This week I was reading the book of Mark and was chilled by verses 5-7 of Chapter 5: "Night and day among the tombs and in the hills he would cry out and cut himself with stones. When he saw Jesus from a distance, he ran and fell on his knees in front of him. He shouted at the top of his voice, 'What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? Swear to God that you won't torture me!'"
Listen. I understand spiritual desperation. And it's hard to imagine anyone more miserable than this man: unrestrainable, self-destructive, despised and feared, and trapped in the ultimate nightmare. It was complete mental, spiritual, physical, emotional, and relational despair. Still, despite demonic possession, there was something left in him human enough to recognize his need.
What strikes me straight in the heart is that even while he was on his knees before Jesus, he was battling spiritually--begging for help while begging not to be tortured. Isn't this what happens when we finally get desperate enough to cry out to Jesus? It's like a child with a splinter--begging Mommy to get it out while screaming for her not to touch it.
It hurts! It hurts!
Coming to the end of our rope is terrifying.
I have believed in Jesus for many years, but I have also struggled with fear, darkness, anxiety, and often crippling self-doubt, ever since I can remember.
And lately I feel more at the end of my rope than ever before.
But don't worry, loved ones. Today as I write those words--"the end of my rope"--they speak a different language than the darkness that has so often torn its way through me in the past. They don't come shrieking out, jaggedly dragging toward an end. They come out swelling like liquified gold, warm honey, sweet relief, a birth.
You see, what haunts me are lies: wrong, stupid, bad, less, different, embarrassing, obnoxious, ugly, clueless, worthless. . . . They may not be a legion of demons, but they speak the same language, the age-old native tongue of the father of lies.
The demon-infested man in Mark 5 could no longer be restrained by man-made chains, though we are led to understand they must have tempered him initially. Likewise, the remedies commonly offered here to drown out the lies, however well-intentioned, do not silence the lies. We crave acceptance and settle for acceptability. We seek justification and cast our nets for compliments. But reassurance and rationalization only dilute. They cannot, and they should not, cut through to the hurting heart.
The beauty in the broken chains and the frequent skids to the end of the rope is that they reveal like nothing else the one true answer.
Only desperation cuts through everything.
And only Jesus cuts through desperation.
So you there, out of control and shrieking toward what feels like the end, I understand the scream deep in your heart:
Help me. But it hurts!
My prayer for you:
That you will drop to your knees amid the broken chains and the frayed end of that very worn-out rope.
That you will raise your eyes bravely above what you are accustomed to seeing and raise your voice bravely above the language of lies.
That you will be born, cradled in the everlasting arms and sung over in the language of love.
That you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.
The Lord has had mercy on me. --Mark 5:19
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