“In the name of the Father who made you, the Son who loves you, and the Spirit who fills you.” She moves her finger across my forehead in the shape of a cross, leaving a trail of anointing oil. Marking me once again as belonging to the Trinity.
The words are a simplification, of course. The Spirit was present at creation too, hovering over the waters, and without the Son nothing was made that has been made (John 1:3, c.f. Col 1:16). The Father loves me as He loves His Son (John 17:23), and as the Spirit fills me the Father and Son are also making their home in me (John 14:23).
But in its simplicity, the words capture the profoundest of truths. And sometimes—often!—the things I most need to remember are the simplest.
God made me. He never forgets that I am dust, loved dust, a fragile and priceless creation handled with care by my Maker.
God loves me. Enough to die to make me His forever.
And God fills me, being in me enough and more than enough when I am not enough. Gracing me to share in His life and in His loving of the world.
At the end of the day, or at its start, what do I more need to remember?
Taking it deeper:
Spend time soaking in one (or all!) of these truths again, asking God to sink these truths deep into your heart.
God made you: Psalm 8, Psalm 103, Psalm 139
“The reality of our dust does not evoke in God rejection or judgment, but fidelity.” (Walter Brueggemann)
God loves you: I John 3:1-2, Eph 1:1-14, Psalm 136
God fills you: John 14:8-27; 2 Cor 4; 1 Cor 6:19-20
Welcome to this summer series leaning into God’s repeated invitation to remember. I’m asking, “What, right here in the middle of the year, the middle of life, the middle of a messy or happy or numbing day, do I most need to remember? What is the solid ground I need to feel under my feet in order to keep faithfully moving forward?”
If you’re just joining us, please, won’t you pull up a chair and make yourself at home? Rest for a while in the first week of the series where where we remembered God’s ever-present invitation, “This is where I want to love you,” or explore the second week, recalling how seasons of emptiness are gift.