How do I know that Jesus Christ is real, and that He is really God? I know because He shatters my insides when I least expect it. You see, I'm not a crier. I haven't cried in a couple years, if not much longer. It seems my eyes only leak when I am torn inside on a deep level, and I try to live my life in a way that prevents that from happening.
But I wept last night. I wept for my hurt. I wept for the hurt of the world. I wept because I am sick of betraying my Savior. But most of all, I wept because He made me remember how real He is.
I'm a little embarrassed that God is using a Christian musician to break me into pieces. For one, it's cliched to become emotional through music. Second, I've been known to declare much modern Christian music as little more than a commercial distraction, lacking in heart and true praise. And there's nothing I hate more than being revealed as a hypocrite. I no longer feel that way, as God has already softened my heart to hear the message, instead of criticizing the musicians.
I have listened to Andrew Peterson's Behold the Lamb of God perhaps twenty times. It's the most beautiful telling of the entire Christmas story I've ever heard. Still, it's not something I would let myself get emotional about. I was above that, I told myself.
Last night I decided to put in the Behold the Lamb of God concert dvd (it came with the cd, so why not?). The room was dark and quiet, and I was alone. Since it was 1:00 a.m., everyone else was asleep. No one but God could see me. Yet, song after song, I fought the tears. I somehow told myself that I would not embarrass myself, even if I was the only person around. But God held out longer than me. Before long, I could no longer discern the difference between the cry of the children of Israel and the cry of my hardened heart. The group of musicians, clearly in tears themselves, bellowed:
Deliver us, deliver us
Oh Yahweh, hear our cry
And gather us beneath your wings tonight
I could feel God's answer within my soul. He wants me under His wings. He misses me even as I reject His perfect love daily. As I feel God move me, the now red-eyed musicians continue:
'Jerusalem, Jerusalem
How often I have longed
To gather you beneath my gentle wings'
My stone heart shattered in that instant. God did it. His beautiful Son did it. Peterson and his group of musicians were only the missionaries, willing to let God be the center of everything, to the point that their names or voices no longer even mattered.
Now what I need is strength. I need strength to bear the change as God puts the pieces together and decides who I will become. I trust Him, but it is hard for a stubborn child like me.
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