Here are a couple of things you should realize if you’re currently in my shoes:
1. I’ll need them back by May 1, and
2. The semi-dreaded homestretch must be upon you.
If you’re in college like myself, then it’s that time of the year when the sun is shining and the birds are singing in three-part harmony and final examinations are calling your name in a delicate cadence and you can’t help but launch into study mode. If you’re a senior like myself, then maybe the post-graduation job search has got you all befuddled like a celery stick in a river of chocolate or maybe you’ve got a class research paper with your name on it—unfortunately, that’s all you’ve got on it at the moment so you have a little more work to do.
It’s times like these when we need God the most, which might incidentally also be the times when we feel like seeking Him the least. Last week, in all honesty, I wanted to be enshrouded in a cloud of dark nonchalance. I wanted nothing to do with my Savior and didn’t even care that my faith seemed to hang precariously in the balance, suspended in some unknown solution. I wanted to sleep. I wanted God to wake me when every crease was ironed out, every thunderstorm was calmed. And sometimes, when I do talk to God, it’s not as if I’m talking to God at all—another case of the brick wall syndrome.
The brick wall syndrome is relatively simple to explain. It’s that feeling you get when you’re in communion with God, any of gentle conversations, emotional prayers, or agonizing questions. And you’re talking to God from wherever you are and you know God is everywhere so God must be where you are. If He is in heaven, then He is nearer than your next breath as well, latching on to every single word you say and even those that are just fleeting pictures in your mind.
But He doesn’t seem that close. It seems like you’re talking to a brick wall.
And you want to be finished. You want Jesus to come so these proverbial rough patches will fade away into morning. You’re convulsing like electricity or a salmon on the shoreline, the last pulsations of energy sputtering out of you. You don’t see God—just darkness, not just out of sin but out of your frustration and weakness. You’re exhausted. And you can’t go on talking to a brick wall.
Nor should you have to. I think we can get into a dangerous mindset that God doesn’t love us unless we’re praying to Him—at least I can. But God is undeniably present and He fights for us when we’re too tired to don the armor and fumble for our arrows. “Be still and know that I am God!” He exclaims to us, a bold declaration of His omnipotence (Psalm 46:10a). And, often, we’re not still, not because we haven’t chosen peace but because we’re wrestling with our own brokenness in a wild frenzy. And at those times, there’s nothing left but the cross and the awe at what a sovereign God can do with our chaos.
I’ve been broken enough over sin before that I have come to the throne with nothing, absolutely nothing. At first, that also includes the words out of my lips so I just sprawl before God in stunned silence, stunned that I could lacerate the Lover of my soul with my actions once again, stunned that He isn’t running away in the process. And I have little energy left and so my prayer begins with the only word it possibly can: “Jesus.” And then I repeat His name, over and over and over again. It’s all I can do at that moment and all I want to do.
I heard a sermon on this last summer and read an article later that said a Christian’s day should be considered incomplete if he or she has not yet uttered the Redeemer’s name. Until we ask for our daily bread, the Lord’s prayer is all about, well, the Lord: “After this manner therefore pray ye: Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:9-10).
It begins with God. And He certainly hears us: Psalm 116:1 says that “I love the Lord because He hears my voice and my prayer for mercy” (that entire Psalm explores this theme). Even when it seems like we’re talking to a brick wall, we’re not. God listens to our pleas, as gnarled as they might be, no matter what swamp we’ve slipped into, no matter what self-imposed fortress we’re hiding behind. God is the fortress—so when it feels like you’re talking to a brick wall, don’t be tempted to build another three and seal yourself off from the One who cares about you. After all, it’s futile—God is relentless in His pursuit of you so He’ll find you no matter what. Wherever you go, there you are and there God is.
So if you’re in the thick of the final leg of the race and God seems distant or perhaps uncaring, I assure you He’s not. He’s in control of your chariot regardless. And when you’re sitting alone at night asking Him why you went spiraling off the track that afternoon, He’s there. When you’re wondering why all of your emotions seem like they’re being puréed in a blender, He’s there. When questions outweigh answers ten-to-one, He’s there. No brick wall, no trail of tears, no season of your soul will you keep you from God.
And when all else fails, and you just can’t hold on to your rope anymore, feel free to let go. After all, I’m pretty sure that’s just another opportunity to trust that Jesus will catch us.
–Mike
