I wash my hair frequently to keep it from getting oily, so the Biblical precedent for anointing the head had long baffled me. Who wants their hair caked with oil? As I’ve been reading through the Old Testament, I’ve run across the theme of anointing again…and again…and again.
The concept first shows up with the consecration of Aaron the priest. A special oil is devised to pour over his head in preparation for the holy ceremonies. I found it next in the book of Ruth—“Anoint yourself and dress yourself” Naomi told her in hushed tones, preparing her to visit Boaz on the threshing floor. When Yahweh chose Saul to be the first king of Israel, he sent the prophet Samuel to anoint him with oil and here the picture begins to crystallize. When Samuel had finished anointing him, God’s Holy Spirit came upon him and changed him. The same was true of David, when Samuel anointed him to take Saul’s place—God’s Holy Spirit left Saul and came upon David powerfully.
Later David praises Yahweh, his shepherd for anointing his head with oil and he spoke of the oil of gladness. What is the significance of the anointing? For Aaron, it set him apart, made him holy unto Yahweh, able to offer sacrifices. For Ruth, it made her acceptable to her redeemer. For those anointed king, it empowered them to fight Yahweh’s battles. It seemed simultaneous with the filling of the Holy Spirit—Yahweh’s imparting of strength, power and wisdom. By the Holy Spirit the heroes of old prophesied, performed feats of valor and strength, exercised wisdom, discretion and boldness—they were changed into men and women who reflected Yahweh.
I find the theme again in the book of Acts, when the Holy Spirit is poured out, like a fragrant oil, bringing joy and gladness, power, wisdom and authority to those who have put their faith in God. Filled with the Holy Spirit, those in the upper room speak of God’s wonders in foreign tongues. Filled with the Holy Spirit, Peter preaches the gospel to thousands. Filled with the Holy Spirit, Steven stands before his accusers and proclaims the truth.
This anointing, once something rare in the days of the imperfect old covenant, has now been poured out on every believer. “Having believed, you were sealed with the Holy Spirit of promise.” No longer is it an occasional filling, but a constant indwelling, promising and aiding our sanctification. It is the agent setting us apart, making us holy to Yahweh. It is the beauty that makes us acceptable to come before our Redeemer. It is the power, enabling us to withstand the enemy, to speak God’s word, to understand God’s will, to desire God’s glory. By God’s Spirit I can come before Him, my prayers acceptable in His sight and can cry “Abba! Father!”
Thanks to the Holy Spirit, David understood this beautiful outpouring. “Yahweh has anointed my head with oil…my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of Yahweh forever.”
Lord, Thou left us not alone
When Thou ascended to go home,
But sent Thy Spirit here instead
To feed us Thy own living bread
To lead us into truth and grace
To show to us Thy perfect face
To give us boldness, wisdom, might
And make us perfect in Thy sight.
Showing posts with label spirit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spirit. Show all posts
Sunday, February 24, 2008
It’s a good thing we have plenty of parking. There were plenty of cars here, today. A veritable party. From my vantage point next to her, I could see Lydia’s hands shaking with nervousness as her recital was announced over lunch. We’d only planned on family with a couple extras. Instead she played for a full house—played very well, I might add. She has so much more natural grace than her teacher. I’m the one who walks into doorways (instead of through them), trips over her own feet and throws pickles at herself (when she’s trying to eat them). She waltzed into the room with a sweeping bow and delivered an exceptional performance (for a first-time recitalist). And her audience responded kindly with a rousing round of applause. Whew. That’s over and done. We can move on to book two.
For future reference: never allow Josiah, Taylor and Kunal to play on the same Frisbee team. The teamwork between those three was inspiring. It inspired me to turn around and head for the far end of the field as soon as they began passing. I upheld my Frisbee tradition of always colliding with at least one person. Unintentionally, of course. Please recall: I am not exactly graceful. The tradition started almost exactly four years ago, in my first Frisbee game during our first visit to the Tech campus, when Papa and I met midfield and he took a nosedive. This time it was my very own, very protective big brother and team mate who knocked me down—I’d forgotten how painful it is to have the wind knocked out of me. Actually, I think I pretty much plowed right into him. I really ought to upgrade to power brakes and steering.
