The Other Side (of Delight)

"Delight yourself...in the Lord, and He shall give you the desires of your heart." Ps. 37:4

Gandalf hears drums in the Psalms.

Parallelism in the Psalms is not just a device used within verses; it can also inform a psalm's entire structure (or part of it). Take Psalm 1, for example: six verses set into two three verse parts contrasting "the godly" with "the wicked". Psalm 37 is another example, at least in the beginning. The commands to "trust," "delight," "commit," and "rest" in God are complimentary parallels meant to bounce off of and build on each other. Furthermore, as compliments to each other, they are also meant to be synonymous, a singular note swelling in intensity, like heavier and heavier beats of a drum.

Yet the synonymous nature of these four words is not completely apparent, at least as it is translated in English. Part of it makes sense: to "trust" something is to "commit" to and "rest" in it, and to "commit" to something (lit. in Heb: "to roll your load onto another") is to "trust" and "rest" in it, and to "rest" in something (like a bed or chair) is to "trust" in and "commit" to it. In each case, the meaning of the words play off of each other naturally, like mirrors reflecting the same sunbeam.

Just imagine a logistical gymnast.

But what about "delight"? It does not seem to fit quite so easily. Of course, it is still a positive term like the others, and we could reasonably imagine it following any one of the others: it is possible to "delight" in what you "commit" to and "trust" and "rest" in. Nonetheless, it does not necessarily follow them. To "trust" or "commit" or "rest" in something does not necessarily mean you "delight" in it. Your attitude towards the chair you are trusting and resting in may be quite neutral, and there are probably commitments you've made (to some chore or work or duty) that you can't say you're looking forward to. In fact, "trust" and "commit" can be occasions for fear as much as anything else, for they always contain a level of uncertainty, as when you trust your friend when he or she says the food they suggested for you is "not that spicy." Thus, the connection between "trust" and "commit" and "rest" is natural and easy, but the connection between them and "delight" is not; it requires some logistical gymnastics.

"Simply delightful..."

But perhaps we're missing something. Perhaps (as I said before) English is incapable of fully capturing the exactest meaning, which is not unheard of: it is not as rich a language as ancient Hebrew (or even modern Japanese). Its limitations are no mark against it, for limitations can be an occasion for glory as well as shame, for opportunity as much as disadvantage. The point here is that we are in fact dealing with a slight limitation. The Hebrew word used here that English translates as "delight" is not one of the typical Hebrew words for it, not one that carries all the typical meanings: to be glad in or take joy in or find pleasure in, etc. Rather, the Hebrew word here is "anog," which literally means "to become soft or delicate." The image it suggests is melting, like solid strips of cheese melting onto bread, or a cube of ice melting in a glass. The implication is relaxation: of molecules loosening their bonds, of breath exhaling from a body that's sinking into a couch after a long day's work, with all its muscles releasing their tension.

Now the connection is clearer and easier, for you cannot "commit" to something, nor truly "trust" in something, and certainly not "rest" in something, without this sense of ease, of relaxation, of losing the grip of your anxieties and laying your head down in gentle repose. The whole of life may be buzzing around you like angry hornets, but you are quiet and still in God. This is the other side of "delight," the other side of its ecstasy and joy, for this is the ecstasy and joy of being still and knowing that He is God.

Into the calm of delight.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2014

Man of Sorrows

"Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all." Ps. 34:19

"I'm having my best life now."

Our God is a man of sorrows. He has been acquainted with grief and affliction (Is. 53:3-4), and He has promised the same to those who follow Him (Matt. 10:16-25; John 15:18-20). I find an odd comfort in this. Our God has made a plan for pain. He does not ignore it or downplay it or frown upon those who experience it. He experienced it, deliberately (Phil. 2:8; Heb. 12:2-3), and has sanctified it into an avenue of glory (II Cor. 4:16-18). This does not suddenly candy-coat it. This does not mean that all who suffer should "buck up" and smile more. Pain is still pain. Affliction is still affliction, and suffering is still suffering. It all still hurts and wears you out. The difference is that it isn't meaningless anymore; nothing is meaningless anymore. All has been infused with purpose, and thus infused with hope: not just that you'll get through it all but also that it is all leading somewhere good (Rom. 8:18, 28-30).

