SOCHEWS

“When they came to the threshing floor of Nacon, the oxen stumbled, so Uzzah reached out and grabbed the Chest of God. God blazed in anger against Uzzah and struck him hard because he had profaned the Chest. Uzzah died on the spot, right alongside the Chest. Then David got angry because of God’s deadly outburst against Uzzah. David became fearful of God that day and said, “This Chest is too hot to handle. How can I ever get it back to the City of David?”… Instead David removed it off the road and to the house of Obed-Edom the Gittite. The Chest of God stayed at the house of Obed-Edom the Gittite for three months. And God prospered Obed-Edom and his entire household because of the Chest of God.”

“When the disciples heard it, they fell flat on their faces, scared to death. But Jesus came out and touched them. “Don’t be afraid.” (1 Samuel 6:6-11; Matthew 17:6)

Two incidents. One reaction. For David, his moment of celebration was interrupted by a tragedy - a man reached out to prevent the Ark from falling out of instinct, and he was struck dead. No second thoughts. David was left angry, furious - then frightened. How many lives must perish just to carry this Ark? He deemed this symbol of God’s abiding presence as a danger. It kills. So he left it at a man’s house. And that man, in turn, was favoured and blessed.

Flash forward many years, and now, the disciples saw the living, breathing, moving embodiment of the divine in Jesus. Whose face shone, who elicited a voice from the clouds. Similarly, they were frightened, fell face-first to the ground. And Jesus came up to them with a touch, and a gentle, firm message: do not be afraid.

I don’t fully understand the ramifications of God striking someone dead. But this serves to show something: God is dangerous. For what he builds up, he can also destroy. What he inspires, he also expires. He offers no explanation, gives no apologies. What he gives, he also takes.

He is the dangerous one. In choosing to follow Christ, we also choose to abandon comfort. Because once we take a hold of this faith, and start to let it work out in our lives, God does work. All our instincts to grab onto objects that seem important, to follow our own plans, are torn apart. He shines a light into the dark recesses of our heart, asks us to give up the things most dear, the things we hold onto most dearly. The things that prevent us from following. The things we think we can’t live without.

And yet, I am so good at resisting. This time has been one to truly give up that which I cling to with all my might. The need to be loved, to be known, to be thought of as one-of-a-kind, to be validated - all these are to be released. It’s painful. I want so much to prune my image, to have that someone I can call my own, to let the seasons of loneliness and shame to wither away, so life’s easier. And God comes, face fiercely shining, and kills all those agendas. No apologies. No reason offered. Just a pure rearrangement and transformation of our very heart.

So it’s understandable if I feel a wee bit scared. Who can handle this kind of faith? Who can forsake all, lose our very life, for the sake of finding it? Who can ever give up the pleasures of the world, and not let receive a reward for it straight after? This is not a faith we take lightly. Indeed, this is not a faith we enter into for comfort. The danger is that we will never be the same.

Yet, as we walk into it, slowly unclasping our trembling hands, something wondrous happens. I see Jesus, standing, a gentle touch, telling me: fear not. Don’t be afraid. Let’s live together. And I start to see a form of magic that is rare in my world - the fearful find no more fear. Because it’s not God we fear. It’s the fear of losing all control. Yet, as I do, I find blessing. Blessing in my house, blessing in my heart. Grace, and there, the strength to follow into a freedom that the world could never offer.

I don’t know if I can do this. I cling tightly to my fears, even to the pain of losing what I love the most. Yet, what a father needs to do is pull his child away from the bedpost, so I can face the beauty of the world he has created for me. So one day, I can finally learn to lay down my life for others, for the One who laid it all down for me.

It cuts to the heart.
It will not be easy.
It will be lonely at times.
It will be dreadfully frightening.
But as I lay down all my wishes, my idols, my wants, my well-laid out plans down,
I take up something far greater.
I take up a faith that will change lives. That will change my life.
A hope that’s pure, untainted, bigger than all the cynicism of the world put together.
And love. A love that’s beyond my vain imaginations. A love that seeks no attention. A love that’s true to its name.

It’s a dangerous journey, led by the dangerous one. I don’t know if I really want it. But in the midst of fear and insubordination, I give him permission.

Father, you are a fighter. And you want nothing less than my life. Warts and all. Father, I hand over who and what I love so much. I hand over my need to impress. I hand over moments where I am lost. All this, it’s yours.

I will resist. Grant me grace. Yet, dwell in me. Shine your light. Rearrange me. And all I can do is take comfort in your words: Do not be afraid.

I’ll try Lord. Amen.