Umbilicus

A few weeks ago I was picking hair out of the drain in my bathroom sink.  The month or so before that moment my sink was draining horribly slow: the faucet wouldn’t be on for two seconds before the basin started filling with water.   I used Draino and various enzymes to clear the clog in the drain, but all to no avail:  week after week the sink drained slowly.  It wasn’t until late on a Friday evening that I had the bright idea to use a pair of tweezers to extricate the impediment.

Hair.  Lots of hair.  Normally I would associate a clog of this voracity to beard trimmings, however I had given in to the practice long ago of shaving over the toilet to avoid such mishaps.  And while there was quite a bit of beard hair in the drain (don’t know how that got there, your honor), a great deal of it was long strands of head hair.  Instead of gagging as I lifted clumpy, slimy strands of hair from the drain, I would instead pause from time to time and think to myself, “I’m getting older.”  Now this isn’t a lamentation on the fading of youth and the ravages of age, but rather a reflection on who I’ve developed into as I’ve transitioned into adulthood.  Truth be told I have never given myself time to do so before.

In years past when revealing my age to those younger than me (generally in phases of life behind my own such as high school and college) I would answer the question “How does it feel to be that age?” with “It feels like 13.  Not much has changed since 13.”  Now at the precipice of 30 I can look back and honestly say that indeed I have changed greatly from the person I was at 13.  The fact that I had not noticed the change (or rather, myriad of changes) represents a deficiency on my part to appreciate God’s most-used method of changing an individual, that being the gradual tweaking of his person over the course of many years.  If indeed the only change over this 16 year period of time has been the thinning of my mane of hair then indeed this would be cause for lamentation.  But this is not the case.  The child I was at 13 would not be able to stand under or fulfill the responsibilities I currently shoulder, nor would he have been able to survive the injuries, disappointments or tragedies I have faced in the span of my 20s.  Indeed not noticing this fact earlier than this moment seems to call into attention the utter fool I have been these subsequent years, but an interesting oddity I have discovered is that there is no point in life where an individual is fully matured, but rather the process of maturation is progressive:  it never stops.  This self-realization that I have changed as a person since turning 13 is a step in my own progression.

I always assumed (even if I verbally or intellectually denied it) that adulthood somehow just arrived.  You turn a certain age and then *BAM* you’re an adult and you become equipped as such:  you get a grownup job, you buy a car, you get married, you buy a house and you have kids.  This quiet assumption has been a painful thing to deal with in my 20s in that these items I assumed came almost automatically with adulthood eluded me.  Not having the things I assumed to accompany adulthood made me feel almost like a child.  It was humiliating.  Year after year I remained what I deemed to be a state of “non-adulthood” in my 20s.  So I would work hard to earn these things.  To be noticed.  I worked hard in a non-satisfying job.  I ate right.  I exercised.  I read more.  I wrote.  I lent a helping hand where I could.  It was as if I were saying through my actions, “God I’m doing the best with what I got here.  Am I allowed to be an adult now?”  Year after year I was not given the things I assumed would make me an adult, so year after year I assumed God’s answer was “No.”  Hence a tension.  A frustration.  Nothing I did was good enough to get me the things I wanted.  Hence I felt as helpless and as useless as I was at 13.  I was so consumed with the lack of things I felt privileged to that I had not noticed the tiny tweaks and adjustments made to my personhood over the course of years.  How the daily minutiae of life as I was being given it changed who I was at fundamental levels.  How striving for excellence at work and interactions with friends and coworkers and roommates and reading a myriad of books and experimenting with writing and eating differently and exercising changed me.  These were all little dials and nobs that cause little adjustments.  I failed to realize or acknowledge these little adjustments because they were not the big things I assumed would accompany adulthood.  I failed to realize that it is the little adjustments that cause great effect over the course of years.  I often don’t see in years, but rather view time in a flat aspect as something staring me in the face and judging me by the things I do not have.  Or rather I did.

I can look back over the course of years and acknowledge that my life has not been a series of failures or wasted time, but rather a process of growing and maturing one step at a time.  Life is more than the accumulation of things and personal attachments, but rather the discovery of who you are and what you were made for.  Looking back I can say that adulthood is not the possession of certain things, but rather how you treat the things you have been entrusted with.  Are these things for myself and my own benefit and grandeur or are they instead responsibilities?  Things I should take care of and pour myself into and make the best use of?  Adulthood may not just be how you approach responsibility, but certainly responsibility is a focal point of being an adult.  The “size” or “value” of a given responsibility does not make you an adult, but rather how you approach and handle the responsibility you have been given, whatever its supposed importance (or lack thereof).

So, with that being said, I can stop labeling myself as a “non-adult”.  I can look back at the child I was at 13 and dismiss him as my point of reference with regards to how I view and describe myself.  Of course in the process of doing so I must not dismiss the contribution he made to making me who I am:  the decisions he made and the feelings he thought and the chain reactions they caused over the course of years.  I look to God and how he interacted with that boy and introduced events and people into his life and circumstances and how the chain reactions of that boy’s  actions and emotions danced and interacted with the hand of God to tweak little by little the person who I am now and the person that I will become.  I can stop waiting to become an adult because I already am one.  And I can stand up and declare that proudly, un-garbed though I am with most of the things I used to associate with adulthood.

“When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways.” -1 Corinthians 13:11

A Jewel in the Dark

“Is there anything else You’re planning on doing?!  I mean really, what are You going to take next?!  Blind parents, divorced parents, estrangement, depression, self-loathing, my destroyed knee, ugly, pathetic career-I had disadvantages to begin with and have had one dream after another crushed, and now on top of all that You take my dad away!  And you took him in a horrible way!  I wished for so much!  I hoped for so much!  Restoration, love, peace, grace…and for what?!  THESE WERE GOOD THINGS!  My life is shattered!  Our lives are shattered!  How much longer?!  Where is the relief?!  Where is joy and peace?!  How can I trust You?!  I have no dreams left to even trust You with!”

“I formed your father’s inward parts; I knitted him together in his mother’s womb.  Before I formed him in the womb I knew him.  I made him:  I made him funny and smart and hard-working and diligent and strong.  I made him uniquely him.  I poured my talent into making him just the way he was and all that he could have been.  I loved making Him and I love him.  I love you.”

“Then why…why, why, why would you allow that to happen to him?  To watch him waste away and grow hopeless and then to die and hurt all of us?!  What purpose could that EVER serve?!  Why make anything with an end like that?!  How has this done anything but shame who You are and claim to be?!”

“Zack, I made him.  I knew him better than you or anyone else knew him, even himself.  I knew his pain.  I knew his mind.  I knew his stubbornness.  I know the pain that his death has caused all of you.  But I made him from scratch.  He bore my image.  I watched his life with the attentiveness of a parent.  Zack, imagine how I feel.”

-Conversation between myself and God in the winter of 2014, a month after my father’s suicide

Forward

I do not plan this to be very long, however, even as I write this very sentence out I am visualizing this reflection getting longer and more complex and elaborate, which, if truth be told, gives me great dread.  I’ve processed ideas and experiences peripheral to the death of my father, but I have not as of yet engaged the subject directly.  I dread it, but I know it is something I need to do if I am to move past it.  It is knots and knots of emotions and memories tangled together; a chain that confines me to a vague sort of macabre cell.  Life is a little gray and each laugh is checked by a sad sigh or a tinge of guilt.  I am worn out and constantly tired, weighed down by the burden of some responsibility that goes unfulfilled and is yet impossible to fulfill.  The thought of escape induces both fear and guilt.  The thought of life outside of this seems bleak and inevitably disappointing.  But if I am to live, if I am to regain purpose in my life, I must move on.  Unfortunately, moving on involves confronting memories and the associated feelings festering within them.  I can’t do this alone.  I fear that bitterness or resentment may creep into my soul if I merely relay the events with no one to mediate or share the pain with me and to push me on through it.  And if there is no objective purpose to this then it will just be words that will serve no purpose other than to echo around my head and create a ghost out of memory.  So I write this with the hope of understanding or grasping a little better the pain God feels at human folly and how it compares to our own.  This will force me to bring God into this reflection, to try to see things as He does, and to gauge His experiences and thoughts against my own.  It is my hope that doing so will guard my own heart from bitterness or overwhelming grief associated with processing a tragedy alone.   I am assuming that God feels pain and that our pain affects Him- that He empathizes with it, and that He would do this with me.  Without the confidence of this assumption, I cannot write this and I dare not broach the subject of my father’s death.  Why focus on something unpleasant if the only result would be to be reminded of just how hurt and frail you really are?  Of how little control you have over this life and the people you love?  I believe there is something greater to be had here, and I believe God is leading me down this path because He knows it will be my liberation, so I tread it with the belief that He is with me, though I am nervous to go on.

This is an exploration for a jewel in the heart of darkness.  This is not unexplored territory by any means in terms of other written works, but that doesn’t make it any less gloomy and perilous and hopelessly unique in that this darkness is my own.  In and of myself I am ill equipped to step any further into the shaft, yet I am compelled by the promise of light at its end.  I have purpose in the possibility of unearthing something beautiful out of something terrible.  I have my route, my guide and my memory to lead me through the twisting corridors that lay ahead.  It may just be that the mine we wander around will collapse, but I believe it won’t do so until after the treasure has been dug out and brought to the surface.  I must believe God wanders with me in this great darkness.  My hope is that He means to bring me out of it.  My hope is that he will make me alive again.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are     with me….” –Psalm 23:4a

Introduction

I hadn’t called my father that week.  It had been my habit over the past four or so years to call the old man up while I walked around the office during my lunch break.  He had been unemployed for quite a while and I liked to see how he was doing.  I also liked talking to him.  He had a tendency to be aggravating or obnoxious, but it was still nice to hear his voice.  These days I only got to see him about one week out of the year when I came down to Miami for Christmas.  Dad was unable to drive due to his visual impairments, so visits up to Tallahassee were out of the question.  This is a major point of guilt for me.  Why didn’t I visit more?  How did I let our relationship devolve to half-hour phone calls?  Maybe if I gave him a stake in my life things would be different…

It was cold that week.  I still took my lunchtime walks because sitting in a windowless office all day can drive a man stir-crazy, but I had to remain bundled up.  This included keeping my hands stuffed into my pockets.  It was just too cold to talk on the phone.  This is a point of guilt for me as well, because maybe, just maybe, if I had taken the trouble to actually call him despite the cold, or to just forgo the lunchtime exercise and call him instead, I could have changed his mind about what he did…

Friday, January 24 was a busy day.  Actually it was busy after I came back from lunch.  I had to hop around the office and help out with various tasks.  I came back to my desk to see my phone displaying missed calls and a message from a relative I rarely spoke to.  Earlier that afternoon I was messaged by a cousin in California saying I should give my dad’s youngest brother a call- not necessarily saying that it was an emergency, but that I just should.   The slew of missed calls and a teary, non-informative voicemail convinced me to call my uncle now rather than after work.  After some initial confusion, he figured out that I did not know what was happening, “Your father’s gone.”  He refused to tell me what happened while I was still at work and told me to call him back when I got home.  The manager in my section drove me to my house.  Upon arrival, in a dizzying rush of both numbness and rage, I called my mom.

Dad actually died sometime on Thursday, the twenty-third, but wasn’t discovered until the following morning when his wife walked into his bedroom to see why he hadn’t come out yet.  I don’t feel the need to describe the scene, the emotional turmoil of that moment, the suspicions, the waiting, suffice it to say that in the end it was determined that he purposefully ended his life.  He lied down in bed and shot himself.  I don’t know how long he thought about it or planned it, but there it was.  He used both of his handguns.  He pressed them against his chest and eviscerated his heart with two hollow point rounds.  Mortality was 100%.  He left no note, no video, no reasonable, tangible explanations.  The only thing that can be determined by the manner of his death was that he wanted to make sure he didn’t survive.  He was 59 years old.  I turned 28 the following Thursday.

The last message I received from him was a text on Monday or Tuesday of that week.  I texted him saying that I was going to be commended for my customer service skills.  His last words to me were, “Congratulations”.   I don’t even have the phone this text was received on anymore.  My mom and dad had been working together to get me a new phone for my birthday.  Dad was supposed to ship it to me on that particular Friday.  The police found it in a shipping container on his dining room table.  When I came down to Miami the following week I started using that phone.  I lost all texts and voicemails I ever got from the old man when I transferred phones.  His voice was lost to me.  To think, I was happy about this phone because my parents were working together to get it for me.  Now it seems a desperate gesture on my father’s part to make me happy one last time before he took his exit.

A Rainbow in Monochrome

The above is a grim picture, simply put, because it was and continues to be a grim situation.  There is no point to painting a rosy picture with bleak paint.  I would be a liar if I did.   My father is not coming back, so none of us can yell at him for doing this.  Conversely, we can never fill ourselves up with enough guilt to make ourselves feel better again.  There is no “doing better” or “making up for lost time” with concerns to him anymore.  Our frustration, sorrow and guilt must remain our own, though undoubtedly it will spill out into those around us.  I will not justify my father’s actions to preserve his dignity or memory.  I’ve done too much of that while he was alive.  It is a lie to myself and a poison to think that pretending this was not a big deal or that dad was trying to be noble or that he deserved to not be in pain anymore would do any good.  In life I preserved his dignity and kept his secrets because he was my father and that’s how he characterized respect and dignity.  In death he remains my father, but he is no longer around to go through the indignity of being examined by those who would call his choices into question.  I believe that is the great loss.  He can no longer be pulled back from the brink.  He is gone, out of arm reach for all time.  And now the burden falls on me to answer for him because I failed to have him be responsible to others.  This is my shame:  I hid him from criticism by not telling others how much he hurt me and everyone else who wanted to be close to him.  Typing that out seems silly, but the reality is that if my father had to answer to others for screwing things up in my life, then perhaps his friends could have kept him in check.  Had he had a web of friends around him to support him, then perhaps he would be around still today.  Who knows what today would look like if my dad had more counsel than just his failing mind.  The temptation is to remain silent as he would have wanted, but it’s enough of a burden to bear my own life, much more drag behind me the dead weight of my father’s failings.