"Just BeliEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEve!"

This is what makes "prosperity" teachings or any other syrupy Christianity so laughable and damnable. Laughable because they so blatantly contradict common sense about the fundamental tragedy in existence, and damnable because they attempt to undo the deeper comedy that God has done. He gave pain a purpose, but they would undo that purpose in our minds, returning suffering to a sign of disfavor and failure. They have displaced hope with despair, for who can truly say they are living their best life now? Who can truly say they have claimed all that they've named? Who can say that their afflictions have all ended because they had just enough faith (as if faith were a cure for suffering rather than the strength and succor to endure it)?

The world does not need another rabid optimism to spread childish lies; rather, it needs something stronger, something more robust, something adult. It needs something that can face all the rugged realities of life without flinching or excusing or dismissing. In short, it needs a God who is acquainted with grief to take pity on our frail frames (Ps. 103:13-14) and provide a purpose for pain.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2013

In Our Midst (Christmas Homily)

"...eyes to see..."

"O taste and see that the Lord is good." Ps. 34:8

The goodness of God is not an abstraction, not a mere dog- matic assertion requiring no more than intellectual assent. Rather, the goodness of God is to be a sensory experience (and not the only one). It is meant to be tactile and fragrant, audible and visible and flavorful. This does not mean that you will suddenly receive complete comprehension of the incom- prehensible God. What it does mean is that His goodness is meant to be experienced in the actual moments of your life. It is to be a point of contact between you and the Divine, a moment of Incarnation, a moment where God leaves the ivory tower of your mind and becomes real in the midst of your experience.

As close as the house you're standing in.

If our God is hidden, it is because He is too immense and not because He is too obscure, like the house you're living in, which is the only one you don't see when you look out your window. It is too close for perception, and so is God. The incomprehensibly im- mense God is in your midst always, and though the limits of our mind cannot grasp Him fully, He is meant to be experienced. He is meant to be met in the moment. In ancient days, though veils and walls kept Him separate from His people, He still had a place amongst them, an actual dwelling in the Holiest of Holies. Today, though time and space and perception seem to separate us, He is not far from any one of us (Acts 17:26-28). Furthermore, He has made His people His dwelling place (John 14:23; II Cor. 6:16), a body fitly joined together (Eph. 4:15-16), so that He may be experienced by us as well as through us to the world (Matt. 5:14-16).

Our God believes in making Himself known, believes in revelation and incarnation, believes in proving Himself to be real. If he had not spoken through His word, if He had not come in the likeness of men, then we would have cause to call Him an obscurantist. But He did, so we do not. He has proven His presence (Is. 45:18-19; Heb. 1:1-2), he has proven His love (Rom. 5:8; I John 4:9-10), and He continually proves His goodness. Therefore, ask for eyes to see Him, to see His goodness, and to let that goodness build a monument to His presence in your life.

"I have not spoken in secret...."

-Jon Vowell (c) 2013

The Courage of Gandalf (is the courage to wait)

Wait for it....

"I would have fainted if I had not believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in my life. Wait on the Lord. Be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart. Wait, I say, on the Lord." Ps. 27:13-14

We often equate courage with bravery and get nowhere because the two are synonyms. It is another dead-end tautology. The older (and truer) meaning of courage had to do with endurance. "Guts," as C.S. Lewis called it. Guts to endure, to hang on through the assault, through the storm, through the siege and the struggle. It has nothing to do with winning; the brave do not always win. Rather, it has to do with not giving in, to reach your breaking point and not break.

