As Below, So Above

I’ve never been much of a ‘morning person’. My father, by contrast, most certainly was. All the years I knew him, there was never a day wherein my father so much as even slept in. Not by my recollection, at any rate. Did he come home from work most days exhausted and often fall asleep during movies in the evening? Sure. Early to rise, early to bed, as they say. Nonetheless—my father was an early riser and no one could take that accolade from him.

Growing up in the country on a ‘hobby farm’, of sorts, there was no shortage of work to be done around the property. My father had to wake early to ensure these many responsibilities were attended to. In addition to the countless household renovations he had undertaken, there were always fences in constant need of repair, paths in the forest that required blazing, and all the rest that rounds out the many joys and hassles of country life. There were goats to release for pasture, miniature horses to feed and water, eggs to gather, stables to clean, and most pressing: a small garden to protect from those very same goats and horses.

One day, whether by some neglect of my father’s or my own (likely my own), we heard a commotion outside the barn where our garden was. It sounded much like the stomping of many small, hooved feet on a rampage. He was working by the barn, and I had stepped indoors for a moment. “The goats! The garden! I thought you were watching them!” we exclaimed to one another from across the yard. Running outside to investigate, we indeed saw our small flock of goats fleeing from—and through!—the garden as though Death himself pursued them. What could have spooked them?, we thought, as we looked around the assortment of vegetables for a clue, thinking we might stumble across some predator, whether a snake or perhaps even a raccoon. All we found in the end were a few gobbled heads of leaf lettuce and, still swaying on its stem like some dreaded talisman of emerald doom, a half-eaten jalapeño pepper—to my recollection, the goats never again dared set cloven hoof in that garden.

Many such chores and adventures littered my childhood. Yet, well before any of these tasks were attended to, while the shadows of early morning still rested heavily upon wood and field, my father busied himself with other, more important work.

In and out of season, it was ever my experience to find him in the Word during those early morning hours. Whether in the pale light of spring or in the thick dark of winter, my father remained consistent and steadfast in his daily Bible devotions. As I remember him even now, I can picture his shadowy form sitting in our sunroom; the rising mists of freshly brewed coffee ebbing between his own silhouette and the dimly lit forms of our two German shepherds as they sat by his feet, the audio Bible trickling from his phone like a gently rushing stream.

It was my father’s devotion to the word of God, above all else he taught me, that most shaped my spiritual life and character. Imperfect and flawed as he was, my father always reminds me of the man in Psalm 1:1-3,

“Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the wicked, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers; but his delight is in the law of the LORD, and on His law he meditates day and night. He is like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither. In all that he does, he prospers.”

As the saying goes, “Even the best of men are, at best, still men.” My father was no exception. Even the very greatest of fathers are still tainted by sin and in need of the Lord’s constant strength, grace, and forgiveness. Over the nineteen years he and I enjoyed together, I saw him shaped and molded by the Lord in remarkable ways, often through even the most ordinary means of grace such as his daily Bible reading in those early morning hours of my upbringing.

Though I am not yet what you’d call a dues-paying ‘morning person’, I do think that I am slowly evolving into one—largely, I’d say, owing to the lingering example of my father from all those many years ago. I aim to leave the same example for my own children, for I know firsthand the power such a witness wields over small, watching eyes and loosely attentive ears. My father would be the first to say that reading the Word changes a man. Sometimes slowly and imperceptibly, working its way through the heart like a small stream; a small stream that, given sufficient time, cuts a mighty ravine into a mountain side.

Indeed, my father’s obvious love for Christ was the greatest gift both he and the Lord could have given to me and my sisters. Not just a good father, but a godly one. Not just a strong father, but more importantly a weak one through whom Christ shone. For it was by my father’s example I learned firsthand that the Christian life is far more than mere dos and don’ts; to be a Christian means to follow Christ closely and with the entirety of your being, to blaze well-worn paths of intimacy with Him that will echo into eternity. To walk so closely behind Christ the Rabbi that the very dust of His feet finds itself caked on your face.

I got the sense from my father that an all-consuming love for Christ was not something that came naturally or automatically to a man, even the redeemed man. Rather, deep intimacy with the Lord was something that had to be nourished and cultivated through daily dependence on His Spirit and much time spent in prayer and in the Word. Even as he and I cleared paths in our forest from tangled weeds and thorny bushes, my father demonstrated the utmost importance of clearing well-worn paths with the Savior as well. Well-worn paths made smooth and familiar by regular use. A familiarity that bore sweet fruit and refreshment for the one who daily obeyed the summons of Christ in Revelation 3:20,

“Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.”

The sad reality is that many Christians have traded in intimacy with their first love, the Lord, for mere busywork in His Kingdom. Indeed, great hordes of men and women run around all hours of the day doing a good deal for the Kingdom all the while utterly neglecting the King Himself. As below, so above; if our heart for the Lord Jesus Christ runs lukewarm for Him below, who are we to suppose that some great change will occur when we see Him face to face? At death, there will be a great change, but only according to the treasure of our hearts. If we seek little intimacy with Him below, what expectation can we have for beyond?

How often we seek distractions, no matter how noble or pious, in order to put off the real work of communing with our Lord in our closets or studying His word under the soft rays of a rising sun. Remember well, with fear and trembling, the dreadful underside of lukewarmness gone unrepented of: a clear warning standing opposite Christ’s invitation in Revelation 3:20, as found in Matthew 7:22-23:

“On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?’ And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.’”

Take heart, He remains faithful even when we are lukewarm: “if we are faithless, He remains faithful— for He cannot deny Himself” (2 Timothy 2:13). He only asks that we be honest with our sin, repent by turning away from it, and turn to Him for forgiveness. If you hear Him knocking on the door of your heart, answer, and be refreshed as you sup with Him once more—for, the promise given in Revelation 3:20 is to those who are already His.

Pray through the Psalms, go on a walk in creation while listening to Genesis, embark on Mark’s Gospel, pick up a commentary and fall headlong into Romans—just begin, for little communion with the Lord is still better than no communion at all. However, be not content to remain there; strive onwards and upwards, always. Then, blaze new trails of fellowship and continue walking those well-worn paths of intimacy as you meditate on His word morning and evening. For, when you see Him face to face, I have no doubt those faithful paths forged here below will have found firmer ground above. Paths begun below, stretching onwards above to unknown heights and destinations beyond imagining.

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Photo by Tarik Haiga, Unsplash

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