Beloved 5

 Beloved 5 

My list of one-another passages gathered dust and tea stains on my bedside table. I let my eyes linger and my imagination flex briefly each day as I rested my morning brew on its crumpled surface. Sometimes dust needs to gather. Sometimes you know it needs sucking up. I knew I needed to suck it up.

One-another. Allelon. These words remained in my imaginations, and invaded my dreams about the future throughout 2021. Like wedding crashers they interrupted my union and times with the 3, but scattered before they could be found lingering into the ordinary day. I missed fellowship. 

Then came 2022, and with it the mist and fog that smelt strange and arrived to do its work. Through the long January weeks of Forks* weather I’d gear myself up for every dog walk and return still restless and unspent. My body frustrated by my mind reaching for what was next. 

One particularly soggy morning, procrastinating, I scrolled past an advert for super expensive outdoor coats. It stated boldly: there’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing. I was reminded that the sun is still there. Above the clouds. And I was reminded how little it served me to allow what was visible to determine my days. I breathed life into my belly, and exhaled any responsibility I’d placed on my mind to make an escape plan.

So my wet walk that day was wonder-ful. Immersed in the sunless reality of Forks weather I realised that as with the sun so it is with John. He is still there behind the clouds. I dwelt on memories of him: beloved John. I could almost see him smiling through a pint glass and a curl of smoke. I remembered his invitation: Come drink with me, it’s peachy. So I perched in the damp air on a cold wall and imagined the drink. I heard his voice again ruminating on hospitality. Saying that it creates space for fellowship and that’s why it is the art of heaven. That it is the extending of an invitation that can be welcomed, or turned down, no judgement. No judgement. There’s warmth in the remembering, but the cold stone wall found my bones and stole my attention.

 

I walked home ruminating on cold beer on a wet day, and the sweet smell of pipe smoke. 

Dogs dried and on their beds I made a hottie and curled up on the sofa. I let my mind wander free. No agenda. Sleepy but not asleep, I began to dream. I heard the sound first: the vibrations of wind through wheat, and the high-pitched cricket-song dancing in the air. I looked around, squinting in the sun, until I saw a familiar figure in the shade of a cluster of bushes. Recognising the form of my dear friend Sister Wisdom my heart leapt and I started forward, quickly realising she was not alone. Closer now I could see her cradling the head of a girl in her lap. They were groaning in harmony as the girl leant forward, rocking, sweat across her brow.  Her whispers reached me across the land, a hushed song as she laboured:

Breath meet breath in me, bring forth in safety this sweet gift. Them in me, me in you, O breath meet breath. 

I decided to squat by the trunk of a tree a little away from them. Sister Wisdom had seen my approach and wrinkled her nose with the wide smile I’d grown to love so deeply. Crickets chirped and the girl groaned and sung, and Sister Wisdom held her and swayed with her as her muscles slowly moved an infant along its journey. Time passed, and the song was overtaken by groaning, and then an uneasy quiet before Sister Wisdom spoke loudly: Leah. Come Leah. She pulled the girl onto her feet, knees bent, head down. Push!

Leah. I wondered, and watched in awe as palms on grass she bore down and drew an infant from between her knees. Dropping back onto the grass she cradled them close, soothing their mews with the voice that sang over them as they were formed inside.

My awe deepened as I watched her wrap the child in cloth, then deal with herself, the cord, and all the mess of birth before lying on her side. She raised the child to her breast, and allowed her eyes to close. 

Sister Wisdom leant in to kiss the young forehead, still beaded from exertion, then came to join me in the shade of the tree. 

Leah? I said.

Leah. She replied. The dove-eyed one. No soft and gentle dove this one. Doves have exceptionally clear sight, especially from a high vantage point. What they choose to do with what they see…. well, that’s her story and.. 

It takes me a minute to realise that she’s paused mid-sentence, and her laughing eyes are focused across the field on a figure approaching.

… that’s her story, she continues, and here comes my favourite story-teller, hey John! 

I looked at the man walking across the field towards us, chewing on an ear of corn and laughing gently. He embraced Wisdom, and planted a kiss on my forehead before collapsing on the grass next to us. I thought it might be time to join the circle, he said. 

Yay! I replied. Clueless at this point, but so happy to be here. Now. With these two.

Are you sitting comfortably? 

