Month: February 2017

One of the highlights of visiting Ellis Island is the Great Hall. This is where hopeful passengers met with the immigration inspectors. Walking through the building, it’s easy to imagine the chaos of boatloads of people, the cacophony of voices in many different languages, the push and press of unwashed bodies eager to have their name recorded in the registry book so they could pass through to begin a new life.

My own ancestors’ names are recorded in those registry books. Standing in that vast hall, it’s amazing to think that they once stood in the same place, probably exhausted, perhaps a bit anxious, certainly full of hope and anticipation. I’ve heard stories from my mother’s generation about those great’s who took a chance on the new world. Although I’ve never met them, those people live on through their stories. And so when I stand in the Great Hall at Ellis Island, I can imagine them there. When I see their names in the registry book, I remember them.

Sometimes reading a history book can seem like nothing more than a big list of names, dates and places. Separated from their person, from the life they represent, they’re meaningless words on a piece of paper. But when you come across a name whose story you know, then there’s a thrill of excitement. Hearing it brings to mind the person, your memories, your feelings. Remembering brings a smile to your face.

In the book of Esther, we read of Mordecai, a Jewish man who lived in Babylon, where he had been taken as a captive. At one point, he exposed a plot to murder the king and passed the information on to his niece (who happened to be Queen Esther).  The king was saved, the court historian wrote it down, and that was the end of the story (Esther 2:23). Until one night much later, when the king couldn’t sleep and he asked his servants to read him the history of his kingship. Instead of helping him drift off to sleep, tonight’s reading woke the king up – “What honor and recognition has Mordecai received for this?” (Esther 6:3) The king had forgotten about Mordecai, but when he heard Mordecai’s name read from the book, he remembered. When the king remembered, Mordecai was honored, and his enemy was put to shame.

Maybe you’re secretly afraid that God has forgotten about you, that He doesn’t see you, that He thinks you’re just another name on the list. Maybe you’re worried that He hasn’t checked the Book lately and remembered you when He saw your name written there.

In Isaiah God says, “I will not forget you” (49:15). Now if I call to mind my great-grandparents, who I never met, and get excited when I see their names on a dusty old government form, how much more excited does God – who knows you intimately, who knit you from the inside out – get when He thinks of you?

This is what God says next: “I have written your name on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me” (Isaiah 49:16). No, weary traveler, God will not forget you. He says you are always before Him. You’re always on His mind. How could you not be? Your name isn’t just written on the palms of His hands – it was engraved there when they were pierced by the nails as He bore your sins on the Cross.

I recently visited Ellis Island. Most of the people who came through Ellis Island bought a one way ticket to a place they had never been before. They endured an ocean crossing packed in like sardines in the belly of a ship to a place they’d never even seen, because they believed the promise of the new place outweighed the familiarity of the old one.

On my way to Ellis Island, I felt an echo of their joy and excitement when Lady Liberty first came into view. She was the symbol for so many of the hopes they had for a better life. She was still a good ways off, so she appeared to be no bigger than a statuette. My husband held out his hand, and we snapped a silly picture in which it looked like she was resting on his palm.

The boat continued on its course, bringing us closer and closer to our destination. And the closer we got, the larger Lady Liberty grew, until she was massive, towering more than 300 feet above us. Now we were the dwarves who could fit in her hand.

That’s the thing – when something is far off, it appears tiny, small, even insignificant. But the closer we come, the bigger it gets. Lady Liberty was never small enough to fit in my hand, but I was so far from her, my limited perspective convinced me it was true.

I think the same thing happens with us and God. When we are far from Him, He appears small, insignificant, like an inspirational thought, but we don’t recognize that He can have any real impact, any real power, in our lives.

But the closer we come to Him, the more we begin to realize His true proportions. He is mighty, majestic, larger than life. The heavens are His throne and the earth is His footstool (Isaiah 66:1). He holds us in the palm of His hand.

Our journey to a new life with God can be compared to the immigrants’ journey to America. First we hear stories of Him and a far-off land, a place that promises hope and something different than what we can imagine if we stay where we are. We build a picture of Him in our minds based on what we’ve heard. The new land sparkles with promise. Something stirs inside of us, and we decide to jump ship. We leave behind our old ways, our old life, and we buy a one way, non-refundable ticket to a new adventure.

When we enter into a relationship with God, we are brought near by Christ. He gives us free passage. He is the vessel that carries us closer and closer into God’s presence so we can begin to see Him as He really is.  Through Christ, we get face-to-face with God, and our preconceived notions are overwritten with the magnitude of who He really is and how much He really loves us.

Our God isn’t a man-made, immobile metal statue on a pedestal.  He is no idol with feet of clay.   He isn’t blind to our needs, he isn’t deaf to our cries.  He sees, He hears, He speaks. He is the living, always working God, a sure foundation, and in His hand is the power to give us the new life we long for.