Isaiah 22:22
O Clavis David, et sceptrum domus Israel;
qui aperis, et nemo claudit;
claudis, et nemo aperit:
veni, et educ vinctum de domo carceris,
sedentem in tenebris, et umbra mortis.
O Key of David and sceptre of the House of Israel;
you open and no one can shut;
you shut and no one can open:
Come and lead the prisoners from the prison house,
those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.
Darkness is our prison. It is the jail we scape to in our fear, in our anxiety, in our frustration. In that dark place, we find temporary relief. We find ourselves holding onto our blemishes, our warts, out imperfections. We clutch them close in the dank lightless place we call shelter. And in that place, we convince ourselves that our inperfections don’t exist.
Jesus, the Key, opens the door to our prison. We find, as we grope toward the door way, we do so reluctantly. Our prison has become the closest place to home we know. It has become as familiar to us as our own bodies.
Jesus, the Key, destroys that prison as soon as we exit it. He tears open the doors, pulling it from its hinges. He dismantled the walls, the floors, every last stone. The doorway through which we walked into the Light is truly the gateway to compelte and glorious freedom, And in that place of freedom, we discover that what we once were ashamed of, has, in this Light been made perfect and beautiful.
O Clavis David, et sceptrum domus Israel;
qui aperis, et nemo claudit;
claudis, et nemo aperit:
veni, et educ vinctum de domo carceris,
sedentem in tenebris, et umbra mortis.
O Key of David and sceptre of the House of Israel;
you open and no one can shut;
you shut and no one can open:
Come and lead the prisoners from the prison house,
those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.
Darkness is our prison. It is the jail we scape to in our fear, in our anxiety, in our frustration. In that dark place, we find temporary relief. We find ourselves holding onto our blemishes, our warts, out imperfections. We clutch them close in the dank lightless place we call shelter. And in that place, we convince ourselves that our inperfections don’t exist.
Jesus, the Key, opens the door to our prison. We find, as we grope toward the door way, we do so reluctantly. Our prison has become the closest place to home we know. It has become as familiar to us as our own bodies.
Jesus, the Key, destroys that prison as soon as we exit it. He tears open the doors, pulling it from its hinges. He dismantled the walls, the floors, every last stone. The doorway through which we walked into the Light is truly the gateway to compelte and glorious freedom, And in that place of freedom, we discover that what we once were ashamed of, has, in this Light been made perfect and beautiful.
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