I guess preserving his dignity was really just for myself.  I thought that’s what it meant to honor him.  More than that though it kept me out of the hot seat.  Keeping criticism and complaints to a minimum kept you from being yelled at.  In fact just remaining silent to everyone kept you out of trouble in general.  Of course I know from experience that keeping silent about your problems and just ignoring your pain causes a type of emotional and mental cancer to take root inside of you that systematically eats away at your humanity.  The silence has had its toll on me, affecting areas of my life peripheral to my relationship with my dad.  The cancer has been reduced in many areas of my life due to the love and fellowship of others and with Christ Himself, but it remains well in this area of silence.  I thought it was noble to keep it for his sake.  I was okay being in pain as long as it protected him.  I was wrong:  it did not protect him and it brought no honor to him.  There is no honor in this death and it remains a monster that rattles around my bones as some terrible prisoner trying to break free.  If he cared about his dignity then he wouldn’t have done this.  But I am afraid that his shame is my shame.  Exposing it reveals a festering wound that has root in my own being.  His failures fall on me.  What he has sown I fear I must reap.

“In those days they shall no longer say: ‘The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s                teeth are set on edge.’” –Jeremiah 31:29

Is it my fault he killed himself?  He used to tell me that he believed that I was the only reason he was alive- that God only made him so that he could raise, protect and provide for me.  What does that say of me now that he’s gone?  Did I not give him ample reason to be alive?  Was my life a disappointment to him and thus no longer worth trying to pour into or did he perceive his task as being complete and therefore his presence was no longer necessary?  How do I answer for his death?  How do I justify my life in light of this?  I can’t.  In no way can I say that the life that I have now in this material world is worth even the tiniest iota of what his presence here was worth.  It’s like paying your entire lifesavings for a cup of water, only worse: at least money can be re-earned.  In the scales, his life’s dedication to me weighs much heavier than what my life has accrued in material worth, value or success.  So I fill my scale with guilt and shame to balance the costs.  But guilt and shame are such light and fluffy things:  they contribute nothing of weight or importance, yet they fill up so much room.  They are consuming, choking things that are as much there as they aren’t.

A Chair in the Maze

So now the only thing that’s left is this pressure: the pressure to not only justify my dad’s death, but to justify my life.  Is my life worth your’s and if not did I do enough to convince you to not kill yourself?  Either way I am in a trap:  either way I did too little.  How could you put me in such a spot?

“The words of the wise are like goads, and like nails firmly fixed are the collected sayings; they are given by one Shepherd.  My son, beware of anything beyond these. Of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh.” –Ecclesiastes 12:11

Something I’ve found to be of use in my grief is to remain busy.  Busyness keeps your mind off the demands of grief.  But then you have to deal with guilt and shame.  They already came with the grief, but they only get worse as you put off dealing with the grief.  They are like two nagging children who constantly demand your attention.  They get louder and louder as you try to avoid and ignore them, as two lonely children would do to a neglectful father who is constantly oriented on completing tasks with the end goal of completing other tasks in an attempt to avoid his family.  Busyness is helpful, but only to an extent.  You will find no rest in it.  In fact, the more effort you expend on trying to work harder on your tasks, the more effort you’ll have to expend on shutting out the noises grief and guilt make.  And what a racket they make.  And like any young children they are constantly drawing pictures and flashing them in front of your face in an attempt to get some recognition and approval, even if it be horrible images they present to you.  You are twice tired:  exerting your mind and body to the tasks of the day to try to move forward with your life while simultaneously fighting an exhausting war to repress emotions and feelings that cannot be repressed.  If they cannot be brought to the forefront of your mind then they spill out and become tension and anxiety and sleeplessness and blank stares and ill-moods and ill- joys and ill-tastes.  The world becomes sand in its taste and its form:  hope leaves like a whirlwind passing through a dessert, tangible only in the pain it causes as it scrapes at your skin and rushes by in a vague notion of a tomorrow without the sorrow.

I have made too much of myself.  I have taken on the burden of another man’s life which wasn’t my responsibility to begin with.  I watched my father seemingly toss aside his high and lofty calling in life when he allowed mom to leave and not pursue her, when he gave up on church, when he gave up on people, when he gave up on stories, when he gave up on attachment and affection, when he gave up living beyond anything that didn’t exist outside the box of working hard enough to stay out of debt and to take care of his boy.  I watched this and tried to pick it all back up for him and tried to give them back in shattered pieces.  But why would he listen to a boy?   Why would he listen to anyone?  My father was a lion: physically and vocally intimidating and intellectually crushing.  He was, in a word, impressive.  Or that’s how he made himself out to be anyway.  And I was no match for him: not as tall, or intimidating, or intellectually gifted.  How could I possibly challenge the man?!  Why was I given that role?!  How is it fair that I was put in the most intimate position in this man’s life, and I was not up to the task of putting him back on track?!  I wasn’t good enough.  I couldn’t win him over.  I stutter when I try to vocalize a convincing argument.  I shrunk under his displeasure.  I was put into a battle I could not win.  What dad wanted to do he did.  What he didn’t want to do he didn’t do.  What he wanted to say he did.  What he didn’t want to talk about he twisted to become a conversation he wanted to have.  Good God I was his son-how was I supposed to fight him?  How was I supposed to save him?

Sometimes I forget that he’s dead.  Actually, what is more accurate to say is that sometimes the realization that he’s dead dawns on me.  It’ll just come upon me:  “Dad’s gone”.  I’ll sit there and stare at the wall blankly and just say to myself over and over again, “You’re gone.  You’re dead.  You took your guns and shot yourself in the chest.  You killed yourself.  I can’t believe you killed yourself.  You killed yourself.  You killed yourself.  You killed yourself….”  This is the terrible picture that guilt and shame show me when they finally get my attention.  And then they leave me alone.  In the horrible realization I do finally get some peace though.  I realize that it is done.  My mind stops running around the maze of thoughts that try to figure out and correct the situation and just sits there in the darkness and acknowledges the reality of things.  Dad is gone…and he did it to himself.

Shifting Blame

Can’t pretend that God doesn’t fit into this either.  That would make me a liar and a twister of words.  I can’t say I believe in a all-knowing, all-powerful, personal, loving God, and then turn around and say that He had absolutely no involvement or oversight or control over what happened.  What would be the point of that?  Is He real or isn’t He?!  If He changes based on convenience than He is no more than an idea in my head and is irrelevant to the situation at hand (or any situation for that matter).

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” –Hebrews 13:8

I know He is real.  I know Him!  He has lifted me out of my darkest moments and motivated me in this life!  He saved me!  But then this!  This awful thing!  How do I explain this?  How do I tell people that He is all-powerful and good when He allows my father to shoot himself?!  How do I rectify the redeeming love and kindness I have received from Him with the fact that He didn’t prevent my dad from killing himself?!  That He knew it would happen and yet did not stop it?  I have enough on my plate without having to defend God, especially with concerns to my own grief.  He is all-powerful and all-knowing and yet this happened.  Is God really all-powerful and all-knowing or is that just an exaggeration of His powers?  Or is it true that He is all-powerful and all-knowing and, what, He doesn’t care?  Does He enjoy hurting people?  Does He relish our tears?  Did He pick me up just to drop me?  I had a dream of my dad coming to his senses and coming back to church and serving there and being a force for good in the community, to know his neighbors again and to make amends with my mom.  It was a good dream.  A godly dream.  Wasn’t that worthy enough to get behind and support with all Your wondrous glory and power?  But You didn’t.  You blew it.  You let me down.  You built me a dream so real that I believed it, and once I believed it You knocked it down before my very eyes.

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.
                         For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my      thoughts than your thoughts.” –Isaiah 55:8-9

Or was it me that built that dream and dad knocked it down and You just witnessed it all?  And could it be that You had a plan totally Your own that neither of us were catching on to but through which both of us were walking unawares?  Could it be both of us were dictating not only to each other, but to You as well, how we should live our lives and what it should be like and how it should turn out?  Did we build dictates that crashed into the unmoving reality of Your sovereignty?

“Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?  Dress for action like a man; I will question you, and you make it known to me.  “Where were you when I laid the foundation     of the earth?  Tell me, if you have understanding.  Who determined its measurements–surely       you know! Or who stretched the line upon it?  On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its          cornerstone, when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?  “Or     who shut in the sea with doors when it burst out from the womb,  when I made clouds its                 garment and thick darkness its swaddling band,  and prescribed limits for it and set bars and       doors,  and said, ‘Thus far shall you come, and no farther, and here shall your proud waves be     stayed’?  “Have you commanded the morning since your days began, and caused the dawn to              know its place…” –Job 38:2-12

“All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned—every one—to his own way…”                    –Isaiah 53:6a

I can’t speak for God.  I think that’s what we typically do.  We tell God what He’s going to do and then we blame Him when He doesn’t do what we want Him to do, all without receiving any input from Him.  We think that God should always be behind us in everything we pursue, bringing things about the way we planned them to, deceiving ourselves into thinking that because we thought it and dreamed it, He must have declared it.  We rob Him of the dignity of speech because we don’t consider Him to have plans of His own, but think that He gives us each the thing that we want, therefore we don’t have a need to talk to Him.  We don’t ask Him what He wants because we don’t care.  In most of our minds God is just a genie, rather than the sovereign.  We dare not put words in His mouth and make up promises He didn’t declare and then blame Him when He doesn’t fulfill them.  That sort of thing severs relationships.  I get nowhere by speaking for Him or at Him.  But I can speak to Him.  I can receive counsel from His Word and in meditating on It and in prayer.  I can get to know Him better.  I don’t have to try to defend God or explain away my dad’s death.  Indeed that would be a grievous thing, an inhumane thing.  This tugs on painful heartstrings and to not be sad and angry and desperate would be to take all that I consider good and tossing it to the side for the sake of a robotic and emotionless peace.  To have a perception of reality that to survive you have to not care.  That is a spit in the face of God.  He’d rather me be angry and confronting Him then refusing to care and therefore separating myself from Him.

“…learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the   widow’s cause.  “Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord…” –Isaiah 1:17-18a

As I reflect on conversations I’ve had with Him these past few months I have submitted for the time being to put down the “why” question of my father’s death, and have been presented with a new question:  should I feel as sad for God as I do for myself and my other family members going through this loss?  Rather than be angry, would it be a better use of my energies to mourn with Him, rather than to rage at Him?  Everyone wants a scapegoat; a person to set the blame on, when something goes awry.  I’m wondering if God really is deserving of that blame.  Could it be that, despite being all-powerful and all-knowing and completely able to stop what happened, He deserves the most comfort of us all because He allowed it to happen?  Should I be saying to the One who could have stopped my father and fixed his life, “I’m so very sorry about Vincent’s death.  I know You loved him very much.”?

The Grief of God

God’s grief isn’t addressed a whole lot in Scripture in explicit terms.  There are precious few moments in the Word where God’s grief is written down in specific terms, and each one of these moments precede a major event.  In Genesis 6, just before He floods the earth, God is said to have regretted creating man and was even grieved in His heart because of how evil man had become.  In John 11:35, Jesus weeps over the death of His friend, Lazarus, despite the fact that He was going to raise Him from the dead a moment later in verse 44.  In Matthew 26, just before He is captured, Jesus declares that He was experiencing a sorrow that was akin to death.  Perhaps His clearest and most visceral vocalization of sorrow is shown when Jesus is dying on the cross and shouts, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”, as recorded in Matthew 27:46.  God grieves, He gets sad, but does that really matter to us?

Is it really so hard to empathize with God?  Are we so absorbed in our own lives and how they turn out that we fail to realize that we are the created being and He is the Creator and therefore His agenda and purpose have priority?  I apparently am.  It’s easy to just say, “You’re all-powerful, just make Yourself feel better!” and, “What’s wrong with You?!  You’re God…suck it up!”

“And those who passed by derided him, wagging their heads and saying, ‘You who would            destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself!  If you are the Son of God, come        down from the cross.’  So also the chief priests, with the scribes and elders, mocked him,             saying, He saved others; he cannot save himself. He is the King of Israel; let him come down            now from the cross, and we will believe in him.  He trusts in God; let God deliver him now, if he       desires him. For he said, “I am the Son of God.”’  And the robbers who were crucified with him                 also reviled him in the same way.” –Matthew 27:39-44

If we took a real honest diagnostic check of our thoughts and emotions, would we find that we don’t want a personal God, but an all-powerful, obedient robot?  Something that just does what we want, because, hey, we’re right and God owes us for His existence?  Have you ever wondered why you get angry when your prayers aren’t answered the way you want them to be?  I know I have found myself yelling at God like He’s some kind of incompetent secretary who ordered 50 staplers rather than 50 pens.  God’s not in my employ.  He’s not my good luck charm or dancing robot.  He is a living person.  And therein we find our difficulty.  A God that has thoughts and emotions is scary because he has opinions, and if we were honest we’d say that His opinions weren’t really opinions, but just facts and laws.  The only opinions that ever mattered.  If that is God, then what He wanted to get done would take precedent before all the desires of every created being (and ideally every created being’s desires would fall in line with His own).  And if He’s sovereign, then indeed His will will be done, with or without our intentional involvement, desire or allegiance.  So why the emotions?  Why not the emotions?  Why must God not feel, but must only do?  Be strictly logical (logical from my own personal vantage point, of course).   The simple answer, and ironically enough, the answer I’ve had the greatest struggle wrestling with and coming to grips comprehending, is that that is Who God just is.  The beginning of the Bible states that we are created in the image of God.  We are made like Him.  So we are made emotional beings just as much as we are made thinking and working and physical beings.  Emotions, or the sway of emotions, are not the by-product of a weakened intellect, are not some sort of side effect, but are rather part of our production design.  They are hard-wired into us.  We do not deny the existence of emotions within ourselves, though we do at times try to suppress them or ignore them or negate their importance through a flawed sort of logic.  Why should we then deny the creator of all things to have emotions as well?

