"From the fall of my heart
to the resurrection of my soul
You know me, God, and You know my ways
In my rising up, and my sitting down
You see me as I am,
oh, see me as I am
As I will be in the morning
In the evening as I am
You have known me....”
There’s something about Audrey Assad’s "Known," that felt like a benediction on last week. It was a week that started out pretty rocky.
Easter Sunday, although dawning cloudless, sweet with the scent of hyacinths, and full of promise, had a very special journey in store for me. A series of small "events" shook my spiritual ground, and It didn’t take long before Easter's overarching story of prophecy, betrayal, denial, hope, redemption, and resurrection to drove me to my knees.
I wept through almost every element of an inspired and humbly-served worship gathering. Each citation of scripture, hymn, and prayer seemed to push me towards another moment of profound self-examination.
I listened on mental knees wondering, “Could I have stood beside him as he faced his accusers...or would I have denied him thrice?” “Would I have been able to watch his agony on the cross...or would I have retreated to a hidden room?” “Would I have been able to withstand the hatred of his ministry, endured the despair of rejection, overcome my own fear of arrest and crucifixion?” "Would I have turned and run at the approach of soldiers...or turned to heal my captor's wounds?" “Would I have believed the women when they ran to tell me, ‘he is risen...or denied the messengers he'd appointed, along with my Saviour?”
Something in me ached to know, to really know, if I was the kind of disciple I so hoped I would have been.
I walked through the first part of the week on tender feelings of uncertainty. I tossed and turned through long nights of self-doubt. “Would I have stayed awake at Gethsemane?” “If my role, in the greater crucifixion/resurrection story had been that of Judas, could I have faced my Father’s plan with grace...or would the ego have cried out, "not me Lord, I want to be the hero..."
Over and over again, the longing to “know” what kind of disciple I would have been, pierced the normal rhythm of my life.
Then, the other night, about four in the morning, I was led to completely stop that line of questioning, and ask, “What does God know about me, and my discipleship?” And I realized, this was the only question that ever really mattered.
My Father knows my every single thought, my every desire, hope, and longing...because they all come from Him. I am not a creator. He is. I can’t even create a wish, a dream, a prayer, or a desire. He is creating all that has meaning, and he is creating...moment-by-moment...the only truth of my life's story. He alone is writing my script, casting my role, feeding me my lines. And I can trust that what He knows about me, is exactly who I am...and, in fact, it is all that I am or ever will be. I am not capable of being a rogue character...or disciple.
I don’t have to be Peter, or John, or Judas, or Mary...they were. I just have to be me. That is enough. To be honestly, genuinely, authentically, purely me is all that He asks. It is exactly what He wants from me, and for me. My week “in the garden” was full of tears...but I did remain awake. And for this, I am deeply grateful.
It is good, to be known...by Him.
have a wonderful week.