The Battle Ground

A few weekends ago Herb and I attended a marriage conference. It was amazing, truly, and sometime perhaps I will write more about it. But specifically I want to talk about the very last morning. The conference leaders asked us to turn to our spouse and answer one question: what battle are you fighting right now? Then they asked us to pray for one another.

This seems like a simple enough question, but it has proven the most powerful question in my life this month. As I sat across from Herb and shared with him my particular battle, I began to cry. I had not named this struggle out loud. I had not identified the war in my soul as of late. And the moment I spoke it aloud, light shone on that dark place in my soul. The battle didn't seem so powerful, the reality of it not quite as real. Now Herb knew my battle, he knew my struggle; He invited Jesus into the battle with us through prayer, and I was able to begin to speak truth to myself in a way hadn't been able to before.

There was a power in acknowledging that we are indeed fighting a battle. It is so easy to forget that this world is against us. For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places. (Ephesians 6:12) So often in scripture we are reminded of the battle; there are constant references to the enemy who comes to prowl and steal. I love the passage in 1 Peter that reminds us that the Enemy is prowling lion looking to devour us (1 Peter 5:8). We are called by Paul to put on the armor of God (Ephesians 6). Why would we need armor for everyday life? It seems like overkill to walk about in full suits of uncomfortable metal just to cook and clean and go about our daily lives. But the truth is we are in a war, especially in the everyday. 

In the everyday quiet, we are under attack to hear the truth about who we are and who we belong to. In the everyday relationships, we are fiercely fighting our selfishness in a need to humble ourselves before one another. In the everyday toil, we are fighting the sense of purposelessness, in desperate need of reminding that God has prepared good works for us ahead of time. It is in the everyday that we doubt most the Hope which God has called us to; we feel entrenched in the broken, aching world, and we wonder if there will ever be a reprieve. 

This is why it was so important to name our battles to one another. We need people to remind us to put on our armor. We need others to speak the ever-present truth of scripture over our doubts. We need the encouragement that we do not stand alone in this battle ground. God gave us a community to fight along with us, but how can they fight unless they know?

Therein lies the beauty of the question: What battle are you fighting right now? It was a remarkable moment at our Bible study the week after the conference as we confessed our battles to one another. We found that: one, many of us were fighting such similar battles. What a precious thing to know that our battles weren't unique to us, but instead know we were not alone! And two, in naming our battles we were able to knowingly and intentionally pray for one another and lift one another up. Countless times in the weeks since this meeting, I have had intimate times of prayer for my friends and felt the Lord leading me to send specific passages of scripture to these friends to encourage their hearts. What a gift to know exactly what truth a friend needs to hear! And likewise, what a gift to receive a word of truth from a friend that speaks right into the darkest places of my heart! 

Speaking my battle aloud has been a powerful turning point for me. The speakers at the conference gave us a little army man to place in our home, to remind us that we are fighting these battles, and to remind us to pray for one another in these battles. I've daily been aware that I need to protect my heart, that I need to speak truth to myself when I begin to hear my mind utter things that the Bible declares untrue. It has brought to mind that roaring lion seeking to devour me and made my heart resolute to not allow him to attack. And so the battle ground has been on the forefront of  my mind, and thus my heart was ripe to hear this truth yesterday.

As we stood in church singing, we sang the words "The Lord is fighting our battles," and my heart stopped in its tracks. I've been so keenly aware that I am not fighting these battles alone, that God gave me a spouse and a community to fight alongside of me. But in worship yesterday God gave me an even more resounding truth. GOD is fighting for me! GOD is fighting with me! And the scriptures came flooding back to me:

The LORD himself will fight for you. Just stay calm. Exodus 14:14

You will not leave in a hurry, running for your lives. For the LORD will go ahead of you; yes, the God of Israel will protect you from behind. Isaiah 52:12

Be strong and courageous, do not fear or be dismayed because of the king of Assyria nor because of all the horde that is with him; for the one with us is greater than the one with him. 2 Chronicles 32:7

Once again, how could I forget? How could I forget who ultimately is fighting for me? I had been reminding myself that Jesus has the ultimate victory. I had been reminding myself that God has won the battle. But I had forgotten that He is fighting for me right now! He is standing on the front line. He isn't shying away from the throng. No battle astonishes Him. No attack strategy catches Him off-guard. He has the perfect defenses and is never at a loss for what to do next. This is the captain of my army! He is the one in charge of my infantry! I know no greater comfort than this!

