my mother confesses that she’s been eating the apples from a tree in the church yard.
“golden delicious.” she explains. no one is eating them, she says. she just happens to pass by that way after running.
“they’re so good.”
she looks at me like an eve of sorts. she knows she’s done wrong. her hands and mouth are covered with the fruit of things she shouldn’t have done.
i’m reading hosea in the niv life application bible by tyndale when i see this little sentence in the commentary.
“how much better it is to love and follow christ now, then to face his angry judgement later.”
well. i guess i’d think twice before picking an apple, too.
a tree spills fruit like an offer. but it’s in a church’s yard, so you probably can’t touch it.
the church stands like that neighbor you watch climb into their car dressed up every sunday morning while you sit in your pajamas having another cup of coffee.
not for you.
god tells hosea to name his children lo-ruhamah and lo-ammi.
not loved and not my people respectively.
why does god make some outsiders from the very start?
the gentiles and those named from birth – not mine. they walk pass looking at the tree, tired from this life and just want to eat, but feel it real – not loved.
and i guess it is better to love and follow jesus now, but when you put it like that, it doesn’t speak of love.
i’ve never feared jesus, i’ve only loved him.
before i knew him, i mocked him. i dressed him in purple and laughed when someone hit him while blindfolded.
“tell us who hit you!” i yelled.
i spit in his face.
later in hosea god tells of how he will restore his people to himself.
“i will plant her for myself in the land;
i will show my love to the one i called ‘not my loved one.’
i will say to those called ‘not my people’
“you are my people”;
and they will say “you are my god.”
the church is nothing but outsiders.
that’s all we have, it’s all we are. a people not loved – a not people called mine by god. christ hangs on the tree like low fruit, within reach. no tree of the knowledge of good and evil is he – only life here.
who would draw near to a picture of anger and exclusion?
maybe someone, but not me.
instead i’ve always heard, come you with no money, take and eat. come here sinner, i know what you’ve done and i call you mine.