Mercy's Swelling Endowment
"Let the house of Aaron now say, "His mercy endures forever." Psalm 118:3, New King James Version
"I dare not shirk," declares Walt Whitman in Leaves of Grass, "any part of myself."
This includes, in the anthem of Scripture, the evidence of need for God's mercy in my life and in the lives of my forbearers. Who can demonstrate this better than Aaron from the resolved lips of his descendents? He and his line could have been forever marked by what Aaron tries to pass off as the happenstance by which the golden calf was formed. Yet, the Levites repented and were used in the purification of the Lord's work. By the alchemy of God's grace, the ashes of Aaronic repentance are turned to the imperishable gold that allows his heirs to declare God's glory to succeeding generations.
What about us? Can we look at the weaknesses, even the depravity, of our historical forbearers and incorporate them as the base undergirding our worshipful assurance that His mercy endures forever? In place of that gushing gratitude as we look back, I fear we have dug our own cistern, washing ourselves with the trickle of self-righteous condemnation. Had we been in their place, we declare right along with the scribes and Pharisees, we would have left a better legacy. In pride, we shirk the part of ourselves that could be most compelling to our contemporaries and to future generations.
The same attitude, I'm afraid, pervades closer by as we weigh out the part that parents, teachers, and mentors have played in our lives. They, to be sure, had their golden calf moments, their opportunities they didn't take to redirect us and point us to the Lord, the times when they gave in to our baser tendencies, or perhaps even passed on their idols to us. And yet, His glory inhabits the present generation and the particulars of our lives. His mercy, as His singers were bequeathed to declare in Psalm 118:3, endures forever. The dark and the light in our legacy alike can testify to Him.
"I dare not shirk," declares Walt Whitman in Leaves of Grass, "any part of myself."
This includes, in the anthem of Scripture, the evidence of need for God's mercy in my life and in the lives of my forbearers. Who can demonstrate this better than Aaron from the resolved lips of his descendents? He and his line could have been forever marked by what Aaron tries to pass off as the happenstance by which the golden calf was formed. Yet, the Levites repented and were used in the purification of the Lord's work. By the alchemy of God's grace, the ashes of Aaronic repentance are turned to the imperishable gold that allows his heirs to declare God's glory to succeeding generations.
What about us? Can we look at the weaknesses, even the depravity, of our historical forbearers and incorporate them as the base undergirding our worshipful assurance that His mercy endures forever? In place of that gushing gratitude as we look back, I fear we have dug our own cistern, washing ourselves with the trickle of self-righteous condemnation. Had we been in their place, we declare right along with the scribes and Pharisees, we would have left a better legacy. In pride, we shirk the part of ourselves that could be most compelling to our contemporaries and to future generations.
The same attitude, I'm afraid, pervades closer by as we weigh out the part that parents, teachers, and mentors have played in our lives. They, to be sure, had their golden calf moments, their opportunities they didn't take to redirect us and point us to the Lord, the times when they gave in to our baser tendencies, or perhaps even passed on their idols to us. And yet, His glory inhabits the present generation and the particulars of our lives. His mercy, as His singers were bequeathed to declare in Psalm 118:3, endures forever. The dark and the light in our legacy alike can testify to Him.
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