Passing Through the Valley of Baca

Blessed are those whose strength is in you,

in whose heart are the highways to Zion.   

As they go through the Valley of Baca

they make it a place of springs;

the early rain also covers it with pools.

-- Psalm 84:5-6

This has been a busy week.  I have to burn a bunch of vacation time before the end of the year.  I can only carry over forty hours.  It would have been hard to imagine on some jobs I have had that I would have trouble finding time to take time off.  I am working extra hours this week, trying to get everything done so I won’t have to work on my vacation days over Christmas.  It seems kind of stupid, but such is my world these days. 

As much, sometimes, as life may seem to be a drudge, it is a pilgrimage with a glorious terminus.  The way to that destination lies within each of us.  In John 14:5, Thomas asks, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”  Jesus insisted that they did indeed know the way – not only the Way, but the Truth and the Life as well (v. 6). 

The highway that leads to Zion is in our hearts, and though the path is close at hand, the journey is not an easy one for it passes through the Valley of Baca – the vale of tears.  Weeping comes with the territory, true enough; nevertheless, our tears do not fall in vain.  As they soak into the thirsty ground, they seek the like that lies below.  Where you have had to stop and sob, a spring bubbles forth.  The dry road you trod is, behind you, well-watered and lush. 

I think that family and friends can lead us by the known paths to a point.  There are plenty of waterholes until we get to where we must go on alone.  We may find the way on easier because we are sustained by springs where others have suffered.  Perhaps the same will be true of those who follow us. 

The Tormentor

And crying out with a loud voice, he said, What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I adjure you by God, do not torment me. -- Mark 5:7

I don't think that this is the demon talking -- not in the sense we would usually think of it.  How does a person become a demoniac?  My opinion is not always in keeping with orthodoxy, but I tend to doubt that it is the result of innocence combined with ignorance -- some child playing with a Ouija board.  It might begin innocently enough with someone seduced by the lure of pleasure or power, but there has to be a deliberate choice to embrace the dark lie at some point. 

This is a man who is hopeless, so much so that even the thought of hope is torment to him.  We sometimes encounter those -- perhaps we have been numbered among such ourselves -- who are so bound up in darkness and delusion that any crack of light is blinding, alien, and terrifying. 

People who have been imprisoned for a significant period of time may find the adjustment to freedom overwhelming.  Prison may not have been pleasant, but it was familiar.  The rules may have been horrific, but they were known and understood.  They are disoriented when allowed to move in a new dimension.  To understand the demoniac's reaction, we have to realize that he knew who Jesus was and what His presence meant. 

The lie of the devil is that -- for whatever reason, God has rejected us.  What, then, does God have to do with us?  We are outlaws, outcasts.  All we can do now is carry on our rebellion to the bitter end, not in hope, but in the name of defiance and a realistic assessment of our condition.  The only reason God would come to us would be to take us captive, torture and humiliate us.  We would be pulled into the harsh, unblinking light.  We would be transparent.  Where's the fun in that?  The darkness is where all the excitement and satisfaction are found.  Here in the shadows we may still play the game. 

I would guess that the path to demon-possession most often goes through self-deception, when a person buys into false views of God's love and grace.  Jesus seemed to encounter a lot of individuals who were afflicted and controlled by demons.  Maybe the legalism of the religious leadership contributed to misunderstandings.

For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. (John 3:17)

The Light of the World does not come to torment us but to show us the feeble chains that encumber us.  They are forged from darkness, and they must dissolve in the light of His everlasting love. 

Friday Proverb

A false balance is an abomination to the LORD, but a just weight is his delight. -- Proverbs 11:1

 

The Lord likes for us to be in balance with one another.  This is not some kind of forced, false equality or superimposed fairness.  In a Christian community, we complement one another.  If we were truly all the same, no one would be of much use to anyone else.  As we used to say about a universal part, it means it doesn’t fit anything.   Or, it works equally poorly wherever you put it. 

A just scale requires calibration.  It requires a standard, a known weight or quantity.  We have to measure our truth not by the whims of fashion and the ever-shifting poles of worldly opinion, but by the absolute and eternal reality.  Whatever we wish others to do to us, do also to them.  Let the butcher use the same scale to measure out the beef he sells as the cow he buys.  I am always amused by the slackers who lament poor service, and the liars who are upset that they have not been told the truth.  

This is a pretty good summation of my political views.  We don't need so many rules.  We just need everybody to play by the same ones and for them to be applied equitably. 

Run On

Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted. -- Hebrews 12:3

As we have said before, it ought to be that when we do the right thing, take the right path, repent, or resolve then things ought to go well for us.  People ought to see that we are doing good or trying to do better and give us support and encouragement, or, at least, not attack us.  It doesn't always happen that way.  There are the Barnabas people out there -- the sons of encouragement who will help us and root for us, and thank God for them.  But a lot of people will be negative and hostile.

