harps//strings

Halls of color and splendor. Rooms and foundations, steadfast as He envisioned them to be. Seas of glass and fire, detailed, vibrant, warm, and welcoming. Ever growing. It is fit for a King. For the only acceptable dwelling for the King of kings is one of diversity and continuous expansion. And the only thing He viewed as a worthy home for Himself is a thing that is as limitless as He is.

“Be fruitful and multiply” He decreed. 

In wisdom and revelation. In stature and meekness. And above all else, in love.

This is a story of a journeying King. It is both a finished, yet continuing story. From the beginning to this very second, He has sought a home to rest His head. And from the beginning, He saw it right to give that privilege to His bride. The ever-growing and ever-colorful Ecclesia. His Church. 

For the home is where the heart is and that is where His resides. 

With its different nations and tongues, one can only imagine that the rainbow of days past would actually be pointing to a still yet greater thing. A King finding His inheritance in uniqueness and keeping hold of an inner desire and promise. A band of color He stretched across the sky, holding all vibrancy and creativity. A reminder, to Himself, of the inheritance and potential He saw in us. 

But it is a weapon in constant bend and waiting. A weapon no longer pointed at His Church and a symbol promising freedom. With this bow, He has readied arrows of wrath and justice; of law and death. With this bow, He found it right, with absolute determination and purpose, to now make war. 

“No longer will I bend and shoot sharpened justice. Never again at my people. But to you wickedness, to you evil, to you I will turn my anger towards. I have set my sights on things that are not of flesh and blood but of a deeper root. For I cherish the entirety of my beloved. And I will declare war on you, who declares himself ruler. No false king shall ever remain” He says. “For greater love has no one than this; to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” 

It is the joy set before Him. That in journey and death, He would finally plunder back everything the enemy has taken; everything that was stolen.

Curious then that one such as He would aim destruction at Himself. That He would claim victory when death is the supposed end. The false king declared survival of the fittest, for that is all he knows. So I suppose it is no surprise then, that the winner of this war is the one who beats the grave. And I suppose it is even less so, that He would find it right to aim His bow at Himself. 

A King that is matchless in courage and valor. A King that plays by the rules set by another. A King that would willingly bankrupt the heavens to lift up a people who have always strayed and wandered. A people who rebelled for the sake of rebellion and set out to walk a dangerous road they knew nothing about. But these were His people nonetheless and He will have them.

It is He who never forgave Himself and declared Himself guilty. It is He who declared His own execution. And it is He who put Himself to death. 

“To lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” 

All for a people who knew not what they do. The King saw that the brokenness of man is not the end of the story He set out to write. No, not for the ones He called friends. Not for ones He called His home. He’ll be damned if it ends that way. And to be sure, He was. 

But He was the mighty King. Even death bowed.

Survival of the fittest? But what then when a Man survives even death? What then when even death himself cannot hold its grip? To overthrow and cast down a shade who fancied himself a king, a falsehood who declared war on someone he knew nothing about. Foolish in his attempts to hold keys that were never his. Foolish to steal and claim things beyond his reach. A people. A land. A kingdom. Foolish to anger the rightful King. 

So in His words, full of strength and finality, He boomed as He promised resurrection in three days’ time. A resurrection of the Church we all thought lost. A resurrection of hearts thought unreachable and an army of His own breath and Spirit. He will reach it. What He has promised, He will see it through to the end. And with a clenched bow, He did. 

All this, for a hope that the Church, in its expansive distinctiveness, will finally open its doors to the one who fixes His eyes on both the righteous and the wicked. On the saved and the lost. The Jew and the Gentile. All this, for the hope that one day His bride will remember who she really is. That she would remember she is valued and wanted. His beautiful Church He never believed truly lost. 

His home. 

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It is said that the King has yet to rest. Indeed, He has been waiting to finally go home. All He has done and all He is doing has been to reclaim a cherished thing that was stolen so long ago. Some say He journeys far and wide to find a heart. A solitary heart that has only known hatred and fear; shame and bitterness. And He takes it into Himself. Some say He gives His own heart and breaks it for the multitudes with plenty to spare. And some simply brush it off as hearsay and rumors. Ramblings of mad men who find it right to celebrate so early in the day with drink and wine. 

But some say the King that journeys has finally come. 

A King that is as much a sojourner as we. And while we aimlessly wander, He travels with purpose. A King on a campaign, moving and gathering unto Himself. Ever searching and ever adopting. For it is said that He is a King that desires uniqueness and vastness for His kingdom and home. A King that desires entirety and family. A King that desires rest.