Josh Garrels - His Wings

Pieces

"Everything is meaningless."  I'll warn you before you begin to read; this is not going to be a literary masterpiece.  If you usually enjoy my blogs, you probably won't enjoy this one.  It might be a little scattered.  It might be a little aimless.  You might feel like there is no point or purpose.  But, sometimes emotions are difficult to translate into words.  I'm experiencing this as I write this blog.  I've noticed this before, but this is the first time I decided to meditate on it.  I can feel intense emotions and feel as if the words should spill out onto the keys of my laptop, but there seems to be a barrier that I can't quite put my finger on.

I woke up to a morning that was unusually dark, cold and breezy for this time of year.  Spring had already begun to make itself known over the last couple of weeks, the groundhog didn't see it's shadow, so I had assumed winter had packed it's bags, said it's goodbyes and bid us farewell.  Don't get me wrong, I actually like winter, and the unexpected cold snap is somewhat welcome.  But as usual, a drastic change in the weather means a drastic change in my overall mood.  Melancholy, meditative and a bit reflective is how I would classify my disposition as of late.  I feel in no ways apathetic or unmotivated.  There seems to be a lot going on upstairs, but the door's locked for right now.  I've carried this mood with me throughout this week.  "For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven." 

You might say that this blog is meaningless, and you might be right.  I'm wondering that myself right now.  But life is like that sometime, isn't it?  One moment our life purpose seems clear and distinct, and the next we might question for what purpose we even exist.  It reminds me of the apparent dichotomy between the Old Testament books of Proverbs and Ecclesiastes.  Most of Proverbs and all of Ecclesiastes were written by Solomon, and could be considered some of the deepest literature ever written.  Proverbs begins and ends with structured wisdom and the sage advice of someone who seems to have a firm grasp on the meaning of existence.  Both books are attributed to the Biblical genre of "wisdom" literature, but it's literally almost as if the author finishes Proverbs and then mockingly screams out to you, "Just kidding!" as Ecclesiastes begins.  "Meaningless!  Meaningless!" says the teacher, "Utterly meaningless!  Everything is meaningless." (Ecc. 1:2)  OK, but what was that whole book of Proverbs about then?

The book goes on to emphasize the injustices of life and the seemingly constant battle with pain and suffering.  In a very candid method, Solomon reveals his deep conviction that the exhaustive pursuits of life are without reason and inevitably amount to nothing.  Overall, you get the impression that he sees only complete meaningless of life and the impossibility of understanding the nature of our existence.  Ultimately, one is left with an apparent duality of emotions when compared with the book of Proverbs.  "Lean not on your own uderstanding."

But is there really a tension between these two books, philosophy and theology?  I don't think so.  What I think Solomon reveals to us in these two amazing pieces of literature is a tension that exists in most of our lives.  We often settle into a rhythm of life, in which we think we have all the pieces to the puzzle.  We begin linking piece after piece, all the while believing that the picture is being revealed.  Our pace increases as the number of puzzle pieces decreases, and we feel the confidence of eventually accomplishing our goal.  But what happens if we get to a point of realizing that several puzzle pieces are missing?  What happens when we realize that the image revealed is not what we thought it was going to be?  And what happens if someone trashes our puzzle?  "Meaningless.", but "Does not wisdom call out?  Does not understanding raise her voice?"     

"All share a common destiny."  I'm beginning to realize that life can be like this for some of us.  We chose certain paths in life, made turns that seemed right at the time, and continue racing through life, anticipating that the goal will eventually be revealed to be what we've always anticipated.  We grow and we learn.  We build, we develop and we acquire.  We fill our minds with endless knowledge, all the while thinking that the more knowledge we file away, the closer to the finish line we will eventually end up.  But does more knowledge always equal more understanding?  Do more pieces always complete the puzzle?    

"Give me neither poverty nor riches"  When you think about, there is really not a huge difference between the acquisition of knowledge and the seemingly meaninglessness of life.  In fact, each one could easily exist in complete independence of one another.  We fill our minds with more and more wisdom, but without a clear grasp of the mundane realities of life, our endless pursuits will only equate to frustration and a lack of fulfillment.  More wisdom does not always equal a clearer understanding of life, and our grasping of this truth is very critical to our understanding of ourselves and the mysteries of God.  But isn't that what faith is all about?  An incomplete puzzle, with missing pieces?  An image that we cannot fully make out, but nonetheless are aware of its clarity and reality?      

Reality is that there are times when all the puzzle pieces are just not there.  No one stole them.  They weren't misplaced.  You weren't ripped off.  in fact, there's a good chance that the pieces never existed in the first place.  And yes, the puzzle will remain incomplete, the image will not be realized and we might just have to start a new puzzle.  But one thing I've learned over the years, is that the early stages of putting together a puzzle are the most enjoyable.  As you get close to completion, it becomes less of a challenge and you begin to see what the picture is going to be already.  Sure, you get the satisfaction of finishing, but the challenge and pursuit begin to fade as reality begins to set in.  You acquired a lot of pieces, and they fit together perfectly, but what you are left with is just a picture that was separated into hundreds of parts for no apparent reason, other than putting them back together again.  "So I commend the enjoyment of life, because there is nothing better for a person under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad. Then joy will accompany them in their toil all the days of the life God has given them under the sun."    

