(”We Are Waiting” by Geoff Moore and the Distance)
You know how sometimes songs speak? I’ve known this song since it came out in 1995, but the words, the idea, still echoes in my head.
I see one problem frequently in Christianity, including myself — there’re three independent ways people look at our time on earth: 1)we’re here to work and spread the gospel, therefore we should be completely focused on the task at hand, 2)we’re not of this world and therefore should be completely focused on heavenly things, or 3)we should find a balance between the two.
None of which I agree with. Moore’s song has undoubtedly shaped the way I look at the issue, but God says we’re in the world but not of it. Or, as Moore writes, with hands into the soil, and hearts toward the sky. My mental picture is of people working in a field — the white field ready for harvest — and working with all their might, but when they stand up to wipe the sweat from their foreheads, looking longingly, solemnly, joyfully, at the sunset. Working with all their mind on their work, on bringing in the sheaves, but knowing all the while that the field isn’t home, and that one minute that sun is going to set, and the owner of the field is going to come and tell them the job is complete. And suddenly everyone’s eyes are all lit up with the joy that kept them going while they still worked; the sparkle and hope transformed into shining reality.
It’s not a balance, it’s both, both completely, fully, and simultaneously. Balance implies contradictions or paradoxes, I don’t think this is either one.
I’ve been thinking about this — not the song or my nice little mental picture, but the idea of ultimate purpose — I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. Thinking my life needs a few recentering adjustments. There are things I want, things I’d like to tell God, Hey, ya know, I’d really appreciate it if you did this. And I do say that, rarely, but sometimes. The struggle is in saying God, if this isn’t what you want for me, then it doesn’t matter how much I think I need it, I don’t want it. That’s a pretty absolute statement, and I don’t take absolute statements (especially to God) lightly. And, although the idea is nothing more complicated than “Thy will be done,” it still requires much soul-searching, because it’s easy to say here I am, and much harder to specifically discuss things I care about with God and to willingly give up stuff that I just always assumed would be part of life. And I know that God is awesome. Entirely, absolutely. And I know He wants my best. So I guess I’m really just saying, God, I shouldn’t complain. An acknowledgement that He knows best; of His sovereignty and perfect will.
And ultimately it comes down to this: I should be working with a heart that is waiting. Out in the field, but waiting for the sunset; working totally and completely for my Master and His glory.
So I hope I have a smile on my face, a twinkle in my eye, and hands dirtied by a life of working.
