Longing | All is Well

The Hopes and Fears……..

December 24, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

My soul is quiet tonight.

Such moments are rare. This life is full of much that unquiets our souls—

Busy-ness, deadlines, responsibilities.

Diversions, entertainment, culture.

Loneliness, griefs, fears.

Doubts, cynicism, incorrect thinking.

But tonight, as I sit before my Christmas tree with its soft lights and ornaments that hold so many memories, and the flickering candles beside the nativities that hold an honored place on my bookshelves–my soul is quiet.

It’s not Christmas eve, yet. Almost, though. One more day. But I am already eagerly anticipating the stillness of that Silent Night.

Oh, it won’t start out silent. We will start the evening with one of two worship services. In between the two services, there will be snacks, and games, and the traditional “early” gift that each of my crew gets to open on Christmas Eve. There will be laughter; much laughter. There will be silliness, and driving around the neighborhood to look at Christmas lights, and sharing some of our favorite foods–cheese and crackers and cookies and sparkling cider and veggies and dips and chocolate covered pretzels.

Our house will be anything but silent.

But then 11:00 pm will come, and we will pile into cars and drive a very short distance to our church, where we will gather with friends who are really more like family, to share communion together and to sing Silent Night.

And then comes the moment I cherish and long for all year, every year.

Once my crew–all of them–are settled into their beds–usually around 1:00 am–I will sit before my tree, much like I am doing tonight.

But I won’t be at my computer. I won’t have my phone. I won’t have music, apart from the lingering strains in my soul from singing earlier alongside my crew

…..All is calm….All is bright….

And I’ll read the Christmas story in my marked up, falling apart, cried upon ESV Study Bible, and I will anticipate….

Yes, of course I will anticipate the coming morning. The joy of having all of my crew under my roof, to eat cheesy hash browns and cinnamon roll casserole, and to be able to give them each the gifts I have planned and given much thought to and saved for.

But, my anticipation is so, so much deeper than that. It’s a longing….

….a longing for the things of God.

….a longing for God.

….a longing for His coming.

Then, as Emmanuel, God with us. One of us, and yet not one of us. Jesus, the child born of Mary. God’s son, who paid the price for my sins, upon the cross.

And, His coming now–His presence, now. As Emmanuel. God with us. God who does not forsake. God who sees and knows. God who forgives. God, whose grace and mercy are the very life-breath that sustains us.

I long to sense His presence.

I think this longing is captured so perfectly, in this line from the song O Little Town of Bethlehem.

The hopes and fears of all the years, are met in Him tonight.

Yes.

Oh, my soul. There are hopes I have–deep hopes. Hopes that are bound up in the very real-ness of who He is. Hopes that persist, even when rocked by doubts and questions and cynicism. Hopes that settle my soul in joy. Anticipatory joy.

But–o, my soul–there are also fears. Deep fears. Fears that wrap their tentacles around my mind and soul and that try to push out the hope. Fears that wake me, in the middle of the night. Fears that unsettle me. Fears that stretch through all the years. Through many years.

But Christmas—Christmas reminds me that both those tremendous hopes and tremendous fears are met, in Him.

He, alone, is the answer to both.

And, so. Tomorrow night–or really, in the wee hours of Christmas morning, as I sit before the tree and read the words from Luke 2, and I ponder the mystery of it all, and the wonder of it all, my anticipation–my longing–the very cry of my heart, will be these words–also from that same, beautiful old carol:

O come to us, abide with us, our Lord Emmanuel.

Yes. Be near, Emmanuel.

Come quickly.

Toska

September 26, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

I came across a word a few nights ago that I believe will find itself into my list of cherished words.

(Yes, I have an actual list.)

It will join the likes of grace, joy, sovereignty, expanse, sehnsucht, perspicuity, forgiveness, still, steadfast, family, advent, imputation, prayer, sola gratia………..shall I go on? My list is long….

Anyway, I stumbled across Toska a few days ago, and I am quite taken with it.

Partly, it strikes me because I am reading a new (to me) book by C.S. Lewis (my adopted uncle, though he does not know that–yet). Titled Studies in Words, it is exactly what it sounds like. Lewis takes 9 words, and thoroughly examines them. Only a true logophile would enjoy it, probably. And, I guess I qualify as a logophile, because I collect words like others collect baseball cards. So, to get to read my favorite author tear apart words and get to their true meaning, with much wit? Yes. Bring it.

So reading that has caused me to be more aware of words, in general, over the past couple of days.

But the other reason Toska has me is also related to my Uncle Lewis, because the definition of “Toska” reminds me so much of his story. And mine.

Toska is a Russian word that, quite simply, does not translate well. Or, does not translate, at all. No one has successfully been able to move it to the English–or any other–language, without losing its true essence.

As a noun, an attempt at a definition is this: “a dull ache of the soul; a spiritual anguish”.

But, it is so, so much more than that.