Oh Father, thank you for knowing how much your people need one another and need You! Thank You for never leaving us alone in the fierce battles! Thank You for your armor, Your people, and Your presence in the unceasing attacks. You are such a good God! Amen.


So I ask you, friend, what battle are you fighting right now? Would you please go speak your battle aloud to a friend who will lovingly listen, who will pray for you, who will encourage you, who will fight with you? Shine a light into that dark place in your heart. Do not allow the enemy to prowl there any longer. God has called us into battle together; don't fight alone any longer!

The Whosits and Whatsits of My Heart

“'Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal; for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.'” Matthew‬ ‭6:19-21‬ ‭NASB‬‬

Honest moment here: I've always been super arrogant when I read these verses. I'm not very materialistic. I don't like things. I don't want stuff cluttering my house. So clearly I've mastered this verse. I obviously store up ALL my treasures in heaven. But as I've been meditating on the verses that lead up to this, God has been showing me that Jesus cares more about what is going on in the secret places, the recesses of my heart that no one sees. I might not externally have a mound of treasures lying around, but what exactly am I treasuring in my heart?

And it is as if God said: I know what your treasure is Katie. The world may not know, but I know. There is was, the object of my collection, the sum total of my whosits and whatsits. I'm quite the hoarder of human adoration. I'm a treasure collector of kind words people say about me. I pile up storehouses like a squirrel fills his hole with nuts. And I munch on them whenever I'm hungry for peace, joy, love.

Now, just like material possessions, the words of adoration are not inherently bad. In fact, God has given them to us to encourage us and lift us up. But if this is where I'm placing my value, if this is how I'm soothing my aches, if this is how I'm finding joy, then I've gone astray. My treasure is not being stored in the right place; these words will fade and tatter. They will die with my body. And as Jesus says just a few verses earlier, if I'm soaking up these words, filling myself with the goodness I feel this world has to offer, I will have my reward in full here on this earth.

There is nothing eternal about my word-hoarding. It is a Snickers bar to an empty stomach. It'll satisfy for a moment, but it certainly will not fill me permanently. The words that will fill me flow from the very mouth of God, quenching a thirsty soul and satisfying each hunger pang.  This is the manna I should be hoarding, for His words are more than enough for me.

I love that the word of God is alive! I love that I've read this passage one hundred times and never had this truth resound within my soul. God is so good to give us what we need when we are ready to hear it. His word refreshes and satisfies the soul, it is sweet to the taste. Oh these words are true!

Lamentations

I feel this heavy weight on my soul every time I log onto social media, or open my phone to a news story that pours out the brokenness of this world. So many people hurting, so many ostracized, so many disenfranchised, so many lost. And I feel overwhelmed. I told a friend last week that I just want to volunteer somewhere new every day of every week and help ALL the people. Anyone else feel this? Anyone else want to single-handedly heal the world? It's daunting. It hangs over my head as the standard I can never reach.

In my class this semester we are taking a long look at God's mission for His people. We are gazing into Scripture to see what God's heart is for this place that is shattered into a million pieces. We are reading about how each and every person is imprinted with the image of God, reminding ourselves that each person has immeasurable value. We are pouring over texts that remind us that we are the broken ones, that Jesus left His comfort to reach into our muck. It is then that we are prompted to leave our own comfort and enter into the muck of others, not as experts who have so much to offer, but as equally fractured people who know what it's like to desperately need a Savior.

Last night I read this beautiful article about the importance of lament as a spiritual discipline ("The Discipline of Lament"). The authors call us to locate ourselves in the middle of the pain, to unlearn our desire for a quick fix, and to truly look at our role in the suffering of others. Will we do it? Will we walk out of our comfort and into the darkest places on earth? Will we leave our homes and safety to open our eyes to where hurting lives? Will we allow our hearts to break without a band-aid big enough to stop the gushing? For if we walk into the darkness where such ache and torture dwells, we will find problems too big for us to solve. We will truly find the end of ourselves:

The first language of the church in a deeply broken world is not strategy, but prayer. The journey of reconciliation is grounded in a call to see and encounter the rupture of this world so truthfully that we are literally slowed down. We are called to a space where any explanation or action is too easy, too fast, too shallow-- a space where the right response can only be a desperate cry directed to God. We are called to learn the anguished cry of lament. (Katongole and Rice)

I can't speak for the rest of the people in this world, but I know my own heart. I know that I don't want to stand face to face with a problem I cannot fix. I do not want to hear the cry of someone whose heart is irreparable. I know the discomfort of the silence of weeping for genuine, real loss that cannot be explained away or quickly healed. It is excruciating. And even when we have the larger Hope of Jesus, the Hope of a healed world to come, we are unable to step away from the uncontrollable sobs of the world languishing under the curse of sin.

