Heheh. You like that title? My genius brain just came up with it. 😉 This post is days late, and despite having extra time for reflection, I don’t have anything earth-shattering to report (sorry, Crystal). Ezekiel chapters 25-36 reveal a lot about what God dislikes. In chapter 28, there’s a “lament” about the King of Tyre that many people think is a direct Satan reference. Maybe it is, but I’m not sure we should make that presumption. Regardless, it is interesting reading if you have a moment. I would love to know what you think.
But now to the meat of this entry. Also in chapter 28, Ezekiel told us that one of the lamentable things about the King of Tyre was that he considered himself a god. Ezekiel 28:2:
“…And you have said, ‘I am a god,
I sit in the seat of gods
In the heart of the seas’;
Yet you are a man and not God,
Although you make your heart like the heart of God—”
That last line really catches me. What exactly does it mean to make one’s “heart like heart of God-“? It is easy to pass this passage off as personally irrelevant; big, bad, uppity ruler gets a bit too cocky. But I think it has wider significance than that. How many of us assume that we are the rulers of our own lives… despite our professed faith, despite being shown again and again that we are at the mercy of circumstance beyond our control? I do. All. The. Time. You wouldn’t think arrogance would look like timidity and insecurity, but for me, that’s exactly what it looks like. Confused? Bear with me. I recently watched a YouTube video about a woman who talks at one point about giving her life to God. Her conviction that this life is no longer hers to do with as she wishes, but God’s – to do with as HE wishes, made me hang my head. Ezekiel also chose this path of complete surrender. At least, that’s what it looks like from where I’m standing. I, too, have pledged my life. But here’s the thing: I HOLD BACK. I even know when I’m doing it. I pray and say what I think are the right words, but as I’m praying, I’m putting up these little walls of defense around things that make me uncomfortable. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do that. “God, make me open and willing (mostly maybe).” It is appallingly arrogant to say, “Yes, God, my life is yours,” and then put restrictions on it. I am saying, in effect, “I know better. I’m directing this little orchestra and if the flutes want to all play different notes at different times… well, whatever. I’m too lazy to fix it. Besides, I’d hate to offend the players. That would be uncomfortable.”
I know my sin, and yet every fiber of my being fights repentance. Why is that???? Why can’t I just bulldoze those defensive walls? I don’t know exactly how to do it, but I do know that I desperately want this dam to break. I want to know how it feels to let go of those inhibitions, of my need for control. Unreserved, unashamed, untethered.