Vladimir Nabokov had this to say about “Troska”:

“No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”

It is a word, as Nabokov aptly describes, with many shades to it. It can be deep, with intense aching. It can be a dull yearning. It could even be restlessness, with no real awareness as to why one was restless.

I think my soul–and mind–are familiar with Troska.

But isn’t it interesting that Nabokov, and the formal definition, for that matter, both indicate that–in the case of troska–there is often the absence of awareness of what specifically is causing the ache; of what is causing the soul to miss–something.

And that, too is where my Uncle Lewis can step back into the picture.

Lewis is the one who introduced me to the word “sehnsucht”.

C.S. Lewis spoke often about “longing”–that yearning for something, but not quite being able to capture what that “something” is. We’ve all known that sensation at the very depth of our souls. And minds. For Lewis, sehnsucht embodied “the inconsolable longing in the heart for we know not what.”

He wrote much about this longing in reference to “Home”—our true home, for those of us who are Christ-followers. Home, eternal. Home, where there are no more tears. Home, whatever it may look like, where we will actually, finally, truly feel “at home”.

We ache for this, as humans, because we were created to be with our creator. There will be a day.

Or, as Lewis wrote: “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”

But Lewis also talked about longing for Joy.

Joy, to Lewis, was something far beyond happiness. It was deeper, longer, wider, more encompassing. And it did–something–to a person. Something far beyond what merely having a good day, or getting good news, or enjoying a nice dinner with friends does.

It points toward something. The object of its source.

Joy always points toward God.

Lewis wrote: “All Joy reminds. It is never a possession, always a desire for something longer ago or further away or still ‘about to be’.”

Joy reminds us–reminds me–of the only source of joy–my Lord and my God.

And, God alone is the only one able to satisfy the troska of our souls. He is the only one who can satisfy the sehnsuct of our souls. And He is the only one who joy points to.

There is none other.

And while we have glimpses, most certainly, of joy here and now, and while troska most certainly is soothed to a degree by our worship, our prayer, our loving others, and our recognition of who God is, it will never be completely eradicated or satisfied until our sehnsucht is also fulfilled. Until we see Him, face to face.

So, yes, here in the last two verses of our canon of scripture, we find this:

²⁰He who testifies to these things says, “Surely I am coming soon.” Amen.Come, Lord Jesus!

²¹The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all. Amen.

Amen, indeed.

Hope Bracketed by Agony ~ Advent

December 8, 2014 By Shelly Durkee

I would have to say that the words of Psalm 38 are the first words I ever truly prayed in true longing–in hopes that the God I had heard about all my life was real. Longing that the God I had determined did not exist, truly would exist. The words of Psalm 38 were the first words I had ever truly thrown out into the universe, begging that there be a God big enough to hear them and to answer the anguish of my soul.

O, I had prayed to God long before that. As a child. As a teen. I can barely stand to think of those times. I certainly cannot write about them. And then, following those times, there was a seemingly endless stretch where I did not pray at all. For years.

Today, on this second Sunday of Advent, I’ve taken some time to examine Hope. I’ve poured over Isaiah 40:1-11, and from there I took a look at previous notes I’ve made about Hope, which brought me to Psalm 39. Which always, always, reminds me of Psalm 38, because of its proximity. But today, a fresh connection was made in my mind. And soul.

Psalm 38 is an agonizing Psalm. Psalm 39 is as well. Different from Psalm 38, and yet similar, too. And, here is something very interesting and what I saw for the first time today. Smack dab in the middle of both Psalms, lies hope. Bracketed on both sides by pain, the kernel–the core–is hope. Look first at Psalm 38:15:

But for you, O Lord, do I wait;
it is you, O Lord my God, who will answer.

Right there ensconced on all sides by pain (Vs. 1-14 and Vs. 16-22) is Advent. Right there, is longing. Waiting. Waiting for the only one who can answer.

Look secondly at Psalm 39:7:

“And now, O Lord, for what do I wait?
My hope is in you.

Again, ensconced on all sides by pain (Vs. 1-6 and Vs.8-13) is Advent. Longing. Waiting. Hope found only in the God who answers, according to Psalm 38.

It’s hope that is encased in agony. In groanings. It’s a world, waiting for the birth of the Messiah.

But the birth of Jesus without the death of Jesus, is meaningless. His death for the forgiveness of our sins is what makes the hope–the longing, the waiting–so acute. We may not recognize it as such; however, it is there, in the waiting.

Astoundingly, even that is found in both of these wrenching Psalms.

Return to Psalm 38…to verse 18:

I confess my iniquity;
I am sorry for my sin.

I remember reaching these words in Psalm 38 and coming to a screeching halt. For many reasons, but mainly because I could not find a way around them. The need to confess sin. The need to be sorry for my sin, and not in a “sorry, not sorry” sort of way. Genuine repentance. Repentance that costs something. But I couldn’t pay for my sins, as much as I wanted to. As much as I tried to. I needed a Messiah. A baby, born as God in flesh, willing to lay down His life for me. For my salvation.

