MY GOOD FRIEND, JOB
I sat down and read Job yesterday. Even after all these years, I still didn't get it immediately. It made sense (and was remarkably relatable) until God started talking. Then Job basically says, "OK, not sure what I was thinking. I'll stop complaining," and everything was restored. Whuuutt? But then I slept on it, and it made sense when I awoke this morning. God basically puts it to Job this way: you don't really know what's happening to you any more than you know why the universe exists, why it is the way it is, or where it came from. That's when it became personal.
My complaint isn't about the things I lost or a desire to have them back. It's more about the seeming futility of losing them. I was always willing to lose anything and everything required to surrender myself completely to him, so as much as 2014 hurt, there was hope that he would use the loss to catalyze that surrender. But it's been close to three years now, and it seems nothing has changed. He’s abandoned and forgotten me, and despite my best efforts to view my circumstances non-dually I've become unimaginably bitter.
As I lay there contemplating these things, it dawned on me how completely I've shielded myself from him since he withdrew from me in January. That experienced crushed me. I am incapable of explaining it to anyone who hasn't experienced God's spondic energy firsthand, but every, single day since it vanished has felt like a death. I feel like I've died. The months following its disappearance witnessed me fail to get out of bed for any reason but to satisfy the most basic bodily needs for literally weeks at a time. I went a few months without going outside for any reason but the mail, the lawn, and an occasional quick trip to the grocer. I spoke to no one, nor did I wish to. I only wanted one thing and wanted it desperately: death. I wasn't going to do it myself, but I prayed for it with the deepest desire.
Since returning to Colorado in August, I've been decidedly more active. There’ve been isolated moments of relative happiness, but by and large I am a lifeless shell going through the motions. Even now I think about death multiple times a day and wouldn't be upset if it cozied up to me while I wasn't looking.
So it mustn't be too shocking to behold how thoroughly I’ve walled myself off from him behind a solid wall of mistrust, anger, and hate. It's damned-near Pavlovian; I literally don't feel safe with God. And yet, basking in the experiential awareness of how completely I've shut him out, the inkling of a possibility of a way forward surfaced.
Though I risk belaboring the point, I was reminded - yet again - all of this is his way of answering my old prayer. Though it refuses to sink in, he's still honoring my prayer of complete surrender, which has turned out to be an excruciatingly long and painful experience due to my acutely narcissistic tendency toward prideful self-reliance. Perhaps the surgery wouldn't be quite so invasive with a humbler person. In my case, it would seem God has undertaken the impossible. Even after all I've lost, I still cling to my pride. I talk a good game and even organize my conscious thoughts with humility; however, subconsciously (in places I can't influence directly with reason) it's clear I still want it to be about me - want the recovery to be tailored to my whims and the enlightenment to be an achievement of sorts. I don't want the impulses surfacing from beneath my conscious horizon to be this way, but they are. There seems to be nothing I can do about them.
But God can, and it now seems that both the internal and external circumstances particular to my experiential knowledge of myself have aligned in such a way as to communicate to my subconscious that I will never escape this pit on my own. No amount of effort will see it done. As Job intimated, "how could I ever pull myself up by my bootstraps? I have no boots!" Is this fair? I've complained bitterly that it is not, and yet God is now saying, "You only complain about these hardships because you have no idea what is happening to you."
In light of this concession from him, what would I now say is happening? I believe this extended exile is having a cumulative effect below the surface of unraveling my pride, undermining the very instinct to claw my way out. As this prideful hope dwindles, so too does the desire that gives voice to the pride. I find not only am I not pursuing my old life anymore, I no longer desire it either - nor anything that resembles it. I want what I think of as "my life" to die, just as I want to die, but it's different now.
Now I want to die to my life because I want to live Christ's life in me. I want all my desires forever quelled, save the desire for him to desire through me. I want all my words forever silenced, save the words he speaks through me. I want all my actions stifled, save the actions of him moving through me. It’s both death and absolute life conjoined in mystical marriage, his infinite generosity wed to my infinite receptivity. It's clear such receptivity is impossible for man, yet God appears to be working toward forging it in me. Such an endeavor is requiring extensive suffering and humiliation in my case (perhaps in any case,) a trial magnified tremendously by his withdrawal in January. It seems this period of silence has done its work well, as it has gone a very long way in breaking down my final defense of my own, small, separate self.
I'm not there yet; there's still more to be endured. Yet, like Job, I'm in a place where I'm resigned to the trouble. God will do whatever it takes to see it through. It may continue to be grueling, but like Jeremiah he will renew my mind and body each day until the purging is complete. I suspect when I'm ready, there will be nothing left of me. Christ will be all in all in me, and to receive him will be to receive a myself.
It could be I'm mistaken. All the wise counsel I've received, from folks I respect very much, would say I am. They say I seek the impossible or that the process of healthy transformation does not follow this pattern. They have both common sense and a wealth of collective experience to commend their viewpoints. I might be wise to heed them, but I cannot deny or resist what's in my heart or upon my conscience. If I am wrong, it's clear I will lose everything. I will have hollowed out everything both inside and out, with nothing to fill the void. It will not end well. My hope is in God, that he will rescue me. Whether he does or not, I resign myself to seek him and be sought in this way. Grace is beyond comprehension, and I desperately need it now. It could be I'm both mistaken and saved, for when have we humans ever been right?