Perilously Alone

Ever feel like you’re surrounded by people… and at once…

All alone?

Like your days are crammed with communication -texts, calls, emails, DMs – and yet, no one’s really listening? 

Yeah.

Same.

The world’s increasingly connected; but somehow, we’re drifting further and further apart. And you know what?

It’s dangerous.

Predatory animals work together to isolate their prey from the protection of the flock/fold/herd/horde for good reason.

So they can kill their prey.

Loneliness, isolation, despair… they’re ravenous. And they’ll rip us to shreds if we give them half a chance.

(Don’t doubt it: those demons are real.)

The pandemic has been distressing for lots of reasons. But I’m more and more troubled by one.

Distancing.

You know… that thing we’ve been doing on-and-off for almost two years? Staying safe by staying apart? The problem is that the staying apart was… and is… killing people too.

When we’re divided/separated/solo, the predators start circling, snarling, showing their teeth. Fear, shame, despair. When we’re alone, who’s going to guard and guide us to safety? Who’s there to steady us, uplift us, urge us onward?

We need community…

(Because we really are better together.)

But above all, we need Christ.

As the deer pants for water, so I long for you, O God. I thirst for God, the living God. Where can I find him to come and stand before him? Day and night I weep for his help, and all the while my enemies taunt me. “Where is this God of yours?” they scoff.

Take courage, my soul! Do you remember those times (but how could you ever forget them!) when you led a great procession to the Temple on festival days, singing with joy, praising the Lord? Why then be downcast? Why be discouraged and sad? Hope in God! I shall yet praise him again. Yes, I shall praise him for his help.

Yet I am standing here depressed and gloomy, but I will meditate upon your kindness to this lovely land… All your waves and billows have gone over me, and floods of sorrow pour upon me…

Yet day by day the Lord also pours out his steadfast love upon me, and through the night I sing his songs and pray to God who gives me life.

“O God my Rock,” I cry, “why have you forsaken me? Why must I suffer these attacks from my enemies?” Their taunts pierce me like a fatal wound; again and again they scoff, “Where is that God of yours?” But, O my soul, don’t be discouraged Don’t be upset. Expect God to act! For I know that I shall again have plenty of reason to praise him for all that he will do. He is my help! He is my God! ~ Psalm 42 (TLB)

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Those words were written by a man after God’s own heart… and echoed by God’s only Son when he hung – holy and wholly innocent – on that old rugged cross.

He was battered, bleeding, barely breathing. But you know what I think killed him?

The unrelenting agony of alone-ness.

I think that’s what broke his heart and stole his last breath.

Isolation bullies us into believing that we’ve been cruelly, irreversibly abandoned. That we have to walk the proverbial plank unaccompanied, unprotected, bound and bare.

It convinces us that no one has the faintest clue what we’re going through… or the peril that lies ahead.

No one.

Not a single soul.

But it isn’t true.  

Because…

Jesus knows.

He walked away, about a stone’s throw, and knelt down and prayed, Father, if you are willing, please take this cup of suffering away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.” Then an angel from heaven appeared and strengthened him. He prayed more fervently, and he was in such agony of spirit that his sweat fell to the ground like great drops of blood. ~ Luke 22:41-44 (NLT)

Jesus was no stranger to loneliness…

Dread…

Despair.

In the last hours before his execution, these were his tormentors. 

He begged relief from the only One who could spare him. But there was no daring rescue. No stay.

So He bore the unspeakable anguish through tears… and beads of sweat… and drops of blood.

He faced desertion and desolation, knowing full well what heinous injustice and vicious brutality and unbridled evil would be unleashed against him.

He was not spared the full force of the real Avenger’s wrath. He wasn’t delivered from one millisecond of the merciless mockery or wrongful conviction or bloody torture. Nor the spitting, scourging, suffocating. Nor the spikes.

Jesus drank the cup of suffering… and poured out his lifeblood.

Alone.

His followers distanced themselves.

One by one, they freaked… and fled. His dearest friends deserted him. One denied even knowing him. (Not once or twice. Three times.)

Another turned traitor.

Even his own Father abandoned him.

And when the sixth hour had come, there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” … And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last.  And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.  And when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, “Truly this man was the Son of God!” (Mark 15:33-34, 37-39)                      

Jesus – Creator, Conqueror, King – despaired… and died. Unaccompanied and unprotected, bound and bare.

Utterly, indecently, disgracefully – and yes, dreadfully – alone.

Why? So we never have to be.

He bore it all because…

Love.

Oh how he loves us.   

Crazy as it sounds, his love was deeper and stronger than his sweating-blood dread. Braver than the savagery inflicted on him. More ferocious than all the foes and forces amassed against him. His love fueled him through forsakenness.

Jesus’ staggering love compelled him – and held him – to the cross.

He suffered alone, so we could come near.

Near to the holy.

Near to the heavenly.

Near to hope.

He drank the cup of crucifixion, so we could could come close – commune – with him.

You’re not alone, friend.

Jesus is near.

(Yes, even when you can’t feel him… at all. Even when everything – all your angst/doubts/disbelief – tell you otherwise.)

Don’t panic. I’m with you. There’s no need to fear for I’m your God. I’ll give you strength. I’ll help you. I’ll hold you steady, keep a firm grip on you. ~ Isaiah 41:10 (MSG)

The Lord himself will go ahead of you. He will be with you. He will never leave you. He’ll never desert you. So don’t be afraid. Don’t lose hope. ~ Deuteronomy 31:8 (NIRV)

“… You can be sure that I will be with you always. I will continue with you until the end of time.” ~ Matthew 28:20 (ERV)

You’re not alone, friend.

(Not even now.)

