FEAST OF WOE

... Woe to you ... Woe to you ...
Luke 11:37-53

I am trying to imagine this dinner, a dinner to which Jesus accepted an invitation to come and dine. He was a guest, at least by outward appearance. Upon entering the home of this Pharisee, he sat to eat. Without washing! Without washing, in a home of a Pharisee, and apparently surrounded by others of ilk suit, whose entire life focus lay in externals.

Was this invitation genuine, or like on so many other occasions, did the external action hide the internal motive?

It appears clearly another trap, were it not for a single word. Marvel. The heart issuing the invitation marveled at Jesus’ actions. A marveling flowing from admiration, admiration of Jesus, admiration of His acting on the spirit of the law rather than its letter, a letter which man had turned to confining bars of iron for which there was no key.

Had this Pharisee learned to see through Jesus’ understanding? Did he seek, with joyous abandon, to cast off the confines of man, longing to trade them in for the freedom of God’s heart? Were Jesus’ words playing to hearts still bound? Hearts this Pharisee desired freed?

I can only wonder, as scouring words began to fall from Jesus’ lips. This room, so full of pride, suddenly felt Truth’s fine-tuned laser expose their sin and the stench of decay could be disguised no more.

As ‘woes’ rained upon their ears, the cleansing waters never reach the stains Jesus longed to remove. Ire’s shield deflected the mercy of heaven’s purifying water, and the only grief to visit that room flowed from Heaven’s heart as the rotting, fleshly souls lay utterly exposed. Woes fell in relentless mercy, had any heart truly sought the Father’s, but in truth they’d strayed far from Him. A trap, laid warily by darkness’ kingdom, caught its prey. And those who should have held Kingdom keys, this night welded tight the locked door of their own dank tomb.




How often, LORD, I call and invite You to feast with me. Yet as we partake together, do I catch Your cleansing words? Do I hold them fast within my heart, letting their waters of sweet mercy wash off sin’s hidden stains? When ‘woe’ You have to speak to this fickle heart of mine, stir repentant grief within my soul till it flows in cleansing waters. Keep the shield of pride from ever deflecting the grief Your heart would share with me as it falls in cleansing rains. Bind my heart, O LORD, fast to Your very own, that we can sup together on and on.



© 12 April 2005
DeAnna L. Brooks