This is the meaning behind that strange aside Paul makes in Ephesians. After taking over five chapters to assert the romantically heroic image of our oneness in Christ, how God sees us in Him, how He has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing so that we may edify the Church and do battle along side Him against the forces of spiritual darkness---after this vigorous onslaught, there comes an odd punctuation: "and having done all, to stand" (Eph. 6:13). It is as if victory is not the point. It is already won in Christ (I Cor. 15:57), but it is not the point. Endurance is the point. Holding on. Standing strong. Not moving forward but neither moving backward. Like Gandalf on the bridge of Khazad Dum, we stand as "a wizened tree before the onset of a storm." We cannot move, but they shall not pass.

This is why Psalm 27 equates courage with waiting on God. Waiting is the frustrating thing, the annoying thing, the gnawing, agonizing thing, but it is the courageous thing because it is the epitome of endurance, of hope, of faith. We wait and do not faint because we believe, not only that God is good, but that we will see His goodness with our own eyes, that we will taste it with our own lips. We believe in this hope, the hope of His goodness, of His promise to work all things out to our good. So we have courage: we wait. We endure, and in the midst of it all we find that God strengthens our heart for the endurance, because His goodness comes to those who wait.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2013

"...they are weak, but He is strong...." (Homily 54)

You just gotta beliEEEEEve!

"Oh Lord, our Lord, how excellent is Thy name.... Out of the mouths of babies and infants you have ordained strength.... What is man that You are mindful of him? [...] You have crowned him with glory and honor, [and] have made him to have dominion over the works of Thy hands.... How excellent is Thy name in all the earth!" Ps. 8:1-9

"God has chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise, and the weak things to confound the mighty, and the base and despised things that are not to bring to nothing the things that are, so that no flesh should glory in His presence." I Cor. 1:27-29

We want to be strong. We want to be better than others, or at least better than ourselves. We want our projects to succeed and our plans to bear fruit. We want our dreams to be realized, and we hope we have the skill and wit and tenacity to see them through. We want to be noticed and appreciated, to be seen as worthy and valuable, to be know as someone who brings something to the table. We hope that we have the charm and looks and abilities necessary to grab and hold someone's, anyone's attention. We want to know that we can do it. We want to know that we are loved and have secured that love.

"Hello! I am your problems."

We fear weakness. We fear failure. We fear being worthless and of no consequence, but that is often how we feel. Projects and plans and dreams stall or stall-out, becoming insurmount- able, seeming so very, very big and we so very, very small. We are ignored and unnoticed and undervalued. We feel everyone's eyes piercing past us, or worse: piercing into us and seeing all the mess, the flaws, the inconsistencies and hypocrisies. The failures and inabilities. The terrible burden of our innate weakness. We can feel unmade and exposed before others, and we will avoid any place or any person we feel we cannot fool. We will not risk the exposure. We will not risk having to confront ourselves, our small, weak selves.

God confronts us. He knows us. He knows our weakness. He knows that we are dust and fading vapor (Ps. 103:13-16). He knows how the weight of even our fleeting existence can become crushing. He knows our frustrations. He knows our fears. The fear of failure. The fear of weakness. The fear of making mistakes and not being who you were meant to be, not fulfilling all you were made to do, always feeling out of joint like a bone out of socket. He knows all about it, and He has only compassion and pity and sympathy for you. This Great Strength has nothing but merciful, loving kindness to we who are the great weak. He has kindness and purpose, for this Great Strength uses the weak for His great purposes. He calls and justifies and glorifies the doubting and the frail and the fearful and the downright unimpressive (Rom. 8:28-30) while all who are supremely confident in their own impressiveness are left outside (Luke 18:9-14), for this Great Strength summons the sick and not the healthy (Mark 2:16-17) and exalts the weak while crushing the proud through the weak (James 4:6; I Cor. 1:27-29).

The Word became weakness.

