Chasing Rainbows After Dark

"Why are there so many songs about rainbows

"And what's on the other side?

"Rainbows are visions, but only illusions,

"And rainbows have nothing to hide.

"So we've been told and some choose to believe it.

"I know they're wrong, wait and see.

"Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection.

"The lovers, the dreamers and me."

 

"Somewhere over the rainbow

"Way up high,

"There's a land that I heard of

"Once in a lullaby."

We are a people fascinated with rainbows. To Kermit the Frog they were an inspiration. To Dorothy Gale they represented the gateway to a better life. But, scientifically, they are nothing more than the result of rain splitting white sunlight into its many colors--a natural prism.

I realize now that I have thought about rainbows quite frequently lately. They seem to be everywhere, in the songs that populate my playlist, in the passages we are reading at Bible study, and even in the sky, something very rare and precious for a native Southern Californian. It was not until earlier this month that I saw both ends of a rainbow for the first time. What an experience that was, to see it stretched from one end of the sky to the other in all of its radiant splendor, like a triumphal arch.

What is a rainbow really? It is so much more than an inspiration or the wish for something more. It is not merely the result of a prism, though even if it were no more, it would still be beautiful.

Genesis 9:13-16 says, "I set My bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a sign of a covenant between Me and the earth. It shall come about, when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the bow will be seen in the cloud, and I will remember My covenant, which is between Me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and never again shall the water become a flood to destroy all flesh. When the bow is in the cloud, then I will look upon it, to remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth."

It is a symbol of promise. God judged mankind once by rain and flood. He wrought destruction and death, the terror of which was matched only by the horror of man's sin, but He promised that He would never do so again. And in promising He set His bow, a weapon of war, in the sky as if on a shelf, never to be taken down again. Thousands of years later that promise still stands. We await a judgment by fire, but the days of judgment by water are over.

And what of my title? If I were to ask you to find a rainbow after dark, I would be sending you on a fool's errand. You could search all night long, and even if every atmospheric condition were perfect, there would be no rainbow without sunlight.

Yet, in spite of this, I was reminded of something while reading the story of Noah one morning. It was not raining at the time. There was no rainbow outside. There certainly hadn't been one all night. Did that mean that God's promise was invalid or could be called into question? As the Apostle Paul was so fond of saying, may it never be! It struck me that there is always raining somewhere on this earth, so there is always a rainbow somewhere. When God set His bow in the sky, He did so permanently, even if we cannot see it.  

And it strikes me now, that every rainbow has only ever shone after dark. Think about it. Why did God institute the rainbow? He had just destroyed the entire earth with a flood, because of man's sin. The world was a dark and heartless place. When Adam and Eve lived undefiled in the Garden, there was no need to promise to never again to destroy the earth. There was no need to destroy the earth in the first place. But sin entered in, man fell and even after the flood, the world was just as dark a place as it had been beforehand. Mere verses after the promise of the rainbow, Noah gets drunk and Ham is cursed for ridiculing him. Man constructs the tower of Babel in direct defiance to God, idolatry, slavery, homosexuality and all sorts of wickedness flourishes, and the flood becomes a faint memory, distorted by every culture.

It is the same today. We live in a dark world, where even God's symbol of promise is claimed by the LGBT movement as their own. Where men would rather chase Leprechauns and their pots of gold than seek God. Still, the bow stays in the sky, where God left it so many thousands of years ago. He will not bring judgment on our world, not yet. Nor will He bring judgment on us, who deserve it just as much as anyone else. God promised never to destroy the earth by water again, because He was not finished with humanity. It is this truth we run hard after in a dark world. There was an even greater promise yet to be fulfilled. The seed of the woman had yet to come.

Now, He has come. We have only just celebrated His birth. In a few months we will celebrate His death and resurrection. Some day in the future we will celebrate His return, when He will come not with a bow but with a sword, and not only with a sword but also with open arms to welcome His own. For this reason we eagerly wait. For this reason we chase rainbows after dark. 

