The renewal of all things (Mt. 19:28)
For the past weeks - in reality, months - the sound of birdsong has been heard with unusual clarity, as though the air has been thinned and its humidity lifted. But, slowly, the background hum is returning - the grey noise of traffic, distant and near, takes the edge off the birds’ tremulous praise.
We’re well attuned to that hum in our lives: the incessant drone of anxiety, of compromise and senseless suffering. Our souls long for mornings that are free of that kind of traffic, void of the heat-haze of earth’s sorrows.
In such a world, the words of Jesus sparkle with hope as crystal-clear as the morning dew: “At the renewal of all things…”. All things made new, all harm removed, all that is sullied made clean. The prospect is climactic.
This renewal of all things will happen, our Lord says, “when the Son of Man sits on his glorious throne”, when “a King shall reign in righteousness”. Ascension Day has reminded us that day has come - in honour of Jesus’ obedience to the death of the cross, “God exalted him to the highest place”. But all things are clearly not yet renewed.
No, not yet, not finally. But the renewal has begun: “He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit”; “If anyone is in Christ - new creation!”.
Lives made new, washed clean and repristinated into the glad and holy service of the King of Kings. “Born again into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,” a hope that sustains by a joy that is inexpressibly glorious, in the salvation of our souls.
The heaviness that characterises much of our life now is testimony to the unfinished work of renewal. But it is also, in itself, evidence of its certain coming. Hearts of stone turned into hearts of flesh in the new birth, made sensitive by the Spirit, feeling their own weakness and touched with the pains of this present world. These are the signs and the fruit of renewal.
And as that daily renewal continues, slowly silencing the intrusive noise that weights our hearts with sorrows, the final renewal of all things will mean that “The former things will not be remembered”. They will not come to mind, for full atonement has been made through the sufferings of the Saviour and all wounds will have been finally healed by the love of God. No longer the background hum of ache or anguish, no nagging doubts to cloud the skies, but the sheer, endless joy of delight in the living God.
“At the renewal of all things.” Even so, come Lord Jesus.
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The sands of time are sinking;
The dawn of heaven breaks;
The summer morn I’ve sighed for,
The fair, sweet morn, awakes:
Dark, dark hath been the midnight,
But day-spring is at hand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.
The King there in His beauty,
Without a veil is seen;
It were a well-spent journey,
Though seven deaths lay between;
The Lamb with His fair army,
Doth on Mount Zion stand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.
O Christ, He is the fountain,
The deep, sweet well of love;
The streams on earth I’ve tasted,
More deep I’ll drink above;
There, to an ocean fullness,
His mercy doth expand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.
With mercy and with judgement
My web of time He wove,
And aye the dews of sorrow
Were lustred with His love:
I'll bless the hand that guided,
I'll bless the heart that planned,
When throned where glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.
The bride eyes not her garment,
But her dear bridegroom’s face;
I will not gaze at glory,
But on my King of grace;
Not at the crown He giveth,
But on His pierced hand:
The Lamb is all the glory
Of Immanuel’s land.
I've wrestled on towards heaven,
'Gainst storm and wind and tide;
Now, like a weary traveller
That leans upon his guide,
Amid the shades of evening,
While sinks life's lingering sand,
I hail the glory dawning
From Immanuel's land.
Anne Ross Cousin, 1824-1906
(References: Mt. 19:28; Is. 32:1; Phil. 2:9; Titus 3:5; 2 Cor. 5:17; 1 Peter 1:3; Is. 65:17)