Emotions are scary forces.  At one end of the spectrum they can lead to all sorts of depravity covering adultery, rape, murder and slashed tires among other things.  On the other end of the spectrum they can help us to be brave, to love, to be generous and to be kind and thoughtful.  Of course, emotions don’t cause us to do any of these things- we choose what what we are going to do.  The interactions between our emotions and our intellect certainly draw a picture of how we might want to react, and very well may predict what we are going to do, but ultimately the action we choose to do is up to us.  We can never fully blame our actions on our emotions.  They are not bad things, they just are.  Our emotions are a diagnostic to present circumstances and past memories and dreamful futures.  Do we like them?  Do we not like them?  How should we therefore act given the circumstances and the data processed both internally and externally from them?  They are scary things because they might just give us the drive to do things we would not otherwise do under mundane circumstances.  Horrible things.  But also wonderful things.  The only difference between how we interpret emotions and how God interprets emotions is that God interprets them perfectly: they do not confuse Him nor do they drive Him to do anything that would contradict His nature, that is, He does not fly off the handle nor act spontaneously divergent off His baseline character based on an emotional stimulant.  He is, despite the emotions He may be experiencing, constant to Who He says He is and what He promises to do.  In joy He still preserves His holiness and dignity, in anger He remembers His promises and remains gracious, in the face of humiliation He is humble and patient, and in grief He remains sober-minded and faithful.

“And he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, and knelt down and prayed, saying,            ‘Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be          done.’” –Luke 22:41-42

“And when they came to the place that is called The Skull, there they crucified him, and the        criminals, one on his right and one on his left.  And Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive them, for they               know not what they do.’” –Luke 23:33-34

O yes, God grieves. But rather than be frightened by His ability to feel emotion, or to be frustrated because His personhood and will may conflict with your own, we should be comforted: the powerful, all-seeing, eternal, all-knowing being of the all-time and beyond it, the One Who is singularly unbound by the limitations of creation, knows what it means to have feelings.  Knows what it means to be angry at injustice, sad over ruin, elated in victory and proud in the works of His hands.  We should not only be comforted because He handles His feelings perfectly, but because His feelings display another point of commonality between He and us.  They allow us to relate to one another.  They can serve to bond us together with Him if we will acknowledge them and unite our emotions and cares to His.

The God Who Cares

So now we are brought to the question, “How do we know God cares?”  We have established that He has emotions, but having emotions does not mean He cares about your emotions.  This world is full of emotional people who do not care about the emotions of the people around them.  What makes God any different?

If we take it from that perspective, we would also have to consider the following question, “Should I be angry at God because I perceive that He doesn’t care about me?”  If indeed we can conceive of a god who doesn’t care about your emotional needs, why should we be angry at him when he shows his apathy for you?   We don’t get angry at people we don’t expect to care, but at the ones who are supposed to.  I’m not offended when Phil from Kentucky isn’t sad over the loss of my father, but I would be sad if my mom weren’t affected by the grief that it has caused me.  We have an expectation that God should care about us.  This expectation comes from our design:  we expect Him to care because we are designed to seek Him for help.

“…if my people who are called by my name humble themselves, and pray and seek my face and               turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land.” -2 Chronicles 7:14

“Why do you say, O Jacob, and speak, O Israel, ‘My way is hidden from the Lord, and my right is                disregarded by my God’?   Have you not known? Have you not heard?  The Lord is the            everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth.  He does not faint or grow weary;
his understanding is unsearchable.  He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he              increases strength.   Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted;      but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like            eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” –Isaiah 40:27-31

“I called on your name, O Lord, from the depths of the pit; you heard my plea, ‘Do not close
your ear to my cry for help!’  You came near when I called on you; you said, ‘Do not fear!’                            –Lamentations 3:56-57

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” –Matthew 11:28

The next question to naturally come is, “Why does He care?”  We can point to the mechanics of His caring- His promises over the centuries that bind the human race to Himself, ultimately culminating in the appearance, death and resurrection of His Son, Jesus Christ, as payment for our sins and a restoration of union with Him, but that doesn’t answer why.  Why should He care?  Why care about the needs and emotions of little creatures who cannot affect Him?  Because He does.  He chooses to be a part of our lives.  That is His nature.  He cannot deny Himself what He is.  As parents care for their child with an unrelenting love simply because they are the child’s parents, so God cares for us because He is our creator.  As a craftsman cares for the work of his hands and takes pride in it, so God takes pride in the work of His hands and cares for it.  Humanity is made in the image of God.  How can He not care for us?  Just because He is larger than our comprehension, that does not mean he is calloused toward us.  He does not regard us as we regard ants.  He is not like the Pagan gods of our ancestors who regarded humanity as chess pieces used to humiliate other gods or as objects reserved to placate the needs and pleasures of their whims.  He is not an idol that stares blankly with cold, stone eyes as you cry at its feet for help.   He is the God of promises and relationships.  The very real God Who created all things and keeps all things in motion.  He is the God that reaches out into the void to correct the uncorrectable: to make perfect that which was sullied.  To reclaim humanity back to Himself.

A Jewel in the Dark

I said I wouldn’t defend God, or speak on His behalf.  What I needed was for Him to remind me that indeed He does love me.  I have Christ to show that He cares for me.  Christ Who loved me before I loved Him.  Indeed Who loved me while I hated Him.  I cannot explain why my father committed suicide.  I cannot justify it.  I cannot be dismissive of it.  It was a terrible thing that I imagine I will carry with me till the end of my days here.  But I can appreciate the fact that I can carry it.  That I can remember him and grieve.  That I can acknowledge that there is evil in this world.  It guarantees that I do not live with rose-tinted sunglasses and delude myself into thinking that all is right.  All is not right.  This world is messed up and needs to be fixed.  I can call this jewel precious because it is the chip of a much larger jewel that guarantees that the world will be fixed.  I can mourn properly because I know it will be fixed and indeed I have a greater desire for God to fix all things and set them anew.  I now know a bit of the pain God feels at beholding His creation:  the pain of watching it fall to ruin, but being steady and patient to preserve it till it is the proper time to redeem it.  He has taught me to properly grieve as He does:  you can allow the emotion to come, which is right and proper.  I can miss my dad.  I can cry.  I can acknowledge how wrong it all is.  But it can’t change me at my core.  Just because bad things happen does not mean God is non-existent or powerless or cruel.  It means that He suffers.  We can grieve together in this and celebrate the hope that is forthcoming.

“And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man.             He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their           God.   He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall            there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.’”          –Revelations 21:3-4

Blinding Light

There are a million more pages that could be written, but this is where I choose to stop.  I can wonder and ask God constantly why my father had to die the way he did, but I acknowledge that even knowing would not give me the comfort I seek.  The comfort I really sought after was the reassurance that God walked with me in this and understood.  That He is good is more than enough of an explanation for me to move on with my life for the time being.  This work has been written over the course of a few months at this point and that is probably very obvious by the changes of tense and style throughout its pages. I was not sure what I was writing about when I started.  I only knew I was in darkness.  I have retrieved my jewel in the dark, and now the Lord presents me a bright new world to walk in.  A world whose dawn has yet to come to me at this point, but whose coming is sure to be.  The pain I carry in this jewel reminds me of this present darkness, that it is indeed darkness and not the norm- that things are not as they should be, and prompts me to pray for the new beginning that is to come.

“’I, Jesus, have sent my angel to testify to you about these things for the churches. I am the root             and the descendant of David, the bright morning star.’…The Spirit and the Bride say, ‘Come.’      And let the one who hears say, ‘Come.’ And let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who    desires take the water of life without price…He who testifies to these things says, ‘Surely I am             coming soon.’ Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!” –Revelations 22:16-17,20

Distant Thunder

Dark clouds blanket blue skies above
Covering the warmth of the sun we love

Is the storm passed or presently come?
The wind suggests it is nearly begun.

What shelter is there from this frightening sight?
There is no running- no flight

Lightning flashes still long way off
But a flash is reminder enough
The thunder, though distant, corrupts
My forgetfulness of your abrupt…end

And you flash into view once again
As one getting ready to begin
To speak away the din…

And the thunder, though distant, speaks with dread
And I remember, yet again, you are dead

When His Beast is on the Loose

Unfocused thoughts yield a seething anger
A frightened animal fleeing unknown danger
Dreams stolen by a slimy stranger

Run through the frost in the moonlit night
Regain what was lost and hold it tight
You must focus if you are to be upright
Your wandering thoughts cause you to bite

When his beast is on the loose
His mind he does lose
And in the moment he must choose
To calm his thoughts which ooze
With the unknown, terrible news
Of a creeping, shadowy muse
Who delights in dealing abuse
And setting the beast loose

Light Beyond the Mountain of Shadow

Forward

From time to time an inkling of an idea will come into my head and appear so vivid and detailed that I’ll perceive it to already be in existence.  Then the reality dawns that the idea may exist, but it has yet to take shape in any perceivable form outside my mind.  To perceive something that exists that has as of yet no shape or space in the tangible world: that is the dilemma of every painter, sculptor, architect, gardener, teacher, coach, entrepreneur, poet and writer who would attempt to bring a fresh idea into being.  The need to not only perceive it in your mind, but to also see it in its fullness- the drive to bring the hidden thing out into the open.  To create.

I don’t know if someone else has already written a work similar to this already.  That doesn’t matter.  The work has not been discovered from my perspective at the very least and that is cause enough to investigate it.  Besides which if it already has been discovered and written about it only confirms that it must be a universal truth of some sort.  But I don’t know if it already has been found.   How can you know if a mountain has gold unless you dig into it?  Besides which I’m writing this with the silly notion that perhaps it can be encouraging and enlightening.  This being said I must admit that I approach this subject with all humility.  Normally when I write, I’ll write in the form of a short story or biographical essay, simply because those mediums are less intimidating and far less scrutinized.  They will not do for an analysis and reflection such as this.

Creation is not an act of sheer will.  Will power is certainly involved in the process, but it is more an engine to keep you moving forward (more like a valve within an engine made up of desire, curiosity and endurance as well).  In my own experience, creation is more akin to groping around a dark room while trying to figure out where you are and what’s inside the room.  It’s feeling and crawling and squinting and shouting and doing whatever else you can to open up your mind to the realities that are around you that are as of yet imperceptible.   I do not write this for the pleasure of writing it, but for the pleasure of knowing what it is I mean to discover and reveal.

Introduction

There once lived a man named David.  David started his life as a shepherd of his father’s flocks.  In time he became a great warrior.  Sometime after that he became king of a country called Israel.  He saw his country grow mighty and rich under his rule and authority.  But David was just a man and in time he grew old and died.  And in this he carried out the legacy of every man: to die.

Some might say that the above description is too short and ill-elaborate for a man such as David.  I say that in the expanse of eternity it may just be too long.  It could be that a better description would read, “David was a man who lived and then died.”  I don’t say this to be harsh or disrespectful, but to point out the obvious:  David was just a man.  Humanity has this well-engrained habit of elevating a man’s status among the rest of the world simply for the events and resources that were a part of his life.  In the end it may be said that a man did many great things and that he possessed great riches, but that doesn’t make him any more than just a man.  Indeed the events that make a person wealthy or powerful can happen to any individual.  Conversely these events can persistently dodge another.  It could be said that greatness is what a person chooses to do with the privileges that have been given to him, but even then that doesn’t stop death from coming.  So what it boils down to is that no matter what a man has or does he will die.  Death tinges every aspect of our lives.  From the moment you are born you are guaranteed to die.  And this does not stop at humans:  birds, trees, grass, fish, flowers, whales, wheat…everything around us is in a constant state of decay or perpetual eventual decay.  This is our reality and David knew this even in all his greatness.

One aspect of David’s life that I left out of my initial description of him was that he was an accomplished singer and songwriter.  Music was always a part of his life.  In fact it was his talent with the harp that won him favor with the king as a young man.  It could be said that the start of David’s earthly greatness can be attributed to his love of music.  Indeed it might be that his love of music was the reason he was great.  David did not write and sing merely for the sake of enjoyment.  The psalms that he wrote and sang are full of his struggles and introspections and reflections.  Music was his primary means of processing his dilemmas and talking to God.  He reminded himself about what he believed through his songs.  He saw this as so important that he even appointed a family of priests within the tribe of Levi to dedicate themselves to writing and playing songs as an act of praise to God and a means to minister to the people of the kingdom.  He saw music as a necessity in processing the woes of life and in reorienting one’s self back to the truth- to joy.

The last statement of the above analysis perplexes me in that it seems that music made these days is great at either creating a joyful feeling in celebrating carefree, extravagant lifestyles or in dwelling on the morose aspects of heartbreak or loss with no resolution or consolation, just anger and frustration.  There is no real point to it outside of letting your feelings out or making your voice heard.  It is a shouting into the void in the hopes that someone will resonate with what you say.  It does not reorient your feelings or frustrations to a truth, but rather gives your feelings or frustrations a voice in the belief that it is the truth.  They are however, just fleeting thoughts: sliding on and off the radio with passing trends, sometimes to be relegated to oldies stations because the truth they offered was accompanied by a catchy beat.  They are a vanity.  They hold out a promise of truth and purpose, but in the end they only serve as a distraction from the cares and worries of life.

I made a generalization.  I know not all music currently made exemplify these characteristics, and I must admit that there have been some popular songs that touched on subjects that tug on the heartstrings of our humanity and stick around because they ask the questions we feel need answering, but these types of songs have existed for thousands of years, and in the end they fade away with the rest of the world.  Popularity has a quicker mortality rate than most humans, and even the most powerful of songs are usually only remembered for a few generations (you don’t hear anyone whistling a classic Hittite tune).  The point I’m trying to reach here is that David saw music as a method of conversation.  It was not a display to just evoke some sort of emotional experience, but a form of surrender.  Song was the method he used to bring his problems to God and the method that brought him back to trusting Him.  It was not shouted to the void as truth, it was shouted to God in the beauty of humility and frustration and desperation in the hope of a response from his Creator.  In the hope that he would be given help to believe in times of struggle.  In times of desperation and possible death.  This is why they are still around today.

