One of the things I hate about growing up is that some of the mysteries of life inevitably start unraveling. Each time one of life’s unfathomable wonders is demystified for me, I feel like a little zing has been sucked out of life.
Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny were, of course, the most traumatic mysteries to collapse for me. But there have been others. I was reminded of one recently as I engaged in my yearly ritual of making strawberry jam.
As a child, I loved to go to my grandparent’s farm and eat my grandma’s homemade strawberry jam. It was the best. My mother made it, too, and hers was equally good, but somehow, everything always tastes better when you’re on a farm.
After I had been married a few years, I decided it was time for me to get that ancient family recipe for strawberry jam and carry on the legacy. I considered it a rite of passage. My cooking skills had improved beyond brownies and tuna casserole and I was ready to don the mantle and carry on the fine family tradition of jam-making.
I called my mother in Indiana and asked for the recipe. I sat with pen in hand, ready to transcribe what I was sure would be complex and intricate directions for making the worlds’ tastiest strawberry jam. My mother’s instructions? “Just pull out the paper that comes in a box of Sure-Jel and follow the directions for freezer jam.”
A box of Sure-Jel? You mean our treasured family secret recipe for the best-ever strawberry jam came from a box of Sure-Jel? It wasn’t something my grandmother developed from scratch in her farmhouse kitchen nestled amidst the cornfields of Indiana?
Every year now, I faithfully buy strawberries and Sure-Jel, and I make jam that tastes just like the good stuff my grandmother and mother always made. But it is lacking one ingredient: mystery. The recipe is not a treasured secret; it’s available for anyone to read and use.
I do hate it when the mystery is removed and things become plain and ordinary. But I also know that this magical mystery tour we call life is still packed with wonders to keep things interesting … mysteries infinitely more important than jam recipes.
“Behold, I tell you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed.” – 1 Corinthians 15:51. I read where one church posted this verse on the door of its baby nursery (get it?), but the Apostle Paul wasn’t talking about naps and diapers. He’s talking about the end of the ages. Do I understand it all? No way. But it’s enough to know I’m going to be changed, because when God does the changing, it’s always good for His children.
“…God willed to make known what is the riches of the glory of this mystery among the Gentiles, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.” – Colossians 1:27. Christ in me – now THAT is a mystery. Why the perfect Son of God would take up residence in someone like me (or you) is beyond ever figuring out. But it gives me hope that as I seek God and grow in my relationship with Him, a little more of the Jesus in me will shine forth. That’s way cool.
The Bible talks a lot about the “mystery of Christ” and let’s face it – some of it is a mystery. That’s what faith is about. If that makes you uncomfortable, I would ask you this: Do you understand everything about the mystery of electricity? Or why I can type these words on a computer and send them “through the air” to someone in Hong Kong? We don’t have to completely understand something to enjoy or benefit from it.
I would exhort you to humbly accept, enjoy and embrace the mysteries of God. Unlike strawberry jam, He’s way too big and deep to figure out and I, for one, am glad. If God were small enough to completely understand, He’d be too small to worship.