Jehoshaphat was king and Judah was facing a huge danger. The Moabites and Ammonites, along with some of the Meunites set themselves against Judah and were poised for battle. The calamity was imminent. Jehoshaphat prays for his people and concludes like this:

2 Chronicles 20:12:

“For we are powerless against this great horde that is coming against us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you.”

This is just the attitude that we ought to acquire—not only in the face of impending danger of whatever kind we may be experienced, but in virtually every circumstance of uncertainty.

“Lord, I don’t know what to do. But I know that you do, and so I will keep my eyes on you, the source, and wait for you to do what you will do.”

Samuel Rutherford writes:

“The devil’s war is better than the devil’s peace. Suspect dumb holiness. When the dog is kept out of doors, he howls to be let in again.”

Rutherford is right, and we don’t usually think of it like that in the moment. But as he says, we should “suspect dumb holiness”.

What does that mean? It means, that when holiness just happens and we’re not struggling with one thing or another, there’s reason for us to be suspicious. It may be that we’re simply in a time of blessing and rest. But, more commonly, it may mean that we’ve unwittingly settled into a quiet, corrosive pattern of sin, so that the Enemy has no need to make a ruckus.

I know that for me this pattern has generally proven true.

As strange as it may seem from the inside, when I’m struggling it’s usually an indication that I’m in a healthy place. While on the flip side, when all things seem to be going well, it’s usually a symptom that I’m not struggling when or where I ought to be.

Again, not a rule of any kind, but a fairly consistent pattern.

We know from the rest of scripture that Job wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t ultimately blameless. But he was innocent of the crimes his ‘friends’ accused him of. The calamity that befell him wasn’t the result of his sin, but God’s prerogative. But his friends continue to come at him with theological sounding arguments, which amounted to condemnation of him in his difficult life situation.

Job responds to them. Job 16:2-5:

"I have heard many such things;
    miserable comforters are you all.
Shall windy words have an end?
   Or what provokes you that you answer?
I also could speak as you do,
   if you were in my place;
I could join words together against you
   and shake my head at you.
I could strengthen you with my mouth,
   and the solace of my lips would assuage your pain.”

I think that Job’s words are echoed in many, many who have been bruised and burned by Christians and our American Church culture. Difficult situations and challenges have befallen them and rather than patiently and quietly empathize and encourage, we attempt to define and classify, and ultimately solve the problem with a kind of spiritual algorithm.

But this is a problem. Because it amounts to very little more than judgment on our part.

I think the human experience is vastly complicated and confusing. Even for the one experiencing it, let alone those around him. Although spiritual as it may be, I think we err when jumping to conclusions about other people’s struggles and difficulties.

Although there is a time for careful examination of each other’s struggles, and there is a time for instruction, exhortation and rebuke. I think most of the time, it’s not. But rather, grace, patience, love and empathy.

On the way in from an outing this evening, I came across this guy making a web in the walkway up to my house. A pretty heavy storm had just passed through. I was surprised that his habitat wasn’t destroyed.

I don’t usually shoot nature stuff, but I couldn’t pass up this opportunity.

As I was setting up the shot, I gently sent a mist over the web to rewet the parts that were probably going to be invisible to the camera. When I did that, the spider curled up in a ball and wasn’t looking so photogenic. So, for some reason I thought it might help to gently blow on he web from a few feet away.

This didn’t work. I don’t know why I thought it would. Instead, the spider bolted for the outer edge of the web, then eventually out towards a tree.

Frustrated, I covered my gear with plastic to keep it from getting wet and went inside hoping the spider would get comfortable and return. Obviously, it did. But while I was inside waiting, it occurred to me that one of the elements of photography that I love is the ability to control nearly every aspect of a photograph.

If I don’t like where light is coming from, then put it somewhere else. If I don’t like who I’m shooting, find someone else. Props, scenery, colors? With studio style photography, it’s all up to me. The unpredictable element of nature photography only took a matter of minutes to frustrate me.

See, unfortunately, I’m a person who tends to thrive on the ability to control the circumstances around me. Although sometimes it’s a good thing, other times It gets me in trouble—usually in the form of losing sight of the big picture.

As I was thinking about the spider and how there was really nothing I could do to get it to come back and sit where I wanted it to, it reminded me of my overall discomfort in life—the day in and day out joys and frustrations of running a business and being uncertain what the next month is really going to look like.

But really, I need to remember to take a cue from the spider on a day to day basis. Be grateful and worship, cause my life is still standing in and out of stormy weather—and that’s not something I’m really in control of.

I don’t notice when I’m not sick. Inevitably, at least once a year, I think to myself, “Gosh Bill, you’re practically always sick.” This is usually during the worst of a bad cold or, at worst, the flu.

Well, last week I was sick. Then I started to get better. Now, I’m sick again. As I was laying down this evening to take a nap, I caught myself in that annual thought, thinking, “Gosh Bill, you’re always sick! What gives?” Then it occurred to me what was really going on. I only notice when I’m sick. I never lay healthy in my bed at night thinking, "boy it sure is nice to be healthy.”

From that, I thought about spiritual health. Most of the time, if I’m doing “well”, I don’t even notice. Sure, I stick to the basic spiritual disciplines, but my heart only kind of goes into it. But, in the times of struggle—apparent struggle—that’s when the spiritual disciplines I stick to really mean something.

It would seem that the reality is that in times of struggle and (seemingly) uphill battles with sin, the weak but real dependence on God is far greater and stronger and better than all the self-sustained “healthy times” combined. In fact, the times of potent reliance on God because of some trouble—even when I myself am the cause—is usually the real health.

I suppose the real difficulty is in learning to embrace times of difficulty, allowing holiness to grow from it—all the while, not slipping back into spiritual “health”.

I have a tendency when sin or struggle makes life difficult to want to retreat. A cave is always the imagery in my mind. The idea of escaping everything around me and living quietly out of anyone’s reach is appealing in those times.

While reading in Spurgeon’s All of Grace today, he spoke to my inclination:

“If we were to shut ourselves up in the lone cell of a hermit, temptation would follow us; for as long as we cannot escape from ourselves we cannot escape from incitements to sin.”

Spurgeon is right. The inclination to flee into solitude at the threat or torment of sin is nothing more than an attempt to retreat from self, which is nonsense. And, since it’s within self that sin and struggle find their gravitation pull, it wouldn’t matter how deeply into reclusion one dove, “we cannot escape from incitements to sin”.

Normally Sunday is my day to post my reflections on my meditation verse for the previous week. Unfortunately this week I apparently didn’t select a verse that was as relevant to my current life happenings as I thought. I selected 1 Timothy 4:8, but as the week went on I found that it simply wasn’t where my heart was.

Consequently, I don’t really have much to write about that. However, in my daily reading, I came upon a short passage from Psalm 55 which I find that in times of struggle, I relate to strongly.

"My heart is in anguish within me;
   the terrors of death have fallen upon me.
Fear and trembling come upon me,
   and horror overwhelms me.
And I say, "Oh, that I had wings like a dove!
   I would fly away and be at rest;
yes, I would wander far away;
   I would lodge in the wilderness;
                         Selah"

In times of trouble, I find comfort in these words. Not only because it means that David, the man after God’s own heart, has shared my feelings. But more importantly because God inspired that David would write these words. In effect, God has said between these lines, "Be calm son, I understand. I am here."

I find precious peace in that.