David’s psalms can be read a few different ways.  Typically what people always note is the emotion he puts into all of them:  he cries out to God, he shouts to Him in joy, he weeps to Him in bitterness.  If you focus on just this aspect of the psalms then you will probably think these songs were just for David’s benefit because they describe his feelings and what he has noticed about God.  The more useful approach to the psalms is to view them as instructive:  they demonstrate how a conversation with God should progress- how one can go from raw, emotional turmoil in the face of adversity to reliant, calm trust in the love and power of God through rehearsing with God the facts of life.  This theme is presented throughout the Psalms, but in a variety of different ways, making them quite useful as a tool in approaching God while under the sway of the whole spectrum of human emotion, but only if you understand that the psalms were written as much for you as they were for David and the other psalmists.

David lived a life that was extraordinary in comparison to the lives of most:  the vast majority of us will never be kings, never command grand armies, never initiate and oversee grand building projects, never be outrageously rich and never be loved by thousands.  Fortunately, most of us will also not have to experience the extraordinarily terrible things surrounding his life either:  murder of a friend to cover up an affair with his wife, death of several children due to inter-family conflict, death of thousands of your citizens because of your own sins, the hatred of thousands…in the midst of these extremes, however, David goes through things many of us have to: estrangement with his spouse, estrangement with his family, estrangement with his friends, betrayal, shame, frustration, sorrow and guilt.  He was just a man, though he was fated to be a great man.  And in the end he knew he would have to face death just as every man did.  What sort of fear and trepidation might that have caused to a man with such great responsibilities and such great guilt?  A man who made at least as many bloody mistakes as he made glorious successes?  The Scriptures say he was a man after God’s own heart.  As much as this implies that he and God were friends, it also infers that David knew what the consequences of sin were and that judgment awaited him.  He sang to God in the midst of his frustration and shame and guilt and uncleanness to process with Him how he was to be made right before the One he loved.  He praised God and relinquished himself to His care despite not knowing how the thing of his guilt would be taken away.  He ultimately trusted Him despite not knowing.  His psalms are songs of faith and that is why they are so useful to us as a guide not only to navigate our own hearts but to navigate conversations with the Almighty.

There is a special uniqueness to Psalm 23.  The psalm’s calm and serene presentation invokes feelings of trust and peace.  It can make you feel strength in times of weakness.  It is unique in that it brims over with such a firm confidence.  These aspects about the psalm can make it a bit tricky when it comes to interpreting and applying it: people like to recite it with the idea that God will make everything go their way eventually.  This is a misinterpretation of the song, though that is understandable given our humanity.  It must be remembered that even the writer of the psalm did not get his way in life.  In fact, David’s life is one of continually having to learn to submit to the authority of God.  This lesson increased all the more every time he gained prestige or power or wealth.  The confusion can be linked to Its uncharacteristic nature in comparison to David’s other songs which usually start with an almost panicked desperation or anger and gradually work its way to contentedness and worship or which focus almost exclusively on exultation.  This song is one of declaration rather than pleading, but we must not be fooled, it is like all the others despite its presentation.  This is a psalm about death.  More than that, it is a psalm about hope in the midst of death, a hope that transcends and even breaks through it.  It is that hope that stabilizes David as he writes this psalm, thus giving it its unique bent towards the calm as he grapples with the reality of this life and how God walks in it with us.  It is the truth about Who God is.  And it is this reality that should give us our confidence: not the delusion that God will give us what we want if we endure and believe He will, but that He walks with us in the darkness and gets us through it, giving us what He knows we need.

Psalm 23

Verse 1-               The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

Verse 2-               He makes me lie down in green pastures.  He leads me beside still waters.

Verse 3-               He restores my soul.  He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

Verse 4-               Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

Verse 5-               You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

Verse 6-               Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

The Lay of the Land

Before delving headlong into an analysis of psalm 23, I believe it is important to stand back and take in the psalm as a whole in order to learn the obvious things about its structure.  This will serve as a helpful reference when interpretation and breakdown of verses occurs.  Think of it as looking at a map before going on a long hike:  you know that the green patch, in reality, is much larger than the span of your hand and that the curvy lines are sorry excuses for the rough hills they represent and that the map can’t account for weather conditions or other dangers, but it can serve as a comfort in the midst of those things in that it reassures you that the trial does not last forever and that it can help predict for you where and when the next trial (or campsite) is so that you can be mentally prepared for it.  That being said we can now move forward with pointing out the obvious:

  • The title denotes that the authorship of this psalm belongs to David.
  • No instructions are given as to what instrument(s) is to be used to accompany the singing of the psalm and there is no note given as to the octave the vocalists are to sing in.
  • While it is not the shortest text of Scripture, at six verses it definitely qualifies as “brief”

Something to also take note of is that this psalm is very catchy- it is full of phrases that are well known in both secular and religious circles even today:  “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…”, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life…”.  Three well-known phrases in so short a work is remarkable even by modern standards, and it can be assumed that since these phrases represent a major bulk of the psalm that memorization of the other verses (which are heavily tied to these popular ones) would  come with minimal effort.  These aspects of the psalm all taken together help paint the big picture of the meaning behind its creation:  David wrote this out of his own experiences to remind himself of what the truth is.  The fact that no instrumental or vocal instruction is given does not mean that the psalm must be recited without them, but that it could be recited without them- in other words there is no need for instrumentation or specific vocal tones or octaves, but it can be spoken or even whispered to yourself.  The fact that the psalm is catchy without the need for instrumentation or clever vocal effects is significant:  it almost lends itself to being a mantra of sorts.  The psalm being filled with reassuring phrases in the midst of dark imagery reinforces this thought.  It brings to mind the scene from The Wizard of Oz where Dorothy and Scare Crow and Tin Man are traveling along the yellow brick road repeating, “Lions and Tigers and Bears, O my!” over and over again, whipping themselves into a frenzy of fear right before encountering, ironically enough, the Cowardly Lion.  This psalm, however, is not designed to pile fear upon fear in the midst of doubt and uncertainty, but rather is geared toward encouraging and reassuring the reciter as he traverses the uncertainty of darkness.  With this understanding of the psalm firmly in hand it should make the ease of traveling through and unraveling the meaning of the verses and the psalm itself a bit more manageable.

A Valley and a Mountain

Imagine if Psalm 23 started in the middle: from verse 4-

“…I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”

Later we will analyze why it doesn’t start out like this, but I believe to gain a greater insight to the psalm we need to delve right into the environment from which the writer is speaking from.  This is important because if this psalm were written with the intent that it was to be recited by others, than it would mean that this not only represents David’s experience, but any who would choose to recite the psalm for themselves.  Ruminate on this idea a while- what is the significance of all this?

The imagery David conjures up makes this significant in that he describes a truly frightening scene.  In order to understand this we must look at the scene through his eyes; drop ourselves into the environment he describes.  A visual exercise of this sort requires that we break down even this fraction of a verse to more component parts:  your basic definition of a valley would describe it as being a low area of land between hills or mountains, typically with a river or stream flowing through it (this definition came from a simple Google search).  So David describes a lowland that he is walking through.  This is not insignificant in and of itself, because it gives a brilliant image to look at, but the significance of this image comes in the next few words.

The word “of” is a highly flexible word in the English language and is useful in sentence flow and in connecting points “A” and “B” in any given sentence.  It is so often used in our language that we tend to glide over its meaning.  “of” denotes ownership.  It is a grammatical tool through which an object is given special meaning.  In elementary school, children are taught to be efficient in the creation of their sentences, so the apostrophe is lauded as the primary tool for conveying ownership, since using “of” makes a sentence a bit more bulky and awkward:  it’s a lot easier to say “This is Zack’s toy.” rather than “This is the toy of Zack.”  Both of these sentences convey the same idea, though the later one isn’t really used in today’s vernacular.  It is indicative of an older way of talking and expressing ideas, but then again this psalm is old too, and its definitive breakdown is necessary for our greater understanding.  Now that we understand that “of” denotes ownership, we are forced to ask ourselves the question, “Who does the valley belong to?”

Often an area of land is defined either by the person that owns the property or a significant landmark that dominates the area.  Examples of this can be seen in our own neighborhoods (“That is the Smith’s residence.”) and in exotic locales (“Welcome to the Nile River Valley.”).  This next breakdown is layered in meaning:  possession of the valley through which David is walking belongs to a shadow.  The word “of” is introduced again.  Shadows do not exist in and of themselves:  they are immaterial- gone as soon as the object of their casting moves or when the lighting shifts.  Shadows have no meaning outside of their object.  Moving beyond the second “of” we see death.  The shadow casted on this valley belongs to death.  In our common vernacular, David’s description in the beginning of verse four might read like this:

“I’m walking in death’s shadow’s valley.”

Given that two apostrophes were needed to describe what David was explaining, I’m glad the translators decided on using an older way of speaking when they wrote his sentences out rather than our modern way.  This breakdown, however, was needed to give greater depth to the word picture David is trying to place us in.  The valley is covered in shadow.  This is significant because it describes just how large this shadow is (so large that the valley is named after it).  And that is significant because it asserts that the object casting the shadow is massive.

The description of death is most certainly an allegory.  We cannot look anywhere for a large structure named death.  Likewise there is no one named death (and if there were, he certainly wouldn’t be massive enough to cover a whole valley in his shadow).  This would denote that the shadow and its subsequent valley that David is walking through is allegorical as well.  This, however, does not mean that these things are any less real- David just had to find words to describe truths that could be fully perceived, but not fully comprehended.  So for our own sake let us go back to the image of the valley to help us gain a better picture of death and its shadow.  As you may recall, a valley is a lowland usually bordered by hills or mountains.  So imagine the valley again.  He describes ownership of that valley to death’s shadow.  So now in our imaginings we can overlay that valley in shadow.  Death is singular.  It is not the “valley of the shadows of death, destruction and chaos”, or the “valley of the shadows of death, doom and gloom”- just the “valley of the shadow of death”.  This implies a singular entity that rises up and casts one shadow.  So given that valleys are usually surrounded by hills or mountains, we can infer that the object casting this massive shadow on this valley is a giant mountain.  The word picture can now be complete in our minds:  David walks amidst a valley shrouded in the shadow of a mountain called death.  The implication of this is that everything David sees has the shade of death upon it (including himself).  Everything in this landscape is dominated by a single entity: death.

What is this valley that David is walking through?  David is describing our mortal life that, while not taken by death presently, is dominated by its inevitability.  Everything is tainted by its unavoidability, thus its shadow covers every aspect of our lives- from our own mortality to the lives of all animals and plants and insects and even the structural integrity of our things.  Everything we look at is in a constant state of actual or eventual decay.  Death defines our lives.

Fumbling in the Dark

The fact that David is not talking about something isolated to himself, but rather pointing out to the reader the reality of our mortality should be a stumbling block to our sense of wellbeing.   David, in a rather artistic sense, has opened our eyes to see the utter horror of our situation:  there is no escape from death.  You live this life under the pretext that it will end one day.  The fact that death’s shadow encompasses everything in this reality is a grim reminder of our own fate:  every dead flower, every collapsed building, every rusty car, and every meal you eat- these are all reminders to you that in the end you will succumb.  And this reality touches the new as well:  every new life is guaranteed a time limit and rust and tarnish can be buffed away for only so long.  We are surrounded by the shades of death.  This is a heavy teaching.

The Bible speaks to death as a result of man’s sins.  In Romans 6:23, the Apostle Paul goes so far as to state that death is the wage that we earn for our sin, as if it were a valuable commodity we work hard to earn.  In John’s recording of the Gospels, he quotes Christ saying that men love the darkness because it covers their evil deeds (John 3:19-20).  Let’s line up these teachings with the allegory of the valley of shadow:

  • The darkness of the valley is caused by death’s shadow.
  • Death’s shadow gives us a reassurance in life that our evil deeds will be hidden, despite the fact that it speaks to our inevitable death.
  • By remaining in death’s shadow we earn death (by traversing the valley of death’s shadow we eventually find death).

