The tablet of the human heart

Just returned from the East Coast, where my family spent a week with my brother and his wife. I was privileged to witness Scott's graduation from Princeton University, where he received his doctorate in Music Composition. It was hard not to be overawed by the prestige and reputation of the Ivy League school. My mom overheard other parents discussing their children's futures as assistants to important politicians, doing "important" work for the country. As I wandered the beautiful campus, taking in its grandeur and size, I felt small and unimportant in comparison, just a small town mountain girl with her two kids and her job at a tiny school no one has ever heard of.

And yet, as the week passed and I absorbed more of this culture my brother lives in, I felt an emptiness around me. Though I was surrounded by prosperity, affluence, and success, much of it felt meaningless. I do not necessarily say this about Scott, who seems amazingly happy and content, though only he can tell whether his work brings him meaning, and I am convinced he will never find his true purpose without Christ. But as I observed the people around me, I was struck over and over by our human drive to find purpose and fulfillment in what we do . . . and in the futility of trying to find it apart from our identity in God. So much of what I saw was a form of reaching out, a searching cry for meaning, and as I listened, I heard only chaos, or worse, silence.

Yet I was in one of the cultural centers of our modern world, the heart of all that is considered "enlightened" and "free" and "tolerant." I was surrounded by art and music and learning and big ideas. Everything goes, everything is acceptable, and it all is supposed to have meaning because you make it mean something, you apply your own personal standard, and you never, never judge. And yet we are so careful not to offend, not to pass judgment or attempt to define truth. But without definable truth there is no meaning. And without meaning there is no purpose. And without purpose we are lost.

During the week, God drew me over and over to the first five chapters of 2 Corinthians, where Paul defends his own purpose as a "minister of the new covenant." The reason my brother and so many have turned away, I am convinced, is that they know only the message of the letter that kills, the "ministry of death," engraved on stones and bringing condemnation. But Paul speaks passionately of the letter of Christ, "written not with ink but by the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of flesh, that is, of the heart." And it is this letter that is glorious and beautiful and true and bold. This letter is of the Spirit, and "where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty."

He is showing me, over and over, that freedom is only found in Him, in the truth of this message. Why has it become so twisted, to the point that my own brother and so many others believe it is a lie and a trap? What have we done wrong? May my message be one of meaning and hope, not of condemnation. May it be a "treasure in an earthen vessel," and may it bring life. And oh, God, may the fragrance of Christ reveal clearly the death that is apart from You. And may my brother, and all those seeking purpose and meaning, find it in You.