To the Library Cast-off

Tonight I am going to break my own rules and post something without including a quote. Throughout the few months of this blog's existence, we've heard from all sorts of people: Michel de Montaigne, Annie Dillard, Dietrich Bonhoeffer. All quite different, with different experiences, different occupations, even from centuries far apart, and different perspectives on life. Most of the quotes I have shared I discovered completely by accident, some on Google (which I'll admit is cheating), others by simply reading. Each book is like a treasure map, but with "x"s dotting every corner, gold nuggets strewn along the way.

Books not only take the reader on a journey, but each has also been on a journey itself. The kind of history an old book carries with it is something that the e-reader, as popular as it is, will never be able to offer. This is why I love shopping at the local library. You will never buy a new book there, but each one tells two stories: its author's and its own. I will never know who Hugh J. McKully was, but I do know he owned my 1912 copy of Ben-Hur before I did. I have never met George and Jackie, but I know they gave a copy of Bartlett's Famous Quotations to their friends Bob and Alice on March 12, 1971, with this quote circled: "What though youth gave love and roses, age still leaves us friends and wine" -Thomas Moore.

The old book isn't always pleasing to look at; it might require great care to keep it intact. Even still, don't throw it away; it may have something to tell you...


To the Library Cast-off

The rusty color of the spine
By a thousand eyes perused.
A thousand fingers traced each line,
Their prints a thousand clues.

Where were you when these bricks were laid?
Perhaps an author's whim?
The newest game at which he played
When success seemed very slim?

Perhaps, you go back farther still,
From a manor house of old.
At home with both the ink and quill,
Your leaves once boasted gold.

The mother who read you while baking bread,
Thank her for leaving her mark.
Thank the child reading undercover in bed,
Who you kept from fearing the dark.

Thank the student with the busy pen,
Whose thoughts were left behind.
Thank the scores of conscientious men,
Whose traces I cannot find.

Some days you were a sorry sight,
Which only librarians saw.
They made your failing binding tight
And wrote a stricter law:

"Special collection, by special request."
"You may not take these home."
Nicely put, a chance to rest
For geriatric tomes.

But even this could never last,
When interest in you had grown cold.
A book will find that in time it has passed
From "history" to simply "too old."

That's how I found you, in the back of a shelf.
For sale, with the dust thick like frost.
I bought you and took you home for myself,
Worth so much more than you cost.

We'll sit by the fire, and you'll tell me today
What you've seen, all the people you've met.
Teach me my friend, and if I have my way
You'll not reach "The End" just yet.

The Night of Broken Glass

"Christianity--and that is its greatest merit--has somewhat mitigated that brutal German love of war, but it could not destroy it. Should that subduing talisman, the cross, be shattered, the frenzied madness of the ancient warriors, that insane Beserk rage of which Nordic bards have spoken and sung so often, will once more burst into flame... The ancient stony gods will rise from the forgotten debris and rub the dust of a thousand years from their eyes, and finally Thor with his giant hammer will jump up and smash the Gothic cathedrals... Thought precedes action as lightning precedes thunder... When you hear a crashing such as never before has been heard in the world's history, then you will know that the German thunderbolt has fallen at last. At that uproar the eagles of the air will drop dead, and lions in the remotest deserts of Africa will hide in their royal dens. A play will be performed in Germany which will make the French Revolution look like an innocent idyll."

Yesterday and today mark the 74th anniversary of Kristallnacht, known in English as the "Night of Broken Glass." It was 1938 and World War Two was still on the horizon, but anti-Semitism in Germany was strong, and November 9th and 10th would go down in infamy. The homes and businesses of Jewish people were smashed and raided, people were dragged from their homes and beaten, all while the authorities stood silently by. An act of organized horror that was only a foretaste of what was to come.

When German poet Heinrich Heine penned the above quote in 1834, he could not have known what would happen one hundred years hence. Still, his words ring out like an eerie premonition of someone who knew how to read the times.

