"and so we come
to it at last… the great war of our time."
if you give me
almost any situation, i will give you a relevant quote from The Lord of the
Rings. i had a great conversation late
last night with some Bible study companions, comparing Christian-themed movies
and their book originals. these two had
seen the new Ben-Hur movie and enjoyed it, though they admitted the original
was better (duh. i remain a skeptic of
ANYONE who thinks he can just "re-do" CHARLTON HESTON's BEN-HUR. WHAT!?!?!)
but LOTR i admit to
be a masterful rendition of the books, and they are my all-time favorite go-to
movies, and very quotable, when you've seen them as often as i have ;)
but at this moment,
i am almost shaking-in-my-boots scared. i am daunted by the seemingly
impossible battle ahead of me.
i have been fighting
skirmishes for a few months, chipping away with all my human strength at an
increasingly spiritual obstacle. it's
like trying to take down a steel-enforced concrete wall. and i am not Aragorn, that studly, sword-wielding
octogenarian. i've done what i could- i
stripped the old wallpaper, i scraped away ancient paint and tore off drywall
with my bare hands. i made a whole lot
of mess, but less true progress than the mound of trash would indicate. the steel rebar and concrete are just as
solid as ever, and my tired bleeding fingers are no use.
if this battle were WWII, i'm playing the role of
France.
…and it's nowhere near D-Day.
if this were Middle Earth, I'm Rohan. saddling my lil' ponies to go take on
mountainous cave trolls, elephants the size of castles and orcs beyond
number. oh yeah, and un-killable demonic
Nazgul warlords in plated armor atop flying, toothy dragons.
for the people who
don't know, i just last week was released from the local hospital after 7
days/6 nights of feeling horrible. the
obstacle: some sort of GI obstruction, caused by "we don't know/care"
what. the treatment for any of the
causes is the same: do nothing, except an NG tube. unless something explodes, in which case do
emergency surgery and hope to stay ahead of the sepsis.
if i were BFFs with the Pope, i'd text him now and
tell him to saint my friend, who was there right by my side for all of
the worst of it (me…on Phenergan and Demerol… and still hurting and barfing)
and checked on me every single day, despite her full-time job (nursing, of
course). she earned every one of the jewels in that heavenly crown waiting for
her. no one other than an RN needed to
see the Sad, Broken Zombie in that bed.
in trying to describe how i felt that i must have looked, that's the
best way i could think of. Sad Broken
Zombie. a creature not even Will Smith would attempt to heal.
the night before i
came home, i had a short, but relieving, conversation with another title-less
saint, outlining every one of these skirmishes i hadn't recovered from, and how
this incredibly large speed bump couldn't have come at a more confusing, and expensive
(!!!), and irritating, time. i was so
tired (not eating or drink for a week will do that to a person), and i hadn't
ever been able to celebrate the incredible healing i'd just had, without
already beginning to worry about things at home, around the yard, at work, in
the bank account, and abroad that were storming at me, demanding my attention.
and then an idea
came out in that phone call- and after every prayer, every consideration about
it, the answer seemed less hazy and more definite- this was a distraction.
an
"uncomfortable" one.
a stupid-expensive one.
but a distraction.
all this fuss… to
keep me occupied. as huge as that was to
people, who still look at me like i'm about to collapse and die, i really feel
convinced by now that there is a force out there that is bound and determined
to keep me away from this ultimate fight that all my past struggles and battles
have been leading up to.
the hugeness of this
battle is finally dawning on me.
and scaring the
ever-lovin' snot out of me.
back at
"work" at church, before preparing the papers and crayons for the
Cubbies class, i ducked into the darkened sanctuary to prepare me for a few minutes. i sat before the altar and told Him all the "can'ts" there were
in my army. i was out of wizards,
energy, soldiers, strategies, pep talks- everything.
i was surrounded by
a formidable foe, under siege and running low on resources. i felt sympathy for even a jerk like
Denethor, who wilts at the awesome, terrible show of Mordor's might on his
doorstep. similarly, i felt renewed kinship with King Hezekiah, poking his nose
over the wall to see Sennacharib's army sprawled out like a horde over the
countryside. i could only do what he
did- run into the Temple and cry like a small child. this is why we have a healthy supply of
tissues in the front pews.
there are a few less
there now.
i told Him the Can'ts… and i asked please… for even
one Can- just one.
and i opened my
Bible to catch up on my daily readings, as i was a day behind and my Type A
just can't handle that well. i foolishly
expected nothing. at least, nothing from a reading as dry and monotonous as
Ezekiel under "September 6."
and i found this:
then he brought me back to the door of the Temple,
and behold, water was
issuing from below the threshold of the temple toward the east (for the temple faced east). the water was flowing
down from below the south end of the threshold of the temple, south of the
altar. then he brought me out by way of the north gate and led me around on the
outside to the outer gate that faces toward the east; and behold, the water was trickling
out on the south side.
