Reclaiming Emotion

Yesterday was an emotionally charged day in America.  And today will be no different, as millions of us are tuned into the Brett Kavanaugh senate hearings and the accusations against him by Christine Blasey Ford.  After reading many opinion articles, posts and tweets, it’s been interesting to see how we deal with the emotion all around – on both sides.  I don’t think we’ve done it very well.

 

We don’t know what to do with emotion a lot of the time.  Emotion is unpredictable and at times, threatening, and it often doesn’t fit nicely into our enlightenment influenced rationality.  We have come to believe that emotion is dangerous and so we often discount it.  We have come to believe that emotion is a sign of weakness.  A sign of a lack of character or resolve.  But that grieves – emotionally – the heart of God.  After all, he is the creator of emotion and has given it to us for His good purposes.

I see this discounting of emotion in the Christian community as well.  Especially, perhaps, in the evangelical tradition I’ve been a pastor in for the last 15 years.  In response to the emotionalism of other traditions, we’ve labeled emotion as dangerous or bad or at the very least, a terrible hermeneutic (a way to read and interpret the Bible).  But I’m learning in my DMin studies that this is a bad mistake.  Yes, we should be careful of emotionalism and its tendency to manipulate apart from the rational truth of the Gospel.  But God has given us emotion as a way to understand and be changed by that very same Gospel.  In fact, Curt Thompson in his ground-breaking, brilliant book “The Anatomy of the Soul”, says that emotion is actually the door-way through which real change (read “sanctification” if you’d like) happens.  God’s Word is meant to engage our emotions.  And it’s through those emotions – backed up by it’s rational truths – that we grow.  That’s why story-telling and imagination are such an important part of the current conversations around apologetics, preaching and discipleship.  Because they engage the emotions.  They reclaim emotion as integral to God and his Creation and purpose.

 

So I’ve begun a new discipline that I want to share with you that’s been so formative for me in the hopes you might do the same.  I’ve begun reading through the Psalms with the aim of letting them sink down into the depths of my heart.  Reading to FEEL.  I’ve been taking a few Psalms per week and just sitting with them for a time and writing down what I’m feeling as I meditate on them.  What follows is my reflection this morning from Psalm 90.  My reflections are unedited.  They are just how God moved me emotionally through His Word this morning and thus changed my day – changed me.  Grew me.  

 

Psalm 90 – A Psalm of Moses

1 Lord, you have been our dwelling place

in all generations.

2 Before the mountains were brought forth,

or ever you had formed the earth and the world,

from everlasting to everlasting you are God.

 

Reflection:  The fears and insecurities cling close too much.  Sometimes its hard to find reliable steps.  I feel anxious about my steps so much.  I feel like I’m walking on through quicksand sometimes – toward a home – a rest – security – that never gets closer.  I need to feel like I need to know what it seems like Moses needed to remind himself of.  That when my ability or my wits or my health or my relationships or the worldly stones upon which I place my feet sink or feel swallowed by fears and fallenness, that I have you as a bedrock instead.  That you are there – holding me up – from generation to generation.  As my Creator.  Even when you feel far away.

 

3 You return man to dust

and say, “Return, O children of man!”

4 For a thousand years in your sight

are but as yesterday when it is past,

or as a watch in the night.

5 You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream,

like grass that is renewed in the morning:

6 in the morning it flourishes and is renewed;

in the evening it fades and withers.

 

Reflection:  It’s hard to face this.  But it certainly explains my experience.  My fears.  My insecurities.  I look at my daughters and remember my own 9th and 11th years and they are like yesterday to me.  So fast.  Time goes too fast.  Like a flood, a dream, like grass fading and withering.  Too fast.  Slow it down.  I have much more to do and see!  Why does my inevitable death define me so much?!  It makes me want to cram everything in.  Anxious to fit all the dreams into moments.  Cram in the bucket list!  For what though?  So I can leave some legacy?  So there will be good attendance at my funeral and someone might say something nice about me there?  What’s the point? It’s all going to die.  It’s all going to fade and wither into what?  Nothing?  Why is it like this Lord?!  It seems like a weird thing to me – a maddening thing – that you are the Creator of life and that you are everlasting and yet my created life is so short. 

Cynical.  Skeptical.  Ripped off.  That’s how I feel.

 

7 For we are brought to an end by your anger;

by your wrath we are dismayed.

8 You have set our iniquities before you,

our secret sins in the light of your presence.

