if God ever invites me up to a mountain, remind me to be sure to go.  mountaintops certainly did a lot for shaping the history of faith:

on mount ararat, noah and his family come to rest in the ark at the end of a year of flooding. 

on mount moriah, abraham offers his son isaac as a sacrifice to the LORD, and isaac is spared by a ram.

on mount sinai, moses has an experience talking with God through a burning bush.

later on that same mountain, moses and the leaders of israel are called partway up the mountain, where they eat with God, “and yet they did not die!”

moses is called farther up on that mountain, where he receives the Law, written by the hand of God on stone tablets. 

on mount carmel, elijah has a showdown with the prophets of baal, and God shows up in a big way.

of course, mount zion is the location for the city of jerusalem, and for its temple. 

on a mountain in galilee, Jesus delivers His most famous sermon. 

on a mountain, Jesus spends the night in prayer before calling the twelve to Himself and commissioning them as disciples.

from the mount of olives, Jesus ascends as He blesses His followers and commissions them to go and make disciples.

no wonder they call them "mountaintop experiences!"  but there is one experience on a mountain that perhaps tops them all.

peter was part of the inmost circle, and saw things that the others did not see: the raising of jairus' daughter, the empty tomb, jesus' agony in the garden, His proceedings before caiaphas.  but peter may have been most marked by the tabor top experience, where he sees Jesus transfigured.

the event is rather odd, and many of the details are mysterious.  Jesus predicted His death very plainly and He finished His revealing speech with puzzling words that impacted the disciples: they would surely see the Son of Man coming in His kingdom before some of them would taste death.  that revelation set those boys to thinking; it was one of those moments by which we set our calendars.

and so, a week later peter sees what must have seemed to be the fulfillment of Jesus' strange prophecy.  they go up a high mountain, and Jesus' appearance changes.  His face shines like the sun, His clothing dazzling white.  moses and elijah appear and speak of His coming death, and the Father’s voice reverberates from the cloud.  peter ignorantly mumbles something about tents, perhaps thinking that they were now going to dwell here in His power and kingdom.

then it's over, and Jesus says not to mention it until He has risen from the dead.  they ask about elijah coming first, and Jesus says he has already come.

that moment, that event, freeze in time and became one of peter's anchors of faith.  he begins his second letter with these words:

"[Jesus] received honor and glory when God's glorious, majestic voice called down from heaven, 'This is my beloved Son; I am fully pleased with him.' We ourselves heard the voice when we were with him on the holy mountain.  Because of that, we have even greater confidence .  .  .  "

i have had some mountaintop moments in my life that shore up my faith and give me confidence, even in the midst of self-doubt.  but i have only experienced that particular event of the transfiguration indirectly. 

Lord Jesus, call me up higher.  let me see Your glory.  when i get there, let me build a tent for You and stay in Your presence.

i want to stay there, because coming down from the mountain seems to cause a lot of problems.

when noah comes down from mount ararat, he plants a vineyard and gets drunk.  abraham lies about his wife sarah, saying she is his sister.  moses comes down from sinai with the tablets, sees the corruption of the people, and angrily breaks the tablets.  after elijah experiences revival on mount carmel, he flees to the wilderness, where he wants to die.  below mount zion is gehenna, where they burn garbage, and Jesus chooses that word to describe hell.  the valley to the east of the mount of olives is the wilderness, where Jesus is tempted.

i would rather live on the mountain.  and there will come a day when i will be able to do just that.  the new jerusalem comes down to rest on mount zion, and there are no more tears or sorrow or crying, for the former things have passed away.  and God dwells with His people forever.

but this is not that day.  today, God calls me to the valley.  that’s where the people are.  living.  struggling.  dying.  unaware that there is a mountain.

Jesus and His disciples occasionally try to take a little holiday, perhaps to get away from the crowds or to regain a perspective.

the Lord retreats to the gentile region of tyre and sidon, beyond the reach of most of the jewish throng.  but when He arrives there, a woman comes to meet Him, crying out, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me!  my daughter is suffering terribly from demon-possession.”

the Bible says that Jesus “did not answer a word.” isn’t that odd behavior for One who healed entire villages, who had nearly been stoned by the jewish leaders in His home town for intimating that God cared about gentiles, for One Who initiated a conversation with the samaritan woman at the well?  why would Jesus give this woman the silent treatment?

does He want her to plead?  is this the test to see if she will prevail?  surely it isn’t because He doesn’t care! whatever He is doing, i’d like to know, because i think sometimes He does the same thing with me.  i am, after all, also a gentile (though grafted into the olive tree of God’s people).  like her, i call Him by the right name and ask Him for a favor.  like her, i don’t sense Him saying yes or no to my request.  i just hear silence.  not a word.  is Jesus ignoring me?

