Today begins a week of visitors at our house. A week of Koinonia, I should say. I'm talking the kind of fellowship that happens when people sit around and share a bit of bread and wine, hurts and joys, hopes and broken dreams. Yep, upper room stuff. Only in our case, we'll be sitting on our back deck or in our blow-up pool, watching the sunset from our front patio.
Last night as I was putting sheets on a bed on the west side of the house, I glanced out the window and caught a glimpse of that gorgeous pink-to-burgundy sunset and stopped a second. I take it for granted here. I live inside this house. I forget that every night, especially in the summer, there's a spectacular show right outside our front door. We have the privilege of living here. Our home isn't large; in fact, our children bemoan the larger home we sold to move into this one (okay, who am I kidding, I can bemoan it as well!). But we've been granted a spot on a hill, and we forget to pay attention.
Yes, we have a spot on a hill and we're too busy going about our lives to let everything else be seen through the lens of that hill. That view.
Golgotha. That's the real hill from which we view everything else. If you think about it, we look through the cross, through the Resurrection to view every relationship, and all of creation. It's like the world was in black and white until the cross. But we get to see it like the most magnificent sunset (or sunrise!) that has ever been. All the world's ablaze with color because of that moment and we have a spot on a hill to see it.
But we aren't just spectators, of course. We're living participants. We live this life, ablaze with the color of what He did, what He does, what He will do in us. And we get to participate in what He does in the rest of the world. Yes, we have a spot on a hill--we're in the front row to His working.
But first, let's at least--at the very least!--pay attention.