Recently I’ve been watching my
DVDs of Star Trek: The Next Generation. In one episode, Data meets
Spock and comments on the fact that Spock has spent his life trying
to suppress his human side and the emotions that go with that, while
Data has been trying to become more human and wishes to experience
emotions. I’d have to say I would usually agree with Spock on this
one. In my experience, emotions most often represent a loss of
control and are usually undesirable. That’s one of the reasons
that I find depression hard to cope with. I don’t like feeling out
of control, like I could start crying at all kinds of inconvenient
times.
I just came across these comments in
A Praying Life, by Paul E.
Miller (57-58):
“In fact, God wanted me depressed about myself and encouraged about his Son. The gospel uses my weakness as the door to God’s grace. That is how grace works... John Landsburg [Landsberg], a sixteenth-century Catholic monk, summarized this well in his classic A Letter from Jesus Christ....
‘...In fact I don’t want you to rely on your own strength and abilities and plans, but to distrust them and to distrust yourself; and to trust me and no one and nothing else. As long as you rely entirely on yourself, you are bound to come to grief. You still have a most important lesson to learn: your own strength will no more help you to stand upright than propping yourself on a broken reed. You must not despair of me. You may hope and trust in me absolutely. My mercy is infinite.’”
It is an
uncomfortable truth that God doesn’t want us to be stronger, but
weaker. He doesn’t need us strong enough to do His work, but weak
enough to let Him do His work for us and through us. I heard a radio
spot on Judges 6 where Gideon is told, “Go in the strength you
have,” not in the strength he didn’t have. In the next chapter,
God intentionally weakened the army down to 300 men so that He alone
would get the credit. In 2 Corinthians 11:30 and 12:9-10, Paul boasts
in his own weaknesses because they display God’s strength.
Our culture
values the strong, independent, assertive, and self-controlled. God
values the poor, meek, thirsty, and sorrowful who know they need His
strength (Matthew 5:3-12). The strong don’t really need God. The
weak know they can’t live without Him.
Even though I’ve
contended with depression most of my life, I hate when it flairs up
and leaves me feeling weak and vulnerable. My pride kicks in and
says, “You aren’t supposed to feel this way. You should be able
to hold it together. You can’t let others know you still have this
struggle.” This is an arid place to dwell.
Miller draws on
the many stories of the desert in Scripture:
“The hardest part of being in the desert is that there is no way out. You don’t know when it will end. There is no relief in sight... The still, dry air of the desert brings the sense of helplessness that is so crucial to the spirit of prayer. You come face-to-face with your inability to live, to have joy, to do anything of lasting worth... The desert becomes a window to the heart of God. He finally gets your attention because he’s the only game in town... The best gift of the desert is God’s presence” (184-185).
Life can often
feel like a desert—empty, lonely, fruitless. But God takes pleasure
in making the desert bloom, bringing life to lifelessness. That is a
reason for hope and perseverance.
“The wilderness and the dry
land shall be glad; the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the
crocus; it shall blossom abundantly and rejoice with joy and singing”
(Isaiah 35:1-2 ESV).
© 2018 Dawn Rutan. Unless otherwise
indicated all images are copyright free from pixabay.com.