finally the disciples (who always seem to have mixed motives) urge Him to send her away.  Jesus strangely tells her that He came only for israel, and she wisely answers that she’s happy to be a lowly dog and just get some scraps from the table.  now Jesus sees what He has needed to see: this woman has great faith.  and He says the word.  her request is granted, just like that.

it is the unanswerable question: why the silence?

a girl with a prophetic demon keeps following paul around.  like this woman, she also says the right words.  she declares that these men are from God and that people should listen to them.  paul ignores her for some time, and then finally he turns and commands the demon to leave her.

is paul exasperated?  does he finally grow impatient?  is this spiritual road rage?  perhaps he is fully aware of the consequences of destroying this girl’s means of making money for her masters, and he at first hesitates to cause her pain.  is he waiting for something that we cannot know about, where the Spirit finally nudges him and says, “now!”?  i’ll never know this one, either.

many times in the gospels, demons and evil spirits cry out, “i know who You are!  the Holy one of God!” and Jesus always tells those demons to be silent.  is that because He will not receive praise, even done in His name, if it comes from a heart that is not devoted to Him?  Jesus says that there are those who call Him Lord, Lord, but they do not do what He says.  He says He does not know such people and will send them away. 
why does Jesus sometimes have no conversation?

Jesus told the story of a widow who was petitioning an unjust judge for justice.  she came back day after day to plead her case.  finally out of exasperation the judge says,

“I fear neither God nor man, but because you are wearing me out with your continual pleas, I will grant your request.”

the gospel writer tells us that Jesus told that story to show that we should not give up in our praying.  Jesus said in the sermon on the mount, “keep on asking, and you will receive.”  paul writes that we will reap in due season if we continue to do good and don’t give up.

i don’t think that these passages are intended to be some sort of unfailing promises, given to keep me claiming my blessing in the face of all odds.  but i do think that i sometimes get silence confused with a “no” answer, and i give up too soon.  the silence of God in this case is not a “yes” or a “no,” or even a “wait.”  it really is silence.  i’m in a holding room, waiting for the judge to return.

what do i do in the meantime, while i wait for an answer?  i keep on asking.  i keep on seeking.  i keep on knocking.  eventually i will  receive, i will find, and it will be opened to me.
sometimes God is silent. 

while i am pleading and banging on heaven’s door, is He indifferently turning away, distracted by some major disaster elsewhere in the world?  are the angels whispering to Him, “make him go away!”  or shall i trust that this is the silent non-answer of a loving Father who knows what is best and when is best, and who knows how many times i need to ask before i get my petition right.

the thing is, there are no easy answers as to why.  and He doesn’t have to explain it. 

which is good.  because, He doesn’t.

as someone wrote on the wall of a Nazi prison camp,

i believe in the sun
even when it is not shining
i believe in love
even when i cannot feel it
i believe in God
even when he is silent

i am empty, but i am not hungry.  i need water, but i don’t feel thirst.  i don’t feel anything.  and that’s the problem.  i’m in a kind of spiritual sensory deprivation tank.  i don’t think it is God’s fault, like He’s not speaking.  i think it’s that i am wrapped up in something that has me—what?—preoccupied, perhaps?  distracted? 

empty. 

i’m not in pain.  actually i’m not in anything.  i just don’t feel.  it’s not bad, really, it’s just, well, empty.  i realize that i have experienced no new revelations, have had no life-changing repentance, no earth-shaking changes.  i have lapsed into a, not uncomfortable, sense of normalcy with God.  He has become like an old pair of slippers to me.

i used to laugh, i used to sing
i used to cry at movies
but i’m not feeling anything
and nothing seems to move me

up to the sky i built a wall
i made it thick and wide
i dug a moat around it all
so none could get inside

and once entrenched within my space
i read and think of me
and follow news of foreign places
but keep them overseas

i am not bitter or depressed
i am not sad or angry
i simply live inside my head
and keep my own best company

i love my family and my job
i love my church and friends
but life is full to overflow
and i have reached my end

i do the motions, dance the dance
and force myself to deal
but deep inside i’ve moved away
i see but do not feel
this wall i built to keep you out
protects me very well
but if the door is closed and locked
it’s just a prison cell

i want to want again.  at least a little.  but not enough to actually make a move or a change.  i go through perfunctory reading and prayer, but it is lacking in zeal.

paul told the romans to never be lacking in zeal, but keep their spiritual fervor, serving the Lord.  zeal for the LORD’s house consumed david.  and Jesus.  but not me.  if the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much, then what does mine avail?

