We live in a culture desperately grasping to make sense of it all. To understand. To know purpose. Or maybe just heal. Even those not perpetually chased by self-reflection feel the hunger to reconcile the drama every now and then.
The genre of mystery and bad choices and regret keeps invading our stories. And there’s such potential to engage in real dialogue — to encourage, to challenge — but we stay quiet. The pull to stay tucked away in our neat envelopes is woefully strong.
“You are our letter,” Paul writes, “every word burned onto our hearts to be read by everyone. You are the living letter of the Anointed One, the Liberating King, nurtured by us and inscribed, not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God—a letter too passionate to be chiseled onto stone tablets, but emblazoned upon the human heart.” 2 Corinthians 3:2-3
I love words and phrases written on modern-day tablets of stone, flowing forth on paper and iPhones and laptops. But there’s more, Paul writes to the spiritually hungry in Corinth. You are a letter written on the human heart. Emblazoned, actually.
Ah, Corinth… that Grecian city in love with intellectual conversation, athletic competition, and sexual liberties. Human trafficking, excessive amounts of athletic training, worshiping with temple prostitutes, craving the wisdom of man — well, they were actually enslaved by their own freedoms.
Corinth almost sounds like us.
Stop hiding, Paul dared his readers.
You are God’s letter. Written to a modern world deep in pain. A rescue message of sorts… so radical in its simplicity it’s hard to accept.
You’re more than ink. You’re written by the very Spirit of God. What might our lives look like if we viewed ourselves this way?
The message – not from ourselves but from the divine Author – the message is for everyone. Your colleague angry at God. Your daughter’s ice skating instructor. Your neighbor hiding himself in his work. Yourself.
I often keep the envelope barely undone, available only to the bold and curious who dare to open it a bit. And there are days I seal myself up. Oh, how I seal up the protection, risking nothing, keeping the truth hidden inside.
But He calls me to more. He beckons to risk and read His message over and over. Aloud. Where there’s suffering, there’s traces of healing. Where there’s regret, there’s redemption.
A letter “burned upon our hearts to be read by everyone.”
For whom are you written today?