We who are weak and fearful and frustrated and self-de- feated and weary, come and find rest (Matt. 11:28-30). We have a great and mighty advocate, for we have a God who has been touched by our infirmities (Heb. 4:14-16). God became a man; not just a man, but a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief (Is. 53:2-4). He felt with His real skin and real soul the agonies of fear and rejection and betrayal and the seeming failure of all His efforts. We have a God who was afraid (Matt. 26:38-39), whose stress created sweat as thick as blood drops (Luke 22:44). We have a God who failed, whose messianic ministry lost all of its followers through offense (John 6:60-61, 66) or fear (Mark 14:50) and ended in ignominy and death. And yet, and yet, it was through those fears and failures and agonies that God triumphed. He triumphed through weakness, not in spite of it. The weakness of God, the strength made perfect in weakness, is still stronger than all the might of darkness and evil and human skill and ability. He has sanctified weakness and made it holy, made it into a means of triumph (II Cor. 12:9-10), made it His favorite tool and weapon and made weak people His favorite heroes, all so we may know that there is no God like this. Amen.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2013

Why You Should Sleep (but probably won't for a while)

""I laid me down and slept. I awoke, for the Lord sustained me." Ps. 3:5

"I will both lay me down in peace and sleep, for only Thou, Lord, make me dwell in safety." Ps. 4:8

Psalms 3 and 4 are both war Psalms. David wrote them during times of battle, and his talk of sleeping soundly and waking safely was about sleeping on a battlefield between battles. To sleep encamped not too far from your enemy was an act of faith in God---every subsequent morning was a gift of grace and an occasion to praise God. It was not luck of the draw but rather a sign of God's love and favor (Ps. 3:3-4; 4:1, 3, 7). David knew that his life was in the hands of someone who loved him. Therefore, he slept like a baby.

Most of us probably don't sleep on a battlefield like David, but life itself is hair-raising enough with a sufficient amount of evil for every day. Sudden accidents and random acts of violence strike just as savage as any foe in the night, for death is a foe, the last and greatest we shall ever face (I Cor. 15:26). Sleep is just as much an act of faith for us in our homes as it was for David on his battlefield. Think about it: for six to eight hours you lay unconscious and immobile on a giant rectangular pad, oblivious and helpless. You remain unaware of the world, this random, violent world. It is almost an act of suicide, and yet we sleep and we wake, and we do this multiple times as though it was nothing.

We have our confidences: in locks and neighbors and police and civilization at large. But we ought also to have confidence in God as well, who gives sleep to the just and the unjust. It is by His love we sleep undisturbed and awake unscathed. It is by His grace we have been brought to the morning. It is by His mercy we are not consumed (Lam. 3:22 KJV). Every morning with a fresh awakening is a gift, the first of the gifts of God for you in a day, the first grounds for thanks and worship. When you rise, you are already blessed, for waking is a blessing. The sunlight that pours in from around your curtains or through the cracks in your blinds is an ever renewed herald of triumph, for you have yet again made the perilous quest. God has lead you once more through the nightlands and into daylight.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2013

What Do You Want? (The Lord's Prayer, Part II)

"Abba, Father, all things are possible for Thee. Take away this cup from Me. Nevertheless, not what I will, but what Thou will." Mark 14:36

"If there lurks in most modern minds the notion that to desire our own good and earnestly to hope for the enjoyment of it is a bad thing, I submit that this notion crept in from Kant and the Stoics and is no part of the Christian faith. Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us.... We are far too easily pleased." -C.S. Lewis, "The Weight of Glory"

The second thing Jesus does in His prayer is to state His request(s) or desire(s), and He is bold and honest about them: He asked that the "cup" of the cross and God's wrath be taken away from Him.

"Ask and it shall be given?"

Unless we are completely tactless, most of us are pretty gun-shy in this area. We find it indecent to ask God for what we really want. Shouldn't pray be about others? About our family? Our friends? The sick, the poor, and the hurting? The world? Peace on earth and all that? There is nothing at all wrong with asking for those things. They are all needed, but do not lose sight of how brash and personally specific Jesus made prayer. It was about you asking for personal things (Matt. 7:7-11), even down to your most basic needs and benefits (Matt. 6:11-13). The Psalms are sung prayers to God, and every one of them is filled with specific personal requests ("cleanse me from sin," "make my work prosper," "save me from trouble," "destroy my enemies," etc.), and even the apostles saw prayer in terms of personal requests (e.g., Phil. 4:6).

"Prove it!"