It’s as if death’s shadow on our lives is a down payment of death; a reassurance that we will get what we have worked for.  Indeed, Christ says In John 3:18 that those who dwell in darkness are condemned already (they are marked for death and will receive it).  But can it be that bad?  In death we will get away with our sins as long as we remain under the shadow of death because death allows us to escape earthly punishment and/or repercussions and the pain, diseases and toils of this life.  So the knowledge that we are going to die spurs us on to carry out sin since our life will end anyway and death will cut short any consequences we would have to face in this life.  It’s as if death redefines everything including morality and justice and love:  in the end since your life is limited and you ultimately have no one to answer to it makes the idea of sin null, and so the only point of existence is to fill yourself with self-satisfaction.  Ideas like this one are expressed quite concisely in Psalm 10:

“For the wicked boasts of the desires of his soul, and the one greedy for gain curses and              renounces the Lord.  In the pride of his face the wicked does not seek him; all his thoughts are,           ‘There is no God.’  His ways prosper at all times; your judgments are on high, out of his sight;         as for all his foes, he puffs at them.  He says in his heart, ‘I shall not be moved throughout all              generations I shall not meet adversity.’…He says in his heart, ‘God has forgotten, he has hidden his face, he will never see it.’” Psalm 10:3-6, 11

This is the reassurance of darkness, and this is what terrified David, because he knew it to be a false hope.  He knew that death marked separation from the desire of his heart:  God.  This fear of death and separation can be seen in a number of his psalms:

“Turn, O Lord, deliver my life; save me for the sake of your steadfast love.   For in death there is               no remembrance of you; in Sheol who will give you praise?” –Psalm 6:4-5

“O Lord, I love the habitation of your house and the place where your glory dwells.  Do not         sweep my soul away with sinners, nor my life with bloodthirsty men, in whose hands is evil        devices, and whose right hands are full of bribes.” –Psalm 26:8-10

“Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud; be gracious to me and answer me!  You have said, ‘Seek my      face.’  My heart says to you, ‘Your face, Lord, do I seek.’  Hide not your face from me.  Turn not                 your servant away in anger, O you who have been my help.  Cast me not off; forsake me not, O     God of my salvation!” –Psalm 27:7-9

“To you, O Lord, I call; my rock, be not deaf to me, lest, if you be silent to me, I become like        those who go down to the pit.  Hear the voice of my pleas for mercy when I cry to you for help,         when I lift up my hands toward your most holy sanctuary.  Do not drag me off with the wicked        with the workers of evil, who speak peace with their neighbors while evil is in their hearts.”                        –Psalm 28:1-3

“To you, O Lord, I cry, and to the Lord I plead for mercy: ‘What profit is there in my death, if I go                down to the pit?  Will the dust praise you?  Will it tell of your faithfulness?  Hear, O Lord, and be          merciful to me!  O Lord, be my helper!’” –Psalm 30:8-10

David understood that death was the final stroke:  the end of a relationship with God.  The beginning of the book of Genesis details how God made mankind to certain specifications, most notably that humanity was made after the image of God.  This phrase has a wide range of implications for mankind: man should be like God in the way he lives his life; we should create, we should love, we should live in peaceful fellowship with one another and with our Creator.  We should be as He is.  Within the first few chapters of Genesis we see sin enter the frame of man’s being: he freely chooses to disobey God in an attempt to be greater than Him.  This causes a rift in the relationship between He and us and as the close friendship with Him waned over the subsequent generations, new ideas of ways to live without Him developed:  out of selfishness, sin branched out to create all things that were not like God to captivate our hearts, manifesting itself in ways such as rage, injustice, murder, corruption and rape to name a few of the maladies humans suffer from.  People are inclined to worship everything but God, and the result of this is separation from Him and eventual death (Romans 1:28-32).  In the valley of shadow we can live in blissful ignorance that nothing we do can be seen, not realizing that we dance in the shadow of our own doom.  In this view of the world, the paradise that God created for us to dwell in and maintain, becomes the holding cell used to display our folly before our eventual execution for profaning God’s image.  This is what horrified David.  Though he loved God and pursued after him, he knew he was just like any other human traversing the valley of death’s shadow, waiting for death and judgment.  He knew that seeing the shadows doesn’t lift them from you.  He knew he was implicated too:

“The fool says in his heart, ‘There is no God.’  They are corrupt, they do abominable deeds,
there is none who does good.  The Lord looks down from heaven on the children of man,
to see if there are any who understand, who seek after God.  They have all turned aside;            together they have become corrupt; there is none who does good, not even one.” –Psalm 14:1-3

A Path in Darkness

Every man dies.  You cannot outsmart it or outlast it.  Your end starts at your beginning: you fall in the valley of shadow.  An image we have been presented with is a dark valley filled with people stumbling around, losing themselves in whatever solace they can find in the darkness.

“that day the Lord God of hosts called for weeping and mourning, for baldness and wearing       sackcloth; and behold, joy and gladness, killing oxen and slaughtering sheep, eating flesh and drinking wine.  ‘Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die.’  The Lord of hosts has revealed          himself in my ears: ‘Surely this iniquity will not be atoned for you until you die,’ says the Lord         God of hosts.” –Isaiah 22:12-14

The conundrum is this:  What of those people that no longer want to live in the shadow?  Those who would give up the joys of playing in the dark for a life lived in the light?  If death is the penalty for turning our back on God, is there alleviation for those who would seek Him out?  This seems to be the heart through which David sings his psalms.  If we reorient our hearts back to God, will He bring us out of the dominion of death?

“Brothers, I may say to you with confidence about the patriarch David that he both died and was             buried, and his tomb is with us to this day.” –Acts 2:29

David sought after God, loved God, feared God, worshiped God and yet his days still ended.  Abraham, Moses, Joshua, Boaz, Job, Samuel, Josiah, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, Habakkuk, Ezra, Nehemiah- all these men devoted their lives to seeking God out, some even being labeled as “God’s friend”, and yet each of these men died.  In this it is easy to cry out as Solomon did,

“It is the same for all, since the same event happens to the righteous and the wicked, to the    good and the evil, to the clean and the unclean, to him who sacrifices and him who does not           sacrifice. As the good one is, so is the sinner, and he who swears is as he who shuns an oath. This         is an evil in all that is done under the sun, that the same event happens to all. Also, the hearts    of the children of man are full of evil, and madness is in their hearts while they live, and after             that they go to the dead.   But he who is joined with all the living has hope, for a living dog is        better than a dead lion.  For the living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing, and          they have no more reward, for the memory of them is forgotten.  Their love and their hate and       their envy have already perished, and forever they have no more share in all that is done under        the sun.” –Ecclesiastes 9:2-6

David’s psalm, however, does not end with the valley of the shadow of death.  Nor does it end in death.  The psalm does not even begin with these images!  Indeed, these are mere facts he points out in the middle of the psalm, almost a resignation.  Verse four starts off with, “Even though”.  David is merely admitting the facts of his current situation.  Almost like saying, “Yes, I admit it, but…”  It’s a qualifying statement used to show that the goodness of the psalm isn’t just wishful thinking, but grounded in the facts.  David is fully aware that death encompasses him, but his hope exceeds the circumstances that defined his environment.

“The hand of the Lord was upon me, and he brought me out in the Spirit of the Lord and set me               down in the middle of the valley; it was full of bones.  And he led me around among them, and          behold, there were very many on the surface of the valley, and behold, they were very dry.  And                 he said to me, ‘Son of man, can these bones live?’ And I answered, ‘O Lord God, you know.’                  Then he said to me, ‘Prophesy over these bones, and say to them, O dry bones, hear the word of               the Lord.  Thus says the Lord God to these bones: Behold, I will cause breath to enter you, and        you shall live.   And I will lay sinews upon you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover                you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live, and you shall know that I am the Lord.’

                        So I prophesied as I was commanded. And as I prophesied, there was a sound, and behold, a     rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone.  And I looked, and behold, there were                 sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them. But there was no               breath in them.   Then he said to me, “Prophesy to the breath; prophesy, son of man, and say to     the breath, Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe on these    slain, that they may live.’   So I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into                 them, and they lived and stood on their feet, an exceedingly great army.

                         Then he said to me, ‘Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel. Behold, they say,                 ‘Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are indeed cut off.’  Therefore prophesy, and        say to them, Thus says the Lord God: Behold, I will open your graves and raise you from your      graves, O my people. And I will bring you into the land of Israel.  And you shall know that I am       the Lord, when I open your graves, and raise you from your graves, O my people.  And I will put      my Spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you in your own land. Then you shall         know that I am the Lord; I have spoken, and I will do it, declares the Lord.’” –Ezekiel 37:1-14

Yes, the righteous die along with the wicked.  As Solomon says, “This is an evil…”, but remember also that David says in Psalm 23, “I will fear no evil.”   Unfortunately, all people sin, whether we are good most of the time or none of the time, and the payment for that is death.  You were born into the valley of shadow and you will die here.

“You meet him who joyfully works righteousness, those who remember you in your ways.
Behold, you were angry, and we sinned; in our sins we have been a long time, and shall we be saved?  We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a   polluted garment.  We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away.  There     is no one who calls upon your name, who rouses himself to take hold of you; for you have            hidden your face from us, and have made us melt in the hand of our iniquities.” –Isaiah 64:5-7

Let us expand the image of the valley of shadow to incorporate Ezekiel’s prophecy from the valley of vision.  So now we see a valley shrouded under the shadow of the mountain that is death and we see in it the bones of all those who have died there, specifically we notice the bones of the righteous.  Now we must ask, “What is righteousness?” and “How does one become righteous?”  According to Webster’s Dictionary, to be righteous is to be morally good, free from guilt or sin.  To be free of sin means to not sin, just as to be free of slavery is to not be a slave.  Since we all sin, no one can be said to be righteous.  So why is David so calm and confident in this psalm?  How can anyone serve God knowing that their end is death?  That there is no apparent advantage to living for God, even if it means living more in line with the way you were meant to?  This dips into the mystery of a hope that is not dependent upon works, but to unravel that we must explore the second question and jump back into Psalm 23.

Before David describes the valley of the shadow of death, he says in the verse immediately before it that he is traveling along the path of the righteous.  When we read the psalm, we must take the psalm as a whole- no two verses are strung together simply because they sound good that way, otherwise it would be of no use to us.  Let’s look at the end of verse three and the beginning of verse four,

“He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.  Even though I walk through the       valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil…” –Psalm 23:3b-4a

The word image David illustrates in these verses with regards to this path is that it cuts through the valley of the shadow of death.  There are a couple of implications here.  First is that righteousness is a journey: you are made more righteous as you continue on its path (your right standing is made more apparent and your character is changed).  This is illustrated in Proverbs 4,

“But the path of the righteous is like the light of dawn, which shines brighter and brighter until full day.” –Proverbs 4:8

Second is that to be made righteous does not require you to transcend the reality of this world.  You truly are stuck here, but the good news is that the path to be made righteous is not out of reach for anyone, God has made the path accessible to us.  It is all a matter of walking down it.  The question then becomes, “How do I find this path?”

Remember, it’s a valley veiled in shadow.  One can assume it is a rather thick, dark shadow.  While Proverbs 4:8 gives us encouragement about our character changing for the better and our way becoming clearer while walking down the path of righteousness, Proverbs 4:9 is a rather bleak perspective to those not pursuing righteousness,

“The way of the wicked is like deep darkness; they do not know over what they stumble.”

If we are all born into this valley of shadow, how then do we find it in the midst of pitch blackness, let alone find out about it?  David’s Psalm 119 shows how the word of God is the light that leads us to the path and shines upon it,

“How can a young man keep his way pure?  By guarding it according to your word.   With my       whole heart I seek you; let me not wander from your commandments!” –Psalm 119:9-10

“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” –Psalm 119:105

“The unfolding of your words gives light; it imparts understanding to the simple.”                             –Psalm 119:130

The suggestion behind this is that once you find God’s Word you must abide by it to see the path.  This, however, does not guarantee that you will walk down the path.  Sight in the darkness is only useful if you will use it to help you navigate your way out of the darkness.  And what happens when you stumble?  It is possible to wander off into self-righteous congratulation as you gaze and study the Word of God but never act upon it, or to be overwhelmed and discouraged by the sight and weight of your sins and thus seek their comforts in the shadow rather than expose yourself to what you consider to be the scorn of righteousness?  Fortunately for us we have David’s example, who, while focused after seeking God, strayed from His laws and committed some grievous sins.  We must now focus less on human effort in achieving righteousness and look to another.

“I long for your salvation, O Lord, and your law is my delight.  Let my soul live and praise you,
and let your rules help me.  I have gone astray like a lost sheep; seek your servant, for I do not forget your commandments.” –Psalm 119:174-176

The Shepherd

Up to this point we have neglected the main character of Psalm 23 for the sake of better understanding the place from which David is writing, to demonstrate just how desperate our situation is as human beings and to come to terms with our need for help.  We have seen that God provides a path through the darkness for us to be made righteous and that He provides His Word so that we can realize and perceive it, but we have also seen that even in these mercies we are seemingly hopeless because in and of our own strength we cannot keep to the path: we are drawn to darkness either by pride or discouragement.  Herein we find David’s ultimate hope, namely, that God is good and that He is merciful.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” –Psalm 23:1

Here we find the reason for David’s calmness in the valley of shadow: he is not walking through it alone.  Indeed he is being guided through it.  David’s use of shepherding terminology insinuates that not only is God protecting and looking out for his needs, but that He knows more than him.  David calling the Lord his shepherd not only suggests that God knows more than him, but that the knowledge disparity between he and God is so great as to suggest that David’s mind is that of a sheep next to God: he is completely dependent upon God to meet his every need.  He is saying that he is helpless in being able to provide for himself and that he is prone to wander away from the direction the Lord would have him go.

Even though the psalm is only 6 verses long, the wide visual spectrum that is cast from it can cause you to forget that the Shepherd is the main character, even though the psalm is told from David’s perspective.  Rather than being a self-congratulating  pat on his own back, David is commending the Lord as He leads him (and ultimately anyone He is shepherding) through the various trials and obstacles that come along the path of righteousness.  In this we learn the way the Lord shepherds:

  • He sets the pace. He knows the journey is going to take longer than we want it to, but He also knows that we can’t rush.  “He makes me lie down”, “He leads me”, “[He] prepare[s] a table before me”- these actions are synonymous with someone who is  a well-seasoned traveler who not only knows the best paths to travel and the best places to rest, but also how far to travel and when and how long to rest before traveling again.  It can be upsetting to realize that you cannot leave the valley, but it should be a comfort to know that if you must be here at least you are with Someone who knows how to travel through it.
  • He provides for the person He is shepherding. This is made clear from verse one, “…I shall not want”.  David is stating here that he is not lacking in anything with the Lord as his shepherd.  The Lord leads him to places of stillness and refreshment and the Lord takes care of him in times of uncertainty and woe.  His shepherd’s rod protects him from attackers and His staff keeps/shoves him back onto the path when he would wander away from it.  Even in the presence of enemies He shows both His care for David and His absolute power by stopping and eating a meal instead of rushing by out of fear.  On this path David can say that he “fear[s] no evil” because the Lord knows his needs and takes care of them (though perhaps not in the way we would expect Him to- after all, wouldn’t you rather have your enemies be destroyed then to eat in their presence?  Alas, a shepherd serves his own purposes as he tends to the sheep.  Though the sheep may not understand his reasons or methods, they must trust him because he is their only source of provision and protection).
  • He cares for the person. This is not a task that the Lord begrudges.  He does not declare that His word should be enough to get you through the darkness.  He does not say that the darkness is something you should have to deal with because it’s your fault.  He does not blame you for having enemies that He has to watch out for.  If He did this begrudgingly than He would be rushing you through this journey.  As a result of that He would provide you with scant resources because to give you what you need would result in delaying the journey’s progress.  If He did this begrudgingly than the previous two statements must be booted out.  But the passage remarks about Him leading David to quiet pastures to rest in.  To streams of water to lie down by.  To refreshing him.  These are not the actions of someone who is cold toward you, but rather of someone who cares deeply about your well-being.

