Rembrandt's Christ in the Storm...
I have just spent one of those long nights wrestling with the human soul. Martin Lloyd-Jones speaks of voices talking to us, e.g. thoughts, whispers from the enemy, past regrets, guilt, a sense of purposelessness. And on last night’s New Year’s, they seem to come in droves. Adding to that has been a subsequent dry spell of not being in the Word and a potent mixture of Dante, Bronte, ESPN, Internet, and lethargy over a 16-day vacation period.
What are we to do with such thoughts? Martin Lloyd-Jones say we ought not to listen to them. Easier said than done but not if we understand the powerful Welsh preacher’s instructions for the prescription (he started off one of England’s most promising doctors). We will certainly hear the thoughts, e.g. “You took the wrong direction in life…”, “Wouldn’t life be nice if only…”, “How can you go to Heaven? If people really knew who you were, the secret sins and thoughts, the game would be up.” “What’s the point of reading the Word if you’re not going to go whole-hog and really be consistent about it?” Etc. Etc. Etc! But Lloyd-Jones says essentially that we must talk back to these thoughts and stop being such good listeners. Instead, we must start becoming great debaters and arguers using our one offensive weapon–the Word of God.
Here’s how Jones sees the Psalmist doing so, “Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why are you so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God (42:5a). Most of us never even ask the question of why we’re downcast. We cede the argument. I don’t know where the voice or thought originates–regret, the Enemy, a commercial–it doesn’t matter. We take the “you should have done this or that” and breathe a bit more heavily, and like Don Quixote imagining windmills to be giants, we fantasize something that’s not, seeing absolutely no downside to the supposed bad decision God let us make. To the suggestion that everything would have been better, we nod assent and pine for the sweet fantasy dream of “what might have been” and taste the bitter reality of only what is. Lloyd-Jones says we ought to use common sense (crying over spilled milk really never did clean it up), logic (fantasizing a perfect perfection of the road not taken doesn’t help my situation now), and over and above all–Scripture.
And so last night it was the most effective argument of, “Do you know who you are?” And the floodgates of past sins came to mind, e.g. “If people really knew…” Mostly, I cry “uncle” before the match has even begun, hand the medal to the opponent, and walk off the mat. It’s not much of a fight. Last night, by God’s grace only, I opened to Zephaniah, closed it, and opened to Hebrews where I read in 2:14:
Inasmuch then as the children have partaken of flesh and blood, He himself likewises shared in the same, through death He might destroy him who had the power of death, that is, the devil, and release those who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage.
I boiled down all of my reading of Hebrews 1-4 to commands to trust, rejoice, and believe and whispered through haunting thoughts, “Rejoice. Relax. Rest. I’m commanding you, seriously. Will you do that? I’m a wonderful God who wants to release you from fear and bondage by what I accomplish. Therefore, take some joy in that. Believing me will help you relax. Did you read about who I am, and what I did? Trusting me will be evidenced by your rest.” And by God’s grace, I did. I woke up full of hope so much so that last night seems almost a distant memory.
Do you want to know the thoughts that have just come in? They’re whispering, “What about tomorrow? How long can this last?” And here is my answer to the whisper: “The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is thy faithfulness” (Lam 3:23).
One last thought. Last night, I sensed God powerfully. There is a security in the most dangerous of times. I’m absolutely serious about saying that I’ve never felt more safe than in the times of my life when I found myself in great storms, both literally and figuratively. In Sioux City seven years ago, there was a terrible downburst that rent through huge oaks, sending one crashing onto our garage, and I thought the walls might come down from the howling 100 mph winds. My sister screamed and we ran toward each other on the second floor praying frantically as we realized both that my dad had been out on his motorcycle as we saw the walls tremble. Being thrust entirely on God, I felt a peace in the helplessness.
And so Psalm 107:27-30 shows the reaction of sailors to physical storms. Consider what a loving and sovereign God, who has control over your soul as much as every wave, can do if we take him seriously and speak these kinds of words to the sea storms of the human heart:
Those who go down to the sea in ships, who do business on great waters, they see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep for He commands and raises the stormy wind, which lifts up the waves of the sea. They mount up to the heavens, they go down again to the depths; Their soul melts because of trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunk man, and are at their wits’ end. Then they cry out to the LORD in their trouble, and He brings them out of their distresses. He calms the storm, so that its waves are still. Then they are glad because they are quiet; So he guides them to their desired haven.
The Psalmist then can do nothing other than what is perfectly appropriate–praise such a God. And so I thank you, Lord.
A beautiful post!!
What a good word. I’m sorry to read of your 2nd place finish, but thrilled to find you blogging again.