{ The Weight of Glory }

The sunshine today brought joy to my soul. The gentlest of pale peach and mauve tinting the Olympic mountain range as I took the "long" (a.k.a. scenic) route home from work. The still, sunlit air, so unusual for us in December; even the pre-sunset colors reflected in the water of the Sound seem calm, peaceful, at rest. Looking at the jagged mountaintops, breathtaking in the pastels of a bright winter afternoon, I am overwhelmed by the quiet splendor of creation. God's handiwork does not seek its own glory because it cannot; humbly and magnificently, creation stands as a silent witness to the glory of the One Who created it. I feel a deep longing to be part of the unspeakable beauty of this afternoon. I long to be one with the mountains, the sea, the very air which by its existence magnifies and exalts God Almighty.

Those who do not know Jesus--what do they do with this staggering sensation of greatness which natural beauty can thrust upon them? When you do not know that it points toward One who is even greater and more beautiful than we can comprehend? I wonder if this soul-deep yearning to be a part of the inexpressible beauty one finds in nature is what drives people to climb mountains, sail oceans, carve out an existence in isolated places. A melody floats into my subconscious. I have been humming the tune for a while before I realize how perfectly the words describe this moment--words so familiar and comforting, like the spiritual equivalent of a favorite blanket worn threadbare and silky smooth from love:

A bus station, in the steam from the rain

In this line of pale strangers, should I go or stay?

The whole field of vision, fades beneath me now

And the houses spread for a million miles,

In this gray town

And the weight of glory, if you held it in your hand

It would pass right through you, so now's your chance

Would you fall to pieces

Would you fall to pieces

Would you fall to pieces

In the high countries?

We are just pilgrims of the great divorce

I am witness to the light and I am captive to my own remorse

And the weight of glory, if you held it in your hand

It would pass right through you, so now's your chance

Would you fall to pieces
Would you fall to pieces
Would you fall to pieces
In the high countries?

You drink the cup to the bottom, but it burns in your hands

The cup was poured out on the Maker instead

Out on the green plains, I am but a ghost

Bound up with all that I call "mine" still the light grows

Would you fall to pieces
Would you fall to pieces
Would you fall to pieces
In the high countries?

- "The High Countries" by Caedmon's Call

The weight of glory. That is what I see in the mountains, that is what I ache for when I see sun on the water: God's incomparable glory, reflected in what He has made.

In the paradox of grace, when I fall on Christ the cornerstone and let Him break me, I too reflect His glory. I can fall to pieces in the high countries of God's endless love and grace, and in a small way, I become part of the weight of His glory in this world.

Totally unrelated side note: For those of you who are looking for fresh Christmas music this season, check out Christmas Spirit by Los Lonely Boys. Their take on a mix of Christian and secular Christmas songs is fun, refreshing, and full of that blues/rock/southern-style country we all love. (If you don't love it, you should!)