Wendy

P.S. “God’s presence is not the same as the feeling of God’s presence and He may be doing most for us when we think He’s doing least.” ~ C.S. Lewis

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If you or someone you know is in crisis or having suicidal thoughts, please call 911, go the nearest ER or call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) immediately.

 

 

 

Undertow

In keeping with our theme of the last 11 months, this winter’s been brutal. February has dumped all sorts of misery:

Blizzards.

Ice storms.

Power outages.

And record-breaking lows.

(And I don’t just mean temperatures.)

The endless cycle of unsettling news and the effects of a full year of Covid deaths and “distancing” are enough to make even the most lighthearted soul feel fifty shades of melancholy.

Life can be ridiculously hard.

2020 reiterated that truth and tossed in another:

There’s a drug-resistant strain of despair going around.

(And all the Zoloft and Xanax in the world can’t cure it.)

Guessing you think this is the place where I give you a little pep talk and offer a few cheery platitudes and tell you to carry on. Nope… not today.

Because the struggle’s real. And pain isn’t numbed by pep or platitudes. People’s lives can’t be held together by a handful of words sublimely strung together.

Those unanswered questions you’re grappling with? The doubts and dread, angst and anguish? The impulse to hit “control-alt-delete” on the past year… or your whole life? 

It’s legit. Know why? 

This cold/hard/dark/dying world can be pretty hellish. Simply put, it’s as close to hell as we were ever meant to get. Because we were made for heaven.

The problem with despair is… it makes us forget that.

We can’t see past today – to forever after. We’re tested/taunted/tangled up in duress. We’re tossed and tattered by distress. And then we surrender (temporarily or terminally) to despair.

Despair drags us further out – further offshore – than we ever imagined.

A strong current with a vicious undertow.

It pushes and pulls and drags and drowns.

And few can detect it in time because it all happens beneath the surface. In the depths… That’s where the struggle is. In the murky, menacing water of despair.

O Lord, don’t hold back your tender mercies from me! My only hope is in your love and faithfulness.  Otherwise I perish, for problems far too big for me to solve are piled higher than my head. Meanwhile my sins, too many to count, have all caught up with me, and I am ashamed to look up. My heart quails within me. Please, Lord, rescue me! Quick! Come and help me! ~ Psalm 40:11-13 (TLB)

When there’s no lifeguard on duty, when we’re thrashing and gasping for breath, when we’re too far from the safety of a sandy shore, we echo the psalmist’s desperate cries:

Please… rescue!

Quick!

Come… help!

Though we try to loosen it’s death-grip with helping hands and hearts full of love and messages of hope for the future, the devastating reality of anxiety and depression is this:

Sometimes feelings lie.

And deception requires divine intervention.

There’s an urgent message that needs to be imparted early/often/loud/clear before a crisis. Because when someone really needs it – too often – it’s too late.

The Message is this:

Help is on the way! 

Rescue.

Relief.

Really.

Have compassion on me, Lord, for I am weak. Heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony.  I am sick at heart. How long, O Lord, until you restore me?

Return, O Lord, and rescue me. Save me because of your unfailing love. For the dead do not remember you. Who can praise you from the grave?

I am worn out from sobbing. All night I flood my bed with weeping, drenching it with my tears. My vision is blurred by grief; my eyes are worn out because of all my enemies.

Go away, all you who do evil, for the Lord has heard my weeping. The Lord has heard my plea; the Lord will answer my prayer. ~ Psalm 6:2-9 (NLT)

Can you believe it? God hears. He really does.

And he will answer. So you know what that means? There’s hope.

And hope is no small thing.

The hard part is the gap between the distress call… and the rescue. Hope deflates. Because waiting can feel interminable.

And really, really lonely.

Just like a deer that craves streams of water, my whole being craves you, God. My whole being thirsts for God, for the living God. When will I come and see God’s face. My tears have been my food both day and night, as people constantly questioned me, “Where’s your God now?”

But I remember these things as I bare my soul: how I made my way to the mighty one’s abode, to God’s own house, with joyous shouts and thanksgiving songs— a huge crowd celebrating the festival! Why, I ask myself, are you so depressed? Why are you so upset inside? Hope in God! Because I will again give him thanks, my saving presence and my God. 

My whole being is depressed. That’s why I remember you… Deep called to deep at the noise of your waterfalls; all your massive waves surged over me. By day the Lord commands his faithful love; by night his song is with me— a prayer to the God of my life.

I will say to God, my solid rock, “Why have you forgotten me? Why do I have to walk around, sad, oppressed by enemies?” With my bones crushed, my foes make fun of me, constantly questioning me: “Where’s your God now?”

Why, I ask myself, are you so depressed? Why are you so upset inside? Hope in God! Because I will again give him thanks, my saving presence and my God. ~ Psalm 42 (CEB)

I’m so glad for these reminders in scripture. That life is wildly unpredictable. Trouble is inescapable. Pain is inevitable. Sometimes the undertow threatens to swallow us whole. It’s ok to feel depressed/defeated/frantic/forgotten. It’s part of the human condition.

I’m glad too… for the gentle whisper:

Don’t lose hope.

And the triumphant shout:

Hope in God!

(He’s the only sure-fire source.)

I waited patiently for God to help me; then he listened and heard my cry.  He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out from the bog and the mire, and set my feet on a hard, firm path, and steadied me as I walked along.  He has given me a new song to sing, of praises to our God. Now many will hear of the glorious things he did for me, and stand in awe before the Lord, and put their trust in him. ~ Psalm 40:1-3 (TLB)

Let’s keep reminding each other. Don’t give up. God hears. He’ll answer. Hold on. He’s got this.

And you.

(Me too.)

Wendy

P.S. Better’s ahead.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255