A Broken Hallelujah

Brokenness.

Brokenness has been a common refrain echoing through my own life, and perhaps even more so, the lives of those around me of late.  A brokenness that leaves an ache, and a feeling of helplessness as you know there are wounds that you can’t bind up.

A few nights ago, feeling particularly burdened with the weight of the lives around me, I stumbled on the following quote by Ann Voskamp.

I know there is poor and hideous suffering and I’ve seen the hungry and the guns that go to war. But I have lived pain and my life can tell: I only deepen the wound of the world when I neglect to give thanks for early light dappled through leaves and the heavy perfume of peonies in June and the song of crickets on summer humid nights and the rivers that run and the stars that rise and the rain that falls and all the good things that a good Father gives.

How does it save the world to reject unabashed joy when it is Joy Who saves us? Rejecting joy to stand in solidarity with the suffering doesn’t rescue the suffering. The converse does.

The brave who focus on all things good and all things beauty and all things true, even in the small, who give thanks for it and discover joy even in the here and now, they are the change agents who bring fullest Light to all the world.

As I chewed on the truth within that quote, my thoughts wandered to Job.  Job, who in the midst of being swallowed by intense grief raised a questioning voice to the Father.  The Father’s response is quite intriguing…”consider the leviathan.”  In the midst of unspeakable sorrow, Job’s vision had become quite narrowly fixated on the pain and loss of the moment.  The Father didn’t tell Job to toughen up, but instead He redirected Job’s vision.  He simply told Job to look at the world, knowing that within that creation was hid the secret to realigning Job’s perspective on the Creator.

As I reflected, I felt the call to come and “consider the leviathan.”  So this afternoon, I shed my pajamas and headed out with camera in hand to study, reflect and consider the created world around me.

The delicacy.

The leaves blushing with the first sign of the impending season.

The scars.

Broken beams of light.

Inviting paths.

Handiwork.

Perfect handiwork.  Complete with a spotlight.

Color.

Color teeming with life.

And even the leviathan.  Well, not exactly.

In the midst of all this, I found myself with a ready, albeit broken, hallelujah on my lips.

And with Job I cried out, “I know you can do all things; no purpose of yours can be thwarted.  You asked, ‘Who is this that obscures my plan without knowledge?’  Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know.”