I don’t know how many Christians have experienced what it’s like to wrestle with God as Jacob did (Genesis 32:24-32). Maybe we all do in some form or another. For me, the form it usually takes is something like, “Lord, what’s going on? Why are you allowing such-and-such to happen in my life? How can this really be ‘working all things together for good?’” Trials, temptations, apparently unanswered prayers, yearnings, and questions, both personal and theological, though I’m sure they are all in my case relatively insignificant compared to what many others endure, still have a way of occasionally piling up on one another and seemingly draining me of all spiritual life, joy, and energy.
That was basically my state this Sunday morning (October, 2003). I guess I’d been heading this direction for the last few days, and Saturday night had brought me to an intense new low. Without going into personal details, suffice it to say that I felt at the end of my rope. How much longer could I bear it? Like Christ in the garden (pardon the sacrilegious comparison), I was praying fervently, in agony, with crying and tears. It’s not that I was totally comfortless. The Holy Spirit was no doubt interceding with groanings too deep for words, and I realized that and was grateful for it, as I didn’t feel I was making much of a connection with God myself. But on the whole, I was still quite distraught and anguished right up to whenever it was that I finally drifted off to sleep.
The new day brought some degree of relief and forgetfulness. I suppose this was partly intentional--meaning I was steeling myself to my emotions. I knew I would soon be gathering together with other Christians to worship the Lord, and I wanted to be in the best possible frame of mind. I looked forward to this, as usual, and perhaps a bit more than usual, sensing that I really needed a “Spiritual recharging.” At the same time, I was also afraid I wouldn’t be able to enjoy much in the way of genuine “spirit and truth” worship this morning. There was just too much heaviness I had to hold back.
When it came time for the meeting to start, at first everyone just sat there in stony silence. Oh no, I thought briefly, this could be another one of those times when nobody really has anything to say, and so we eventually just go through the motions until everyone is glad to finally get it over with. (Not that I’d say this happens frequently in our little assembly, but I guess I’ve heard that criticism often enough to be somewhat sensitive about it.) Suddenly, a brother who is usually fairly quiet announced a hymn: What a Friend we have in Jesus / All our sins and griefs to bear. My struggles of the previous night instantly leapt into the foremost part of my consciousness. Yes, I had been bearing just such a burden, and I had felt the privilege of taking it to the Lord in prayer. But at the same time, the solace I had found didn’t seem like enough. It was very discouraging.
I don’t remember how far we got before I lost it and couldn’t continue singing. It may have been the verse that asks if we are cumbered with a load of care. I reached for my handkerchief to blow my nose and wipe my eyes. “We should never be discouraged,” sang the family of God so sweetly. I knew it was true, but how could they actually sing it? Well, I was glad to hear them, anyway.
Then came another period of silence, with me imploring God’s comfort in my troubles and simultaneously trying to steer my mind off of the subject to keep from breaking down entirely. I had almost recovered when another brother got up to read a few verses from Job 19, which spoke of Job’s intense trials and questionings. “Pity me, pity me, O you my friends, for the hand of God has struck me.” Yet in spite of this, he worshiped: “I know that my Redeemer lives.” God deserves our worship no matter what we are going through, the brother was saying. We worship Him anyway, because He is worthy of it.
I could continue with more specifics, but I fear they would be too personal. As we went on to consider how Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us, and all this for the desire of having us be with Him, I was overwhelmed. For the most part, I couldn’t even participate in the singing. The trembling of my upper lip was matched by the trembling of my very soul. Literally every single Scripture that was read, every prayer that was offered, and every song that was sung seemed to bore a hole right through to the core of my being. Some afforded a degree of comfort, others simply brought more tears. Nothing was said that I didn’t already know. My disappointments and longings were still as real as ever. None of my questions were answered. But one thing was certain: I had been opened up and laid bare before the eyes of Him with whom we have to do, in an intensely loving, not antagonistic, way. And although I was still distraught and now embarrassed with the thought that some people might have noticed my condition, I knew inside that this was a good thing, and I praised God for it.
On our last Wednesday night meeting we had gone through the first ten verses of John 10. It was a wonderful study. As we ended, somebody casually remarked that he didn’t see how anyone could doubt that the Bible was the Word of God after hearing His very voice speaking so poignantly through that passage. Now my thoughts were turned to the assembly of believers. I wondered if anyone could come through what I had just experienced and have any doubts that God also speaks in a special way through the assembly. By this I do not mean a sermon or a music program. These things have their place, and God speaks through them, too. But this was different. Here God had spoken through the whole assembly, the very body of Christ. First one brother, then another, then another, had all gotten up and uttered what I felt were the direct words of God to me! To hear God speak through an individual is powerful enough, but to hear Him speak through a variety of His redeemed people, all united in one purpose and voice, yet each one having his own unique combination of gifts and perspectives, and none of them with any clue what effect they were having on me--well, that had been downright overwhelming.
When God wrestled with Jacob, He let him seemingly prevail. I don’t know why He did that, and I don’t know why He sometimes lets our questions seemingly “prevail,” with no Divine resolutions or explanations. Jacob’s pressing concern was a partially-deserved fear of his brother Esau, whom he was about to meet up with. This fear does not seem to have been all that much allayed by his encounter with God--he was still afraid of Esau in the beginning of the next chapter. And yet even though this issue remained unanswered, the experience was not for nothing. God had His sovereign purposes for it. Jacob got a permanent reminder in the form of a gimpy thigh, and he also got a blessing. It obviously affected him deeply when he reflected on it later: “I’ve seen God face to face,” he said with amazement, “and yet my life has been preserved.”
Are we as awestruck as Jacob when God condescends to engage our wrestlings and speak to us face to face, teaching us once again that we are but dust and need to put our trust solely in Him? What can we say in His presence? Our own human thoughts and elocutions are useless; we would be declaring things we cannot understand, too wonderful for us. Perhaps all we can do is bow our hearts, crying “Holy! Holy! Holy!” and thank Him and praise Him in spite of whatever is happening or whatever we’re feeling. Isn’t that what true worship is all about?
How amazing it is that our God deigns to reveal Himself through such a meager instrument as an assembly of faulty believers! We come to give our worship to Him, and find out He ends up being the one who speaks through us! And He doesn’t want this to be an uncommon experience. Whether we realize it or not, whenever we gather together in the Lord’s name, He is in our midst. I believe it is a very precious kind of meeting when we have a format that allows Him to use all of the brothers in the assembly as his spokesmen, however He sovereignly chooses. What a disappointment that so many of God’s children seem to avoid or even disparage this kind of admittedly unpolished, unprofessional, yet oh-so-meaningful open-format meeting, which I believe is described in God’s Word (1 Corinthians 14:26-33).
I do not say that God speaks to us as directly as what I felt this week each and every time we assemble together for this kind of meeting. But I know He is there, and I know He does speak, and I believe He does this in a very special way that I have sensed countless times and have grown to hold quite dear. And I don’t think I could ever be content to gather together every Sunday morning simply to hear a sermon, or listen to some stirring music, or do anything else that does not really allow Him that same opportunity. That’s just not good enough for me. I want nothing less than to see His face and hear His voice through the whole assembly that He purchased with His own blood. Don’t you?
This page copyright © 2004 Edward A. Morris. Created June 23, 2004. Last updated June 23, 2004.