God of the Deep
There are some scriptures you can read 100 times and while they become familiar, that does not mean they become clear. This one in Psalm 42, while a popular one, has never settled well on me no matter how I tried it on.
“Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me.”
“Oh dang, she’s questioning scripture!” No, no, no, I’m not. I’m saying this one has always felt hard for me to hold on to no matter how it called to me, that is, until I began to process the last year of my life, especially in light of the last few weeks. I typically save such things for today, my birthday, because it feels more natural to me. Yes, the calendar page officially turned yesterday, but my life’s page turns today.
I think the reason this scripture has always bothered me a bit is because it does not offer a comforting picture. Deep water is synonymous with many harrowing images and scenarios, fear of drowning, or what lies beneath that you cannot see. It is a place where you cannot survive long without assistance of some kind: a buoy to hold you up, oxygen to assist when you inevitably go under. And yet, when we see this verse, it would appear to be a place that God is calling you, and the danger does not lessen, no, it calls and beckons like a siren so that you are no longer looking for shore, you are taking residence in this dangerous place. The breakers that threaten to take your breath and throw off your carefully cultivated survival mechanisms are from the Lord. THIS. This is where God wants us to live? Constantly living from a place as one song says “I’m not waving, I’m drowning?” This is where the God of love beckons us to be?
Yesterday, as I thought about all we have been through this year, it all seemed to pool up around me in such a way I began to sense the panic that comes when you can’t quite grasp anything at all. It feels as though very little of our life went untouched by change this year, including our families, as we are still mourning the loss of my beloved Mother in Law, whose life we will celebrate tomorrow in our hometown. Our work has changed, especially mine. Our children have grown and struggled. There is more loss on the horizon. Our hearts are never going to be the same.
And yet, God has been closer and more real to me this year than I can ever recall, and while the grief is intense right now because we are still in the shock of loss… I don’t feel like we’re drowning. I think this is where God has called us and with each wave, with each new element, out here in the deep, He has called us to be here because He lives here.
One of my favorite C.S. Lewis quotes is an exchange that comes from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe where Susan, the eldest sister on the wild adventure, asks a Narnian about Aslan:
“Is he- quite safe? ...
’Safe,’ said Mr. Beaver. ‘Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.” ”
Does that mean He delights in harming us? NO. I think that is something in the midst of a broken world and truly devastating circumstances we all have to choose what we will believe. Scripture promises that God has plans for us specifically NOT to harm us, but for hope and a future. (Jeremiah 29:11). He does not delight as some of the evil villains in stories do to watch us struggle and drown. I think the God of the deep calls us out here because this is where He can truly reveal Himself. Out here, we can either focus on the struggle and threat to drown or the strengthening and shoring up to swim. He does provide exactly what we need, when we need it. Here, in the deep, He reveals what friendship was always meant to be and brings a confidence to open your eyes and see you’re not alone out here. The tragedy and the hard doesn’t just deepen, the miraculous deliverance, the overwhelming evidence of His hand deepens all the more. Maybe here, is where the veil of Heaven thins a bit, and while we see the world more for its ugly, we see the future of God’s Kingdom, the risk and the reward of His work, and the weight and glory of obedience to a life with Him with such vivid clarity, its no wonder we stop looking for the safety of the shore.
No, it does not feel safe here, but I do feel kept. Held. Buoyed. Sturdied. Strengthened. Weary? Yes. Deeply emotional? Always, but never, EVER alone.
Photo by Emre Kuzu