Puncture Wound

Because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, for this reason, to keep me from exalting myself, there was given me a thorn in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to torment me—to keep me from exalting myself! 2 Corinthians 12:7 NASB

Thorn in the flesh – I started writing Today’s Word more than ten years ago. Now there are nearly 5000 editions. With thousands of studies about the Hebrew and Greek vocabulary of Scripture, you might imagine that I would have found some enduring answers. But I can tell you straight from the heart that I am no “Bible answer-man.” I am less sure today about what I believe to be true and what I used to believe was true than at any time in my life. I have reached the point of a genuine and deep crisis of faith. I don’t mean that any of my confidence in God as Creator or Yeshua as Messiah is suspect. In fact, those two propositions are probably more firmly embedded in my thinking than ever. What I mean is that I have serious doubts about me, about my commitment, my obedience, my trust in YHVH. I am no longer confident that YHVH intends what I most want out of life. I don’t know if I trust Him to care for me. In a sentence, I am afraid of God. I am afraid of what He might do, what He might ask. But most of all, I am afraid He is finished with me, that I am no longer worthy of Him, that my life is a triumph of unfinished intentions. These days He seems much less like a Father and much more like the Sovereign Ruler of the Universe whose claim on my life is absolute but whose demands are overwhelming.

Is God gracious? You’ve probably settled this issue. I used to think I had. Then I began to discover that the Scriptures I grew up with have been significantly modified to justify theological commitments and reject Jewish interpretations. Then I realized that the material of the apostolic writings reflects cultural influences of non-canonical documents that call into question the assumed continuity between the Tanakh and the words of the writers. Then I found that there is a vast body of literature familiar to Jewish orthodoxy that has never even been mentioned in my Christian circles. Finally, I learned that the Christian Church is intentionally anti-Semitic in origin and practice. I felt as if the ground of all my previous understanding of God, sin, grace and heaven had been opened by an earthquake chasm of information—all contrary to decades of religious training.

But more than that, more than the realization that I just did not know the truth, was the awareness that I was no longer safe. The promise of salvation by proclamation evaporated in the heat of real exegesis. The idea that obedience is the principle and perhaps unique determination of relationship left me shattered, knowing that my life is riddled with disobedience. The battle between yetzer ha’ra and yetzer ha’tov, once hidden under a pile of religious platitudes about forgiveness, was exposed as a raging force in my every day existence. Habit overcame conscience. I was confronted with the sheer arrogance of my life and the deepest fear that God would punish, in fact, was required to punish me for my sins.   As much as I wanted to please Him, I found that I did not have the willpower to do so, and that led me to the edge of despair, a bleeding line between consciousness of my sin and brokenness over my deficiency. Most of all I discovered the terrifying fact that I don’t trust God.

Of course, in the sanctified chamber of intellectual pursuit, I could still write about all these issues. I could articulate the nuances, demonstrate the applications, even help others see how the power of God’s words changed lives. But every page brought more condemnation. At the end of each paragraph I heard the Accuser whispering, “You hypocrite!” The gap between what I knew and what I do just got bigger and bigger until I couldn’t write anymore. I could force the words on to the page, but they didn’t flow like they once did. I was acutely aware of the absence of the Spirit.

Some days were better. I played John Wayne’s role in True Grit. Forcing myself to not step over any lines. But there was hardly any joy in the practice and that, of course, brought back the accusation. “Isn’t serving the Lord supposed to bring you peace? Aren’t you supposed to love Him? Do you really think He is pleased with the stink of your sacrifices?” There was no avoiding the outcome—despair.

It didn’t make much difference that the rabbis taught me that serving others even for the wrong motives was still a righteous act. The catalog of my sins tipped the scales anyway. I was not comforted to find Jewish sages telling me that despair isn’t a word in Hebrew vocabulary. From the bottom of the pit, it certainly felt like despair even if I didn’t have a word for it. I wanted to just give up, let whatever hopes I used to have of peace and fulfillment float away and stop the pain. But there is no medication for spiritual crisis. Sleep, perhaps. But only if you don’t dream.

So many people expect me to be something more than I know myself to be. I am just a traveler, often very much alone, afraid of what I might find but unable to turn back. I do the best I can with what I have but I know it is not enough. I am good friends with guilt. We spend a lot of time together, sharing our common life by picking each other apart. I no longer remember what it must have been like to feel clean. “Maybe,” I tell myself, “I can find the way out with another hard look at His Word.” I believe what He says, but without those comfortable artificial glasses the words seem much too harsh for me now. I feel His disappointment. I want to cry, to weep over me and the failure I am, but I can’t manufacture the tears. That too would be hypocrisy.

There are anesthetics. They all cause greater pain after they wear off. I am too tired to use them. Too worn out to pretend they will help. I know the truth. They are false diversions. There is no help except in Him and He is silent these days.

If faith is tenacity, then Jacob and I fight side by side at the brook. But unlike Jacob, I know in advance I will be defeated. I long for the touch that cripples me for then I would at least know He still cares enough to hurt but not kill. I want to hold on until He pries away my bloody fingers, but there is nothing to grip. He is already gone. Jacob and I sit in the dark, waiting.

Some days all that I have to sustain me is the obligation of Today’s Word. The 1 AM deadline. One more page of pain. But it keeps me alive, all this confusion and sorrow and regret. It keeps me alive to know that someone else out there needs to hear what I write today. And if I can stay alive long enough, maybe He will hear my cries and come back to find me in the dark.

Now that I reflect on the words written here, I realize that my focus is in the wrong place. I have been complaining (perhaps obliquely) that I don’t feel adequate, that I feel lost and alone. But now I see that the focus is on me. When I look at the evidence, I see that God has used me to enrich others. It was never about me. He doesn’t need me to be the best at this or to feel as if I am the apple of His eye or to even worry about being alone. He needs me to keep going because others are blessed through me. What He is doing with me results in changes in lives other than mine. Because I act, feel, think, write what I discover, others are nourished, encouraged, uplifted and cared for. That is the sign of His involvement with me. In my efforts and failures to satisfy my expectations for Him, He uses my emotional instability to touch others. This is a deep spiritual principle. God uses what we give Him and if all I can give Him is my discouragement and inadequacy, that is completely sufficient for Him to accomplish His purposes. There are no circumstances God can’t use. The question is whether or not we can see how He uses them.

Today a woman wrote to me about the community’s recent action in support of Amanda. She said that she had never seen anything like this, that in all the years she had been going to church nothing in her religious community had ever exhibited the kind of unselfish care and concern for a woman and her family like what we did for Amanda. The significant support for Amanda is all the more powerful because nearly all of those who contributed never met Amanda. They were moved by true compassion. I realized that I was blessed because Amanda revealed her heartache. God blessed me, showed His care for me, because I see that if this can happen for Amanda, it means that God loves me too. He just has me in a different place at the moment.

Now I feel sadness for those who did not glimpse what God was doing for us through the difficulties of followers like Amanda. Now I realize that I have been selfish in my expectation that God needed to care for me in ways that I thought He should. He merely had to remind me that my life is about making it possible for Him to be seen in the lives of others.

Today I am grateful. The injury suffered in the night at the brook brought joy to us all.

Topical Index: thorn, 2 Corinthians 12:7