Preface--I am studying Epistemology, How to Read the Bible for All It's Worth, the Canon of Scripture, and had just started on "A Grief Observed" less than a week ago. It was read in a day.
I wandered off alone today, during my study time. I do this too few. I sat, or more literally fell onto this bench...and cried. I hesitate sharing because It was such an intimate moment with God that I don't want to molest it of it's value.
I share though, because, mainly, its on my mind.
It's hard or difficult to prelude this event without sharing my entire journal or recording every monologue I address to God. It was one of those times that my agitation against Him was able to be voiced, without fearing that I am "asking the wrong questions."
I was really angry today, feebly wishing to compound the distance that I felt my anger was creating.
How can I begin to explain without your presence in both my mind and body for the past two weeks? I've been studying, reading, listening, and writing. In fact, my entire journal is full and it's been a simple month...no more. There have been books read alongside my study including fiction of J.D. Salinger, Dave Eggers, Vonnegut, and more. I can't even begin to discourse on the different discussions that have occurred during formal lunches. A few dealt with include: "What is truth and how can we know? What is the role of the church and the Christian in response to social justices? What does it mean to enter into the sufferings of Jesus or to take up your cross? How is language limited in our understanding of God? What is the purpose of obedience?
Some of you may believe that these are simple questions, healed by a simple verse in Acts, Romans, or Ephesians. Discussion has become a vital part of my learning experience.
Anyways, today with God-I realized that I "know" a lot more than I believe. What I actually believe about the character of God has been discouraging in responding with obedience. In fact, I would go so far as to say that, in some cases, I have become defiant.
I think book study can really aid in "bible study." I used to hate that or say that, but now, I am coming to believe it.
I started reading "A Grief Observed" by C.S. Lewis. It's almost as though you walk through the pain that C.S. Lewis dealt with, without offering room for rebuttal of emotion. He walks/writes through a period of "selfishness", anger, depression, bitterness, and onto an honest discovery of his faith--one, he says, not made of cards like his old cardhouse. I want to quote so many parts of it, but I would rather just recommend.
"If these profound tortures of my life are indeed unnecessary, then there is either no God-or just a bad one."
C.S. Lewis very literally writes out, sequentially, the lot of my own thoughts. So, when reading and then approaching some of his conclusions beyond the point I am currently at--I wept. He didn't give me the answer I could spout off right away. Instead, he walked through with me my angry thoughts, not neglecting to hear those in spite of "the truth," or the "quick fix."
I've always hated abrupt answers to my questions. Some may call this pride, and it may very well be. But these writings of C.S. Lewis, in addressing the pain after losing his wife, don't negate my anger and doesn't formulate a response for me too quick. A forty-five year old man had some of the same struggles against God! It was NOT due to a misunderstanding of identity! It was due to utter and irrefutable pain. After recognizing and being honest with his "negative" thoughts--he is then quieted by, intermittently, the good God and not the "Cosmic Sadist."
How refreshing! I am not alone!
God revealed, I believe, something intimately powerful about His character through the blatant honesty of a distant writer.
I cried. And I fell. I fell! My knees literally went weak because I was so overtaken. I wept, as the quantity of my anger crumbled in the hands of the quality of my faith. My anger subsided along with my tears as, for the first time, it clicked. C.S. Lewis said what I've heard before; but his honesty made TRUE his conclusion.
So, I sat and planted my face on the bench because the tears couldn't stop.
It's difficult to, at the loss of something, acknowledge that you have lost it. It is even more difficult to be ok with and content with what you are without. The sufferings, the pains, and the losses have a profound affect on the way that I function. It doesn't change the fact that I function, but just the way that I do it.
C.S. Lewis gives an example of a man who has his leg amputated. It's still a wooden stump, but it's not his leg.
Loss, any kind of loss, in my case a sense of innocence then compounded by years of secrets, will be grievous. And perhaps, should be grievous to a degree. I don't think it should be downplayed, but also should not be obsessed upon. I think the appropriate response is one of honesty, recognition of the difference in function, and a continuation of progressing forward.
Just some thoughts.
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