Of course, there is a right and wrong way to go about this. The wrong way is the "adulterous generation seeking a sign" way (Matt. 16:1-4; Mark 8:12). The Pharisees and Sadducees asked Jesus to give them a sign to prove that He was the Christ. They did this to "test" Him to see if He really was who He claimed to be, which means that they didn't believe that He was who He claimed to be. Thus, their "request" was asked out of unbelief; it was like telling God, "Oh yeah? Prove it." Such an attitude is the opposite of Christ, whose own brother explained, "Ask in faith, doubting nothing" (James 1:5-7), which is how the apostles would ask when they cast lots to choose someone to replace Judas. They prayed beforehand, asking God to guide the lots (Acts 1:24-26). This was not a "Oh yeah? Prove it" moment. They asked in faith, believing that God would answer and would answer rightly, which is the essence of proper asking in prayer.

Prayer: the original "Safe Place".

As stated before, prayer is not about you; but there is a place for you, a specific, safe place. A place where you can make your requests known unto God, where you can be honest and speak your mind, where you can approach the throne of grace boldly. If your prayer life is based off of your specific relationship with God, then is not honesty good for any close relationship? Should not that person, the one you are drawn close to, should not they be the one to whom you can be unbashful about how you feel, what you want, and what you fear? Give God the same brazenness. Give Him the same trust, for He is your good Father, and He will hear the desires of your heart (Ps. 37:3-5).

-Jon Vowell (c) 2013

Joy (Isaiah's Doxology, Part I)

"I will greatly rejoice in the Lord; my soul shall be joyful in my God...." Is. 61:10-11

The book of Isaiah is a fascinating work. It's also a large work, containing 66 chapters and covering a myriad of incidents, prophecies, blessings, and denouncements. Amidst it all, however, you can discover a singular reoccurring theme: the inevitable fall and corruption of God's people, the inevitable and preplanned judgment against them, and their inevitable and preplanned redemption. Their redemption usually centered around a messianic figure, whether it be Cyrus the Great (Is. 45:1-6, et. al.) or some future person unidentified in Isaiah's time (i.e., the main figure of the "Servant Songs").

Chapter 61 begins with a declaration made by the "Servant" (vs.1-3), a declaration Jesus would later claim He fulfilled (Luke 4:16-21). The declaration states what the "Servant" will do and how it will affect God's people. It then ends with a doxology by Isaiah speaking for those people (vs. 10-11), and in the process he provides some peculiar commentary on the exact nature of the work that God has wrought through His "Servant".

It just keeps spinning and spinning...

Isaiah (speaking for God's people) says he will "rejoice" and be "joyful" in God and what He has done. In the original language, the first word literally meant "to be bright" while the second literally meant "to spin," like a top or dancer. Now, we should all understand such notions. We have all experienced or seen someone's face "light up" over someone or something, creating a "glow" that affects everyone around them. We have also all experienced or seen moments when words fail and yet something must be done, so you shout or pump your fist or clap your hands or even spin about. You have been filled from top to bottom with ecstatic energy and you just have to release it. This is the idea Isaiah is trying to express: God has made the faces of His people light up by filling them with such immense joy that they can't sit still.

"Why so serious?"

Before I end this post (but continue the series), let me note something: joy is to be a form of evangelism (one of many). Who God actually is and what He has actually done should create an ecstatic delight in us towards Him, and that delight should be one of the things that leads people to ask for an answer to the hope that is within us. I am not referring to faked happiness. I have seen---we all have seen---and been around too many Christians to whom the "joy of the Lord" is merely trumped-up enthusiasm to be maintained at all costs. Let it be said here (if it is said nowhere else) that true Christian joy is not found in plastic smiles and voices worn like masks over dull and despairing souls. It is not found in common courtesy, naturally cheerfulness, a "sunny disposition," or even Southern hospitality. We like to think that's where joy comes from or what it looks like, but we are mistaken. Real joy, Christian joy, is something far different.