Now back to Psalm 39…to verse 8:

Deliver me from all my transgressions.

Deliver me yes, from the pain bracketing the hope. From the agony. But also from all my transgressions. For only then is hope realized. Fully.

Will He though? Will this God-child, this gift to mankind that we can not begin to understand, be able to accomplish the very thing that our sin-sick and weary souls long for?

The answer is found in the words of the prophet Isaiah, who foretold the coming birth of the only one who could provide that forgiveness. Who announced the coming Messiah. Spoken to Jerusalem, yes. True for us, yes. When we call upon His name. See these words here, in Isaiah 40:1-2:

Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
    and cry to her
that her warfare^[a] is ended,
    that her iniquity is pardoned,
that she has received from the Lord‘s hand
    double for all her sins.

We are assured this in 1 John 1:9:

If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness

This is wherein hope lies…a child, wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. A child, who we are beckoned to gaze upon and live–“Veiled in flesh, the Godhead see; Hail the Incarnate Deity”. The one who would suffer, and die for the forgiveness of our sins, and then be raised again to return some day, to take us home. Home. The only one who sees and knows. The only one who can offer hope in the midst of our pain. The only one who can pardon our iniquities. The only one who can bridge the yawning gap in our souls.

I have stumbled upon a new song this Christmas season–one that my youngest girl and I will have the gift of sharing with our church this Christmas season. The words sum up entirely this hope and the lifting of our shame–the yoke of sin has been broken. He has pierced the night.

He Who Is Mighty (Sovereign Grace)

Oh, the mercy our God has shown
To those who sit in death’s shadow
The sun on high pierced the night
Born was the Cornerstone

Unto us a Son is given, unto us a Child is born

He Who is mighty has done a great thing
Taken on flesh, conquered death’s sting
Shattered the darkness and lifted our shame
Holy is His name

Oh, the freedom our Savior won
The yoke of sin has been broken
Once a slave, now by grace
No more condemnation

Now my soul magnifies the Lord
I rejoice in the God Who saves
I will trust His unfailing love
I will sing His praises all my days

December 1, 2014 By Shelly Durkee

Advent is for those who know and understand longing.

Which means, it is for all of us.

All of us long for something, even if we cannot put into words that which we long for. Or, maybe we do know what we long for…Peace. Healing. Comfort. For a prodigal child to return home. For an impossible situation to be resolved. Rest for the weary. Hope for the hopeless. We long for so much.

We long for home.

And that longing for home is embodied in the sense of anticipation we celebrate during the Advent season. We look towards the birth of Christ–that which has occurred already and which we celebrate anew in its arrival every year. But we cannot look towards His birth without also looking towards His death and resurrection–that which has occurred already and that which we long for in His return. Someday.

We long for His return when we long for all the things mentioned above–peace, healing, comfort–the list is long. We may not know that is what we long for, but it is.

It is. And we wait: eagerly and impatiently, quietly and noisily, in anticipating and in desperation.

We wait.

And so, it is fitting that we celebrate Advent from today through the next four weeks, eventually resulting in joyful celebration of that longing for a Messiah–a Savior–on Christmas day. It is not to be hurried. It is not to be rushed through. It is a season of anticipation–and, there is much to be learned in the anticipating. In the waiting.

Oh, I am like you. I don’t like to wait. I am impatient in my longing. In my waiting. I want peace–now. I want healing–now. I want comfort–now. And so many other things. So many other things. I wonder if that is why the verses in Isaiah 64 are included in a list of scriptures that are sometimes used for this first Sunday of Advent? I’m sure it is not, but still–I can’t think of any more appropriate words than these:

Oh that you would rend the heavens and come down,
    that the mountains might quake at your presence—
²as when fire kindles brushwood
    and the fire causes water to boil—
to make your name known to your adversaries,
    and that the nations might tremble at your presence!
³When you did awesome things that we did not look for,
    you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence.

Do you hear the longing in these words? The desire to see God rend the heavens? The desire to see God?

That, my friends, is anticipation. That, my friends, is longing.

Oh, that we would know that kind of longing. But we do–we do know it! We know it each and every time our heart breaks over suffering in this fallen world! We know it each and every time our heart breaks over the sin we so easily fall to! We know it with each and every anxious prayer we utter–for our children, for our families, for our friends, and for our own souls! We know it each and every time we celebrate the Savior’s birth!

And, we know it each and every Resurrection Sunday–for all Sunday’s celebrate the resurrection of our Christ and point to His return.

Therefore, let us long with hope. Let us share that hope with the others. And let us take heed to the words in Mark 13:35-37–which are also common verses read on this first Sunday of Advent:

Therefore stay awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or when the rooster crows, or in the morning— ³⁶lest he come suddenly and find you asleep. ³⁷And what I say to you I say to all: Stay awake.”

Oh, how I long.

https://www.shellydurkee.com/2014/12/01/4587/