Lay hold on Christ with both your poor, empty hands.

This beguiling imperative comes from a quote that my indomitable mother sent me in an email this morning, and I've been contemplating it since. Although I gave my students quite a few imperatives today, such as "Do not talk when I am talking", "Get out your workbooks", and "Take your hankerchief off your head and beneath your desk. No, BENEATH YOUR DESK!", none of them have such a lingering authority than the one that I read this morning.

Each day of teaching thus far has revealed to me my insufficiency, which I wrote about in my first post. I have been encouraged by many friends and advisors since then that it is times like this that God uses to soften and sculpt us according to his will. This quote seems to encapsulate the position to which God is shepherding me (indeed, all of us). To have our hands emptied of our strengths, our riches, and our qualifications is truly an unspeakably merciful act of love. In beholding our emptiness, our eyes are no longer blind to the fullness that dwells in the person of Jesus Christ.

I recently read about Paul the Apostle's use of stating indicative truth and then commanding the imperative in his Epistles. Here's what I mean: it was his style to state an absolute fact, such as the mind-boggling truth that Christ, through the Cross, absolutely defeated sin's dominion over the lives of men. But, only a few verses later, he tells his audience to put sin to death in their daily lives. So, he "imperatives" the indicative by telling his flock to engage their will in that which is already accomplished for them.

The same applies here. The indicative of our faith tells us that Christ has laid hold of us without question. Colossians 3 states that we are "hidden with Christ in God", totally secure in the grace of the gospel. Additionally, the imperative tells us that our wills also need to be engaged to lay hold of that which has laid hold of us.

Isn't that the paradoxical nature of our faith? Rest in the indicative and simultaneously strive for the imperative. And this is all done in a state of humility, that is, with poor and empty hands. This reminds me of a Psalm (I forget which one, and I'm currently not around my Bible--I know, I'm a bad Christian:). I imagine the Psalmist, staring up at a starry Palestinian sky, whispering:

Whom have I in heaven but you?

Brothers and sisters, in our weakness and our strength, let us lay hold of Him who has powerfully and tenaciously laid hold of us.