These are characteristics of someone who is not only skilled in shepherding, but who has a personal interest vested in it.  This analogy of the sheep and shepherd who cares deeply suggests to the reader that David has given his life to the Lord.  He belongs to the Lord and as a result of that submits to His timing, guiding, provision and mission.  This reveals more about the nature of the path of righteousness: it’s long, it’s perilous, it’s frightening, and it’s a road traveled out of trusting obedience,

“And he believed the LORD, and He counted it to him as righteousness.” –Genesis 15:6

This above passage concerning Abram in the book of Genesis is indicative of the nature of righteousness in God’s grace.  Earlier it was mentioned that righteousness is freedom from sin.  According to this definition, if we sin, then we are not free from it.  However, in the economy displayed above in Psalm 23 and in Genesis 15, God counts belief in Him as righteousness.  This isn’t an airy belief in some god who exists and might help you or who might be good.  This is a belief marked by a trustful reliance upon Him.  This is a belief that convinced Noah to build a giant boat nowhere near water to preserve animals and his family members from a flood that no one would have expected.  This is a belief that convinced Abram to leave his family and inheritance behind and to venture into a land that he was told would belong to his descendants.  This belief also convinced him that he would have descendants.  This belief convinced Joseph to care for his brothers and their families in the midst of a severe famine despite the fact that as a younger man they sold him into slavery because they hated him.  This is a belief that convinced Moses to wander back into the land that he fled to demand the freedom of Israel from Pharaoh.  This same belief led him to lead these people through a barren wilderness despite their rebellious nature.  This belief is what drew David to God even in the midst of sorrow and hardship.  This isn’t wishful thinking- this is decision making based on trusting in the nature and character of God.  And despite their flaws, despite their lying and boasting and murdering and complaining and lusting and backsliding, despite being sinful, God counted their belief in Him and His promises as righteousness on their part.  So it would now appear that the path of righteousness isn’t merely a list of commandments and precepts that we must follow that make us good, but rather, it is a reliant faith on Him that produces a heart that wishes to grow closer to God as you travel further and further down that path with Him.  And this in turn teaches us more about the care the Shepherd has for His sheep:  he keeps you on this path that brings you closer to Him.  David says in verse 6, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life…”  These are characteristics of God.  These are what David rely on as he walks down this road blanketed in darkness peering down using what little light he has.  The Lord is gentle to David when he wanders off course:  he makes the path visible to him and he puts him back on it, again and again.  This is the love of the shepherd to all his sheep.  The path is marked with hoofs wandering on and off course, and the footsteps of one coming up behind those tracks to search them out and to lead them home.

“So he told them this parable: ‘What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of                 them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the open country, and go after the one that is lost, until      he finds it?  And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing.  And when he comes       home, he calls together his friends and his neighbors, saying to them, “Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.”  Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over      one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.’”                   –Luke 15:3-7

The Light Beyond the Mountain of Shadow

At this point we must ask the question, “What is the point?”  If in the end you are going to die anyway, then why bother being righteous?  Is it just to feel better about yourself before you go?  Is it just so you could get a brief glimpse of what life was supposed to be like before you die?  Is this path just a tease in the midst of punishment: a brief reprieve that some will be given before the inevitable doom that overtakes us all?  What is the use when you will just end up being another set of dry bones strewn about the darkness?  What is the use if death is insurmountable?

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” –John 10:11

Our focus must be drawn again to the Shepherd if we are to understand the benefit in following Him.  Remember that the Shepherd cares for all the sheep under His care.  He keeps them on the path that they may grow closer to Him.  Indeed this is all well and good, but if His power is limited to just our lives here in the valley of shadow then His care doesn’t amount to much in the scope of eternity.  But imagine this thought from His perspective: to care for beings that were only going to be taken away from Him anyway, after doing all the work to find them and after all the time spent with them and loving them.  Imagine carrying that forever, over and over again.  Think of the grief that would cause.

“When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and         helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” –Matthew 9:36

“Now when Mary came to where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet, saying to him,        ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.’  When Jesus saw her weeping,     and the Jews who had come with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in his spirit and                 greatly troubled.  And he said, ‘Where have you laid him?’ They said to him, ‘Lord, come and                see.’  Jesus wept.  So the Jews said, ‘See how he loved him!’  But some of them said, ‘Could not           he who opened the eyes of the blind man also have kept this man from dying?’” –John 11:32-35

If you were an eternal being would you allow yourself to suffer in this way forever?  As much as the creation suffers from rebelling against you, how much so would you suffer over and over, the memory of each soul you cared for layered on top of the memory of other souls you guided down the path of righteousness, only to watch them die, to waste away in the darkness, their bones a mockery to you?

“He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.” –Psalm 23:3b

If God does this for the sake of upholding His name, for His glory, to show for all eternity His goodness and grace, then surely that must not mean that his compassion simply ends in eternal mourning.  That His glory is displayed in how good of a memory He has for those who have followed Him and then were lost forever in shadow.  Would an all-powerful God be glorified in His inability to do that which He most wanted to do and mourning forever over His inability to do so?  Is He greater than that mountain that separates us from Him?  Is He Himself greater than death?  Is He great enough to bring us out of death?  That would indeed show Him to be all-powerful and exceedingly worthy of glory and praise.

“For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life that I may take it up again.   No                one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down, and I            have authority to take it up again. This charge I have received from my Father.” –John 10:17-18

This is the reason for Jesus, the Good Shepherd, who not only watches and guides us on the path of righteousness, but Who leads us to our destination beyond the mountain, where the light shines.  God knew that humanity needed a pathway, a crossing through the mountain, to come back home.

“’Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me.  In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?  And if I                go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am               you may be also.   And you know the way to where I am going.’ Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we do               not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’  Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way,         and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.   If you had known                 me, you would have known my Father also.  From now on you do know him and have seen        him.’” –John 14:1-7

So Christ comes to earth and lives the life we should live and dies.  His life is a living example of the path of righteousness, a life lived on complete trust and dependence on the Father, even in the way that it cuts through the valley of the shadow.  Christ was a man like any of us, but unlike any man who was unable to be free from sin, He was because He was of the same nature of the only perfect Being, that being God.  The Shepherd became flesh and lived among His sheep so that He could guide them in His life.  We have spoken of our world being in darkness- the shadow of death, Christ’s coming is the shattering of that darkness with light, that is, life.  For if one would overcome darkness one need only produce a light, and if one were to overcome death, one would have to live, to be alive again, in the midst of it.

“In him was life, and the life was the light of men.  The light shines in the darkness, and the         darkness has not overcome it.” –John 1:4

Christ dies and, as He says, He rises up again.  He lives.  He reverses death.  He creates a pathway through it that is sustained by the precedent set in His death and resurrection.  Through Him we have access to the Father.  Through Him we are no longer trapped in the valley of death’s shadow.  Through Him the dry bones are given life and hope.  Through Him we can go home and live with Him forever as David proclaims at the end of Psalm 23.

“Therefore, brethren, since we have confidence to enter the holy place by the blood of Jesus, by            a new and living way which He inaugurated for us through the veil, that is, His flesh, and since          we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a sincere heart in full             assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies            washed with pure water.  Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He              who promised is faithful” –Hebrews 10:19-23

This is the hope that David looked to from afar.  That Abraham, Moses, Joshua, Boaz, Job, Samuel, Josiah, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, Habakkuk, Ezra and Nehemiah and so many others looked to: that though they die, they would live again.  They didn’t quite know how this would work or when this would be, but they walked in faith down the path of righteousness, seeing dimly and from a distance God’s reward for pursuing Him in the valley of shadow.

“These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and        greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the          earth.  For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland.  If they had        been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to                 return.  But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not           ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.” –Hebrews 11:13-16

In all these things we see God imputing Christ’s righteousness to all who would believe His promises and walk in obedience.  In this act of trust, we see that the righteous path we walk upon is the life that He lived and freely gives for us to walk on (For He is “the Way”).  His Spirit is our Shepherd which keeps us on that path.

“But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all       things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.” –John 14:26

Furthermore, this Spirit is the guarantee for our eternal life even in this environment of death.  As the shadow of death is the down payment and proof for our impending mortal death, so it is that the Spirit’s presence is the down payment and proof of our resurrected and everlasting life.

“In him we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to the purpose of               him who works all things according to the counsel of his will, so that we who were the first to       hope in Christ might be to the praise of his glory.  In him you also, when you heard the word of              truth, the gospel of your salvation, and believed in him, were sealed with the promised Holy             Spirit, who is the guarantee of our inheritance until we acquire possession of it, to the praise of       his glory.” –Ephesian 1:11-14

Continuing on, Christ’s death and resurrection is the gate through which we enter by our flesh’s inevitable death and through which we live again by His overwhelming grace that imputes not only His righteousness, but His resurrection as well.

“I am the door. If anyone enters by me, he will be saved and will go in and out and find pasture.”             -John 10:9

In this we find that our time in the valley of shadow does not have to be our holding cell before judgment, but rather a time to seek Christ out and grow in a relationship with Him so that He can bring us home out of the darkness.

“The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth, does not   live in temples made by man, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything,              since he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything.  And he made from one                man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted           periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place, that they should seek God, and perhaps feel      their way toward him and find him. Yet he is actually not far from each one of us…”                                         –Acts 17:24-27

With all this said, it would be wise to end this analysis pondering the promises, comforts and implications of Psalm 23.  This paper has covered a lot of ground and it would be good to look back over that territory and see the grand landscape on this side of our exploration.  After any journey through an unknown land, to remember and reflect properly on the event it becomes necessary to personalize the experience and put it into your own words and descriptions.  Here is my reinterpretation of the Psalm that I have trudged through with you,

Verse 1-               I belong to the Lord, therefore He provides me with everything I need.

Verse 2-               He knows when and where I should rest and He makes sure that I do.

Verse 3-               He does not guide me out of obligation, but because He is good.

Verse 4-               True, death surrounds me, but I’m not scared because You keep me safe.

Verse 5-               Even in times of danger and turmoil You provide for me and refresh me.

Verse 6-               You are gentle and kind with me as we travel, so I know You will get me  home.

My Heart: Christ’s Battlefield

Forward

I find myself writing this in the midst of tragedy.  When you’re processing the loss of a loved one it’s hard to think.  Your brain is enveloped in shock and the memories that do come through usually produce an emotional response akin to a 3-year-old being denied cookies for breakfast (my experience at least).  Mourning in real life isn’t like the mourning they show in movies and TV shows:  in those mediums they have maybe 3 hours to convey a whole lot of data (pardon me, drama), so mourning usually comes quick, hard and fast (like everything else in entertainment).  Fact is that real life doesn’t work like that.  You find that time seems to stretch out almost to the point of being unbearable and you just wait.  You wait to cry.  You wait to reflect.  You wait because you cannot make it happen.  The more you push and try to be proactive in “getting the mourning ‘over with’” the longer time seems to get and the slower things seem to go in all aspects of your life.   Times of genuine introspection and reflection are slow and hard to come by, but they are like finding small chunks of gold in a seemingly depleted mine.  They are precious and keep you going through the darkness.

Fear is ever present with you in the mine.  The fear that you’ll never get better.  The fear that you’ll have to trudge through it alone.  The fear that your father will be forgotten.  The fear that it doesn’t matter to other people.  That fear tries to convince you that the mine is depleted.  That it’s really a tomb.  The gold proves otherwise, but you have to fight and grasp and endure to lay hold of it and keep it.  You have to believe you’ll get out of the mine with the gold.

“…for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it. No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and ripened by and made fit for God by that affliction. If a man carry treasure in bullion, or in a wedge of gold, and have none coined into current money, his treasure will not defray him as he travels. Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it. Another man may be sick too, and sick to death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels, as gold in a mine, and be of no use to him; but this bell, that tells me of his affliction, digs out and applies that gold to me….” –Donne, Meditation XVII

This work is about a chunk of gold I have found in the mine.  It is not about the mine itself.  I send it up the shaft to encourage you about the nature of the mine:  there’s treasure to be found down here for those who would seek it in their grief.  I dedicate this to my father whose death God used to bring other believers around me as a loving embrace.  I write this because I was inspired by that.

Intro

During my days in college ministry, I was introduced to a small pamphlet called My Heart: Christ’s Home, written by Robert B. Munger.  In it, the author describes his heart in terms of it being a house and his conversion to Christianity as him welcoming Christ to live in that house with him.  Christ enters the home and “…came into the darkness of my heart and turned on the light.  He built a fire in the hearth and banished the chill.  He started music where there had been silence.  He filled the emptiness with His own loving, wonderful fellowship.”  This quote describes the author’s heart reorienting itself to serve Christ’s purposes- to be alive!  The majority of the story shows how Christ does this as He moves from room to room of the house, cleaning and fixing things as He goes along.  As He does this He shows the author the proper use of each room and how to use the equipment he finds in each.  They grow in a deeper relationship with one another as they work together in the home- the author is sanctified as he gives more control of the house over to Christ and learns from Him and spends time with Him.  He eventually gives complete control of the house over to Christ proclaiming Him to be the true owner and the one Who could actually run the house as it should.

This story has been a great point of application in my own walk with Jesus.  I’m a nuts and bolts kinda guy and the way this story breaks down the varied ways in which Jesus can be introduced to different parts of your life has been of great use since I am naturally inclined to be subdivided in the way I live my life and it can be easy to leave Him out of whole sections I naturally assumed weren’t His territory.   This book has been an invaluable resource and guide.  Recently I noticed one thing missing from this story:  other people.  The story focuses on the author and Jesus.  It harkens to the saying “I’m just walking with Jesus.  Just Him and me.” This probably wasn’t the intent of the book, whose purpose it was to assist the reader in their personal walk with God, but I’ve found that if you’re a perfectionist like myself, you can be deceived into thinking that you have everything right as long as you can check off everything on the checklist, or that you can actually be ready to face anything alone if you spend enough time prepping for it.  If it’s all about your own walk with God then there’s no room for relationship with the people of God since they can be an encumbrance to your plans.  How could they speak into your life if you met all the requirements for following Christ?  How could they help you if you’re already prepared to face anything?  Isn’t community with other believers only necessary up to the point where you don’t need them to goad you into doing what is obviously right?  Isn’t it just a nice thing after a certain point, but not the needed thing?