Home

As I write this, I'm sitting in my favorite coffee shop, staring out of the window on to the main thoroughfare that runs just across the parking lot.  Cars race by in the evening light, as people make there way home on a quiet late winter Friday.  The sky blends from blue to orange, as I catch a small glimpse of the horizon just behind the Mediterranean Cafe and High Times Smoke Shop.  There seems to be a twinge of Spring in the air, which coincides with the groundhog's recent revelation of winter coming to a close.  I feel a sense of nostalgia and find that my mind is racing about with various thoughts.  Why has winter slipped away so quickly?  Why are the holidays only but a blur in my memory?  Should I be out on a date with my wife, rather than sitting here by myself?

The sky is becoming purple now, and the street signs are becoming more bright and vivid.  The dim lights of the coffee shop are beginning to illuminate my small work space and the ambiance is transforming from late afternoon staleness to early evening vitality.  It's funny how drastic changes in the day cause our moods to follow along.  It's almost as if God purposely adjusts the lighting throughout our day.  He dims the light as the day fades to melancholy and adds one extra lamp when our souls need to be lifted.  The rhythms of our lives coincide with the preset pulse of the world.  It continues whether we like it or not.  No partiality to our preconceived schedules or order of the day. 

The sky is now dark, a thin layer of remaining sunset peaking just above the dimly lit strip center across the street.  Night has made itself known and the first few stars are making their first appearance of the evening.  Ella Fitzgerald is serenading me in that style that always makes me want to go out for a night on the town.  I wish that I owned a tux, and had a reason to wear it tonight.  My stomach is beginning to remind me to fill it and I feel an even more strong sense of peace as I begin to contemplate what this blog has to do with God, or theology in general.  Maybe it's more clear as the light fades.  Maybe it developed as I stumbled through this blog.   

But the holy aspects of this evening bear witness to why I am here in the first place.  As I recline in a comfortable chair, drinking Vietnamese coffee, enjoying good jazz music and being absorbed by the peace of this room, one thing remains clear to me: I'm a glad to be alive right now.  I'm glad that God created me exactly how I am, to walk through this world as somewhat of a confused wanderer.  I'm learning that the wilderness is not always a bad place to be.  Yes, it can be a barren wasteland of dry and empty spaces.  There are times when the wandering seems pointless and lacking in fulfillment.  It can be brutal and unforgiving as the sun beats down on our backs.  Storms pop up out of nowhere and cause us to seek shelter, wondering why we wandered off in the first place.

But the beauty of this evening would never have been made apparent to me had I not been somewhat of a wanderer in the wilderness.  Even the wilderness has an occasional oasis that we happen upon.  God sets the lighting for us in a manner that captures each and every nuance of the surroundings.  He bows the head of the day, allowing night to take center stage.  He winks at us from each star above and embraces us with the cool of twilight's breeze.  And at least for now, at this particular moment, He fills my spirit with the assuring conclusion to this blog, "I know the wilderness is hard.  I know things seem very uncertain.  I know that you long to return to the past, retreat to familiar comforts and rest your head against a nostalgic memory.  You're afraid, aren't you?  You want to go home.  It's OK.  I've got it for tonight.  Just rest and know that I'm here.  I'm real.  Just as tangible as the world around you, but just as mysterious as the day that's just faded.  It's me.  I'm home."                    

Flood

Do you have recurring dreams?  "Clean" recurring dreams?  Be careful now!  A common one for me are floods.  It’s almost a direct correlation to what’s going on in my life at the time of the dream.  Dream of floods = Overwhelmed with life.  The subconscious takes me to aquatic symbolism as I feel wave after wave crashing over my head.  The more I struggle, the deeper I seem to slip beneath the surface.  Without words, I can hear myself calling out to God, raising my arms upward in hopes that His grip will meet mine.  I taste the saltwater.  It burns my throat.  The smell of the ocean penetrates my nostrils and as I reach the point of submission, I suddenly wake up.  Not wanting to connect the dream to my reality, I get out of bed, go about my day and try to forget.  At least for the moment, my head is above water.

The floods of life come unexpectedly, don't they?  We never expect when the storm surge is going to hit.  One minute, we’re safely aboard the boat that is our normal life, navigating the waters, confident, commanding the vessel and comfortable with our destination.  And in what seems like an instant, we get knocked off the deck by a rogue wave that leaves us dazed, bewildered and sometimes unconscious.  The ocean takes us under and with every amount of strength we can muster, we fight to reach the surface once again.  Panic stricken, we helplessly grasp at the liquid that surrounds us, hoping to take hold of something that seems physical, normal, solid.  And when we realize that the fight is useless, we submit.  At least that’s what I do in the dream.  I never drown.  I never reach the shore.  And I never seem to get back on the boat.  But upon waking, I realize that the dream is over and the flood has ended.