taking a short emotional vacation is not a bad thing, i think.  but chronic spiritual dryness or emotional detachment is a symptom of a problem in my heart.  if i really knew how desperate the situation was, i would not be taking eternal things so lightly.

the israelites had been taken captive to babylon.  while there, the years turned into generations.  prophets spoke: israel would be there for 70 years, so they should buy houses, have children, and flourish in the land of their sojourn.  they should pray for the blessing of God to be on babylon.  but they should remember that one day they would return.  it would be the next generation, or the one after that, which would actually be able to go, but restoration was always the goal. 

never forget where my home lies.

during those years of captivity, a psalmist wrote this (in paraphrase), “we sat down and wept by the rivers of babylon as we thought about jerusalem.  we hung our harps on the willow trees and would not play them.  for our captors were demanding that we sing them one of the happy songs of jerusalem.  but how can we sing the Lord’s songs in this foreign land?”

here i am a captive in a foreign land.  i may buy a house and settle down, have children, and pray for the success of this land of my sojourn.  but i must always remember that this world is not home.  this is enemy-occupied territory, and i am captive behind enemy lines.  i may enjoy this life on earth and live in its benefits, but i must never be fully at home in this body.

one of the sons of korah was perhaps forced from jerusalem to move to dan, the new northern capital of israel during a time of spiritual wickedness in their history.  as he sat there, forced to perform or at least watch the false sacrifices to baal, his heart broke, and he wrote (again in paraphrase), “i thirst for the living God like a deer pants for water.  when can i go back and meet with God?  tears are my only food day and night, while my enemies continually taunt me, saying ‘where is your God?’

“i remember how i used to lead the crowds of worshipers in a great procession to the temple, singing for joy and giving thanks in celebration!  i am discouraged.  why?  i will put my hope in God, for one day i will praise Him again, my Savior and my God!”

God can give me a song in the night, a remembrance of where i have been and where i am going.  spiritual complacency?  it sounds a lot like lukewarm.  sounds a lot like losing my first love.  sounds like i need to remember my song.

here is a personal confession: i have been a professional musician for many years.  but i have seldom been moved by music.  i remember singing the powerful setting of “ode to joy” in the final movement of beethoven’s great ninth symphony.  choir members all around me were singing with tears streaming down their faces, and i thought to myself, “these guys are getting something out of this moment that i don’t get.”
since then, i have tried to get in touch with my “musical” side, to allow myself to enjoy music.  i analyze too much and feel too little.  music is more than manipulating notes, and more than a tool for communication; it is a deep expression of the soul.  it’s time for me to let myself feel again.

likewise, my walk with God is not a perfunctory duty of adoration-and-request.  it is deep crying out to deep, His Spirit bearing witness with my spirit.  it is getting lost in the wonder of grace, drowning in a sea of love that i cannot fathom, being awed by the holiness and majesty of the Infinite One.  and it is resting in Him.  delighting in Him.  being.  in.  Jesus.

ah, quench your thirst on that, my soul.  drink and slake your parched throat in the mighty waves as they break over you with the pure and bracing waters of God’s love.  He delights in you.  did you know that?  do you sense it?  delight in Him.

Could we with ink the ocean fill
And were the sky of parchment made
Were every stalk on earth a quill
And every man a scribe by trade:
To write the love of God above
Would drain the oceans dry
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
Though stretched from sky to sky

does true maturity ever arise from anything other than pain?  i know that the Bible says that the goodness of God [can] lead to repentance, but i also know that in my life, and in those characters from the Bible, God seems to mostly use a cross to shape His character in a life.  so maybe i’ll ask this: what part of my spiritual growth has come in sunshine, and how much came in pain?

God must use a cross to shape me into the image of Christ.  it is not pleasant, but it is right.  through the cross, God puts to death my giddy false joy by making my flippant easy answers ring hollow when they don’t work for me anymore.  He uses painful means to squash my overweening pride when i realize i am not as talented as i imagined and that i have truer friends than i deserve. 

in turn the cross even erases my morose self-pity.  yes, even my cross must go to the cross, as i place my cross syndrome on the cross. 

i am quick to claim myself to be suffering for the cause of Christ.  i offend and irritate people, and then imagine myself to be persecuted for the sake of righteousness.  i selfishly misspend my money and then think that i am sacrificially to the Lord because i feel a financial squeeze.  i am quick to call something a cross, because that automatically makes me a martyr.

paul wanted to share in the fellowship of the sufferings of Jesus. 

