Devotionals

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There is a juncture in the journey of faith in Jesus. At these grounds upon which the believer arrives, the ground shakes violently with great tenacity underneath one’s feet. The saint finds oneself groping, longing for, reaching out, and yet feeling on the outskirts of experiential revelation. Simply knowing the truth of where God is becomes mysterious, alluring to one in contemplation. God’s once often known presence becomes distant to the traveler in the quest for affection found in the one named Love. The one arriving at this residence within the soul, finds oneself firing numerous questions into the atmosphere and beyond.

This juncture of one’s journey has often been referred to by the saints of old as the dark night of the soul. It carries many things within it. Intrigue writes itself upon it, as if it were an epitaph, a gravestone if one will. His memories feel numb and they appear dead in a way, for they are of the past; and they are of a foreign nature. They are memories of which seem intangible within one’s own life, yet they are tangible to the hope held within. These are the very memories of blissful experiences known with Jesus of clarity and purpose, wherein He reveals Himself clearly to the person.

These memories of true encounters with God Himself catapult the individual forward. One is driven into times of experiencing groans too deep for words; wailing in wonder describes these black nights of the soul. In wonder the tearful human being wails, holding no restraint back from the crying out to one’s own God. The Psalms of David are held closely to the chest. The cross, from which the agony of David was quoted by the Suffering Servant, is thought of in remembrance often. For with the cross in mind and heart, all things can be overcome; even the dark night of the soul.

The student once thought of himself as a teacher. Now, he finds the truth shattering him. The truth pierces through his many doctrines. His theology gives way to the burning light of the Holy Spirit’s activity unseen. He once thought His explanations of the Godhead brave. Yet now; what he is seeing breaks him. What is known from the distant past falls apart, and becomes pale in comparison to the grand person, entity, and Consuming Fire, loosely titled: God.

The individual finds his soul far-removed. His own soul comes to experience itself as if it were an alien and as a stranger before his God once easily known. Upon this season, he reaches for the Living God; but His touch, His once-known beautiful and much-loved presence is alluring and just out of reach. It’s a time of difficulty and adversity. And it’s even more than that at the same time…

One’s own identity of being a lover of the God of all gods is questioned by the gods that be; and the follower of Christ finds the ground giving way beneath. On the shaky ground of theology once understood, the disciple of the Master spends nights feeling the sensation of hot tears roll down the face. While the outer conditions have a Sovereign way of pressing in upon one’s inner-man, each tear tells a tale of inner-pain. The tears are of a deeper agony, unable to be expressed by words of this age. These tears of fire hold the notion, which cannot adequately be grasped, of one day being seen in a bottle. They carry a strange yet vital hope, of being valuable through the lens of eternity’s reward system.

In this time of one’s journey, in the darkness of all night; the believer looks on. Hope keeps one standing upon one’s feet. Hope of meeting with the unfathomable God keeps the stance in position. Although one staggers in stance; standing exists nonetheless with hope, which is held high in the heart of hearts. Knowledge of the day of vindication, and validation grips the essence of every moment. One day away is the foresight of prophecy. And hope is of much more value than perishable gold.

Others stare on with Bewilderment being their message held high. They mainly seem to look on, not knowing what to say. When words do leave their mouths, they flutter as a weak pigeon in flight. The weak words without much thought are a language expressing very little to the one who is in turmoil and agony. They are thought better not said to the one going through the black experience of the soul. Yet, these words even carry a paradoxical weight of potential to push the individual forward into the heart of this mysterious Being, the One deserving Wonder, flippantly called God.

To the one experiencing the dark night of the soul, words of others are normally reproach alone. Their words, even if not truly with the intent of it; are a vocabulary of criticism. Seemingly, they know not what to make of the dark night of the soul as well, yet it’s such a mysterious event that something pulls their vocal chords to speak. Few of their words encourage, but the ones that do are a diamond in the rough. Encouragement is rare, but sometimes found in the dark night.

While other humans speak, Satan is the foe demanding the Bride to give him agreement to lies of accusation. He demands with great arrogance for her to agree with his lies of who God is and what He’s not. He fires his arrows from a bow of deception that God isn’t good, faithful, kind, and loving; his arrows are set afire with the lies of God being a wretch of an uncaring nature. Yet, in her deepest resides, she finds residing truth to say, “God is exactly who He says He is.”

Her inner-man arises to the true, vital, undeniable facts of her Bridegroom God. Her worship arises out of a pit of despair as a brute beast of unwavering power and authority of declaration. In the depths of darkness, she sees a matchless truth, that God is true. In this truth, lovesickness has been birthed. Lovesickness has become a child of the dark night of the soul.

God, in His infinite wisdom has waited for this moment, and He's remembered it all. He has remembered every weak glance. Every faint word to Him is carried in His eternal recollection. Every small whisper, every subtle movement of His Bride’s heart He does not forget. Along with His Lover’s subtleties of displayed affection, He is deeply stirred and ignited with passion and zeal over her agonizing groans. The groans speak of a stretched and ransacked theology, which is being pulled into greater awareness of who God utterly is. The stretch of the study of Him is mingled with flowing tears of fire, and without doubt He holds the bottle firmly through the ages of eternity.

The shaking ground beneath the bride is a place rarely visited. Yet traversed by lovers in love, it turns their affection into an unwavering sight, stronger than the grave. The display of wholeheartedness is found in the passion of warrior love. Beyond the confusion of a tested spirituality, is the gripping of a heart of resolve saying, “I’ll never let go. Not even in the dark night of my soul.”

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