There’s something about the Olympics that reset us back to a simpler time in our childhood when all life’s stories could be reverted back into a simple fairytale outline. They start out, drawing us into the games with an opening ceremony that brings us into this new world, a world where magic seems to exist as the lights sparkle and the music sets the beat of your pulse. You don’t even have to physically be there to experience the pull into this new world as the torch arrives and lights up the arena. And then enter our knights, walking proud and tall in our colors because they’re the best that ever were; and they march across the arena standing out amongst all the other countries and flags because they are our heroes. And then the games begin and our men and women begin to battle towards victory as we watch, cheering them on as though the sheer vitality of our hope will press them forward toward the prize just a little faster, or more graceful, or powerful than their opponents. But no matter how terribly horrifying the thought of losing may be, we can’t help but be disappointed when our champions stand without someone to challenge them; for its the battle of wills and the exhaustion of the fight that brings the true glory of the gold. And then, as all things, the games come to pass and our victorious heroes return home from their quest in a different land. But here, home, is not a place filled with magic, and sometimes our heroes let us down- but no matter what we will always have those games, and in the back of our minds that magical glory, much like that inner child, will live forever.
There are people walking willingly towards the gates of Hell because they have blindfolds over their eyes- and we’re too busy trying to walk the other way that we’re offended when they bump into us. Lord remove the scales from our own eyes so that we can see your heart in the matter!
“A man inherited a field in which was an accumulation of old stone, part of an older hall. Of the old stone some had already been used in building the house in which he actually lived, not far from the old house of his fathers. Of the rest he took some and built a tower. But his friends coming perceived at once (without troubling to climb the steps) that these stones had formerly belonged to a more ancient building. So they pushed the tower over, with no little labour, and in order to look for hidden carvings and inscriptions, or to discover whence the man’s distant forefathers had obtained their building material. Some suspecting a deposit of coal under the soil began to dig for it, and forgot even the stones. They all said: ‘This tower is most interesting.’ But they also said (after pushing it over): ‘What a muddle it is in!’ And even the man’s own descendants, who might have been expected to consider what he had been about, were heard to murmur: ‘He is such an odd fellow! Imagine using these old stones just to build a nonsensical tower! Why did not he restore the old house? he had no sense of proportion.’ But from the top of that tower the man had been able to look out upon the sea.”—(J.R.R. Tolkien)
Our sin doesn’t define us and we are not bound by our brokenness. We are more than ashes and our past does not dictate our future. We are what God sees in us when he is ravished by our hearts-So Lord rend the heavens and break through in your glory so that we can see your all consuming love!
“Deserves it! I daresay he does. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends.”—(J.R.R. Tolkien (LOTR))
“Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.”—(C.S. Lewis)