how can suffering serve as a source of fellowship?  to some degree, any family that has gone camping understands the bond that comes in crisis.  i suppose any soldier who has been through battle with a buddy or a company of men understands this more completely.   but i think this matter of fellowship with Jesus goes even deeper, because it is far more personal.  i have a throne in the center of my being, and from the time that i was a toddler, i have chosen to put myself on that throne.  something has to break through and cause my deep self-centeredness to die, and only adversity will accomplish it.  there is no other path to spiritual maturity than the path of suffering.

the cross became especially essential for me the day i was called into the professional ministry.  a minister must have extraordinary gifts: i must be personable, persuasive, positive, prophetic—and i am proud.  satan certainly wants a crack at neutralizing me, and God wants to refine and use me. 

satan introduces temptations and trials.  but he does not and cannot introduce the cross. 

how does the Sovereign Lord refine me?  He takes me to the desert, and He nails me to the cross.  He tests me in my area of greatest strength.  and when the testing comes, it shows whether i am only a “professional Christian” or a true disciple.

my challenge, of course, is to discern whether this is a temptation or distraction sent by satan, or whether it is a cross sent by God.  i must resist the devil, but submit to the Lord.

when the challenge comes, my fleshly temptation is to do what comes naturally.  i resist.  i protect myself.  i lash out.  i defend.  my ugly side arises, and i don’t notice it, because i am in the midst of a personal crisis which i am merely trying to survive. 

but if this cross is from God (and it is), then my response should be the same as my Lord’s response.  i must receive it, trust God, learn obedience through what i suffer, forgive my enemies, and die.  die to my strength, to my dream, to my fears, to my career.  only if i die can i be resurrected.

and so i am abandoned to serve in a church that will never be on the map, or used as an example of how to do ministry.  i am kept from the crowds, with their accolades and false praise.  the world does (and must) overlook me and leave me to languish.  and just as with Jesus, i have the choice of coming down from this cross, saving myself, and buying my own salvation.  but i must choose to submit.

the true test of submission is whether i submit when i disagree or don’t understand.  if God only exists to serve as my cosmic genie, who grants my wishes, then He becomes my servant, instead of the other way around.  i may as well pray, “my kingdom come, my will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”  until i am willing to hear a firm but loving “no” in answer to my prayer, i am not praying; i am just giving God a list of things to do.  if i call that faith, i have something backwards.

when i was twelve or thirteen years old, i began to experience what i thought was love.  but the truth is, in early adolescence what i experienced was anything but love. 

half of what i thought was love was pure hormones.  today, i watch the behavior and listen to the conversations of people that age, and realize that they have overpowering crushes on one another, which can change on a weekly basis.  but they have no idea what to do with all that energy, so they talk, they giggle, they flirt, and they do the adolescent mating dance of text messages and showing off.

the other half of my immature adolescent love was pure selfishness.  i looked for someone who made me feel good, someone attractive, someone who could make me look like a success in the eyes of my peers and of myself.

eventually, the hormones subside.  if i learn the lessons of life, my immaturity and selfishness also begins to be replaced with—what is that—selflessness?  and i begin to discover the meaning of true love.  agape is self-sacrificing.  it is thinking of others as more important than myself.  it is loving my neighbor as i love myself (and i surely have loved myself since i was an infant).  it is eventually found in laying down my life for a friend.  that might even mean dying for someone else, but more likely there are a thousand smaller sacrifices that come before such a drastic one.

God’s goal is to make me like Christ.  Christ unjustly suffered, yet was without sin.  if i am to be like Christ, then i must come to a place where my own feelings are never hurt, no matter what is done to me.
wasn’t i the one who foolishly prayed for the Lord to conform me fully into the image of Christ?  now that He has begun to do that work, i think He is being unjust.  of COURSE it is unjust!  there are things that only unjust suffering can teach me!   am i willing to learn those things?

 in my early twenties, i was pretty radically committed to follow Christ, whenever, wherever, whatever He called me to.  like abraham, i heard a call to leave civilization and live in a tent, looking for something beyond this life for my security.  rather than accumulating money, stuff, and respect, Jesus called me to empty myself of all of it—everything—to prepare myself for eternity with nothing—nothing but Him.
but something happened over the next decade or so.  i got comfortable, craved security, and closed myself off from adventuring for the kingdom.  partly to serve my growing family, and partly to preserve my chosen career—that’s right, service to Christ became a career to me—i settled down to life in the city. 

no longer was i willing to meet Christ in the wilderness. like abraham’s nephew, lot, i chose for myself a lush area where others had gathered, which offered me security. 

so maybe the Lord had to take me out here against my will.

