Deo Volente
The mysterious choreography of God's will.
Back in the days of Gestetner machines and electric typewriters, I literally cranked out the bulletin for our small-town church. Many announcements, especially those on the weekly calendar, were punctuated by the letters DV. As a new Christian, I had no idea what that meant. The pastor kindly pointed me to James 4. We shouldn’t boast about our plans for tomorrow. “Instead, you ought to say, if the Lord wills, we will do this or that.”
DV is the abbreviation for the Latin, Deo volente – Lord willing. It’s a truth that proves itself time and again.
A few months ago, as Jack was heading off on another East Coast excursion, I planned glorious accomplishments in his absence. My lofty aspirations were completely derailed the night before his departure. I awoke around midnight with a queasy stomach. By daybreak my system was emptied and my energy completely drained.
Of course Jack can pack his own bags, but it isn’t pretty. So I dragged myself to the closet down the hall and lugged a suitcase back to our room. I hoisted it onto the (unmade!) bed and flopped down beside it. With a pathetic moan I called out to Jack, “You’re going to have to do this yourself.”
“No problem!” he said, as he began yanking drawers open and tossing sundry items into the bag. I shuddered at the sight, but lacked the strength to criticize. The mound of clothing was twice as high as the suitcase.
“You can’t close that,” I said.
Remarkably, the planet kept on spinning.
With a mighty grunt and a wry smirk, he forced the suitcase shut. “There,” he said, triumphantly.
I spent the week sleeping 10 hours each night and taking long naps during the day. Remarkably, the planet kept on spinning. By the time Jack returned I felt nearly normal again. A lover of to-do lists, I should know by now that my TDL needs to be followed by DV. Apparently, it wasn’t God’s will for me to accomplish my plans that week. I have to admit – it didn’t really matter. (In fact, I can’t even remember what I had in mind.)
Justice and mercy intersect
The only one who makes his plans with no doubt of success is the Lord himself. I sometimes ponder the relationship between God’s sovereignty and humanity’s free will. Spurgeon said there’s no need to reconcile the two – they are friends. Which leads me to consider the creation story.
Days of forming, days of filling, the Lord fashioned this marvelous home especially for us. He calls us the crown of creation. But all along he had to know (because he is omniscient) how this was going to work out. He alone could foresee our rebellion and the cost to redeem us. I can only conclude that salvation in Christ was no Plan B. All along it was Deo volente. Before we could eat from the tree of life he banished us from the garden, so that we wouldn’t live forever in our fallen state.
As Lent unfolds into Resurrection Sunday I marvel at this mysterious choreography of the Lord’s will revealed in the cross. Justice and mercy intersect in the barbaric wooden beams, creating a new tree of life for those who believe. Jesus himself is the firstfruits.
Isn’t it amazing what the Lord is willing to do for us?