The Holocaust has always affected me particularly because of my father's Jewish heritage. His grandmother had relatives in Poland who did not survive. So, when I wrote the following poem, it was in their memory, and in the memory of those who suffered on Kristallnacht. May we never forget.


The broken panes, like frightened eyes implore,
And strewn between debris and splintered glass,
The Torah scrolls lie smoldering on the floor.

Like rats, the soldiers from each corner pour,
And of the witnesses, a callous mass,
The broken panes, like frightened eyes, implore.

The rabbi's shall in shreds, which once he wore,
And shards of colored windows fill the grass,
While Torah scrolls lie smoldering on the floor.

They cringe to hear as axes hack the door,
And they who flee, the clubs and stones harass,
Like broken panes, whose frightened eyes implore.

The crumpled forms were cruelly beaten, or
Were slain alike; no notice paid to class,
Like Torah scrolls, laid smoldering on the floor.

Today, the screams and shatters ring no more,
And yet the memory will never pass,
How broken panes, like frightened eyes, implored,
And Torah scrolls lay smoldering on the floor.

Forty-Two

Currently, I am in the process of finishing Eric Metaxas' biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Besides giving a great picture of this incredible man's life, Metaxas has distilled Bonhoeffer's wisdom and is continually pulling out nuggets of truth. This one struck me because it is so true but so contrary to what modern culture believes about God (if they believe in a god at all). A feel-good gospel or post-modern spirituality says that God will meet us where we are, that He is what we want Him to be, that we will reach Him if we only try hard enough. That is simply not the case, as Bonhoeffer asserts:  

"If it is I who determine where God is to be found, then I shall always find a God who corresponds to me in some way, who is obliging, who is connected with my own nature. But if God determines where he is to be found, then it will be in a place which is not immediately pleasing to my nature and which is not at all congenial to me. This place is the Cross of Christ. And whoever would find him must go to the foot of the Cross, as the Sermon on the Mount commands. This is not according to our nature at all, it is entirely contrary to it. But this is the message of the Bible."

Our relationship with God does not start with us. It doesn't even end with us. It is all and only Him, on His terms, not ours. I was reminded of this again while studying Job with the other women in my church. Job is often used as an encouragement for those who are suffering, a picture of the fact that even if we don't understand the reason for our troubles, God has a plan. Job suffers, his friends come to comfort him and offer their human wisdom, which he rejects (mostly for good reason), and then after coming through the trial, Job is blessed far more than he ever had been before.

But we are missing something. Why did God take away all the Job had in the first place? It was to prove to Satan that Job was faithful, that he would never cease to bless God's name (Job 1:8-12). This is never explained to Job. God chastises him at the end for his presumption, for suggesting that his suffering was not deserved. Never once, though, does God explain what was going on in heaven at the time. He never recounts His conversations with Satan. There was no reason given except, "Trust me. I know better than you do. I made the world and I made you."

One of the ladies at our Bible study, in a moment of honesty said that if she had been Job and God had given her the reason for everything that happened, she is not sure she would have been okay with it. "Really God? You took away all my children, my possessions, and even my health just to prove something to the devil?" Just? God never does anything "just because." He does everything all and only for His own glory. What did Job's harrowing trial prove? That Satan essentially put his foot in his mouth. God, His glory, and His servants' devotion were completely vindicated. Our blessings, our losses, even salvation itself come to pass because they show that God is who He says He is. He is magnified as just, good, merciful, holy, sovereign, and so many other things that I can't even begin to list (or you'd be reading this post all night).

It doesn't matter what our question is. We can ask "why" about a million different things that happen to us, but the Answer is always the same.

So, what does this have to do with my title? Most of you are familiar to some extent with The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams, and its inexplicable answer to "life, the universe, and everything": the number 42. When the super computer that came up with the number is asked what it means, it simply replies, "Once you do know what the question actually is, you'll know what the answer means." The point is, the answer never changes. The characters don't understand the answer or think it is ridiculous because they are asking the wrong questions.

