Here I raise my Ebenezer, here by thy great help I’ve come.

The words slip out through my lips as the melody runs on, but my head is not so sure. Raise my Ebenezer? Impossible. 

I can’t raise my Ebenezer for it’s tied to the surface of my flesh. The pillars of scar tissue on my chest and abdomen are never to be lifted no matter how much I wish. And believe me, sometimes I’ve wished.

I can’t raise my Ebenezer, for how can I hold a scent in my hand? I can’t grasp a color, feel the texture of a date, or twist the notes of a song around my finger.

I can’t raise my Ebenezer because it was only ever lifted by a multitude. Prayers of brothers and sisters pushed it upwards, while the whispers of generations before and beside me fueled my muscles.  They taught and encouraged me. They girded with truth each stone I lifted in front of me.

I can’t raise my Ebenezer for it’s not finished.  Slowly and methodically each crevice is filled, but just when I’m ready to proclaim it done, a new gap appears. Yet the perfect piece always seems to fit.

I can’t raise my Ebenezer because the waters that show I was drawn from death to life will only spill out through my fingers. No matter how much I strain to show you, I’ll never display the fullness of their gift.

I can’t raise my Ebenezer for I can’t hold the flame of the Spirit that burns a little brighter and warmer with each year that passes.

I can’t raise my Ebenezer for the cup that I put to my lips to drink was first drunk by another. He drank it full when I could not. He got the bitter—I the sweet.

It turns out, I can’t raise my Ebenezer—for Christ has always done it for me.

If you’d like to think more about the Ebenezers God has built throughout your own life, I’ve written a group of short readings on this subject called Remembering Our Memorials. You’ll get access to the free pdf when you sign up for my monthly newsletter at the bottom of this page. I’d love to have you stick around, but if you only want the pdf- please don’t hesitate to get it and unsubscribe!