He asked in his best BBC radio voice, so I laid back into the tree trunk and closed my eyes. John began to recite the familiar words of Genesis 28. The story of a man named Jacob, and his journey to make a name and family. The story, the words, are familiar to me, but in his voice…. I hear it new. Oh my goodness it’s ugly. And messy. Deceit. Betrayal. Rape. Jealousy. I open my eyes and see the girl sleeping with life in her arms and hope in her heart. And oh my goodness it’s beautiful too. I hear John’s voice slowly caress the words : and God remembered as he continued through Genesis:

And at this point Jacob journeyed home to Hebron to join his brother and bury his father.

He paused for a moment, then said:

And at this point I need some refreshment. Care to join me? 

John pulled a metal flask from some deep pocket somewhere. Though incongruous in this ancient setting, it looked very inviting in the midday sun. I took a deep gulp, spluttered and joined their laughter. I’d not expected wine. 

You started this, John said, still laughing, ruminating about wineskins and wine. Are you ready to finish it? 

I’m not sure, but he continues regardless…

Love is the wine. That’s why you are invited to drink of him, the Christ. Love belongs in you. As you drink, love meets love and grows. These allelon words: sing over, encourage, admonish, all of them, they can be used to describe the notes in the wine of love. The fragrance and song it carries.

Drink it and it needs no wineskin. You carry it in you.

He held the steel flask up in salute.

Once wine was contained and transported in animal skin. It had limitations. It could be empty. It could burst. Some limitations have changed, this steel container doesn’t react to yeast, but it will still run dry. 

Something bigger had to change: united in Christ. You became the fountain. You became the wine. You drink in him, and what is in you bubbles up. We don’t need to contain what cannot run out. We don’t need to protect it. Conserve it. Fear the potential of impurities to ruin it. It can flow from you and to you and to the three and from the three, and in the flow it is renewed. No lack. No limits. 

He looked sorrowful for a moment. So many endeavours are exercises in building containers for a wine we no longer trade in. Come on in and taste the new wine! 

John’s flow was interrupted by a little mew as the baby stirred and reached for mama. We three watched as she woke and kissed her son whispering Levi over him. Then laughing and saying it again louder Levi!

She, alone, named him. She, alone, blessed the infant and sung over him the meaning of his name: this time, maybe this time my husband will join me. Naming him in hope, and giving him to God.

Wisdom wept softly as she watched. 

Can you see the gift you have received? 

She asked. 

You have inherited no yeast, no bitterness, nothing stale. There are no Leahs in the kingdom of God. You are each the bride He chose. I have to ask you, do you believe it? And if you believe it, then as He is, so are you in the world (1John 4:17): the one who sings over, names, holds in peace, encourages, builds up. Through you the sun shines even on Forks days and you get to dwell in its warmth.  

The old covenant can be found in the pages of this book, but was not to be rewritten across the streets of your city in 2022.  Why would you, like Leah, draw from yourself again and again to win the affection of others? Again and again waiting for them to see, to name, to thank you? Why would you fight for position, for inheritance, for a future?

The Kingdom is yours.

Our eyes rested on little Leah, and I could feel the depth of love and knowing that John and Wisdom regarded her with. We watched in awe as she stood, gathered her child up in her arms, and walked back to home, to family, to rejection. To do it all again. And God wove it all into the story of redemption still.

A prayer rose from my heart and was released as a whisper: 

Jesus. Let the chaos continue. The entanglements of people. The children that have to find their feet on the unsteady ground of our shortcomings. But let the new wine be my only sustenance. Whatever the weather, let me know that it flows still in me and from me. Life flows. Old becomes new and the Kingdom of God is established. Let me be only love. 

My eyes closed, I could feel the pull into another beginning. Gentle hands rested on my head and time paused as something in me was recalibrated in some way. Change, as they say, is here to stay. So many things are shifting, rising, falling, but the wine remains. It’s free, it’s fruity. I will roll my sleeves up, drink, remember, release, create. Breathe. I am love. I am the change that’s coming. So are you. 

*Forks is the town in the film twilight. It evokes a vivid atmosphere of damp and grey and moody.

Judge and don’t judge  – Matthew 7: 1 1 Corinth

Sing over – Ephesians 5:19

Peace – Hebrews 12:14/Romans 12:18

Harmony – Romans 12:18

Accept – Romans 15:7

Forgive – Ephesians 4:32