Nate’s Thoughts

Sometimes
It takes
The elimination
Of all ambient light
Of all manufactured illumination
The total dissolution of conditional hope
To expose the one candle in the room
That can never be extinguished.

I am writing this at 11pm in Santa Barbara, listening to a Swedish band on my iPod whose language I cannot understand for the life of me, and feeling totally relaxed and at home.

It has been a week of living hell for me and my family. Actually, what seems like two and a half years of an in-limbo state for us, with periods of intense warfare, intense opposition, and other periods of quietude, of relative silence.

But all the while, in limbo. In a transitional state where we know where we are going, we just don’t know when or how we will get there.

And the result is this intense build-up of quiet frustration—you know, the kind that is only exposed by some strange and unrelated spark that usually ends up with me acting out of unexpected rage…

This season has had plenty of those moments, especially lately. The “spark” can sometimes be as innocuous as my son hanging on my leg wanting me to carry him, when all I really want is to get to the kitchen and pour myself another cup of coffee. It can be a little more intense when a traffic jam halts my commute; in either case, the common thread of impeded progress is at play.

And that is what my life’s theme has been over these past two and a half years: impeded progress.

I know, I’m supposed to just wait on the Lord, right?

Go ahead—you try it and tell me how that feels.

Go ahead and let God show you where He is going to place you and what He is going to have you doing, and then just sit and wait for a few years, tasting the possibilities of doing those things, but never getting a full mouthful, and then tell me that a traffic jam won’t set you off, too.

Seriously, I don’t mean to be harsh here, but has this ever happened to you?

The really frustrating part is, it has probably happened to more of us than any of us knows.

And I wonder, how many of us have lost heart while in the transition? How many of us have allowed the utter feeling of hopelessness to gain more and more control with each passing moment?

I know David had to go through much more than this, but wasn’t he some “super-Christian” who had it all figured out? Wasn’t he some spiritual giant who didn’t mind running from town to town hiding from his oppressive adversary? He must have just viewed all of that time as “refining”, as galvanizing his faith, as allowing him quality time with God in the wilderness, right?

Sure—that was David’s deal. Because he was a super-Christian. I mean, God did call him a man after his own heart, right?

Right.

This theory holds true as long we ignore the Psalms completely and cover them up with religiosity, sweeping them under the rug of ignorance…

I have been singing Psalm 40 to myself a lot lately. (Well, U2’s abridged version at least!) The refrain that keeps finding itself in my mind is the phrase How Long? How long to sing this song?

Whether you read the Psalm or sing it, contained within is this constant dialogue between the “How Long?” and the promise that “I will sing a new song”.

I both love it and hate it.

I love it, because it’s honest, it’s true, and it holds to a promise of a better day, of a new song to be sung on our hearts, a song of praise and rejoicing as opposed to one of despair.

But I hate it because it’s honest, it’s true, and it doesn’t say when that better day will be coming, and how long we have to sing our current song before the “new” one is on our lips.

It is this tension that was not in the “membership packet” at my church.

It is this constant tension that was not told to me in Christianity’s sales pitch, or written about in any tract.

But it is reality. For every single one of us who is genuinely seeking God.

And I honestly hate that reality.

Because, deep inside, I know that times like this season us (if we allow them) to handle the assignments down the road. David would not have had battle-tested “mighty men” if he had gone straight from shepherd boy to king overnight.

I intellectually acknowledge that David learned invaluable lessons during his many lengthy seasons preceding his kingship, but there is some arrogant part inside of me that thinks I’m above learning lessons the way humans have had to learn them from the beginning of time. There is something inside of me that believes I am above hardship, that convinces me that battle isn’t necessary, that persistence isn’t for everyone, that certain privileges are handed down to those who “do things right”, that prosperity follows those who follow God with all of their heart, mind, soul, and strength.

There is something inside of me that refuses to acknowledge the truth that there are parts of me, and always will be parts of me, that God will be working on, and that God’s “working on” is rarely comfortable.

There is something inside of me that still wants to believe that we can really learn lessons independent of adversity.

There is something in me that loves to think of his faith being galvanized, without admitting that the process of galvanization literally means to pass through fire, rearranging the molecular structure of a metal, and thus forcing all of the weak spots out.

I want my faith to be galvanized, but without the heat.

I want to learn the lessons of life, but without experiencing them.

I admit that, even though I scoff at the “Prosperity Gospel” preachers, somewhere deep inside, I really want to believe them.

But the Psalm asks the honest question: How Long?

From my experience, I ask that question casually after the first week of a trial, then a bit more seriously after the first few weeks, and progressing in to a more and more intensified plea as the weeks bleed into months: How Long?

As the months become years, the question becomes serious enough to even write about it!
How Long, O Lord?

How long will I have to wait until You come through for me? Until your promise for me is fulfilled?

How long will I be stuck in the mire of my current situation—when will you lift me out so I can really praise you?

And I think that, right there, is the point.

God doesn’t want our conditional love.

He wants us.

He wants all of our hearts.

Not just the part that loves Him when He’s giving gifts, but that one that trusts that He is a Father to us even during the tough times.

I believe He wants our true devotion, all of our hearts’ praise, even when it seems impossible to do so.

O that I would arrive at that place in my heart. Would that I could be able to praise God through the rain, through the storms of life.

I desperately wish to be rid of my skepticism of the Father’s hear t for me. For I know He is good, I know that He loves me, but I sometimes don’t believe that He cherishes me. That He finds me valuable and that He is proud of me.

And I can’t explain how, or why, but somewhere in the middle of this time of trial in my life, I hear the whisper of God, I hear His reassuring words.

It is faint (really faint at times), but it is there—this flicker of light amidst the darkness. This whisper of hope, this reminder of His promises.

The gentleness of God allows me to ask, as many times as I need to, How Long? while patiently waiting for me to hear that there will be a new song to sing, that God is faithful, and that He is good.

Maybe it’s the Swedish music, maybe it’s the cool of the night air, maybe it’s that I’m away from home, but somewhere, if even for this brief moment, I feel like I can hear God’s assurances. They may feel far away in the morning, they may disappear at any moment, but, as every symphony’s dark points accentuate its lighter ones, I feel that at least right now, in the midst of this utter darkness I can see Hope’s flicker in the distance, however faint.

And that flicker assures me that, someday, I will be flooded with a light so intense, so all-encompassing, so magnificent, that darkness will no longer have the courage to linger—that it will flee from the scene in righteous terror, its remnant and influence no longer binding.

And then, at that divine moment, will I belt from the deepest recesses of my heart, the New Song that is crying out to be released, that is being composed even now, and will be sung in perfect harmony with all of the saints who have gone before me, and joined in by King David himself…