I’m sitting at my desk in my study. Looking out of the window, the sun is streaming through the trees. Trees that were bare not so long ago are now laden with leaves and blossom. Our orchard is alive with birdsong, and as I type, I see a heron drifting overhead. Downstairs, I can hear breakfast being prepared. It’s Tuesday, so it’s a cooked breakfast. There’s not a cloud in the sky.
He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth;
he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth.
The first verse of my Bible reading today is rather a rude jolt. It seems a million miles from where I am. Rural idyll interrupted by a window into silent suffering. No longer am I looking out onto our orchard, now I am invited to look on a suffering servant. The birdsong is to be replaced by silence. Silence in affliction. Where will I spend my day? Which window will I choose to look through today?
Maybe today, like other days, requires me to look at both scenes. To consider both my place in the world, and my part in the plan that the suffering servant was central to. A foot in both camps, if you will. An eye for both scenes. As I do the school run, help out at assembly, cook, prepare for camping this weekend and generally live my life in this place, I am called to do so with an ear inclined to the silent lamb. I am called to live in my place, at this time, not forgetting His deeds and His call.