No, I don't think it's just a feeling that God has abandoned us. I think in a very real, though not absolute sense, he does abandon us at those moments, and that's why we feel such despondency and grief.
Let me explain.
In another year or so, Evangeline is going to learn to ride a bike. She doesn't know that yet, of course, and even if I told her, she wouldn't know what I mean by it. But sitting here, I know that in the spring, I'm going to screw some training wheels onto her bike, put it and her into the car, and drive up to the university one weekend to enjoy the parking lot with her.
Evageline will feel nervous at first, as she takes those first tentative and rickety spins on her bike. But she'll discover that although she rattles back and forth, she doesn't fall, and slowly her confidence will build. That's pretty much what it's like for us as we take our first steps of faith and begin to grow.
After a while, I'm going to take those training wheels off. Evangeline is going to fall down, her bike will drop, and she will scrape her elbows and knees and maybe even get a few cuts. It will hurt, and she will cry. I'm going to do this to her anyway, and after she falls I'm going to have her get back on the bike and try again.
Is Evangeline in any real danger? No, of course not. We're in a parking lot where there will be no cars moving about, she will have a helmet on, and I'm going to be with her the entire time. She won't be able to tell that, though, since I'll be behind her, and she's going to keep falling even though she never used to fall on her bike and even though her father is with her.
That's a small thing by comparison, but the Long Dark Night of the Soul is like that. God doesn't just remove a "feeling" that he's with us, he actively withdraws all the support he's provided for us before. What's left is a void that makes no sense to us because it contradicts our every previous experience with God.
When Evangeline has learned to ride her bike, she'll have a more mature understanding of herself, of me, and of her relationship to me. She'll see that while I love her and will do everything I can to keep her from harm, that does not mean I will do everything I can to keep her from pain. She'll also have developed new skills she wouldn't have had and be more of what I intend her to be (i.e., a self-sufficient, healthy and active little girl).
When God tosses us off a cliff or leads us into the abyss, he strips away all the comforts we've known before and lets us discover underlying realities we've only caught glimpses of before. Because of my experiences two years ago, my relationship with God is irrevocably altered. I have a much greater sense of his majesty, his glory, his transcendence -- and his utter self-abasement on the Cross. My understanding of God grew dramatically as a result of my experience. He's much bigger than I ever had imagined, and I am much smaller.
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