The same applies to us. God is the answer to life, the universe, and everything. If it seems selfish of God to seek His own glory and to assert that He must be the center of everything, if we would rather He leave us alone than test our devotion through trials, then our focus is in the wrong place. We are asking God to meet us where we are comfortable, instead of where He insists on being found. We do not know the right question to ask. Rather than asking "why," wouldn't it be far better to ask "how"? "How, God, is this situation glorifying You? How can I work in these trials or blessings for Your kingdom?"

This is all easier said than done, I know. There are so many times I would rather be comfortable. Watching someone else go through a trial can be so "encouraging." It's never the same, though, when you're in the midst of one yourself. "God, why don't You just fix this?" too often is my prayer. Trusting God is not an easy thing, but understanding the difference between asking "why" and asking "how" is a step in the right direction.

And lest anyone accuse me of pulling a theological rabbit out of the hat that is Douglas' silly book, I will end with this verse, one of the best summaries of "life, the universe, and everything" that I know: "For from Him and through Him and to Him are all things. To Him be glory forever. Amen" (Romans 11:36).

A Ship in a Bottle Gathers no Dust

I found today's quote by nineteenth century Presbyterian minister William Shedd while researching for a magazine article. It jumped off the screen at me. Why? Not because it is especially intellectual or even necessarily clever. It is simply true, and therefore profound.

"A ship is safe in harbor, but that's not what ships are for."

A ship forever anchored will never have her sails ripped to shreds by contrary winds, will never have to watch her sailors throw precious cargo overboard in a desperate attempt to save their lives. She will never have to fear running aground on a reef, no ominous cracking sound as unseen rocks rip through the hull. If the Titanic had stayed in Southhampton harbor it never would have sunk.

Our lives are no different. It is certainly easier to hide in a closet (literally or figurately). If we say nothing, no one can tell us we are wrong. If we do nothing, no one can judge our actions. If we do not fight for our beliefs, they will never be challenged. If we do not love, we can never be rejected. If we never have any expectations, we will never be disappointed. But, what is the price for that security? The inactive man has no enemies, but he also doesn't have any friends. It goes both ways.

I have thought a lot about this in regards to my own life, particularly my writing. I don't have nearly as much life experience and education as some. I am not a Dickens or a Hemmingway or a Faulkner. Sometimes I wonder what I have to offer. What do I have to say that hasn't already been said by someone else? What do any of us have to offer, really? Only what God has given us, no more, no less.

Someone said to me the other day that if you have the opportunity to be an influence, you ought to be. It doesn't matter if someone else is a greater influence than you are or if someone tells you to sit down. It matters only that what you are doing is worthwhile, that it brings glory to God. I am reminded of the song "Impossible Dream" from Man of La Mancha:

"This is my quest, to follow that star
"No matter how hopeless, no matter how far
"To fight for the right, without question or pause
"To be willing to march into Hell, for a Heavenly cause."

Are we willing to do what it takes for the right causes? "Hell" certainly isn't a safe harbor, but if the cause is heavenly...

All I'm trying to say is that a ship in a bottle is a prisoner. If we likewise value safety or false security more than anything, we are no better, except that the bottles are of our own making. We have forged our own anchors. A ship in a bottle gathers no dust, but it doesn't do anything else either.

God Everywhere

Today's quote is taken from George MacDonald's novel The Curate's Awakening. (One which has some very honest and convicting insights about the Christian life and which I'd encourage you all to read.)

"If there be a God then is he God everywhere, and not a maggot can die any more than a Shakespeare be born without him. He is either enough, that is, all in all, or he is not at all."

I appreciated this expression of God's sovereignty in everything. There is no being more worthy of our trust. The quote inspired the following poem:

God Everywhere

I see raindrops tracing patterns,
Dust motes driven by windy whims.
Dirt collects and spilled milk splatters.
The cup of petty trouble brims.

Time has watched as kingdoms crumble.
Epochs end and tyrants fade.
‘Neath gun and gale the earth has rumbled,
Stripping bare what man has made.

