Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Talking it out, over and out

David sat in a cool, damp cave, having run madly from his king, Saul. It was a fire-less evening, and he was without light and without heat. He was alone, in every sense of the word. Nothing he could do, nothing he could think, nothing he could say would lift him out of the doldrums in which he now found himself.

The Bible says in First Samuel 1:22 of his stay in the cave, "1-2 So David got away and escaped to the Cave of Adullam. When his brothers and others associated with his family heard where he was, they came down and joined him. Not only that, but all who were down on their luck came around—losers and vagrants and misfits of all sorts. David became their leader. There were about four hundred in all.
3-4 Then David went to Mizpah in Moab. He petitioned the king of Moab, "Grant asylum to my father and mother until I find out what God has planned for me." David left his parents in the care of the king of Moab. They stayed there all through the time David was hiding out."

A short time later (two chapters as the crow flies), we read, "When Saul came back after dealing with the Philistines, he was told, "David is now in the wilderness of En Gedi." Saul took three companies—the best he could find in all Israel—and set out in search of David and his men in the region of Wild Goat Rocks. He came to some sheep pens along the road. There was a cave there and Saul went in to relieve himself. David and his men were huddled far back in the same cave. David's men whispered to him, "Can you believe it? This is the day God was talking about when he said, 'I'll put your enemy in your hands. You can do whatever you want with him.'" Quiet as a cat, David crept up and cut off a piece of Saul's royal robe."

One "boy" and one "king" had to reach their reckoning point.

So, what's your reckoning point? Where does God want you to reach before He causes you to actively pursue His goals, His moment of truth? Where? What? When? Why? And that all important "how." What's your bottom? How low can you go? Will you ever reach a point from which there is no return, no way out?

It was a bitterly hot day yesterday. Eggs were being cracked across our parish in preparation for sidewalk frying. Beyond simple early August heat, it was one of those borderline dangerous summer days, the kind you wouldn't wish on an enemy. I made some home visits, and we had a dinner "on the grounds" last evening at the church. Each time I got out of the car, it was practice for Armageddon. A few seconds out of the air conditioning and I was drenched. Each and every time. Drenched with sweat. Drenched with minutes -- long, long minutes mind you -- of odorous olfactory obfuscation or as they say where I'm from, "I was sweating like a dog." Mind you, dogs don't really sweat except out of the pads of their feet so that makes no sense. I think it should be dog tired, sweating like a pig and trotting like a horse, but I've stalled.

My clothing was nothing short of wringing wet as we warmed the evening meal Mary had prepared. I hate to be wet, dry, wet, dry but there was little I could do. A cool cave would have been a welcome change in temperatures, but we had no cave and we had no cool.

David called out from his temporary residence in the 142nd Psalm, "As I sink in despair, my spirit ebbing away, you know how I'm feeling. Know the danger I'm in, the traps hidden in my path. ... I cry out, God, call out; 'You're my last chance, my only hope for life!' Oh listen, please listen; I've never been this low.' "

Friends, it's hard not to get that low right now. The caves in our lives offer more than shelter; the caves offer hope. The caves offer fortification against attack. The caves offer a way out from an unbelievably dire situation.

Been there? Done that? Recently?

I offer to my congregations each week a solace. I tell them what they must do if they want a way out.

I tell them that if they want to talk, if they want to listen as I talk, if they want shelter against the pain and suffering that is today's living, all they must do is set up a meeting either at the church or their homes or a coffee shop or whatever. They almost never call.

As the pain grows deeper and deeper in their lives, I am always sure they will contact me. They almost never do. I don't really know why except they seem to feel if they come to talk to the pastor, it is an admission of not only guilt but certainly failure. That's true. It is. But that's really the point of all this. If we admit our sin, admit our guilt and certainly admit our failure, we are on the road to replacing that failure with the goodness of our being washed clean by Jesus' blood. What a sweet, sweet Spirit that replaces our failure. Oh for the joy of that moment.

David prays to his Lord in the 143rd Psalm, "If you wake me each morning with the sound of your loving voice, I'll go to sleep each night trusting in you. Point out the road I must travel; I'm all ears, all eyes before you."

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