About a couple months after my father’s death, I sat down with Dave Wirgau at a coffee shop to process my thoughts and feelings concerning and surrounding that event.  I’ve known Dave for nearly a decade now.  We first met when he was the campus rep for the Navigators collegiate ministry at FSU’s campus.  Over the years I’ve known him as a teacher, a Bible study leader, a travel companion, a landlord, a co-laborer and a friend.  I’ve been to his house numerous times for parties and dinners and have watched his kids grow up (heck I even served as a babysitter once or twice for the younger ones).  As I sat there processing with him the thought occurred to me, “How did this happen?  How is it that I would come to trust this man enough to open up to him and to allow him to speak wisdom into my life?  Why are his words so effective in healing me?”.  As I thought about this, I began to reflect about the friendships and relationships that I have that are meaningful to me.  I began to realize that there are many people whose ear I could trust with my sorrow and who lips would speak wisdom that I would take to heart- whose words God uses to override thoughts and feelings that fight against the truth I know.  The only answer that I could come up with is that God gave me these relationships so that I could grow in ways I didn’t think possible or even know that I could/needed to grow in.  And I wouldn’t be able to do it without the support of other people.   And they cannot do it without me.  God gives us each other because we cannot do it alone.

This essay is an attempt to understand how this works.  To help me I have expanded upon the ideas laid down by Munger in My Heart: Christ’s Home.  Instead of a house though I see my heart as a country.  A wide, expansive country.  Before Christ, the land is oppressed.  The sky is dark with ash and smoke.  The fields are covered in weeds and trenches .  The trees are withered.  The buildings are collapsed.  It is devoid of life and purpose.    This is existence alone.  When Christ comes in He declares war on the forces of oppression that lay the heart low.  A battle ensues for the heart of the man.  My heart has become Christ’s battlefield.

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor; he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;
 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God;
to comfort all who mourn; to grant to those who mourn in Zion—
to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit; that they may be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified.  They shall build up the ancient ruins;
they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities,
the devastations of many generations.” -Isaiah 61:1-4

Strongholds

I was a kid when I accepted Christ into my heart.  I was a relatively normal child with loving parents who were figuring out how they were going to live their life.  My mom had accepted Christ when I was a baby. When I become a Christian my dad was still an agnostic more or less.  Not too long after I accepted Christ, however, my dad came to know the Lord as well (like the different terms I’m using to say “became a Christian”?  I’ll try to limit my Christian lingo to just these phrases).  Anyway, I say all this to establish that when I was a child everyone in our household was a “Baby Christian” (term used to denote someone who has not been a Christian too long and has yet to undergo serious testing of their faith and who is still learning to apply rudimentary Biblical principles to their life).   We were very involved in serving a church in the Miami-area for quite a few years, but I do not recall much discipleship (being poured into).  What I observed was my parents doing the best they could.  We had friends within the church, but I do not recall them being friendships that led to accountability or further sanctification.

But then again perhaps I’m wrong (I was a little kid after all and didn’t know everything about my parents’ lives and relationships).  I do recall however, the “lone ranger” approach my dad lived his life, which seemed to emphasize doing what was right and not being willing to have anybody speak into your life (and it would be absolute death to ask for help).  Mom was very much more receptive to being in community with the people she served alongside with and in sharing her life with others.  When the church we attended started falling apart it seemed dad’s aloofness from it was the safer and smarter route.  When my parent’s marriage fell apart, it seemed the only way to survive such a trauma was to withdraw and build walls.  In my mind my dad’s logic with regards to relationships and people and institutions was flawless:  separate yourself, disregard other’s opinions, don’t grow close with people and work hard enough to be above reproach.  My mind is kind of scattered on how all of this developed and took shape, but I do remember my adolescence being defined by the imprisoning of all my emotions (except for anger and despair).  Grand and mighty fortresses were built within my life to repress my humanity.  The great resources of my mind and vitality were ravaged and plundered to build up walls that would serve to both keep people out and to maintain a calm composure on the outside to ensure others to keep moving on (and to make sure they mind their own business).  I lived in solitary confinement in the open world.   In this state of being my thoughts became twisted and cruel as year after year new strongholds would appear to combat the attacks of other strongholds, and old strongholds would become taller and more elaborate.  Thoughts would counter other thoughts: sin was both justified and condemned in my mind, the guilt perpetually weighing heavier, but the reality of it being buried deeper and deeper inside as if it were a treasure to be hidden and guarded.  I knew the Gospel, but it had no power to me because I would not trust it:  how can you trust promises when you believe no one can be trusted?  To me God was a bureaucrat who was impossible to reach or please.  He was distant.  He begrudgingly sacrificed His Son for me.  I knew Who Jesus was, but I did not know Him.  All in all I looked at my life and saw it as a life not worth anything.  Why would God sacrifice Himself for something like that?  I felt like I was saved, not because of grace or God’s love for me, but because I had slipped in through a loophole in the system.  I was to be the one unwanted person in Heaven.  For years my mind cultivated this thought, “God’s grace is not for me.  You do not belong in it.”.  I slipped into and out of various patterns of sin and in general became a non-entity in the lives of others (except where my parents made me volunteer or socialize in one capacity or another).   I was lost-knocked about to and fro by the wind and waves of various doctrines and thoughts as the Apostle Paul describes in Ephesians chapter 4.

The war waged within me, but looking back now I must acknowledge that these strongholds were not fighting each other, but they were unified against me to take control of my heart.  I waited for life to be over- surely that’s when the war would be finished.

“Did that which is good, then, bring death to me? By no means! It was sin, producing death in me through what is good, in order that sin might be shown to be sin, and through the commandment might become sinful beyond measure.   For we know that the law is spiritual, but I am of the flesh, sold under sin.   For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.  Now if I do what I do not want, I agree with the law, that it is good.  So now it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me.  For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out.  For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing.   Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me.  So I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand.   For I delight in the law of God, in my inner being,  but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members.  Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?   Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, I myself serve the law of God with my mind, but with my flesh I serve the law of sin.”  -Romans 7:13-25

This is a short synapse of the development of “strongholds” within my life.  In short, defenses and battlements were made on the part of competing sins and desires.  Furthermore, additional defenses were built up to counter the strongholds previously mentioned.  Sin competed against sin, ideology against ideology.  Guilt and shame competed for the same resources as sin to build up and justify their existence.  Looking back I see that my heart had lost all identity outside of this internal struggle of the competing strongholds.   In the fray I never realized that they never attacked one another, but had deceived me into supplying them with the resources and property needed to enslave my heart to their will.  For years I legitimated and funded their own war against me because I knew no better and there was no one to speak against them.

“I turned and saw an oddly-shaped phantom approaching. Or rather two phantoms: a great tall Ghost, horribly thin and shaky, who seemed to be leading on a chain another Ghost no bigger than an organ-grinder’s monkey. The taller Ghost wore a soft black hat, and he reminded me of something that my memory could not quite recover.… like a seedy actor of the old school…. and then… I noticed that the little Ghost was not being led by the big one. It was the dwarfish figure that held the chain in its hand and the theatrical figure that wore the collar round its neck….He was watching the Tragedian out of the corner of his eyes. Then he gave a jerk to the chain: and it was the Tragedian, not he, who answered…. The Dwarf was now so small that I could not distinguish him from the chain to which he was clinging…. the Tragedian… gathered up the chain which had now for some time been swinging uselessly at his side, and somehow disposed of it. I am not quite sure, but I think he swallowed it.”

–C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce

Maneuvers

Earlier I pointed out that I am a bit of a perfectionist.  I have always been obsessed with making the right decision (it is a recent discovery of mine that sometimes there are multiple right decisions to make and there can be no way to distil the decision to just one perfect choice:  you just have to act and see what happens.  This has driven me crazy… but I digress).  My senior year of high school was a piece of cake with regards to decision making with the exception being about where I should go to college.  I was accepted into three schools in Florida:  Florida State University in Tallahassee, the University of Florida in Gainesville and Florida International University in Miami.  Both my parents graduated from FSU, so I always had an affinity for the Seminoles.  I hated UF due to my Seminole upbringing, but that university did have a really good academic reputation.   FIU would allow me to live at home and skip the stress related to moving far away from home.  I wracked my brain trying to distill which choice would be the best and found that the decision would have to be made subjectively:  the choice of which university to go to wasn’t necessarily obvious (I was going to get a fine education at whichever institution I went to) and, to my chagrin, I just had to make a decision based on how I felt (a horrifying concept to someone who tried to cage his emotions).

I delay emotional decisions for as long as possible.  They make no sense:  subjective reasoning has no discernable equation or metric.  How can you possibly make the best decision when you don’t know what the outcome will be?  When the best estimate for success is, “Just do your best and see what happens.”?  What if I failed?  I find now that subjective decisions are the ones that can mature you the most:  what you decide to do and how you follow through shape who you are as a person more than objective decision making which can pretty much be relegated to automated processes that might require dedication and discipline to set up, but minimal effort to maintain once it is formed into a habit.  The uncertainty about making a subjective decision isn’t meant to be sadistic, it’s meant to be character-building.

“The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.” –Proverbs 16:9

In the end I went with my first love.  FSU offered me more scholarships and grants than the other two universities (like…way more).  It also helped that they contacted me frequently (even going so far as sending me a congratulatory letter and certificate when I graduated from high school) and had the country’s oldest criminology program (which I was interested in pursuing).  I know my 18-year-old self made that decision based on data somewhat related to the reputation of the university and my future career goals, but mostly I was influenced by other factors:   namely, I wouldn’t be in debt and I wouldn’t have to work during the school year.  Given those two factors I calculated that I had the greater probability of graduating and not winding up broke and living on the streets (yes…those were my actual thoughts).  Looking back now on that decision I made 10 years ago I can see that the Lord gave me just the right incentives to make a decision I would not otherwise have made:  FSU was the furthest college away from home that I was accepted to, and Tallahassee is one of the most difficult cities to leave (airline prices are outrageous, there is no train, busses are awful and it takes 8 hours to get back to Miami by car).  Never would I have made this decision under normal circumstances, but this was college.  This was my future career.  I was drawn by something greater than the forces that would keep me in Miami.  God needed to get me away from home.  Away from the bitterness and drama of my parent’s divorce.  Away from the constant reminders of disappointment.  Away from my isolation.  Away from where my strongholds were so firmly established.

“Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her.  And there I will give her her vineyards and make the Valley of Achor a door of hope.
And there she shall answer as in the days of her youth, as at the time when she came out of the land of Egypt.” –Hosea 2:14-15

Siege

I went from living in a sprawling urban center to a small town.  From a small house in a middle-class suburban neighborhood to a huge dorm that felt like an overcrowded tenement.  FSU itself was under major reconstruction at the time and the roads were dusty and many of the old buildings were being  renovated.  Anything not being renovated was either a classroom building or a dorm.  I was not impressed.  I also didn’t have a car so I couldn’t really escape either (and the area immediately surrounding FSU isn’t the greatest place to wander around).  I hated Tallahassee.

Oddly enough though, Tallahassee didn’t hate me.  Everyone I encountered was friendly enough (from dorm mates to professors) and I excelled in my studies.  But I didn’t want to be there.  I didn’t want to give the people there a chance.  And I couldn’t escape.  On more than one occasion my parents would ask me to transfer to FIU if I hated FSU so much.  But from Tallahassee I realized how much I hated my situation in Miami.  I felt uncomfortable no matter what the context.  My world had shifted and it left me reeling.  My sole purpose came to be to just finish college as quickly and as strongly as possible, but even that goal I realized didn’t have much value to it.  What then?  I already decided that I was going to be miserable no matter what profession I wound up with because I felt as if it wouldn’t amount to anything.  What’s the point?  What meaning did I have besides to live in perpetual discomfort?  In perpetual meaninglessness?

“And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man                who built his house on the sand.   And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and                 beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.” –Matthew 7:26-27

I was determined to graduate from FSU.   Despite the fact that I hated it and I didn’t have any real hope in any future endeavors outside of college, I felt like it was something I had to do.  Like a trial by fire.  I felt like I had to prove myself.   I stayed with the faintest of hopes that my time there wouldn’t prove to be disappointing as I feared.

I found definition in my strongholds.  I became a man divided against himself (if I weren’t already).  My personality cracked as I presented a calm, cool exterior to my parents and acquaintances and the world in general while I wrestled with various sins and the consequential guilt alone.  You can’t live like that for too long without it changing you.  I remember wrestling with suicidal ideations and lust and depression and just this deep seething hatred for everything.  Above all that though I remember feeling desperate.

Despite what I told my parents my mom knew that I wasn’t doing too well.  She asked around to see if she or anybody she knew knew of anyone who was also attending FSU who maybe would be able to get me plugged into a church or a campus ministry.  And that’s how I met a friend of a family friend named Amaris.  Amaris was the same year as me and attended a campus ministry called the Navigators.  Various times my freshman year she would try to get into contact with me, but I would dodge her (not wanting to ruin my private misery with people I guess).  Eventually she was successful in establishing contact with me (she offered to help me get my stuff back home for the summer after freshman year…) and over time we developed a friendship.  About midway through my sophomore year she finally convinced me to attend a Nav Night.  Not having really participated in any sort of youth group while growing up and not having been to church in quite a while, the experience of this sort of gathering was sort of new to me (very new).  I found the level of friendship and closeness the Navs had with one another to be uncomfortable.   I wasn’t sure what the whole point of their gathering was and I wasn’t sure why this older man (Dave Wirgau-mentioned earlier) was hanging around these college kids.  My “cult meter” screamed within me.