9 For all our days pass away under your wrath;

we bring our years to an end like a sigh.

10 The years of our life are seventy,

or even by reason of strength eighty;

yet their span is but toil and trouble;

they are soon gone, and we fly away.

11 Who considers the power of your anger,

and your wrath according to the fear of you?

 

Reflection:  Oh yes, that’s right.  I know that’s true too.  I have much regret.  Much of those past days and weeks and months and years I’d like to do over.  I know that’s on me.  I don’t want it to be.  I want to blame my circumstances or my relationships or YOU.  But what’s true is I am responsible for my own angst.  World broken, yes.  Toil and turmoil, yes.  But my sin – exposed – is real and mine and the problem.  So often I’ve not considered how it’s against you.  I’ve not considered your rightful anger.  I’ve not feared you – revered you.  Instead I’ve put you in the dock – in the interrogation chair – that I deserve to sit in.  I’m sorry.  What arrogance.

 

12 So teach us to number our days

that we may get a heart of wisdom.

 

Reflection: What does this mean?  What did it mean to Moses?  Get busy?  It seems like that’s how motivational speakers have used it.  And so that’s my inclination, I suppose.  Crap, I’m wasting the few moments I have!  Get busy!  I’m so used to playing the clock.  Hurry up offense.  Accomplish.  Make a difference.  Check ALL the boxes.  But does that flurry of activity deliver a heart of wisdom?  Or is there something else in Moses’ heart?  Something other than “get busy”?  Get off your lazy butt?  It seems like it – it feels like it as I keep reading….

 

13 Return, O LORD! How long?

Have pity on your servants!

14 Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love,

that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.

15 Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,

and for as many years as we have seen evil.

16 Let your work be shown to your servants,

and your glorious power to their children.

17 Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us,

and establish the work of our hands upon us;

yes, establish the work of our hands!

 

Reflection:  There’s hope.  Moses has hope.  He’s not cynical or skeptical.  He’s not anxious or afraid.  He doesn’t feel ripped off.  He’s not under the thumb of time.  But he is sad.  Lamenting.  How Long O Lord?!  Yes, Amen, how long?  Sad.  Wondering.  Inquiring when God’s plan will be complete.  His promise to make all things new delivered.  He’s calling on God’s promise to bring an end to life under the clock – a life defined by death.  When Jesus comes again and the victory of Easter is full.  When the tears are wiped away for good.  When there’s no thought of futility – only flourishing.  Have pity!  Yes, amen.  Come quickly, Jesus.  I’m tired of this.  I’m tired.

 

But it also seems that in the midst of the lament there’s massive hope.  I need to feel that.  It seems there’s a peace of the promise for the day.  For today.  For Moses and for me.  The warmth of his steadfast love this morning that reminds me He is enough.  His opinion of me never changes – it is enough – that He delights in me regardless of whether I check 10 things off the bucket list or don’t get out of bed.  Steadfast love.  Let it fill my cup today because it will fill my cup for eternity.  And so even as I cry out, I rejoice and am glad.  Because I am NOT defined by the clock or death.  Jesus crushed it.  Victory.  Live in the victory.  Hope in it.  It’s won.

 

Maybe Moses is saying that we should number out days not because they are few, but because they matter eternally.  His work is eternal work.  His power is eternal power.  And my work – as part of His eternal work – is itself eternal work.  And His power is working through my weakness on this very day but into everlasting to everlasting.

 

And so I rise this morning with new hope.  I get to enjoy a few hours with Jen this morning.  But I also need to plant grass today in that muddy spot in our backyard so it can get set before the first freeze.  And I need to read a few chapters for my DMin work too.  I need to pray for all this political chaos and for all the victims of abuse like Dr. Ford.  I need to go grocery shopping.  I need to pick the girls up from school and help with homework.  I need to install the doggy door.  All of which are eternally important.  Help me remember that, Lord.  Help me remember that they are part of the good you have given me today.  And they aim at your ultimate promises of “all things new.”  THAT – it seems – it feels – is the heart of wisdom.  To see this day as God sees it and to make my decisions and orient my heart toward rejoicing that He is everlasting to everlasting and that He is mine and I am His forever.  I have an eternal home secured.  He is the bedrock beneath my steps.  So even as I feel the anxiety and the cynicism and pronounce my “how long’s”, I also rejoice and can ask him – like Moses – to establish the work of my hands, yes, establish the work of my hands.