to dance.
"What are these?" I whispered breathlessly to my Companion. He came to stand shoulder to shoulder alongside me, studying the display.
"King David perceived these before he came here, but many fail to appreciate their permanence while still living the half-life," he said. Then he quoted scripture to me. " 'Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: [are they] not in thy book?' What you see here are all the tears that have to do with you, those kept safe in His own bottle, awaiting your arrival; those written even now in His book."
I reached out to touch a bottle. "It is uniquely yours, you know," he continued. "No two mansions have even similar windows. Every one's tear display is a distinguishing feature. They personalize the way the light enters. So all humans are one in Him, and yet also individual. Quite an apt architectural feature, wouldn't you say?"
"Why is the fluid moving in some bottles, but sits still in others?" I took a bottle down that had swirling tears. They did not change their motion even in response to my jostling.
"Mmm...," the Companion gazed at the bottle with me. "Those would be bottles containing tears of others, mixed with your own. Those are tears shed for you swirling with the ones shed by you." I looked up at him quizzically, and he smiled slowly. "Yes, you have tears dacing in other windows as well. You are represented in the windows of all whose 'wanderings' have led you to tears on their behalf. A beautiful thing, no?"
I put that bottle back in its niche and reached for the one most central to the display and the brightest of all, but the Companion's hand stopped me. "That is the most sacred bottle." Not surprising, for its waters looked the most pure and sparkling. Just to look at the gleaming felt good, like a deep breath of clean air.
"What makes it so special?" I asked.
"That bottle is the only one that contains no tears cried by you. They are the tears of the Christ, cried through the eyes of His saints on your behalf. They are the ones you should have cried, but were as yet too lost to know it." This revelation pressed me back a step away from the window.
The Companion turned, ready to show me other wonders in this mansion of mine, but glancing over his shoulder he said one other thing about that feature. "The time will come when all things are made new. Then you will forget what is in the bottles. You will remember only that the window boxes are yours, created by you in concert with those who love you."
I objected. "I don't want to forget what this represents!"
He shook his head. "To remember they are tears is to remember why you cried them. You'll understand when you experience the Newness why such remembrances can not exist."
And, that story is just one example of how subtle, how personal is the breath-taking beauty here. Oh, I know, you can hardly imagine it, so you'll simply have to trust me. As they say in the half-life where you are: you're going to love what He's done to the place!"
I remember in the time of my half-life, the time before the first-death, I spent many hours envisioning how those mansions might appear. I even remember using faith-substance pictures of them to bring the more mystically bent to desiring such a place for themselves; but even my grandest predictions couldn't touch the reality. My conceptions in the days of half-life couldn't do justice to the nuances of this place.
What do I mean? Well...for instance, when I was initially brought into my own mansion, the first thing that struck me was a large window that dominated the entry hall. All the light in the place came through that window, and through what was in that window. You see, the window had many cubicles, and in each cubicle was a bottle, and in every bottle a clear liquid. I stood fascinated at that window, staring at the many little vials. Different shapes--some simple and elegant, some like fine cut crystal--and within every one of them: that gleaming, glittering liquid. It seemed to bring the light into the room not so much as a dusty beam, more as a thing alive, a thing that wanted to dance.
"What are these?" I whispered breathlessly to my Companion. He came to stand shoulder to shoulder alongside me, studying the display.
"King David perceived these before he came here, but many fail to appreciate their permanence while still living the half-life," he said. Then he quoted scripture to me. " 'Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: [are they] not in thy book?' What you see here are all the tears that have to do with you, those kept safe in His own bottle, awaiting your arrival; those written even now in His book."
I reached out to touch a bottle. "It is uniquely yours, you know," he continued. "No two mansions have even similar windows. Every one's tear display is a distinguishing feature. They personalize the way the light enters. So all humans are one in Him, and yet also individual. Quite an apt architectural feature, wouldn't you say?"
"Why is the fluid moving in some bottles, but sits still in others?" I took a bottle down that had swirling tears. They did not change their motion even in response to my jostling.
"Mmm...," the Companion gazed at the bottle with me. "Those would be bottles containing tears of others, mixed with your own. Those are tears shed for you swirling with the ones shed by you." I looked up at him quizzically, and he smiled slowly. "Yes, you have tears dacing in other windows as well. You are represented in the windows of all whose 'wanderings' have led you to tears on their behalf. A beautiful thing, no?"
I put that bottle back in its niche and reached for the one most central to the display and the brightest of all, but the Companion's hand stopped me. "That is the most sacred bottle." Not surprising, for its waters looked the most pure and sparkling. Just to look at the gleaming felt good, like a deep breath of clean air.
"What makes it so special?" I asked.
"That bottle is the only one that contains no tears cried by you. They are the tears of the Christ, cried through the eyes of His saints on your behalf. They are the ones you should have cried, but were as yet too lost to know it." This revelation pressed me back a step away from the window.
The Companion turned, ready to show me other wonders in this mansion of mine, but glancing over his shoulder he said one other thing about that feature. "The time will come when all things are made new. Then you will forget what is in the bottles. You will remember only that the window boxes are yours, created by you in concert with those who love you."
I objected. "I don't want to forget what this represents!"
He shook his head. "To remember they are tears is to remember why you cried them. You'll understand when you experience the Newness why such remembrances can not exist."
And, that story is just one example of how subtle, how personal is the breath-taking beauty here. Oh, I know, you can hardly imagine it, so you'll simply have to trust me. As they say in the half-life where you are: you're going to love what He's done to the place!"
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