Meditating on the altar of incense, on which Aaron was to burn a unique fragrance before the Lord—constantly. Skipping to the end of the Word, we are told that the incense burned on the altar in heaven is the prayers of the saints. Our prayers are unique—we aren’t supposed to speak to anyone else as we speak to Yahweh. We are also to pray at all times—continually—to be in an attitude of constant communion with Him, constantly pleasing Him by sending soothing aromas before His throne. We know from Romans that it is through the mediation of Jesus and the help of the Holy Spirit that these prayers can even be made acceptable, for we don’t even know how to pray as we should! Thanks to the consecration I mentioned before—the sprinkling of the atonement Lamb—we can confidently come before Him with requests, entreaties and prayers on behalf of all men, as well as praise and thanksgiving for the mighty works of our God!
I know I so often let the fire on the altar die out.
Lord, that Thou would hear my words,
And even more, that having heard,
Thou would choose to let them be
A pleasing sacrifice to Thee,
And even when I cannot pray
Thou teaches me the words to say,
Is mercy more than I can tell.
Why dost Thou love this dust so well?
For future reference: never allow Josiah, Taylor and Kunal to play on the same Frisbee team. The teamwork between those three was inspiring. It inspired me to turn around and head for the far end of the field as soon as they began passing. I upheld my Frisbee tradition of always colliding with at least one person. Unintentionally, of course. Please recall: I am not exactly graceful. The tradition started almost exactly four years ago, in my first Frisbee game during our first visit to the Tech campus, when Papa and I met midfield and he took a nosedive. This time it was my very own, very protective big brother and team mate who knocked me down—I’d forgotten how painful it is to have the wind knocked out of me. Actually, I think I pretty much plowed right into him. I really ought to upgrade to power brakes and steering.
Meditating on the altar of incense, on which Aaron was to burn a unique fragrance before the Lord—constantly. Skipping to the end of the Word, we are told that the incense burned on the altar in heaven is the prayers of the saints. Our prayers are unique—we aren’t supposed to speak to anyone else as we speak to Yahweh. We are also to pray at all times—continually—to be in an attitude of constant communion with Him, constantly pleasing Him by sending soothing aromas before His throne. We know from Romans that it is through the mediation of Jesus and the help of the Holy Spirit that these prayers can even be made acceptable, for we don’t even know how to pray as we should! Thanks to the consecration I mentioned before—the sprinkling of the atonement Lamb—we can confidently come before Him with requests, entreaties and prayers on behalf of all men, as well as praise and thanksgiving for the mighty works of our God!
I know I so often let the fire on the altar die out.
Lord, that Thou would hear my words,
And even more, that having heard,
Thou would choose to let them be
A pleasing sacrifice to Thee,
And even when I cannot pray
Thou teaches me the words to say,
Is mercy more than I can tell.
Why dost Thou love this dust so well?
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
My Lord is merciful indeed. At this moment I feel calm, at peace and rested, like a weaned child leaning against her mother. Torrents of tears subsided, confusion wiped away, struggles laid down at the feet of the all-powerful, all-knowing God. He hands me my broken heart, now mended with His mercy, and I place it back in His hands for safe-keeping, praying only that there it will remain until eternity.
I buckled on my armor this morning, determined to fight my way through the throngs of enemy to the sanctuary of praise and the mercy seat of Almighty God. A heroic attempt, perhaps, though rather misguided. I flung out, swinging wildly, madly and without much direction, stumbling, blinded by tears and constantly beaten down. Each step of the way the enemy pounded me with accusations, distractions, discouragements and lies, and under every blow I crumbled and wept. Every tear was captured in God’s bottle, to be wiped from my heart some day when I stand before Him.
My heart sank to the floor when Papa called me to say that Taylor was coming over for supper and to get some Bible questions answered. I could hear the enthusiasm in his voice. I tried to echo it. Inside I wanted to curl up and cover my head and give up without reaching God’s temple. The last thing I wanted tonight was company—especially not a guy—especially not Taylor, steady Taylor, one of the few guys I actually admire, one of the only guys I’m honestly half scared of.