Joy comes from loving God, which comes by knowing God, which comes by trusting God. In other words, the life of faith is our channel of joy in God. We learn of His promises and truths (about Himself, ourselves, and all manner of things), we trust and believe in His promises and truths, and then we act on that trust and belief. Then, upon the moment of action or sometime thereafter, God delivers, and the reality of His presence is revealed (however briefly) to us; perhaps not in the way we expected, but still in a way impossible to misidentify. It is there, at the intersection where faith leads to action and action leads to sight, that is where God becomes real, becomes closer than a brother and more intimate than a lover; and in that knowing of Him we grow to love Him truer and deeper, and trust and believe Him more and more, and act again, and see again, and know and love again, and trust and believe again, and act once more, and see once more, and know and love once more, again and again, throughout all time and into eternity. That's where the joy comes from: "I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees You."

-Jon Vowell (c) 2013

The Failures of Doubting (Homily 50)

"Let him who walks in darkness and has no light trust in the name of the Lord and rely on his God. Behold, all you who kindle a fire, who equip yourselves with burning torches, [and] walk by the light of your fire and the torches you have kindled! This you shall have from my hand: you shall lie down in torment and sorrow." Is. 50:10-11

Control is the very opposite of trust. Do not misunderstand: it is not bad to make plans. Those who trust make plans and act on them. Faith is more than common sense, but it is not less than it. You are free to make plans and move on them, but you must beware to not trust in the plan. That is the key. It is not about your actions but your reliance. If your reliance is on God, then your action is of faith. If your reliance is on your plans (and your ability to fulfill them), then your action is not of faith, and whatever is not of faith is sin (Rom. 14:23). So make your plans and act on them, doubting nothing except your plans and actions.

Control is all about doubt: doubting God and His presence, providence, promises, and power. To trust in our own strengths and wits above all else is the essence of unbelief, and it creates two kinds of people. The first is gripped by an impenetrable pride. They are unshaken in their self-confidence and never think to question themselves. Their end will be anger: anger at others for doubting them, anger at God for being greater than them, and anger at themselves when their plans fail, as they will always fail. The fire of their torches will burn them up.

The second kind of person is gripped by an impenetrable fear. They are always shaken by the ordeal of decision, because they believe it is all on them, and their loneliness becomes a crushing burden of anxiety. The never think to turn to the One who is greater than them, for they do not think their even is anyone greater than them. Their end will be despair, of both their situation and themselves. They see their torches for what they really are: pathetic, paltry lights revealing nothing but shadows and the enormity of the darkness.

In truth, both the prideful and fearful strains touch us all at different times. They often come packaged together because they spring from the same source. Still, different people will manifest one side more readily than the other as well as fall to its consequences more easily. The point is this: trust is a hard game, but it alone can lead to peace; control is an easy game (it is the most natural thing in the world to trust yourself), but it can only lead to anger and despair. Pride and fear cannot sustain themselves; their fires will be the doom of those who lit them. But he who trusts in the Lord shall never be ashamed, for His fire never fails: its light has pierced the deepest darkness, and that darkness could not, nor ever could, overcome it. Amen.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2013

The Sacrament of Waiting (Homily 49)

"...they shall not be ashamed that wait for Me." Is. 49:23b

Trust is a matter of waiting. Waiting to see what happens. Waiting to see what unfolds. Waiting to see how it all turns out. Waiting to know whether or not the endeavor was successful, or the enterprise was worth it, or the action had its consequences, or the person kept their word. Trust is all a waiting game, a frustrating yet common game, feeling more like a necessary evil than a necessity.

Waiting is not about sitting still or inactivity. On the contrary, waiting is often when we are at our busiest. We fill out applications. We make calls, make connections. Go to this place and that. Get involved in this thing or that. We make assessments, weigh options, keep our eyes open and ears to the ground, and do our research, all while continually puttering about in our daily work and hobbies and habits. Truly, waiting is more than a static thing. You could almost call it an ecstatic thing: we feel ready to explode at any moment.

