Cracks

I talk with my neighbor. She grits her teeth, scuffs her foot against the cracks in the sidewalk. “It will get better. It has to get better. I can’t hang on anymore. I’m about to give up.”

And what can I say? It might not get better. We mask our fears by the “someday, it will get better.” We fear to look them straight in the eyes. What if it doesn’t? We don’t want to go there. We paste on tacky Christian clichés. We throw out the "Someday it will…" "It must…. Because, O Lord, it seems like you have given me more than I can bear!... Lord??!?" This broken cracks of this world dash jaggedly our dreams. 

There are days when we cry out, “Lord, I wish I could count all that I have lost as dung, to know you more. But I don't feel like I've been given more. You feel distant. Silent. If your grace is sufficient, shouldn't I feel it? What about the peace that surpasses understanding? What about the joy that no one can take? Where, O Lord? Where? I can’t….." Cracked souls. 

Objectively, I know. I know the glory that will be revealed will make this all seem light. But now it is heavy.  Sleep is not an escape. A new morning doesn't seem to reveal new mercies, but only pain once again and stumbling foot dragging. I know hope that is seen is no hope at all… but I need a shred. She needs a shred. So many I now need a shred. Please, Lord. Just a crack of light. 

Philippians is a book we all cling to in suffering. Yet, I think there is a subtle lie that can sometimes creep into Paul's claim that we gain Christ. Perhaps we read "I count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him" from our own perspective. We are cause-and-effect creatures:

If I count it as dung = gain

We do the cost-benefit analysis, willing to give up so that we can gain something more. I'll suffer so I can be better. So I can be stronger. So I can ____. But then we add, "Now." "Soon." And perhaps we subtly lump in other things with “gain Christ.” Gain his peace, joy, ability to persevere….. We slip in our ideas of “it must get better.” Perseverance in health until the healing. There is truth in that. Don’t let me undermine that. But, this cracked promise we create cracks souls. When things don't get better, when we don't gain what we think we should. We become angry and discouraged and frustrated when we lose, but do not gain what we feel should be part of the package. Where is the power you promised? Where is the joy? We question. Am I just living a vanquished, defeated life? Something cracks.

Those cracks expose a cracked pride. We expected, demanded God's blessing, God's presence look like such and such. Appear in such a way. Come in such a time. In our own pride, we defined what "love" and "blessing" and "gaining Christ" is. 

In this crack can shine light, if we crack open our hands. If we let our equation crack. If we recognize our wisdom is cracked. If we count it as dung, if we suffer, does not necessarily mean gain in our cracked definition of it. It is not God who has failed. Our wisdom has failed. He is too big to be contained by equations; his very godness cracks it. 

In all the burdens and pressures, I am certainly not a winner nor a plus-on-the-benefits-side in this world. Right now, in this gritting teeth moment, I do not feel I have even gained spiritually. The joyful, sweet deeper relationship with Christ, that deep peace we are supposed to maintain... I do not see it. Do not feel it in this wracked wretched moment. But... it is a moment. Lift up my eyes. He whispers, "Have I not brought you this far? Have I not given my Son for you? My life for you? Have I not brought my people, a great cloud of witnesses, this far? I will carry you the next minute, and the next." He is still committed to me, and is committed to preparing me for himself. His silence and seeming distance is part of this fellowship of his sufferings. It is part of his grace. I will not come out stronger on the other end; I come out more dependent on him. I am not cracked off; instead, my fragile soul clings like a beaten grape leaf to the vine, closer, closer, closer.

Despairing of life itself…. I have no choice but to go to Life.

Hope clouded, despair lies…. I run to Truth.

Lost… I run to Way.

Confused… I run to Wisdom.

To tired to be angry… I run to Refuge.

Angry…. I run to Peace.

No tears left, nothing left… I run to Sufficient.

I cracked. No, I cannot. I cry to give up. I cry out this is more than I can bear. 
It is, it is.
He bears it. 
He bore it. 
Rest.

He brushes the scales from my eyes. Light pours in through the cracks.