Papa invited any of us to join their discussion, but I sought refuge in Josiah’s room, playing his drums. I felt weaker than stone soup, used up emotionally, and it wasn’t long before I quit, bravely trekked through the dining room where they still discoursed and made it safely to my own haven, where I knelt under the merciless attack of the enemy. How long I cowered, arms protecting my head, tears cutting canyons down my face, I don’t know. As I cried out to my Savior He came, cutting assailants left and right with the Word of His mouth, shattering fears, doubts and worries, sending light and warmth into the darkness of my heart. As He gathered me in His arms and carried me back toward His sanctuary of praise, He hushed me, and I leaned my head against Him. “I’ve got you,” He whispered, and the truth dawned on me, bright and pure. He’s got me. I’m His. I’m safe. The enemy can’t touch me. How could the enemy bring an accusation? My judge is my justifier. How could the enemy distract me? He is in all things and in Him all things hold together. How could the enemy discourage me? I don’t hope in myself—I hope in the Lord, who is the lifter up of my countenance. How could the enemy convince me of lies? I know the Truth.
Why did I embark on my battle alone? Determined to make my way to God. My Savior is the way. When I cry to Him, He is there. I am His temple. Wherever I am, I can seek Him and find that He is always on His mercy seat, extending to me the golden scepter of life.
Lord, I sought Thee and I found
That accusations can’t confound
When I am safe within Thy arms.
Free from doubt and sin’s alarms
I stand before Thee and I know
My enemy Thou overthrows
Today, just as Thou triumphed when
Thou rose and conquered death and sin.
I buckled on my armor this morning, determined to fight my way through the throngs of enemy to the sanctuary of praise and the mercy seat of Almighty God. A heroic attempt, perhaps, though rather misguided. I flung out, swinging wildly, madly and without much direction, stumbling, blinded by tears and constantly beaten down. Each step of the way the enemy pounded me with accusations, distractions, discouragements and lies, and under every blow I crumbled and wept. Every tear was captured in God’s bottle, to be wiped from my heart some day when I stand before Him.
My heart sank to the floor when Papa called me to say that Taylor was coming over for supper and to get some Bible questions answered. I could hear the enthusiasm in his voice. I tried to echo it. Inside I wanted to curl up and cover my head and give up without reaching God’s temple. The last thing I wanted tonight was company—especially not a guy—especially not Taylor, steady Taylor, one of the few guys I actually admire, one of the only guys I’m honestly half scared of.
Papa invited any of us to join their discussion, but I sought refuge in Josiah’s room, playing his drums. I felt weaker than stone soup, used up emotionally, and it wasn’t long before I quit, bravely trekked through the dining room where they still discoursed and made it safely to my own haven, where I knelt under the merciless attack of the enemy. How long I cowered, arms protecting my head, tears cutting canyons down my face, I don’t know. As I cried out to my Savior He came, cutting assailants left and right with the Word of His mouth, shattering fears, doubts and worries, sending light and warmth into the darkness of my heart. As He gathered me in His arms and carried me back toward His sanctuary of praise, He hushed me, and I leaned my head against Him. “I’ve got you,” He whispered, and the truth dawned on me, bright and pure. He’s got me. I’m His. I’m safe. The enemy can’t touch me. How could the enemy bring an accusation? My judge is my justifier. How could the enemy distract me? He is in all things and in Him all things hold together. How could the enemy discourage me? I don’t hope in myself—I hope in the Lord, who is the lifter up of my countenance. How could the enemy convince me of lies? I know the Truth.
Why did I embark on my battle alone? Determined to make my way to God. My Savior is the way. When I cry to Him, He is there. I am His temple. Wherever I am, I can seek Him and find that He is always on His mercy seat, extending to me the golden scepter of life.
Lord, I sought Thee and I found
That accusations can’t confound
When I am safe within Thy arms.
Free from doubt and sin’s alarms
I stand before Thee and I know
My enemy Thou overthrows
Today, just as Thou triumphed when
Thou rose and conquered death and sin.
I Seek A Liturgy
Ah, my Father, this you seek:
Worshippers in truth and heart,
But I find throughout the week
This to be a trying part.
What within Your word commands
When to kneel or where to look?
Shall I sing and raise my hands
Or peruse Your holy book?
My flesh would seek a liturgy
Worshippers in truth and heart,
But I find throughout the week
This to be a trying part.
What within Your word commands
When to kneel or where to look?
Shall I sing and raise my hands
Or peruse Your holy book?
My flesh would seek a liturgy
Instead of choosing simple praise.
You wish I'd set Your Spirit free
To worship you in many ways.
For when Your Spirit acts upon
The truth I've hidden in my mind,
My life's a living liturgy,
I find.