I love the wording that Eugene Peterson uses for Psalm 18:16 in The Message. “But me he caught—reached all the way from sky to sea; he pulled me out of that ocean of hate, that enemy chaos, the void in which I was drowning.”  I guess there are times when we just walk around in a dream.  The flood rages around us and pulls us under.  We struggle.  We fight.  We breath in ocean.  We spiral in the undertow.  And then we submit.  We surrender to the flood.  And we wake.  But one thing I've learned from these dreams is that all of my struggles are pointless when you get right down to it.  No matter how hard I try to control the elements around me, I continue to sink.  I continue to be overwhelmed until all of my strength is gone and I give up.   

I'm learning that life can be chaotic, out of control and sometimes really sucks.  It's filled with disappointments, struggles, tragedies and Happy Meal Toys that serve no purpose what so ever.  Some things in life just cannot be defined with a perfect A + B formula, especially in faith.  And I'm learning that's OK.  When we stop trying to make sense of everything that won't fit into our perfect life "box", we begin to see God for who He really is: mysterious, uncontainable, a little chaotic and in many ways, undefinable.  But that's His problem, not ours.  He just wants us to be who we really are: little children; confused, frustrated, rambunctious and always filled with wonder and awe.  (See Matthew 18)  Children accept life as it comes to them and God as He is.  Sometimes it's not without a little rebellion, but when we quit fighting, quit struggling and finally just submit, that's when He shows us who He is.  The flood stops.  We're back on the boat.  And we're again confident and comfortable at the wheel.  But there's still that question of purposeless Happy Meal Toys.  

Bereft

Psalm 88 is the most dark and depressing of all the Psalms.  It's a suffering cry of a person that expects his future days on earth to be few.  Abandoned and isolated, the character calls out to the God of his salvation, with the expectation of hope that seems to never come.  Sounds like an average day?  

Psalm 88 is the only Psalm in the Old Testament that does not eventually end with the author's usual revelation of redemption, and the subtle shadow of joy and hope.  There is no climactic realization of God's goodness and provision that is the pattern of most Psalms.  There is no eventual release from pain.  There is no usual epiphany that God's reality overshadows the darkness in which he finds himself.  The Psalm is a progression of pain and suffering that does not rise and fall, but is a static lamenting plea of a mournful and despondent character.  This is a person in deep distress, abandon of friendship, love and, from his clouded perspective, abandon by God as well.  Ever felt that way? 

In reading this Psalm many times, I concluded that such misery, without apparent eventual relief, is not consistent with most Scripture.  The essence of the Bible is a string of redemptive love stories, causing us to believe that despite our circumstances, God's transcendent love will eventually overwhelm our pain as we allow His Spirit to propel us forward.  To me, the Bible is the ultimate love story of a God that calls out, romances, delights in and showers His children with the unconditional love we all long for deep within the recesses of our soul.  Surely, there must be some hidden redemptive truth lying somewhere just below the surface of the character's pain in Psalm 88.  And I think there is.

More than likely, Psalm 88 is a picture of a person who has possibly fallen to his lowest point of his life.  Whether it's bad decisions, consuming sin or emotional sickness that has overwhelmed him, he stands defeated, crushed beneath the weight of a darker side of life and racked with the grief of his life situation.  The spiral has pulled him down into the pits of suffering, and despite his attempts at clawing his way out, he only slides further beneath the surface.  Helpless, he cries out to God, as a child begging his father to take the pain away.

Why is there no climax of relief?  Why does God's light not shine though the darkness and alleviate the authors pain?  Why does he appear abandoned by God?  I think the answer lies in the word "appear".  As a father, there is nothing I would not do for my two boys.  If they feel pain, emotional or physical, I will do anything within my power to remove it from their lives.  But there is certain pain that comes from choices made and situations they stumble into, especially as they grow older.  My love and identity as dad never changes, but sometimes my ability to turn the "pain switch" off is limited.  To them, it may appear that I'm sadistically standing by as they hurt in their isolated dimension of suffering.  But in realty, I suffer with them, feeling pain that equals the love I have for them.  Dad never stops loving his boys, and never stops being dad. 

The overwhelming realization is that for the author of Psalm 88, God never stops being God.  He remains who he is throughout this dark scenario, and continues to be God when the Psalmist laments the fact that his friends have abandoned him.  In his isolation, the writer does not seem to lose sight of that basic fact, and perhaps this is the redemption that will eventually carry him through  to the obscure hope we fail to apparently see.  This forthcoming redemption is the missing hope that we see in most of the other Psalms.  The author, acknowledging his very real pain, also acknowledges God's power and attributes as they truly are.  The unchanging and consistent existence of God is the thread that brings forth the hope we might miss in Psalm 88, and the author may fail to see as well.  

God doesn't change; we change.  As we live our lives from day to day, we sometimes get sucked into the darker corners of existence.  Places that we don't want to remain.  Places from which we long to escape.  Sometimes we change.  Sometimes to don't.  The point is, even if we decide to remain isolated, unmoved and indulging in our self made darkness, God remains just as He was before we decided to allow the spiral to plunge us below.  Psalm 88 is the quintessential image of a person that suffers, like many of us do from time to time.  And regardless of the duration of the author's suffering, the light of hope still shines through.  I wonder if he knew it at the time?