Withdraw Your Hand (Part 2)

“Thou art the God of the early mornings, the God of the late at nights, the God of the mountain peaks, and the God of the seas; my God, my soul has further horizons than the early mornings, deeper darkness than the nights of the earth, higher peaks than any mountain peaks, greater depths than any sea in nature – Thou who art the God of all these, be my God. I cannot reach the heights or the depths; there are motives I cannot trace, dreams I cannot get at – my God, search me out.” ~ Chambers rendition of Psalms 139

Last week was an academic rarity….no papers, no tests. As the fallout of my spare time and Urim and Thummim ponderings, I figured it might be helpful to physically label some my abstractions. A trip to a creek and a bath tube lined with dirty rocks later, I have a fuller vision of what I have been gripping so tightly.

Each rock now bears a name, word, or phrase; and each morning I get to decide whether to carry the concern or withdraw my hand and offer it to the Creator of all things. I must say, I’m feeling a lot lighter these days. :)

Withdraw Your Hand

I woke this morning with a line of one of my favorite poems running through my head.

“I'm needing a 'yes,' a go-ahead sign.
or even a 'no,' to which I'll resign."

I chuckled to myself, “Boy, what I wouldn’t give for a set of rocks right now."

During some of the earliest turning points in Israel’s history, the High Priest used gemstones called Urim and Thummim to determine God’s will in “yes” or “no” situations. While the nature and exact usage of these stones aren’t altogether clear… and at first sight the practice appears to be nothing more than hocus-pocus, I really fancy the whole notion.

The rendition of this “system” in 1 Samuel 14:19 is priceless. As the commotion began to rise around them, Saul requested for the priest to “withdraw his hand.” In essence they were taking the decision out of their own grasp and turning it over to God.

Physically letting go of something concrete seems a lot easier then emotionally letting go of an abstraction. The surrender process is different. In case one, I can recognize when I am picking the “thing” back up. In case two, the boundaries are not as clear. But maybe it is in this not knowing that faith rises.

The poem I mentioned earlier concludes this way:

“He seemed then to kneel and His eyes met with mine
and He tenderly said "I could give you a sign.
I could shake the heavens and darken the sun.
I could raise the dead and cause mountains to run.

I could give all you seek and pleased you would be.
You'd have what you want, but you wouldn't know Me.
You'd not know the depth of My love for each saint.
You'd not know the power that I give to the faint.

You'd not learn to see through the clouds of despair;
You'd not learn to trust just by knowing I'm there.
You'd not know the joy of resting in Me
when darkness and silence are all that you can see.

You'd never experience the fullness of love
when the peace of My Spirit descends like a dove.
You would know that I give and I save for a start
but you'd not know the depth of the beat of My heart.

The glow of My comfort late into the night,
the faith that I give when you walk without sight.
The depth that's beyond getting just what you ask
form and infinite God who makes what you have last.

You'd never know should your pain quickly flees,
what it means that My grace is sufficient for thee.
Yes, your dearest dreams overnight would come true,
but, oh, the loss, if you missed what I'm doing in you.

So, be silent, my child and in time you will see
that the greatest of gifts is to truly know me.
And though oft My answer seem terribly late,
My most precious answer of all is still wait.”

Purposeful Stillness

Following the opening hymn during Tuesday’s chapel, Dr. Kalas remarked on a unique attribute of our Asbury organist. While this man loves to play, at some point during the song he chooses not to. His generation of silence allows for the “sounds of the people” to be heard. The weight of this organic observation caused me to miss Kalas’ actual sermon (which is regretful to some degree because the number of times I get to sit under this giant are limited). But I began to wonder how often we liken nonmoving with inactivity? Our senses frequently cheat the beauty of what is happening when it appears that nothing is going on. This is unfortunate, as I believe that things grow in these quiet spaces long before they are ever seen.

I must admit that I am often negligent in this process of purposeful stillness. For all of us who struggle with being excessively time-conscious, quietness isn’t easily crossed off a “to do” list. It doesn’t always feel like important work. But may I suggest adding, “hearing Him breath” to our lists tomorrow? Curl up inside of Him and rest knowing that more is being accomplished then countless hours of movement.

Promise

Over the course of my life, I have seen the Disney version of Cinderella upwards of 20 times. Despite my knowledge of how the story ends, I still get a pit in my stomach in the closing act when the mice start their assent up the long staircase. (If you’ve never seen the movie, the goal of the climb was to hand off a key to Cinderella…a key that would open the door to the cell that was keeping her from her prince.) Their task was bigger them and the probability that they will arrive in time is slim.

I respond to the turning of seasons the same way. This past Saturday ice covered central KY again; cold to my core, my heart ached at the thought that spring would never come. In the logical realm this makes about as much sense as fearing the mice won’t make it to the top of the stairs before the shoe-fitter guy disappears. After some pondering, I realize that my problem is not a head issue. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Cinderella will end up in the arms of her prince and that a flood of warmth will return to this town. Often my doubts are deeper then repeated experiences can explain away. And I wonder how often I do this in the spiritual realm. My trust simply doesn’t extend far enough. At least yet.

I do however get a sense of peace knowing that even when my perspectives fails, Gods promises don’t. Here’s to a day of fulfilled hope.

A Name

Naming this blog was almost the demise of it. Four days and thirty-one alternatives later, “Echoing Eden” now has an official .com. Recently, I have been captivated by God’s untamed creativity, His boundless mysteries and the passionate yearnings He’s planted deep in the soul of every human being. Even when life looks like a dark streak of suffering, goodness still stems for Eden. My hope is to use this space as a treasure log of light.

The following is a Celtic prayer that resonates these sentiments.

“In the morning light, O God,
may I glimpse again Your image deep within me
the threads of eternal glory
woven into the fabric of every man and woman.
Again may I catch sight of the mystery of the human soul
fashioned in Your likeness
deeper then knowing
more enduring than time.
And in glimpsing these threads of light
amidst the weakness and distortions of my life
let me be recalled
to the strength and beauty deep in my soul.
Let me be recalled
to the strength and beauty of your image in every living soul.”