Exceptions which prove the rule - pt. 2

A SACRED SORROW, by Michael Card

Card, like Richard Foster, is still alive and kicking, still ministering in a variety of ways. Music is his primary medium, but he has also handled some tough subjects from scripture in some vibrant and very unique ways. One subject which (apparently) few authors or theologians believe worthy of our sustained attention is what we call lament. This word is unfashionable; it reminds us that sometimes we don't feel like More Than Conquerors. Sometimes we find ourselves in the rubble of a life which has crumbled.

Awhile ago I had a conversation with a gal during which I made a passing reference to feelings of inadequacy and coldness towards God. I was talking about my own experiences; admitting that there are times (I assumed in the life of every believer) when reading God's word is difficult, when praying feels useless, when obedience comes hard - or not at all - and we are limping along. Her response to me was "We used to call that 'Backsliding.'"

Not to question her choice of words, her attitude nonetheless caused me some genuine concern. After all, if there is a time in my life when I need support and encouragement to meet the minimum standards of discipline and love, and if I turn to another believer for help, will I be told that I am merely backsliding?

Fortunately that mindset is not always pervasive among Christians. I know many believers (some of them are pastors) whose welcoming acceptance makes confession and transparency possible. This openness is a reflection of the biblical habit of taking fears and doubts, hatred and panic, confusion and longing and bitterness to God and expressing them all without having to be terrified of some divine backlash. God was consistently patient and kind with those who were at the mercy of their own emotions.

The point of Card's book is not just that such moments exist, but that in such cases lamenting... the act of wringing our souls out like a dishrag... is actually a necessity. These poems of grief and betrayal (even sometimes directed at God) can be, Michael says, a bridge across our suffering to the wholeness beyond.

I am concerned that too often our goal is to convince ourselves that the suffering does not really exist, or that it doesn't matter, or that it shouldn't affect us, or that it won't last so we should just concentrate on the future. It is an unavoidable fact of our existence that there will be days when the sufferings of this present time will be so loud, so brash, so painfully there, that we will be unable to see the future glory. That consolation is real, but it doesn't help if we can't move to a place where we can see and lay hold of our great hope.

In this regard our music sometimes helps us more than our theologians. Christian songs often speak frankly and un-selfconsciously about the agony which we encounter in life and the difficulty of walking with God. Perhaps it is simply unavoidable that the arts are going to express these truths more comprehensively and more tangibly than doctrine will. Maybe that's why these realities are expressed in the Bible, not as epistles of faith, but as poems and music. But the amazing thing is that they are expressed at all. God is not afraid of the sensation of abandonment or the appearance of defeat; if he were, we would not have the cross.