I'm reading 1 Kings this morning...about how Solomon built the temple. The description of carvings, beams, gold overlay on ceilings, floors and walls is pretty amazing. As I'm reading about the 15 ft tall cherubim that dominate the room, wings brushing both walls and meeting in the center, it seems overwhelming...the holiness, the other-ness of that place. Add to that the tendency for people to drop dead there because of their own sin, and it's not a place to be entered lightly.
Amidst all that, here in the House of Prayer, the band is playing and the singers singing these lyrics...
When the deep is calling and the waterfall's my home
When I'm all but drowning and I'm treading on my own
And I cry / a silent prayer
that comes out of me / it's a mystery
Come wash over me / wash over me
'till I can't take anymore...
...as my voice is heard
in the secret place / where I bare my face
Come wash over me/ wash over me
'till I can't take anymore
This secret place place still exists...and we're invited to go there. With all our stuff, with all our baggage and struggle, we bare our face in the secret place and find God ready to pour into our spirits the sort of things He knows we will never wholly contain. In fact, I think that's part of His plan...to inundate us with a grace-flood that breaks the dam in our lives and pours out on the valley below so that others in our life are forced to deal with a grace-flood of their own.
Let it rain.