Autumn arrives like an old friend, Unpacks his bags: gifts of color, cool weather, Tastes and smells welcome and Unmistakable. He takes much but gives More, whispering through death of Newness of life.
When my thoughts were all gum on my shoe-bottoms, tripwires, and straitjackets, my decisions were all running away, confused striving, and well-intended wounds.
Too few of my steps were right, and I was left at a loss for direction.
But every misguided misstep, every freezing fear, and every burned bridge became a step toward truth, life, and love, and I see now you are sovereign over time even when I can’t tell it.
Another quiet Sunday afternoon. Still filled with fears and questions, but I know Your stories take their time, so maybe soon The way will be revealed, and I will go. Till then, I wait and think about that morn That guaranteed our hope, the end of night At his rekindled light, when all the scorn Seemed scant as those two Marys caught the sight Of resurrection, life born out of death. Their hope and joy once buried was renewed. Their Jesus breathed with deep undying breath. Forevermore, the darkness is subdued. At last, the weight of ages finds release. After the darkest day, unending peace.
When you grow anxious at the sense of haste Accomp’nying the work that you must do And worry all your work will be a waste, You overlook some truths that still hold true. Your urgent need in urgency is peace Found not in ragged running but in rest. Responsibility includes release Of self and circumstances. God knows best. And so you must walk slowly, taking time As if it is a gift and not a curse, And find your joy within the steady climb, Steadfast should things grow better or grow worse. The times you feel most restless, then be still, Held by the God who rests and his good will.
I thought I knew you well. Was I mistaken? I wonder now if I could ever see, For ev’rything I thought I knew was shaken. Perhaps the one I did not know was me.
I recently read C. S. Lewis’s sermon “A Slip of the Tongue.” There, Lewis considers the human tendency to be wary of close proximity with God. While we may desire to know the Lord and to serve him well, we nonetheless approach him with caution, fearful of what he may require of us if we get too close. Lewis recognizes that we would much rather play at religion than embrace it fully, for we know that true religion, while being our only way to know true life, is costly.
I’ve been reading through Job lately, and I think a similar theme is at play in that story. There, Job expresses confusion at his circumstances, and he desires an audience with the Almighty. “Oh, that I knew where I might find him,” Job says, “that I might come even to his seat! I would lay my case before him and fill my mouth with arguments. I would know what he would answer me and understand what he would say to me” (Job 23:3-5). And despite the mistaken diagnoses of Job’s friends, Job maintains his cause. He wants to lay his case before God and receive answers.
Then God answers. The Lord speaks out of a whirlwind not with answers to Job’s concerns but with a series of questions about the details of creation (Job 38:1 and following). After chapters filled with speeches and arguments from Job and his friends, speeches presuming to speak of God’s character and ways in the world, God himself speaks, and all fall silent before him. The men understood their place when God answered.
Do we want God to answer us when we cry to him? Do we want to hear him speak? Do we want to enter his presence? In one sense, I’m not so sure we do. When God speaks, our misconceptions and misunderstandings about him and his ways tend to crumble. And while this is a good thing, it’s uncomfortable. The voice of God humbles and corrects us, revealing our arrogance and error and presumptions. We cannot remain as we are when the Lord speaks. We dare not.
But in another sense, we do want God to speak. Misconceptions and misunderstandings tend to be comfortable, but they’re also unhealthy. They reflect hearts and minds that aren’t as surrendered to the Lord or as conformed to the image of Christ as we might assume. If life and salvation are found in God alone, then we must recognize, as Lewis recognized, that to avoid surrender is to shrink back from life itself. If we would live, we must live on the Lord’s terms and not our own. Therefore, we must learn to know him and love him as he is and not as we wish him to be. He requires our all, and we do well to let him have it.
Lewis highlighted a common hesitancy, and his point is confirmed by the story of Job. Close encounters with the Lord change us in deep and profound ways, and those ways are not necessarily comfortable. But as Peter so insightfully said all those years ago when Jesus asked the disciples if they wanted to leave him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God” (John 6:68-69). There is no other Savior, no other King, no other God than the LORD. There is no other life or love or happiness than what he offers. So we seek him while he may be found, knowing that we will tremble and be changed when we find him. But we seek him anyway, for he is worth the effects of the finding.
Disorder is the common theme today, But only when you see the surface view. The Holy One is still upon the throne, And he has promised to make all things new.
So neither fear the rabble nor the rot. They will not last forever but will fade Before the sun of judgment while God’s own Find rest forever in the cross’s shade.
Hindsight may well make small what now looms large. Perspective minimizes life, Fits disparate chapters into stories, Draws from our griefs new glories. So do not lose heart in sadder stories. These too contribute to true life. By grace, such tests make little faith grow large.
On Sunday, my friend encouraged me to rest in Christ. He pointed out that I’ve been wearing myself down trying to determine the right thing to do, striving to make sure my actions fall in line with the Lord’s directions for my life. And while actions aren’t bad, he reminded me that I can quickly lose sight of the truth that Christ’s hold on me matters far more than my hold on Christ. To say it differently, the security of my faith rests on Christ’s finished work, not the pending completion of my unfinished tasks.
I don’t do well with this truth, though. I feel like I need to always be moving, always be working, always be pursuing some objective. Even when I rest, I wonder if I’m doing it right, if I’m resting the correct way. I’ve looked for ways to evaluate my ability to be passive, making even times of rest somewhat exhausting.
I’ll confess that this is a difficult problem to fix. The moment I recognize I’m off somewhere, I almost immediately try to discern what I need to do to fix it. But how do you fix the problem of always trying to fix the problem?
I’m not sure I have a good answer to that question. I tend to second-guess myself constantly, drowning in the what ifs and the maybes, making this situation somewhat tricky. But I think Psalm 23 may provide a way forward.
Some friends and I just began a study of Psalm 23. No matter how much time I spend in that chapter, I’m continually struck by the profound simplicity of the words. “The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want” (Psalm 23:1). Throughout the Psalm, David expresses faith in the sufficiency of the Lord, recognizing all the ways that God cares for him. As we discussed the first verse the other night, we noted our great need and admitted the ways we fail to provide for ourselves. Apart from a shepherd, we would all be lost. But with a good shepherd, we have all we need. We rely on the Lord for provision, protection, and purpose, and he gives these lovingly.
I’m not good at resting in the Lord, but I serve a God who loves me and cares for me even when I struggle to trust him. So I pray for grace and mercy, I confess my weakness, and I look to Christ and his strength. And I hope in him, knowing that he will sustain me.
as i learn to walk 