going on eastward with a measuring line in his hand,
the man measured a thousand cubits, and then led me through the water, and it was ankle-deep. again he measured a thousand, and led me through
the water, and it was
knee-deep. again he measured a thousand, and led me
though the water, and
it was waist-deep. again he measured a
thousand, and it was a
river that i could not pass through, for the water had risen. it was deep
enough to swim in, a river that could not be passed through. and he said to me, "son of man, have you
seen this?"
then he led me to the bank of the river. as i went
back i saw on the bank of the river very many trees on the one side and on the
other. and he said to me, "this water flows toward the eastern region and
goes down into the Arabah, and enters the sea; when the water flows into the sea, the water will
become fresh. and wherever the river
goes, every living creature that swarms will live, and there will be very many
fish. for this water goes there, that the water of the sea may become fresh; so
everything will live where the river goes.
fishermen will stand beside the sea.
from En-Gedi to En-Eglaim it will be a place for the spreading of
nets. its fish will be of very many
kinds, like the fish of the Great Sea.
But its swamps and marshes will not become fresh; they are to be left
for salt. and on the banks, on both
sides of the river, there will grow all kinds of trees for food. their leaved will not wither, nor their fruit
fail, but they will bear fresh fruit every month, because the water for them
flows from the sanctuary. their fruit
will be for food, and their leaves for healing."
Ezekiel 47:1-12
the above is the
ESV; i read it this afternoon in the NLT, which automatically translated
"the sea" as "the Dead Sea."
it's called that
because… it's Dead. DEAD.
that's a pretty
picture, yes- but you notice what's NOT there?
ANYTHING ALIVE. (except the photographer). there are no trees. no grass.
no animals. i question whether even bacteria or parasites could survive. because the salt content of the water is no
high, people float when they try to
swim, and most humans become dehydrated just by looking at pictures like this. it is about 9
times saltier than ocean water.
drinking it would be a) disgusting and b) probably fatal, if you were
physically able to hold down enough of it.
on average, it receives 3 inches of
rainfall per year. the Jordan
River flows in. nothing flows out. there
are smaller pools of water. oh yes- and
quicksand pits. let's not forget those.
if that's not a Can, i don't know what is.
in three paragraphs, God simply told me what He is
able to do with all of our Can'ts.
He doesn't just sidestep them.
He doesn't even "undo" them
He obliterates even the memory of them.
the Dead Sea, which
is deader than anything dead you could compare it to- will one day (in this
vision, of prophetic and symbolic importance, not necessarily physical) be so
full of life that people, animals and plants will abound. everything touched by this water coming from
the sanctuary will be ALIVE. diseases
and illnesses will be healed, empty cavernous losses will be filled, dreams
will be fulfilled. the blessings will
extend not only to humans, but to animals and even plant life. enrichment like this patch of earth has never
known will descend, and this place that is only known as a dry crusty curiosity
will become the spa vacation hotspot of the world, where Main Street is lined
by an all-you-can-eat buffet line of trees, boasting the widest assortment and
variety of fruit available worldwide.
THAT'S what God does when you say "can't-too
salty."
and yet, despite the
parties and celebrations happening along the shores of the newly Un-Dead Sea,
the passage even ends with Ezekiel looking back, following the river lined with
trees as it gets shallower and shallower, down to a trickle- back to the source:
the golden Altar,
beyond which lies the Most Holy Place, where God Himself resided between the
cherubim wings, overshadowing the Mercy Seat.
the one place humans
couldn't even survive being in, until one friday evening when the dividing
curtain was ripped from top to bottom.
not physically
visible anymore, but you can't leave God's presence without being changed. there's nothing magical about our
representative table in the sanctuary, or even our sanctuary itself. my feet were
still completely dry on my way out the doors- but i felt like i had just swum
in a refreshing river and had lost a backpack full of can'ts in its flow.
this battle will
happen. and i am not looking forward to it,
necessarily. i'm marching to "Arabah," the land of the Dead
Sea, where i have stashed more can'ts than i care to face. so much deadness that i have allowed to sit
and fester and wallow and do whatever else those salt piles and quicksand pits
do.
but somehow,
spending just a little bit of time "getting my feet wet" inside a
quiet sanctuary did way more good than any "treatment" i got inside
the hospital (don't get me wrong- the doctors were chums, the nurses excellent
and food better than i expected). that
whole week took my eyes off the mark.
the others cares and concerns did too, just to a lesser extent.
being right there at
the altar, the symbolic source of all forgiveness and life eternal, brought my
eyes right back to where they needed to be.
it's not on the battle. it's not
on the can'ts.
it's on the One who turns the can'ts into Cans and
Wills. the battle of my time is about to begin in earnest, but i already
know the outcome.
it's a beautiful,
beautiful sight, too.