We have to expect that.  If we are walking the strait and narrow road, we have to stay on it regardless of opposition and discouragement.  Somebody is going to misunderstand.  Another will be offended.  Others may try to "help" us by telling us that if we were on the right road, it would not be so rough, better take the detour.  No.  

Do you know why they call it the Indianapolis 500?  The guy who is ahead after the first lap may not even be on the track for the 500th lap.  The 24 hours of Le Mans is a lot different than the 24 minutes of Lamar.  Do you know that no one ever won a marathon by being the first runner to complete 26 miles?  You have to run another 385 yards to the finish.

Personally, this is a problem I have.  I want to quit because I'm tired.  I don't seem to be accomplishing much.  I did my part back in '88 or '98 or '08, and I want to call it "good".  But I can't.  I have to keep going.  That's the bad news.

The good news is that tomorrow may not be as tough as today.  Some days you can win just by showing up.  Sometimes the victory is to keep moving. 

The Lord does not expect us to go on without rest and relief and refreshment.  He has rewards for us along the way.  For people like me who have a tendency toward depression, it is important to remember that every day is not the same.  I feel that way sometimes when I get stressed and sleep-deprived -- that it will never change, that the nightmare will never end. 

It does.  My Father has been good to me in so many ways, so many times.  I do get a break now and then before I break.  It could happen today.  Carry on.

No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.  (1 Corinthians 10:13) 

Mercy Triumphant

So speak and so act as those who are to be judged under the law of liberty.  For judgment is without mercy to one who has shown no mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment. -- James 2:12-13

I was talking to someone recently who said that a certain prominent local Christian of our acquaintance had always looked down on him because he drank.  "You," he said, "never do that." 

I laughed and said it was only because I couldn't.  The truth is that we all have our weaknesses, and, as far as I have seen, there are no exceptions.  It does seem that some Christians do not view greed, jealousy, gluttony, or gossip in the same light as other, more flamboyant transgressions.  While Paul does emphasize the egregiousness of sexual immorality to the Church at Corinth (1 Corinthians 6:12-20), just a few paragraphs before (1 Cor. 5:9-12), he lists such immorality in equivalence with greed, swindling, drunkenness, and idolatry.  More importantly, perhaps, he cautions us against judging those outside the Body:  But now I am writing to you not to associate with anyone who bears the name of brother if he is guilty of sexual immorality or greed, or is an idolater, reviler, drunkard, or swindler—not even to eat with such a one.  For what have I to do with judging outsiders? Is it not those inside the church whom you are to judge?

My occasionally hard-drinking friend is not a church-goer.  God is dealing with him, and I will leave the judging of his life to the only righteous Judge.  For my part, I will encourage moderation.  And mercy.  Mercy has the advantage. 

It is true -- never doubt -- that we are always judging ourselves.  If I were to go to hell, it would be because I condemned myself to it.  There was a time when I could not have understood that, let alone accepted it.  I think I learned some of the lessons of mercy from my granddaughter.  At least dealing with her and the overwhelming, unconditional love I have for her made it clearer to me. 

When I was very young, probably half a century or so ago, Dad gave me a Jersey heifer calf.  She was light reddish brown with a white belly and white up on her sides a little.  She even had a triangle of white on her forehead pointing down toward her nose, and she turned out to be a pretty good milk cow.  Her calves helped put me through college, bought my second car and a motorcycle or two.  I had been reading some juvenile-oriented biography of one of the Pilgrim fathers -- probably William Bradford, I don't recall, who allegedly had a lamb which he named "Mercy".  That's what I named my calf.

Mercy has always had positive connotations for me.  I say it, ask for it, and need it -- a lot.  Patience, gentleness, meekness, humility, and many other virtues, I find quite evasive.  Mercy, alone, seems to come more easily.  Perhaps it is a gift, as Romans 12 lists among the gifts a person may be given "acts of mercy".  We are told specifically that in doing acts of mercy one should be happy and cheerful, almost as though cheerfulness were part of the virtue. 

We are merciful when we give someone what they do not deserve.  Sometimes we get this mixed up because we think of innocent people condemned to death who are reprieved by a call from the governor.  However, if the person is innocent, that is not mercy; it is justice.  Mercy is when the guilty are forgiven.  When we do not condemn those who have wronged us, when we spare those who would not spare us, when we are good to those who have hurt us, that is mercy. 

In me, the Lord has accepted the unacceptable.  He has pardoned and reprieved the culpable.  Through Christ, His mercy conquers the judgment and damnation I have so rightly earned.  How can I not be merciful?
 

Here, Hearing

 I love the Lord, because he has heard my voice and my pleas for mercy.  Because he inclined his ear to me, therefore I will call on him as long as I live. -- Psalm 116:1-2

It is understandable that one would love God for paying attention to his cries for help in time of need.  We call out in petition and supplication because the situation is beyond our ability, if it exceeds the power of the human mind and the human hand to remedy.  Notwithstanding that all are not always willing to admit it, there is much that is beyond us, questions we cannot answer, puzzles we cannot solve. 

