DEVOTIONAL
04.27.19
by Christina Gonzalez Ho
Birth, death, and resurrection. These
are the themes we meditate upon throughout Lent. They also are the main events that
mark the seasons of the earth and of civilization. In some ways, it seems that all
of history is simply an endless cycle of birth, death, and birth again, with no
real end in sight. The same can feel true in our personal lives. As we walk with Christ year after year, we
become wiser, more loving, and more faith-filled. Yet, the more we grow, the
more we realize how much healing and transformation we still need. In those moments, it
can feel as though we have nevertruly known God, never had any real faith in Him, after all. Meanwhile, our physical bodies cycle continuously
between health, sickness, and—hopefully—health again, until eventually, they cease
to function altogether.
Will it ever end? What are we progressing toward, and will we ever get there? Does our progress even matter? Our choices to surrender, to die to ourselves, to hold fast to God’s goodness—do they have any lasting effect if we keep struggling, keep suffering, keep coming face to face with our lack?
In Revelation 19:7-9, John hears a great multitude from heaven praising God with a sound “like loud peals of thunder.” “Let us rejoice and exult and give [God] the glory,” the multitude roars, “For the marriage of the Lamb has come.” This event, clearly long-awaited, is the celebration of the ages: Christ and the Church are finally becoming one. At this celebration, we, the Bride, are “granted” to clothe ourselves in “fine linen, bright and pure . . . the righteous deeds of the saints.” This image stands in stark contrast to a much earlier one: Adam and Eve, freshly exiled from the Garden, wearing the skins of slain animals to cover their shame. At the wedding feast of the Lamb, the Church will have no spot or blemish to hide. Our linen garments will serve only to enhance the radiant perfection Christ has brought forth in us. He has taken on the responsibility of making us worthy to become one with Him—but the garments, the heavenly multitude tell us, are granted to usto make.
The process of making linen from flax is laborious and time-consuming. Even with modern-day technology, some parts of the fiber harvesting can only be done by hand. Moreover, weaving flax fiber into cloth is also difficult, as flax is brittle and breaks easily. The entire process from plant to cloth requires patience, practice, and repetition. No doubt it also feels endless, even futile sometimes, to those in the thick of it. The finer the cloth, the more painstaking the process. Yet, when it is finished, linen is strong, durable, and lovely.
Those with a positive outlook on life see it as a mostly-wonderful existence, with occasional moments of hardship and suffering. Others view life as mostly-drudging and painful, occasionally relieved by moments of grace. But there is another way to understand this life that is perhaps more biblical than either of the two. Instead of yearning for an earthly state of being in which all our desires are finally met and prayers answered, we can see this life as the slow, repetitive process of making fine linen to wear on that day. We can treat our choices and experiences, grim or glorious, and cyclical though they may be, as the loom on which we weave it.
We can remember that we do not do this task alone. We are filled with the Holy Spirit, who continually leads us to the truth that Christ has already given us His whole self. We are surrounded by a thick cloud of fellow-weavers, past and present, reminding us of our destiny: one day, we will be equal to Christ in love and holiness, worthy of being one with Him forever. We will sit down at His table with the heavenly host, with friends, family, and saints of old. We will bear an eternal weight of glory.
Will it ever end? What are we progressing toward, and will we ever get there? Does our progress even matter? Our choices to surrender, to die to ourselves, to hold fast to God’s goodness—do they have any lasting effect if we keep struggling, keep suffering, keep coming face to face with our lack?
In Revelation 19:7-9, John hears a great multitude from heaven praising God with a sound “like loud peals of thunder.” “Let us rejoice and exult and give [God] the glory,” the multitude roars, “For the marriage of the Lamb has come.” This event, clearly long-awaited, is the celebration of the ages: Christ and the Church are finally becoming one. At this celebration, we, the Bride, are “granted” to clothe ourselves in “fine linen, bright and pure . . . the righteous deeds of the saints.” This image stands in stark contrast to a much earlier one: Adam and Eve, freshly exiled from the Garden, wearing the skins of slain animals to cover their shame. At the wedding feast of the Lamb, the Church will have no spot or blemish to hide. Our linen garments will serve only to enhance the radiant perfection Christ has brought forth in us. He has taken on the responsibility of making us worthy to become one with Him—but the garments, the heavenly multitude tell us, are granted to usto make.
The process of making linen from flax is laborious and time-consuming. Even with modern-day technology, some parts of the fiber harvesting can only be done by hand. Moreover, weaving flax fiber into cloth is also difficult, as flax is brittle and breaks easily. The entire process from plant to cloth requires patience, practice, and repetition. No doubt it also feels endless, even futile sometimes, to those in the thick of it. The finer the cloth, the more painstaking the process. Yet, when it is finished, linen is strong, durable, and lovely.
Those with a positive outlook on life see it as a mostly-wonderful existence, with occasional moments of hardship and suffering. Others view life as mostly-drudging and painful, occasionally relieved by moments of grace. But there is another way to understand this life that is perhaps more biblical than either of the two. Instead of yearning for an earthly state of being in which all our desires are finally met and prayers answered, we can see this life as the slow, repetitive process of making fine linen to wear on that day. We can treat our choices and experiences, grim or glorious, and cyclical though they may be, as the loom on which we weave it.
We can remember that we do not do this task alone. We are filled with the Holy Spirit, who continually leads us to the truth that Christ has already given us His whole self. We are surrounded by a thick cloud of fellow-weavers, past and present, reminding us of our destiny: one day, we will be equal to Christ in love and holiness, worthy of being one with Him forever. We will sit down at His table with the heavenly host, with friends, family, and saints of old. We will bear an eternal weight of glory.
This reflection was originally published on April 27, 2019 as part of Biola
University’s 2019 Lent Project.
Read more at: http://ccca.biola.edu/lent/2019/#day-apr-27
Read more at: http://ccca.biola.edu/lent/2019/#day-apr-27
CHRISTINA GONZALEZ HO
Christina Gonzalez Ho is a worship leader, musician, and writer. She holds a B.A. in Comparative Literature from Stanford University (2010) and a J.D. from Harvard Law School (2014). After graduating law school, she practiced law on the east coast for three years before moving to California to begin work on a map of the cultural landscape of Los Angeles. Christina is passionate about storytelling, social justice, and cultivating friendship with the Holy Spirit. She is the co-creator and co-director of Estuaries.