Darkness

Occasionally, I like to invite guest bloggers to write my blog posts. What I mean by that is that there are some nights when I am just too lazy to do any original thinking, so I “borrow” from some of my favorite writers who have expressed my own thoughts better than I could.

This is another one of those nights. The writer is Frederick Buechner and the topic is darkness. Here goes:

“The Old Testament begins with darkness, and the last of the Gospels ends with it.

‘Darkness was upon the face of the deep,’ Genesis says. Darkness was where it all started. Before darkness, there had never been anything other than darkness, void and without form. At the end of John, the disciples go out fishing on the Sea of Tiberias. It is night. They have no luck. Their nets are empty. Then they spot somebody standing on the beach. At first they don’t see who it is in the darkness. It is Jesus.

The darkness of Genesis is broken by God in great majesty speaking the word of creation. ‘Let there be light!’ That’s all it took.

The darkness of John is broken by the flicker of a charcoal fire on the sand. Jesus has made it. He cooks some fish on it for his old friends’ breakfast. On the horizon there are the first pale traces of the sun getting ready to rise.

All the genius and glory of God are somehow represented by these two scenes, not to mention what Saint Paul calls God’s foolishness.

The original creation of light itself is almost too extraordinary to take in. The little cookout on the beach is almost too ordinary to take seriously. Yet if Scripture is to be believed, enormous stakes were involved in them both, and still are. Only a saint or a visionary can begin to understand God setting the very sun on fire in the heavens, and therefore God takes another tack. By sheltering a spark with a pair of cupped hands and blowing on it, the Light of the World gets enough of a fire going to make breakfast. It’s not apt to be your interest in cosmology or even in theology that draws you to it so much as it’s the empty feeling in your stomach. You don’t have to understand anything very complicated. All you’re asked is to take a step or two forward through the darkness and start digging in” (Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark).

Two Words

“Blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there’s pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name” (Matt Redman)

Two words: give thanks.

Give thanks even when you don’t feel like it. Give thanks as a defiant cry against desperate circumstances, in spite of the odds and the naysayers and the dark clouds on your horizon.

Give thanks like empty-handed Job, who in the face of his own wife telling him to curse God and die, with painful boils all over his body, made the declaration: The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord.

Give thanks when the checks bounce, when the bills are past due, when the rent money is AWOL, when it would be so much easier to throw in the proverbial towel and just give up.

Give thanks when there are no job prospects in sight and when you feel defeated and your life seems to have hit a dead-end. Give thanks even when your dreams and hopes are on life-support.

Give thanks if for no other reason that God is worthy of it. Period. Even if those fig trees are barren and the grapevines have no grapes and the olive trees yield no olives. Give thanks because God is always good and you are always loved.

Just give thanks.

Peace and Courage and All That Other Stuff

“I have told you all this so that in me you may find peace. In this world you will have trouble. But courage! The victory is mine; I have conquered the world” (Jesus, John 16:33).

Some days it’s easier to believe these words than others. Some days it’s easier to feel that peace of Christ surrounding you and holding you together.

Some days fear wins. Some days you feel overwhelmed and stressed and defeated. You wonder where the peace has gone or if it will ever come back.

The peace never leaves. You may not always tangibly feel it all the time, but it’s there. How do I know that? Because Jesus promised that His peace would remain.

That’s what I’m holding on to these days.  That peace of Christ that passes all understanding, that passes what I can comprehend of my present situation, that stands when I can’t.

It’s like in Voyage of the Dawn Treader when Aslan whispers. “Courage, dear heart,” to Lucy. It says afterwards that she felt a very little bit better. Not a lot. She and the ship weren’t immediately delivered from the darkness, but they began to see a way out on the horizon.

Maybe that’s what it is. Peace is the ultimate knowledge that no matter how bad things are now, God will work all these things out for the best possible outcome. Everything will be fine in the end, as the movie quote goes, and if it’s not fine, it’s not the end.

I don’t necessarily think that peace always comes with a calmness. Sometimes, you can have those butterflies in your stomach, that gnawing in your belly, and still have peace. In the same way, just because you don’t feel the nearness of Jesus doesn’t mean He’s not there.

So that’s where I am, craving that peace and finding it in the unlikeliest of times and places. God is good like that.