With a curse and a caterwaul…

So, last week at small group, we got going on a pretty cool discussion. It was fun to see how we branch and spin off the “main” subject when everyone is contributing and being real and honest and open. We moved from a discussion of James 1 and faith/works/faithworks over to talking about Matthew 7, where Jesus talks about the builders on the sand and rock. It’s really cool to kind if unpack some of these “old” verses, the ones we sang songs about in Sunday school or memorized the hip rap of at camp. Now that I’m “getting older,” it’s amazing to hear the Holy Spirit explaining the deeper truths of verses that seem so cliched and basic.

So there we are, talking about fortifying our houses. We talked about the 100% guarantee of floodwaters. No matter what, you are going to encounter storms in life. If you don’t, then it’s entirely impossible that you’re not in a strategic position to be effective for the kingdom and the devil doesn’t feel the need to really attack you all that much. 

I can tell you which is worse.

So we’re talking about this idea of fortification, when Zach starts talking. Zach is one of those guys that waits to talk. This is a strange and bizzare phenomenon to me, as a person of much constant oratory exclamation. 

He says, “God’s challenging me right now to be fortifying my walls when there aren’t any storms in my life.”

What?

He goes on to explain that there aren’t any huge challenges in his life right now. No overbearing struggles, no nagging vices or pending confrontations. We could easily play the spiritual card and suggest that there should be constant and endless pain and suffering in the Christian life to assure us of our salvation, but I like to live in the real world where- as Zach so eloquently pointed out- sometimes the storms pound on you and sometimes it’s total clear skies. 

But what am I doing in the clear sky times? I’m naturally playing and enjoying the season and am thankful for the blessings and good things being given to me. 

But I’m also more naturally ignoring God, withdrawing from the Word, nurturing a brief-in-passing, murmured prayer life and riding the “good times” for all they’re worth. 

And then the war came, with all the poise of a cannonball. 

Suddenly the storms rise up. I’m fighting with the GF, or I’m pissed at Hoshi, or I’m scared about Wednesday nights because all these people are coming and looking at me and expecting something and it’s becoming harder to use the computer for strictly-biblical studies and there are so many raunchy shampoo commercials these days and a smoke sounds great and work sucks and there’s just too darn much stuff going on!!!

So now I’m reading my bible religiously, praying constantly with much wailing and gnashing of teeth and worshipping as though God is poised, swatter in hand, to smite my existence from the earth at any moment if I jump to step C before I’ve fully completed steps A and B.

I’m out there in the pouring rain trying desperately to board up windows, avoid lightning strikes, and re-attach the pieces of myself that I let neglect and arrogance tear apart. 

I’ve turned my walk with God into an emotional reaction to the storms of life, instead of a supernatural relationship with the Creator of life. The author of life. The provider, caretaker, molder and shaper of life. The source of life.

I’m out there trying simply to survive a hurricane and rebuild my house at the same time.

So now I see what the clear skies are for. What sunshine is for. 

See, I can use my times when I’m not really fighting or angry or particularly wrought with vice and malice to fortify. Not religiously, as though I need to “stock up.” 

But the Christian walk is meant to be that. Putting on Christ means keeping Him near. So in this time of peace and joy, I can draw nearer to the Lord with greater ease than if the storms were about me. And then, when the storms come again, I will be in my house, still near to Christ and still strengthened in Him, because the enemy won’t be tearing boards off my house. He’ll huff, and he’ll puff, but he’ll find the resurrection life too thick a wall to tear down so easily.

Clouds will part, and I’ll go outside and play some more.