a Sea of Can'ts vs. the River of Can

"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.