The falling rain has felt His fingers
Each path is chosen and puddle known.
The dust that in the sunlight lingers
Is by God Almighty sown.

The rubble of forgotten splendor,
The bastions of our present might:
In mortar His decisions rendered.
Built or broken, He chooses right.

The head bent low in grave affliction,
The joyful man with upturned face:
To God no more a contradiction
Than sovereign justice, saving grace.

In pain and laughter, life and dying
Could it be You’re just as near?
Could it be there’s grace ‘midst sighing?
Could it be that dust is dear?

The eye that looks on kings and sparrows
And watches me is all the same.
When faced with peace or devil’s arrows.
Give God the credit, but not the blame.

For, if He couldn’t craft each flower,
Or tell each fortress, “Rise or fall.”
And If He couldn’t plan each hour,
Our God would not be God at all.

"And I am convinced..."

Today's quote comes from 17th Century British essayist Joseph Addison:  

"As nothing is more laudable than an inquiry after truth, so nothing is more irrational than to pass away our whole lives without determining ourselves one way or other in those points which are of the last importance to us. There are indeed many things from which we may withhold our assent; but in cases by which we are to regulate our lives it is the greatest absurdity to be wavering and unsettled, without closing with that side which appears the most safe and the most probable. The first rule therefore which I shall lay down is this, that when by reading or discourse we find ourselves thoroughly convinced of the truth of any article, as of the reasonableness of our belief in it, we should never after suffer ourselves to call it into question. We may perhaps forget the arguments which occasioned our conviction, but we ought to remember the strength they had with us, and therefore still to retain the conviction which they once produced."

I will admit, it's a long quote, but I felt that I couldn't get across the full force of Addison's meaning without the whole paragraph. Thank you for bearing with me.

I thought it was fitting in light of the recent events in Colorado. In the face of tragedies such as the Aurora massacre or 9/11 it is easy for people to wonder at God's goondess, control, or even existence. At the same time, wondering does not mean that one does not believe God is good or in control. Even devout Christians doubt. The question is, what do we do with the doubt when it comes?

I first encountered the essay from which this quote is taken several years ago. I read it during a time when I was questioning my own faith, so it was a great comfort to me. Since then, I have often recalled the words and thought them very true and insightful. But, upon looking more closely at what Addison is actually saying, I've started to wonder. He says that once we have believed something and become convinced of it, we ought not call it into question. Is this an easy way out, a kind of complacency? Or is it the simple faith of a child?

I know that for the longest time I believed I was saved because of the prayer I prayed when I was nine. It was not the Person I was trusting in, but the fact that I had prayed a "sinner's prayer" at all. If I had followed Addison's advice and not troubled myself with doubts, I might never have realized that I needed to trust in the One who died for me, not my "ability" to pray to Him.

In a similar vein, what about the atheist who is convinced that there is no God? It would be fatally dangerous for him to never doubt his assumptions. So, I think that Addison's advice does not work across the board. It may bring peace of mind, but peace of mind matters very little when souls are at stake. He who is comfortable in his blindess is like someone who falls asleep in a train that is running off the tracks. The peace is only a facade.

On the other hand, this approach can be very helpful for the Christian. We ought not be caught off guard by every world event or clever argument. Strong faith isn't the absent of doubt, but trusting in God through the doubts. We must be like John Newton who in his old age said, "My memory is nearly gone; but I remember two things: that I am a great sinner, and that Christ is a great Savior." Or like Elizabeth Prentiss, who wrote in her novel Stepping Heavenward, "You cannot prove to yourself that you love God by examining your feelings toward Him. They are indefinite and they fluctuate. But just as far as you obey Him, just so far, depend upon it, you love Him."

And perhaps the best idea is to preach the gospel to ourselves, as John Piper would say, so that we may never forget the reason we are convinced of what we believe. Christ is the reason, not any fancy proofs or evidences. That is all we need. As Paul said so many years ago, "But I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed, and I am convinced that He is able to guard until that day what has been entrusted to me" (2 Timothy 1:12).