Amaris would check in on me from time to time to encourage me to keep going.  Eventually I found some guys I found to be interesting and we became friends.  I found out for myself that this ministry was not a cult and I started going without the need to be urged.  Dave turned out to be a masterful teacher of the Bible and I looked forward to hearing him speak.  Although in all this I went more as a spectator than as one who felt like one of the crew.

The Navs emphasized studying the Bible, even going so far as discussing it with others and memorizing it.  I saw this as being overkill when I first started attending, but eventually I gave in (give it the ole college try as it were) and started small (very small) devotions (Navs call them “quiet times”) before going to sleep at night (what better time to be quiet, right?).  In these early stages of rebuilding/rediscovering/refreshing/etc. my faith I would grab the Bible, flip to a random page, look down, and read a few verses.  Looking back now I must acknowledge that this wasn’t the greatest of plans, but as it is written, “…so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.” (Isaiah 55:11).  One night my sophomore year in Gilchrist Hall I was getting ready to go to sleep when I remembered to have my devotion.  Per my usual habit at the time, I grabbed my King James Bible and randomly flipped to the following passage,

“How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? Forever?   How long wilt thou hide thy face from me?    How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily? How long shall mine              enemy be exalted over me?  Consider and hear me, O Lord my God: lighten mine eyes, lest I            sleep the sleep of death; Lest mine enemy say, I have prevailed against him; and those that         trouble me rejoice when I am moved.  But I have trusted in thy mercy; my heart shall rejoice in             thy salvation.  I will sing unto the Lord, because he hath dealt bountifully with me.” –Psalm 13

King David’s lament and plead to God was chillingly familiar to my own view and secret plea, though I had never verbalized it to Him (or anyone for that matter) for fear of reprisal.  I found it odd that David’s seemingly bitter cry to God ended in a hopeful resonance:  he says he will sing to God because He has dealt generously to David.  Wasn’t this the same God that David said was ignoring him?  Or did that view of God come about simply because he was keeping his introspection to himself and not sharing it with God?  In either case I felt a spark of hope I hadn’t felt in years- that I could find favor in God’s eyes.  Since this revelation came about as a result of my involvement with the Navs, I pursued a deeper connection with them in the hopes of being led closer to Him:  I served during their Thursday night meetings and even participated in Bible studies and joined student leadership in my junior year.  As I did this I invested more and more time in searching the Scriptures and being more overwhelmed by Him.  As these months passed by I felt strongholds being torn down and peace in places where there had been unrest.  I was slowly realizing a new sense of purpose as I was slowly being freed.

“How can a young man keep his way pure?  By guarding it according to your word.
                        With my whole heart I seek you; let me not wander from your commandments!
I have stored up your word in my heart, that I might not sin against you.” –Psalm 119:9-11

 

 

Entrenchment

One does not just undo years of psychological and spiritual conditioning in the course of a few months, however.  Even with the vigor of my pursuit and the resources I had access to to increase my knowledge and understanding of the Scriptures, I still fought against thoughts that told me I was unacceptable to both God and those around me.  These strongholds tried to build up strongholds that had been torn down, suggesting that they offered comfort and protection against this “reality”.

“For though we walk in the flesh, we are not waging war according to the flesh.  For the                weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds.  We                destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every     thought captive to obey Christ…” -2 Corinthians 10:3-5

I couldn’t do this alone.  I couldn’t give and give and give and not be poured into.  But one of the loftiest and well-established strongholds in my heart is the sense that you must be independent.  That to have others close to you is a sign of weakness.  That you are a waste if you have to be helped by others.  This combined with another thought that I was unwelcome in both the Kingdom and among the people of God formed a rather tough bastion of defense to exposing and yielding my heart to God.  I worked hard to know the Scriptures better and to serve more and more, but there was always that feeling of unwelcome.

Community is a mysterious thing.  How they are formed and shaped is truly incredible.  And the interpersonal relationships within them are amazing.  Is it the need to be around those that can help you that builds up a community or the fondness a group of people share for one another?  Is it a common goal?  A common class?  A standard?  The Navs were made up of a variety of people from backgrounds originating in diverse landscapes and familial environments.  What bonded us together?  No two Navs were quite the same.  There was great fun and laughter within friend structures, but there was also great accountability and maturation and sharpening of purpose.  This was more than just a social club.  It was also more than just a professional society.  This was true fellowship driven by love and care for the other person.  Within the community of the Navs I had grown fond of quite a few of the members (members?…that’s not the proper word, but it’ll have to do) and had grown to respect and look up to quite a few of them…but I didn’t really trust any to be close to me.  I really didn’t believe they were really all that interested, “We’re just letting Zack hang out with us cause it’s the nice thing to do.”- that was my mentality.  So while there were victories within my heart through the strategic placement of the Word of God, there were no troopers to sweep the area and continue the march forward.  I see now that a lack of closeness to others will leave your life in a rut.  Areas of your heart will become “no man’s lands” and you wind up losing the war for lack of pushing forward and risk being overrun again by old habits because no fortifications were put up to defend the once oppressed land…and no defenders are around to guard it.  It’s all or nothing in this war.

God turned it around about halfway through my junior year with the man who would become my best friend, Chris:  the pain in the butt freshman who would not be deterred from being my friend no matter what I did to him.  His entrance into my life I see as that of a paratrooper dropped into hostile territory: conventional methods of sending troops into my heart had failed due to resistance at the borders, so God decided to drop a specialized soldier from out of the sky (that’s where I felt like he came from, anyway).  For some reason Chris immediately liked me.  He always tried to grab food with me in one capacity or another.  Tried to sit next to me in leadership meetings.  Tried to sit next to me at Nav nights.  Tried to hang out based on mutual interests.  Tried to be my friend.

Well it didn’t work out all that great to begin with.  I told Chris that “maybe” sometime I’d eat with him.  I’d give him a shot in the arm whenever he sat next to me.  I insulted him.  I avoided him because I thought it was weird that he would want to be “buddy buddy” with me.  But he was undeterred.  He dug a trench and rode it out, lobbing “friend grenades” at “isolation brigades” whenever he saw an opportunity (pretty ridiculous imagery, eh?).  In time Chris became a welcome sight to me.  By the end of my junior year we were inseparable.  In time I came to trust him.  The algebra on how a friendship grows into one of mutual trust and aid is a mystery to me, so I won’t bother trying to unravel it.  It even seems that way in the Bible:  two people are introduced and “HEY!” a close bond is formed (see David and Jonathan, Jesus and John, Jesus and Peter, Paul and any of the people he wrote to).  Shared experience just tends to breed close friendships, I guess (or can certainly CONTRIBUTE to or be a CATALYST for close friendships…no guarantees, since it can also create enemies).  I’m guessing this is just something God works out.  He knew that we needed each other for one another.

“A man of many companions may come to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a      brother.” –Proverbs 18:24

As it happened Chris and I complemented one another very well:  our differences were strengths the other was lacking in.  Over the years we not only spent time hanging out together, but we built up a trust that allowed each other to speak into one another’s lives.  He entrenched himself so deep into my heart that his voice resonated louder to me than the voice of well-established strongholds.  Chris spoke with Truth and conviction.  He counseled me through doubt and worry and physical malady and heartbreak.  Conversely I was there for him in his times of doubt and struggle and sickness and weakness.  We spoke on one another’s behalf at our respective senior nights.  I was one of the first people he told about his plan to propose to his girlfriend.  I stood by him when he got married (by the way, his wife, Elaine, is pretty cool too).  He was one of the first people to know about my dad’s death.

Besides the friendship itself, one of the important effects of Chris’ entrenchment in my heart was that it opened up a path for others to entrench there as well.  Many new relationships were forged that were as close as Chris and I’s initial friendship, only different.  That’s the wonderful thing about friendships:  each one can speak to you in different ways, depending on the need and the personalities and shared/varied struggles.  Each one spoke against different lies in my heart and each one encouraged me in different ways in various seasons and struggles and triumphs.  In the desolation of my heart they made a stand for the truth so that my heart would be yielded over to its Creator that life may be rampant there as it was meant to be.  And as they entrenched in my heart, so I entrenched in theirs and returned the favor.

“Make room in your hearts for us. We have wronged no one, we have corrupted no one, we     have taken advantage of no one.  I do not say this to condemn you, for I said before that you are    in our hearts, to die together and to live together.” – 2 Corinthians 7:2-3

The Castle

The unfortunate nature of friendships is that people tend to be transitory.  One season you see them every day, and the next they move.  A soldier is only commissioned to serve in any given area for a limited period of time before he is sent elsewhere or retired.  Friendships are much the same way, especially the ones made while young.  Career ambitions, co-workers, marriage, children, parents…these create new arenas for our friends to fight in, arenas that many times do not involve us. Such is life.  Such is war.  A friend may remain entrenched in your heart while away, but the absence of his physical presence echoes loudly in the place of his voice, as a platoon led by an experienced soldier misses his expertise, calmness and support when he is transferred elsewhere or is sent back home and they are hard-pressed without him.  He cannot defend where he was once stationed (and visa versa).  In the wake of this it seems as though strongholds can retake territory lost to them in the battle.  In fact, they can if there is not one dominate, permanent force in the heart that repels them and encourages continuous siege against them.  A castle commissioned by a lord.  A castle for the Lord.  The church.

“And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” –Matthew 16:18

After college I had to ally myself to the local church again.  I stayed in Tallahassee and most of the friends I made while in college scattered with the wind (indeed the few that are left are being blown away little by little).  In my undergrad I allowed the Navigators to be the castle that would fight against the enemy.  Something I realized after I graduated is that college ministries are meant to serve a specific audience:  college students (surprised?).  Soon enough I found myself serving, but unable to be poured into because of the nature of growing up: after you graduate college and get a job (after at least 8 months of unemployment), your life looks significantly different than that of your typical college student (it should anyway).  The temptation to withdraw came again as friends left and Navs became an area to serve in and less of a place to be fed and ministered.  There were some exceptions to this, but my heart yearned for deeper relationships with believers that could speak into my life- believers not only in my age and season, but believers in seasons just ahead of my own and in seasons way ahead of my own.  I needed a flood of well-seasoned soldiers to stand with me and march through me and complete the work my friends started.  I needed to move on to a well-established fortification that would never be knocked down.  That would be there my whole life and beyond it.

My distrust of the local church was a long-established one.  I watched my old church back in Miami fall apart when I was a kid and grew up to believe that that was the typical thing to occur in any organization.  My past distrust of people also led me to believe that those on the top of the organizational structure positioned themselves in such a way so as to keep the congregation in a state of subservience to the pastor and anyone else who might benefit from their tithes.  I also believed that the leadership would jump ship once the congregation was milked for all they were worth.  My years spent with the friends God gave me through the Navigators, however, opened my heart up to the possibility of giving my heart over to the church: it seems as though God taught me in my undergrad that He can work great things in the lives of people through other broken people. It dawned on me that that is the church: just a bunch of broken people being sanctified in varied and interlocking ways.  Their gathering together God blesses with His protection against any foe.  With regard to my distrust of pastors, being in leadership myself while I attended the Navs, I came to realize that no matter what position you are elevated to you are still a sinner and all you can do is your best in the role God has given to you.  I had to learn to just submit to that: God places a sinner, not a perfect man, to feed and protect his flock (and this I came to realize is a mysterious and beautiful thing).  Whether he does a good job or not is not my concern:  my concern is my own faithfulness to Christ and His church in whatever capacity I serve.  And indeed if my entrenchment within the church can help to protect it than all the better.  Over the course of the past few years I am happy to say that I have joined a local church here in Tallahassee that I can both serve and be served in, now and always.

In the country that is my heart there is a clearing where strongholds once stood.  What stands there is now a castle.  Though the country is still at war, the castle is faithful to supply the resources needed to fight off the enemy and to entrench more soldiers deeper and deeper into unclaimed territories of my heart.  Moreover, where the castle stands, where it has laid its claim, there is life even if it be in the midst of pain and sorrow.  My heart was, is, and is becoming Christ’s country.

“So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ                Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows             into a holy temple in the Lord.  In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for      God by the Spirit.” –Ephesians 2:19-22

The Shaft

Earlier I wrote of wandering around a mineshaft in search of an exit.  Experiencing grief associated with the sudden and unexpected loss of someone close is a very lonesome experience and it often feels like you trudge through the shadow of the event alone.  But I know my voice is heard by those who await me at the mine’s exit.  I know my gold is treasured by those who lift the bucket out of the shaft.  I may have fallen beneath the confines of the church in that no one else is quite going through what I am, but what I have fallen into still remains under the watchful eye of the Lord of the castle.  The tunnels I explore down here belong to the structure he erected.  Grief is an ancient thing and without it the church would not have been built.  It is foundational to our faith, but it is not the end of it.  The Lord has sent me down here for a purpose, some task that needs doing in the deep dark.  I know you all wait for me.  I know I am not truly alone, just separated.  I know eyes peer down the shaft awaiting when I will return and what I will bring up with me.

“Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” –Isaiah 43:19a

The Lion

My father was a lion
His hair a stately mane
His voice a thunderous rumble
That made all courage drain

My father was a lion
His eyes a piercing blade
A flash of them bedazzle you
Or make you run away

My father was a lion
With strength to match his splendor
Crushing obstacles beneath him
And tearing hearts asunder

The lion was a man
His mane trimmed to scalp
His voice a swallowed wane

The lion was a man
His eyes fading hollows
The vision within them dimmed

The lion was a man
His strength a thing remembered
Within his head the same
But, alas, externally
his body became his cage

Short-sleeved December

I walked outside with the expectation
That my body would be freezing-no exaggeration

For I’ve seen December time and again
Reign frosty ruin across the Big Bend

But as I met the sunlight this Florida day
I was greeted by a breeze akin to those of May

A smile crossed my face as Autumn air mingled with Summer’s sun during Winter’s month-
Florida took its pick of the bunch

It was a short-sleeved December this time around
One to remember when Winter rebounds