Yet once we know the Lord hears us and cares to listen, once we truly grasp this ever-present reality, we may, with the psalmist, find, greater than relief, a positive joy almost compelling us to keep on calling to Him.  His presence draws forth from us deeper longings for communion and what Christianity weakly names fellowship. 

There is, for me, essentially one reason to go to church:  I am a better man in the presence of my sisters and brothers.  We may get labeled as hypocrites because of this.  That's not what it is.  I used to be able to lower my shields in church, to put aside, for a while, the visor and helm.  I don't go and fellowship in a local church much any more because I bear the scars of the wounds I received in the house of my friends.  These days, I am more circumspect and, sadly, a lot less trusting that just anyone with a hymn book in his or her hand on Sunday morning is my brother or my sister. 

There are still those with whom I share Christian camaraderie, who keep me from wandering over the edge -- including some of you reading this.  I appreciate every one.  The One, though, who knows me best and who is undeterred by any defense, shield or armor is the One who listens in the dark of night.  Almost breathless until I breathe out, the Lord hovers over me.  He waits to hear my soul's expression.

I have been very thirsty and, a few times, hungry, when nothing was there to satisfy me.  Other times I have started to drink cool, clear water only to realize that I had been unaware of or ignoring my thirst.  In fact, not too long ago, I noticed that thirst makes me irritable and edgy well before I am aware of the physical signs of the craving. 

In times of sickness or loss or tumult, we may know that our only hope is in the Lord.  But there are often those smaller annoyances and stresses and even, perhaps, failures that call forth our calling to His listening ear. 

Flying the Black Flag

And when they go out into the outer court to the people, they shall put off the garments in which they have been ministering and lay them in the holy chambers. And they shall put on other garments, lest they communicate holiness to the people with their garments. -- Ezekiel 44:19

Most of us would like to think that the Lord would want to "communicate holiness" to His people.  A stricture such as this seems, in our day, excessive and exclusive and elitist.  The priests are the only ones who get to go into the temple.  They don't earn the right to minister, but they are born to it.  The whole idea does violence to our egalitarian posture and democratic mindset.  Why should the people be denied the benefits of holiness?  Whatever that is.

The old model of the Aaronic priesthood served its purpose, but it was flawed by the weakness of man and limited by death.  Jesus is our Great High Priest who entered but once into the Holy of Holies, finished His work of expiating all sin, and sat down at the Father's right hand (Hebrews 4:14-16, 9:11-12, 10:12).  Still, it is a model which can tell us about our condition and about the remedy. 

The truth is that we must reject and abandon the old nature -- everything of the old nature.  That's hard to conceive of, especially for people who are naturally meek and mild and not given to rebellion or selfish ambition.  Some of us are born good.  OK, not me.  Some of you.  Growing up, I had a cute little blonde cousin, Deb, a few years younger than I was.  She was -- and as far as I know, is -- a sweet and gentle person, a throwback, perhaps, to her grandmother, my aunt, who was of a character radically different than any of her nine violent, vicious, hot-tempered siblings.  You couldn't offend Deb.  A harsh word never came out of her mouth.  If one of us accidentally hurt her, physically or emotionally, she would try not to cry in front of us, lest we feel regret for our roughness.  How could God say to a person like little Deb that in her flesh dwells no good thing?  On the surface, it doesn't seem right, but He does say it:  It is the Spirit who gives life; the flesh is of no avail.

That's the message the rigorous separation of the sons of Aaron is meant to convey.  Light and darkness have no communion.  One is either in light or in shadow.  We are either living and walking by the Spirit in faith, or we are in bondage, in the shackles of the flesh.  There can be no alliance between the holy and the profane. 

Ah, but, I say, I have this strength, this talent, these resources, this wealth.  Surely my skill and intelligence are of some value.  Surely God does not expect me to abandon this and embrace only the poverty of spirit? 

He does. 

That "good" part of myself has to be purged and refined.  It must be abandoned to the sacrificial fires of judgment.  If what we see as good goes up in smoke, well, we misjudged it.  If it endures -- even if it endures, it may be unrecognizable, so transmuted as to leave us wondering as to its continued value or usefulness.  But we are free to take up whatever is left and make the best use of it in our obedience. 

We really can't live a mixed life.  There is weird stuff in the regulations Moses gave to Israel.  Don't yoke two different kinds of animals together to plow.  Don't wear "wool blend" suits.  How does that hurt anything?  It seems silly, but it's a picture.  A life that is mixed is a life that painful.  The spirit and the flesh contend, and one is always making the other to suffer.  If you ever get the flesh down, show it no mercy.  Finish it off.