So often around this time of year, as Spring awakens and sermons are preached about an empty tomb we are sparked to reflect for a short time on what was done for us. More specifically, for "me." But the truth is that every day is a day to rejoice. Every moment is one in which to gratify the Spirit inside us which whispers (sometimes screams) God's love in a million different ways. In the warmth of the sun after a long winter, in the smile of a stranger, in "one of those days" where nothing goes right, in a difficult relationship, in an e-mail reminder of the persecuted church. Every instant in time is an instant bursting with the potential to real-ize a hope and an affection found only in the God of the Universe.
We have been attending a weekly meeting the past several months of Christians who have committed to living their lives together. During dinner we do this thing called "gospelling" which has looked different at different times, but is basically this: we ask one another either "how has the Gospel been good news to you this week?" or "where have you seen the need for the Gospel this week?" It challenges us to approach the "non-church" part of our lives in light of God's love. Sometimes people confess that they did not fully believe in the Gospel (which is, at it's most basic definition, the good news of God's love for us) and sometimes we get to rejoice in someone's ability to live it out. I guess, ideally, we wouldn't have to practice this as an exercise on Thursdays. It would be the natural tending of our daily discourse - with ourselves and with others. But it's something I've found to be very edifying as I strive to live a life fully committed to Jesus. It helps me examine all different situations in my life - things which would fall outside the spirituality compartment - through the lens of God's love.
I'm not really sure of the point of this, except that once again I find myself reflecting on a Love that saves, that endures, that is always as brilliant a gem as when it was first formed, even when it is covered by a little bit of dirt. If my spirit weren't so weak I would never lose sight of it's profound beauty, but as it is I am so utterly grateful for the moments it catches my eye and I rediscover how perfect it is; like a bride whose diamond ring gets dingy, then steals her breathe all over again when she cleans it off.