When I Can't Say - Part 2

The previous post "When I Can't Say - Part 1" asked about those dark times when you can’t say, “Your love is better than….” When pain squeezes it out. The post was meant to be anchors of hope for those in the moment. Yet, the storm ebbs and flows. If we find ourselves fostering that thought for more than lightning flashes, we must examine our heart. This, too, can be a gift of the storm.

“Lord, I can’t say your love is better than life” sounds blasphemous. Because it is. Deep down, we know it. Would we dare say to our wife/husband, “I love your cooking/mechanical abilities more than I love you”? Yet, sometimes, when it has been two weeks with more waking hours than sleeping hours in the bed, and pain is coursing, when the doctor delivers yet another bad test result, when the husband comes home drunk again, when the daughter makes another bad decision, when that little straw breaks the camel’s back…. Sometimes, it is hard to say with the psalmist, “Your love is better than life; your love is better than X.”

It is a spot we find ourselves in, especially in either comfort or in suffering. The gift of the gale, of suffering, is that the wrenching waves often force us to recognize it (comfort often leaves us emptily, vainly satiated and doped). The psalmist stated those words in a difficult time, too, in a dry and weary land (Ps. 63:1). In his own suffering and storm, what enabled him to say, “Your love is better than life”? I flip open the Bible, and ask. What? How? Why? Lord, help me understand.

Thirsting.

Looking.

Meditating.

Remembering.

Seeing.

Trusting.

Thirsting.

“O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you” (Psalm 63:1).

We love X. We thirst for X. It may be blasphemous to say, “I don’t feel your love is better than X,” but it is necessary to recognize it. A gift of the gale.

And then, like the psalmist, we can recognize what we truly thirst for—how the Triune God really is that, exactly what we thirst for. Control, security, comfort, purpose, relationships—all are shadows of what is found in Christ. As C. S. Lewis says, our passions are far too small. We think X will satisfy us, but it won’t. Only Christ. Not a pat cliché, this is a truth that we often only find in suffering when our X is swept away.

Looking.

“So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary, beholding your power and glory” (Psalm 63:2).

Recognizing our false thirsts (idolatry) can either drive us to feelings of condemnation or to Christ. Look to Christ on the cross—where we are forgiven for loving X better than the Lord. Behold Christ’s life—his perfect obedience, his perfect love for the Father, is imputed to us, given to us, covering ours. Look to Christ the ascended—who sends his Spirit to pour out his love in our hearts and transform us into his image. And once we are driven to Christ, once we look at him, we fall more in love with him and we find our hearts being softened so we can say, “Your love is better than life, for you loved me better than your life.”

Meditating.

“My soul will be satisfied as with fat and rich food, and my mouth will praise you with joyful lips, when I remember you upon my bed, and meditate on you in the watches of the night…” (Psalm 63:5-6).

Dwell on what you do love about God. Contemplate him, his promises, the blessings you do experience (yes, even in storms there are blessings). Even in the throes of the storm, even when all is stripped away, even when we say “I love X more than you,” there are things we love and appreciate about Christ. Praise him for those. Love will grow. The storm will make the grass roots grow deeper, cling deeper, give an anchor for the soul.

Remembering.

“When I remember you upon my bed, and meditate on you in the watches of the night; for you have been my help” (Psalm 63:6-7).

He has been your help. You, in your loss, are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. God was faithful to others, even in the midst of lightning that seared their souls, clouds that covered any hope, winds that swept their feet from under them, waves that beat mercilessly, thunder that roared and caused to tremble. Remember this. Remember them.

Seeing.

“But those who seek to destroy my life shall go down into the depths of the earth; they shall be given over to the power of the sword; they shall be a portion for jackals” (Psalm 63:9-10).

These words seem out of place—but the psalmist is placing things in eternal perspective, seeing past the present. He sees the future. The storm, yes, the storm will pass. These can be hard words to hear, hard to believe when the waves have tossed you upside down and the head is upside down in anxiety, when down is up and up is down. Hard to remember when pain eats and claws, when the pile of bills is growing, when the husband is dead drunk on the couch… It is hard to believe it will end, and will end good. But speak to your soul. You know objectively that blue sky does exist on the other side of the cumulus clouds. The psalmist knows vindication exists, and reward for the righteous exists. He sees the results past the storm. This, too, helps him love God more than X, for two reasons. First, he sees the temporarily of X, and second, he trusts God will right things. It will end good. Blue sky will come.

Trusting.

“But the king shall rejoice in God; all who swear by him shall exult, for the mouths of liars will be stopped” (Psalm 63:11).

In seeing the future, it’s implicit to trust God for the future. But it is a separate step toward loving God more than X—we can see and know objectively, without committing or without leaning. We know the chair can hold us up, but will we trust it? We know God is loving and in control and all these truths, but will we trust? Hard. The storm can make it seem impossible—but only when we see the storm. When our eyes are on Jesus, yes, yes, even you, even in the storm, can trust. Maybe not feel. But trust.

There are riches in recognizing our blasphemy (and dealing with it correctly), because we find the riches of grace.  We find him. And so the very thing that is blasphemous can be used in grace to gift us. The ravaging of the squall can make the sunshine sparkle greater. The lightning brings nitrogen to bring new growth. The pelting rain gives water. Let the storm wash away the flotsam and jetsam that have clogged up the beach, that one has fallen in love with. Let the storm empty hands. Then, with empty hands, in weakness, in dependence, we feel his love, his strength, his all-sufficiency. Then we can say, “Yes, Lord, I believe, and I know—know!—your love is better than life.”