In class on Thursday we talked about “the glamor of the wasteland”, the (roughly but not really) modern habit of responding to fragmentation by glorying in it. We reject the real solution not because it isn’t what we long for most deeply, but because it requires a measure of sober humility that is truthfully not very exciting or instagram-worthy. It is the mostly unseen & often repetitious daily push to submit to and trust in God’s sovereignty, to be secure and content in His worthiness. I do not say that pain is trivial or easily brushed aside; I know deeply that it is not. But experiencing it is not to be a martyred or stylized experience, nor a reason to psychoanalyze endlessly/develop a fascination with the self. It is not a reason for the universe to shower you with attention, nor a cue to buckle & fold with ugly shrill wailing noises. I sound harsh. I have spent a lot of time doing all these things. I have no right to talk about pain, but Christ does. And perhaps what I have learned is that when pain is given as a sovereign act of grace so that we might see our state with clarity / tune our sensibilities aright once more / RELY ON and discover (in fact, LIVE IN) the goodness and sweetness and sufficiency of Jesus, it seems such a pity to use it for a puff of perverse glory unto the self, significance straws to clutch at.
Two feet on the ground, His gravity holds me down.