This Passing Shadow

Hoping for the light and high beauty beyond it's reach.

I have struggled to write this week. I can’t really put my finger on it but I think it mostly comes down to the emotional drain that comes from living in a world where horrible things happen. And oh my, some horrible things are happening. I do not have the expertise required to unravel the deeply interwoven and twisted histories between Israel and the people of Gaza but I know this—I know evil when I see it. And y’all this is pure evil. There are no other words for it. This has gone past the line of trying to protect a nation right into the territory of a hate filled rage and retaliation spree. It puts you in a place where your heart breaks open but your prayers feel so futile and you stand and scream why. I’ve read many deep words about it this week, including those from Sarah Bessey and Cole Riley that give a good voice to what most of us are feeling.

This morning I dropped my 15 year old son off at work, his first job—lifeguarding at our local YMCA pool. It was early and it’s a relatively rural area and it was difficult to to tell if there was an adult onsite yet. Immediately the stressors came— “Do I walk him in? (Despite his vehement “NO”.) Do I wait and risk getting back to work late? What if he’s the only one here for a long time?” And all the horrors that play out in our imaginations…it’s exhausting being a parent. But immediately my mind switched to a Palestinian mother who would do anything to have my level of worry today. Yet my worries are not completely unfounded and we know this. It’s a darker world right now in Gaza; but America sure can be dark too.

To be completely honest, I can let it consume me to the point of debilitating sadness and fear, that darkness. It will literally eat away at me until I feel hollow and detached and it affects my mood, my work, my relationships and my mental stability.

I keep going back to words from John Eldridge. In his book Get Your Life Back, Eldridge talks about benevolent detachment—about learning to let go of things we have no control over and place them in the very capable hands of God. He explains, “It means getting untangled, stepping out of the quagmire; it means peeling apart the Velcro by which this person, relationship, crisis, or global issue has attached itself to you. Or you to it. Detachment means getting some healthy distance.” I don’t know about you but the second I try and practice “healthy distance” I immediately feel guilt. Shouldn’t I be caring more? Shouldn’t I be praying more, or doing something? Anything?

I don’t want to read the articles and see the faces or in the worst case scenarios (and there have been many) the lack thereof. I don’t want to stick my head in the sand and pretend it isn’t happening.

But I know he gives wisdom here. We have to learn how to take a step back from the barrage of information and breathe. Even with the tears, and the anger we have to breathe. Do what you can—pray, and give, and support; but breathe.

One of the most beautiful lines of prose in the world to me, come from Tolkien’s Return of the King. Frodo and Sam are almost to Mount Doom in their ragged quest to destroy the ring and Frodo is barely hanging on. The Ring and the journey and it’s perils have stripped him of every ounce of strength that he has. In the night in hiding, Sam tells Frodo to rest a while and he falls fast asleep. Sam keeping watch looks up into the night sky:

“There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.”

The shadow is only a small and passing thing.

Please understand that I do not make light of the terror of loved ones that are murdered, homes destroyed, lives completely upended, or even the fear of Mamas dropping off their babies at their first job. But thank God this shadow—this dark, deep, horrible shadow—is only a passing thing. I can find benevolent detachment in one thing—I really believe there will be justice one day. I don’t know what it will look like. I don’t think we want to know what that will look like. But I have to believe that what is wrong He is going to one day make completely right.

May we also find peace in one another and pray for the day when we may help rebuild what has been torn.