Reality is always a paradox on some level, and intimately woven into our bustle is waiting. No calls have been returned. No letters (for good or ill) have been received. No significant or special someone has presented themselves. No one rewards or even seems to acknowledge any of your contributions. Therein is the paradox. In the very midst or all our doings, we can only sit, sit, sit, sit, sit. And we do not like it, not one little bit.

Waiting is a frustration for anyone, but for the child of God it need not be a source of despair, for as said earlier waiting is where trust begins. Even after our best efforts to make something happen, there is always the period of silence and uncertainty. Into that void come doubts and fears and the diabolic death spiral that pulls us into ourselves: "What else could I have done? I should have done more! It's all on me!" It is not all on you, and that is what the silence teaches us.

The book of Isaiah is saturated with the promises of God, complete with fantastic proclamations and wild resolutions so unexpected and counter-intuitive that you would think God is mad. But He is not mad. He is the only sanity left, and He is teaching us how to think straight. The times of waiting are for our sanity, viz., they are meant to turn us to God. "This thing is not in my hands. It is too big for me." That is the beginning of sanity and peace.

When the waiting does finally end (as all waiting does), it will be so much sweeter than any instant gratification, for "thou shalt know that I am the Lord" (vs. 23). If things were easy, then God would be as unreal as vapor. It is in the trying that He is made real. In the birth pangs, He is enfleshed. If we would have a real God in our lives, then we must let the waiting play itself out. We must go about our business in hopeful expectation of God's goodness. That is how we live. That is how we trust. That is how we taste and see that the Lord is good. Amen.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2013

"...and all the day long." (In His Hands, Part II)

"[God] caused the waters to flow out of the rock for them. He cleaved the rock, and the waters gushed out." Isaiah 48:21

We all assume that God is arbitrary, that He is shooting from the hip and working off the cuff. It is natural for us to think so, for we are arbitrary, and we make God in our own image. Like pagans of old, we presuppose that the world and the universe are both fundamentally chaotic, and why wouldn't we? It is larger than us, and its laws (if it has any) are hidden from us. Men are mad with their violence and corruptions, and the earth is mad with its disasters and calamities. And there we stand, small and infinitesimal before it all, overwhelmed by constant floods of mixed messages, random actions, and indifferent nature.

Standing where we are, it is easy to shrink all souls to our own size, to think that if we're overwhelmed then everyone's overwhelmed, including God. He tries His best, of course, and His all-power and all-wisdom come in handy for cleaning up messes (when He gets around to them). But from our point of view, we cannot help but think that He to gets frustrated and can only make decisions on the fly. Perhaps we're being reverent when we think this, trying to "excuse" God; but we still think He's a bit out of His league.

The key, however, is "from our point of view". It is one of the greatest faults of humanity that we always reduce everything down to our size, to our position and place. It is understandable. We want sympathy with others; it helps us feel like we're not alone in our situation. But here's the thing: God already sees from our point of view, both as God (Ps. 103:13-14) and Man (Heb. 4:14-15). Thus, He is not in need of seeing from our position. On the contrary, we need to learn to see from His. If we do, then we will learn this startling, offensive truth: there is no arbitration in God; it is all plan.

Look at Israel. God knew beforehand that they would sin (Is. 48:3-8) and had already planned the purging, perfecting punishment (vs. 9-11). But he had also preplanned Cyrus to be their salvation from that punishment (Is. 45:1-7; 48:12-16), a salvation coming in spite of all their sins (Is. 48:17-21). He had already planned out the whole thing. The exile was not an accident, and Cyrus was not "Plan B". It was all "Plan A". God knows there is a snake in the garden, and He already has a Seed fit to crush its head. He is never surprised.

We are frequently surprised, however, because we only see from our finite position. One of the marks of growing in holiness and sanctification and spiritual maturity is being torn from your agoraphobic bubble and led into the big country of our big God. True, there are many layers to our bubbles, but if you belong to God He will pop every one of them to finally let in some air and light, clean like an ocean breeze and clear like the noonday sky. Even then we will have only just begun to comprehend the height and depth and length and breadth of the love of God, which covers all angles as well as a multitude of sins.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2013