Ripped Open
I tugged at the white tape, trying to rip it apart but not touch too much of it with my clumsy fingers. Or worse, resort to using my teeth.
“You have to find sort of a notch, and then it’ll tear by itself,” he told me, patiently waiting with his leg propped between us on the chair.
I knew that, but can never find the right spot. So I passed him the tape and he tore off a strip so I could finish redressing the wound.
I studied the jagged V-shape across the face of his shin, how it seemed it would sit so easy in the crook between my finger and thumb. Double-digit black stitches laced two sides together, blinking back at me like the tattered eyelashes on my old Raggedy Ann doll.
One stitch for each of the seventeen jumps he made right that morning in his acceleration workout; one big raw check mark for the single jump that went wrong.
A marvel, this: if one does it just right, the simple act of falling can rip everything apart.
::
It ripped the whole world apart once, a dainty foot stumbling over the well toned legs of a glorious serpent whose words dripped like sweet cream over freshly sliced fruit in the summer.
A handsome couple holding more within arm’s reach to please them than ever met the eye one day accused God of being petty, of holding out on them, of keeping from them the one thing they most desired.
And they did the thing He’d bid them not to.
Quick to scoff, to curse them for the curse, still I know that had all humanity until now resisted the urge, I would pluck the fruit from the tree. Even with resurrection coursing through me and the Holy Spirit juicing my veins, I bend toward sin. There’s no doubt I’d have done it myself had that first pair not gotten it out of the way.
And so we fell.
And so we fall.
All of us. Torn screaming from His breast.
The chasm lay open between us, no means to cross over to His side.
If one does it just right, the simple act of falling can rip everything apart.
::
There’s no less cause to marvel that when He made way for those shut off from Himself, for those with no hope — for we who stand on the far side of our own horrific laceration — that He’d do it by rending.
He Himself would stand in our place, would be ripped apart and divided for our part and in so doing become our peace.
As His flesh was torn open, and as the impenetrable veil – the last bastion between us and His holiness — was ripped wide, He mended our brokenness, giving us back what that handsome couple gave away so long ago and I give away so daily.
If one does it right, and it seems we do, the simple act of falling can rip everything apart.
He stands to put it all back together again. Except that veil, that shield that served to separate us from Him and leave us without hope, there’s no putting it back, no stitching those four inches thick back together.
He didn’t perforate the veil. He didn’t put a dotted line on the veil so we’d know where to use our scissors. He didn’t put a ‘tear here’ label on the veil and add a ziplock enclosure so we could seal it back up if we wanted to. He absolutely ripped the thing in half. One act. Fully complete. Revel in this: Jesus has made atonement for your sins. (Jared Wilson, Your Jesus is Too Safe)
This, friends, is reconciliation.
::
11 Therefore, remember that formerly you who are Gentiles by birth and called “uncircumcised” by those who call themselves “the circumcision” (that done in the body by the hands of men)— 12 remember that at that time you were separate from Christ, excluded from citizenship in Israel and foreigners to the covenants of the promise, without hope and without God in the world. 13 But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far away have been brought near through the blood of Christ.
14 For he himself is our peace, who has made the two one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility, 15 by abolishing in his flesh the law with its commandments and regulations. His purpose was to create in himself one new man out of the two, thus making peace, 16 and in this one body to reconcile both of them to God through the cross, by which he put to death their hostility. 17 He came and preached peace to you who were far away and peace to those who were near. – Ephesians 2:11-18 New International Version 1984 (NIV1984)
::
Photo by mn-que
Yep. I needed that. I just knew it. Thank you, Lyla.
2011/07/06 at 9:48 PM
I’m glad.
2011/07/08 at 6:49 PM
It’s that one falling among the 17 that will be remembered. It’s a sobering thought, that the one act can outweigh a lifetime, but I’ve seen that one act legacy left behind versus the life. Then again, I regret it in my own life–a day of patience marred by that one falling. Thanking God He doesn’t stitch that veil back together.
2011/07/06 at 10:05 PM
Isn’t that crazy? It just takes that one time…
2011/07/08 at 6:50 PM
Lyla, I want to be you when I grow up. So real, so articulate, so honest.
Love.
2011/07/06 at 10:50 PM
Sheila, you’re so nice to me. I’m not much of a grownup about a lot of things though.
2011/07/08 at 6:50 PM
I just knew there would be more to come regarding the split open shin than “it almost looks like a NIKE Swoosh”. And you didn’t disappoint. One of your uncles came home from elementary school one afternoon and announced to grandma Edna that he wasn’t going back. When asked why, he responded that he saw no reason since he was already smarter than the teacher.
It’s easy to put the beautiful couple in elementary school and hear them declare, with the assistance of the serpent, that they are smarter than the teacher.
Great analogy and I thank God that because he is smarter that he made provision for us to recover from the fall.
Dad
2011/07/07 at 3:05 PM
I wasn’t planning to, Dad. Honest.
I’ve been sitting with the irony of the tearing apart it took to put us back together, and it just kind of ended up there.
Can you imagine if God were really only as smart as us?
2011/07/08 at 6:52 PM
Yes Lyla, I would have done it too – do it too. His love and grace – and the “completeness” of what He did for us – are miraculous.
Love your Dad’s comment
2011/07/07 at 7:51 PM
I do it all day long, Linda. I know I’d have been there drooling in front of that tree.
2011/07/08 at 6:52 PM
Good grief! How do you do this, go this deep, week after week? I saw the Jared Wilson quote scroll by on Facebook the other day and really liked it. Now I love it–ripped. One act. Done.
2011/07/08 at 9:11 AM
I don’t know. How’s that for an answer? It’s the sitting with the same thing, day after day. Gives it time to do its work, I suppose.
And yeah, that quote took my by the throat the other night.
2011/07/08 at 6:53 PM
Yes. What Nancy said: “Good grief!” God in you is simply amazing!
2011/07/08 at 1:23 PM
2011/07/08 at 6:53 PM
Love your heart Lyla. Seeing GOD in the tearing of surgical tape and bringing it full circle round to this…amazing!
2011/07/09 at 10:50 PM
Came back to read this one again. This would be great back-cover copy for The Bible. You’ve summed up Our Story, you know?
2011/07/10 at 3:10 PM
If one does it just right, the simple act of falling can rip everything apart.
Ouchie, yes. (sorry about the shin! poor guy. it seems they shouldn’t break so easily, but sometimes they do). I’m with Sheila–I want to grow into eyes like yours, Lyla. I just love the way you see these stories. Beautiful.
2011/07/11 at 4:30 PM
Lyla – And His body still holds the scars, the ripped flesh, that bought our healing. His wounding stitches us back together.
I am so far behind! Having internet only 1 (sometimes 2) days a week really stinks sometimes. Especially when you share such beautiful words of insight. Reading here always leaves me encouraged and refreshed!
2011/07/16 at 12:13 PM