And he will send his angels with a loud trumpet call, and they will gather his elect from the four winds, from one end of the heavens to the other. – Matthew 24:31.
The trumpeters stand poised, on the edge of the field, waiting for his commissioning. The birthed few linger in anticipation for the Holy One’s nod to release the sound.
“Who are they?” I inquire.
Gabriel whispers, “They are the messengers.”
The sent ones wait patiently for the Ephphatha dew that opens the ones to behold. The restrained alarm waits for the few who ready for what is to become. The middle space of temporal time transitions into the fullness of unity and the tick tock of waiting from one to the other prepares the ear to hear the new sound.
Those who contend in the waiting of time are those prepared to stay awake on His battlefield.
The wind hovers, waiting to seize and carry the messages of the trumpeters to those who, in the waiting, have trained their ear for war. The trumpeters stand ready to tap out Heaven’s Morse code to the earth’s few who hear the wind’s whispered call of Ephphatha.
The enemy takes aim at the trumpeters hoping to silence the signallers on the edge of the battlefield. He quietly waits to intercept and deflect the new sound so that those who slumber miss the trumpeter’s plea.
For without the trumpeters who will hear Heaven’s battle cry for war?
“That I might know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings; being conformed to his death.” Philippians 3:10
Between the tree and the rising of the root, the Roman watchmen sleep. An unexpected woman whispers into borderland and mourns the empty womb-tomb. His brethren flee, but she of seven demons alone shall be.
Pouring out an intercession of suffering she cries out her longing to behold. Intentional waiting precedes beholding, and mourning heralds knowing. In the fellowship of his suffering, she must bear the depth of his mercy for the ones who live in his absence. Blinded with anguish, the woman gazes up to heaven, praying for the sacred rain to wash away the sting.
Moved with compassion, He whispers his mercy, “be opened.”
Quietly, He rests in his shadow waiting for her eyes to receive Ephphatha.
The holy spit salve rinses her eyes, and the well woman blinks. Ephphatha opens the beholding of the veiled knowing. Seeing the colour of the red-stained-wombed hands and feet is Ephphatha’s first fruit.
The first to see is the first to hear, and a gendered John the Baptist is called by name.
The unexpected apostle sees her beloved in his shadow, and hears his living utterance.
Her primal heart wants to hold him, but he extends his holy arm. In the shadowed safety of his holy sword, she listens intently to his whispered request.
‘Go Mary, tell the sent ones you have seen me!’
Called by name, the first apostolic commissioning takes place. Courage replaces mourning, and the unexpected apostle obeys.
‘I have beheld him,’ she cries out to the brethren.
An apostolic dissonance blinds the apostles as they hide in their shadow. Dissonance restrains recognition until the breaking of the bread. Fear wrestles with belief; pride and faith conflict the mind and heart.
Moved with compassion, in communion with the brethren, He whispers his mercy, “be opened.” The scales of dissonance fall from their eyes, and the veiled manna is revealed.
“As the Father sent me, so I send you.”
‘Ephphatha’ opens his red-stained-wombs, and the living word unfolds in the two-fold gift of mercy and revelation. In unity with the three, the Apostola Apostorum and the Apostolic Sent Ones receive the storm of his breath to go…so that all might know.
The tree lies bare and the womb-tomb empty, but in the tender shadow of borderland lingers Ephphatha.
“Ears that hear and eyes that see – the Lord has made them both.” Proverbs 12:20
“He marks out the horizon on the face of the waters for a boundary between light and darkness.” Job 26:10
The middle space of war narrows to a hairline fracture as kingdoms prepare for war. The Borderland Kingdom of God is here. We camp on the edge of war and in kingdom borderland discernment speaks.
Glory readies to shatter earth’s glass ceiling slicing the veiled invisible. Holy smoke trickles up through the cracked glass beckoning thy kingdom down. Bleeding hands stretch up through the cracks in want of the shield and the white stones of peace.
The dim glass clouds the seer as he struggles to discern what his heart sees. Invisible gives light to visible as the convergence of kingdoms bleeds on the ridge of borderland.
In communion of shields we ready for war and with faith cupped hands we release the pebbles of his peace at borderland.
“He grants peace to your borders and satisfies you with the finest of wheat.” Psalm 47:14
Borderland – land located on or near a frontier or boundary, an indeterminate region
Kingdom Borderland – the spiritual frontier located between the visible and the invisible