and so, goal number one is survival in the wilderness.  that is plenty for starters.  there i weep and groan in anguish, but i survive.  but the ultimate goal, the final goal, is to learn not to become bitter, no matter what happens, but to come to a place of peace and joy in the midst of myself.  to learn one ounce of humility through yet another failure starts me down the right path to the place where eventually my spirit becomes stronger than my soul.

i have thought that i was a spiritual person.  but in truth, i am a faker.  i act spiritual to impress people.  when i was in junior high, i used to pretend that a hidden camera was watching me all the time, and that whatever girl i was interested in at the time could be watching that camera at that very moment on closed circuit TV.  she would be impressed to see that i am so upstanding, so pious, so athletic or self-controlled or whatever.  i actually did outward things to impress someone who couldn’t actually see me.  in truth, i was far from being a spiritual giant.  i was a hormone-and-self-centered poser.

here is the mystery of my life: i have gathered with God’s people week after week, i have even led them in
worship literally thousands of times, and yet some deep parts of me have remained virtually untouched by the Holy Spirit’s sanctifying power.  others who know me well can see my flaws and sins clearly, but i have remained unchanged.  in love i have been confronted with myself, and i have failed to see what others have tried to hint to me.  and so i am taken here, to the woodshed, to lovingly learn from the firm hand of my Daddy.  He custom fits a cross, just for me.

how many ways can others tell me, “ken, you are arrogant and unteachable.  you are self-centered and lazy.  you fear your reputation more than you fear God’s,” and have it not soak in?  i am tempted to run and hide, to lapse into self-pity and depression, or to move on to the next church, where it will take some time before people know me so well.  no, i’m afraid this will have to hurt, or i will never listen!

i follow Jesus from the wilderness back to galilee.  His disciples come to Him, and He begins to teach them.  i find comfort in His words: “blessed are the poor in spirit.” “blessed are those who mourn.”  “blessed are those who hunger and thirst.”  “blessed are those who are persecuted.”

hold on.  i like that word, “blessed.”  i want to be comforted, to be sure.  but must i mourn first?  does the blessing come only if i am poor, and hungry and thirsty?  can i rejoice and be glad when i am mistreated?  none of this seems quite right.

i listen further and hear Jesus say that in this world His followers will have trouble.  i hear paul proclaim that we must go through many hardships to enter the kingdom of God.  i read john introducing himself as a companion in the suffering and kingdom.  the church at corinth is told that they receive comfort in their suffering so that they can comfort others who suffer. 

i like all dessert and no veggies.  God sends me to the desert so that i can appreciate veggies. 

i want to be a powerful man of the Spirit.  i do.  but frankly, i’m not sure that i want to go through what it takes to work miracles or to impact the world for Jesus.  will extended time without hearing from the Father make me mighty?  perhaps.

anthony of egypt purposely runs to the desert.  he even seals himself in a dark tomb, to do battle with demons there.  he sees bizarre and frightening things and nearly loses his sanity in the face of grave temptations.  but he comes out victorious, and becomes so full of wisdom and power that people come from miles around to seek him out, and miracles take place through him.

teresa of avila likewise deprives herself and lives a harshly ascetic life.  she has a series of visions, powerful images and deep insights as a young woman.  then they stop, and she ruminates and comments on those visions for the rest of her life. 

teresa of calcutta hears from Jesus early in her adulthood, and sacrificially changes her life direction for the next fifty years in obedience to His call, ministering to the poorest of the poor.  yet, after those early experiences, she never has another visitation from the Lord.  so in her darkness, she continues to faithfully carry out the calling that she heard clearly in her earlier years.

Jesus, anthony, teresa and teresa all have something in common: they leave the distracting companionship of people as young adults and hone their spiritual skills in the secret places.  they go through a season, early or late, in which they specifically do not hear from God the Father. 

they also have this in common: they are mighty in spirit. 

peter says to follow Jesus by walking in His steps.  i like that idea.  i mean, i read the book—twice.  i wore a WWJD bracelet, even when it wasn’t cool anymore.  gentle Jesus, meek and mild.  everyone’s Nice Guy.  that’s what i thought it meant to follow in His steps.  but now i see that peter says, “Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in His steps.”  that’s a different image.  the whole point is to suffer.  ouch.

i’m drawn to paul’s heart cry, “i want to know Christ.”  i have sung those words—even raised my hands—and really meant it.  but then i see the rest of the verse: “and the fellowship of sharing in his suffering.”  that doesn’t make for such a popular worship song. 

perhaps the way to heaven leads through the wilderness, and even onto a cross. 

before the Great Banquet is the Great Void.