But when we step into the darkness, when we choose to open our eyes to the horrors of this world, we are granted the weighty reminder that we cannot fix this. We can't. We just don't have the resources. We don't have the patience. We don't have the long-suffering love necessary to heal the deep despair in this world. It is when we come to this stark reality, when we see our own limits, that we lament.



Lament is not despair. It is not whining. It is not a cry into the void. Lament is a cry directed to God. It is the cry of those who see the truth of the world's deep wounds and the cost of seeking peace. It is the prayer of those who are deeply disturbed by the way things are. We are enjoined to learn to see and feel what the psalmists see and feel and to join our prayers with theirs. The journey of reconciliation is grounded in the practice of lament. (Katongole and Rice)


I find this so reassuring. I love that God wants us to despair and cry out to Him. He doesn't ask us to suffer in silence. He doesn't want us to turn our eyes away and pretend like the agony is not there. He doesn't require us to bear the burden of brokenness alone. Instead, He says, "Lament. Cry out to me! I see the pain, I see the inequality, I see the anguish. Let me cry with you. Let me hear your heart for these people whom I love so. Thank you for letting your heart break for what breaks My own heart.

"I'm still here. I'm still at work. Join me. But I'm warning you. It won't be easy. You probably won't see the healing in your lifetime. You'll see glimmers, you'll see small steps. But I've been at this healing a long time. The time for complete restoration hasn't come yet."

God is waiting. He is waiting for us to enter into the mangled world. He is waiting for us to locate ourselves in the suffering. Not because He knows we'll have the answers. Not because He wants us to come up with the grand plan to save us all. And not because He wants us to suffer. He wants us to walk into this fractured firmament because He wants us to cry with Him, to love with Him, to serve with Him. He wants us to be reminded of the painful ripples of sin, to see just how desperately we need Him. It is in our desperation that we pray.

I have to admit that I'm not great at prayer. I pray, I talk to God often throughout the day. I pray for people. I pray for healing. I pray for changed circumstances. I pray for God to break strongholds and set people free. But I often just say these things before God, not certain the answer matters. I wonder if my words matter, if prayer changes anything. But so many of the things I pray for can be lived through, can be solved with enough waiting or enough resources from the right people. I am not in a position where I need to ask God to feed my family this day. I am not begging God to free me from addiction. I am not asking God to protect my family from the evil that encompasses my neighborhood. I am not desperate for the Lord's intervention.

It is when we orient ourselves in the really broken places of this world, it's when we listen to the heartache behind the happy facades, it's when we walk into the places where evil has wrecked it's most havoc, that we cry from the depths of our heart for the Lord to move. This is where real faith and real prayer begins.

This is a discipline. It takes practice to press into pain, to step into brokenness with no agenda other than to dwell among it. It takes diligence to not turn around and hightail it out of the darkness into the safe and warm. But until we open our eyes to the fallen world, we cannot cry out to the Lord for His healing to come. Until we see the pain, we cannot know that systems and programs won't bring wholeness, only the love of God will. Until we are reminded of the despair sin brings, we cannot grieve our own sin and rejoice in the goodness of all that Jesus has done.

Finally, then, through lament we come to that hard place of knowing that we cannot "achieve" reconciliation. It is always a gift from God...Lament shapes reconciliation as a long and costly journey that is impossible without receiving the gifts God offers--forgiveness, the promise that our sacrifice is worth it, the patience to stay in an agonizing place and wait for God's reply. (Katongole and Rice)

My prayer for myself: "Lord, let these not merely be words on a page. May lamentation be a rhythm of my life. My I sit with the hurting, hearing their anguish, and cry out to You alongside of them. May I be a woman who seeks reconciliation through the agonizing journey of patient praying, acting and waiting. Amen."