“And finally his heart exploded like a flash flood, releasing his pent-up anger and letting it rush down the rocky canyons of his emotions…Groans and moans of despair and fury spat through his lips as he beat his wrath into this terrible place. ‘I hate you!’” (78).
Yep…Mack is definitely at the shack…that one place of hurt so deep, so terrifying, so life-consuming, and so debilitating that all he can do is lash out. But notice something in his lashing. Do you see it?
Unadulterated honesty. It’s horrible, and it’s beautiful. Finally Mack acknowledges the hidden source of agony. His daughter’s death is not the source of The Great Sadness. He’s angry…very angry…at GOD! And in a moment of complete desperation, he’s finally able to admit it.
But not until he is forced to face that floor, stained with his daughter’s blood.
I remember the moment I was that honest with God. I had lived a life of saying all the right things, performing in all the right ensembles, reading all the right passages, listening to all the right songs, and convincing myself that I believed every bit of it. But one day, in the midst of an incredibly treacherous time in my life, I said it. “I don’t believe.” That was my own version of I hate you. It was liberating for me.
And unknowingly, it was liberating for God. Because I was finally honest with God, He was able to start doing things in me. Until that time, God had been doing things around me and for me. His providence, in retrospect, is undeniable. But it wasn’t until this moment of unadulterated honesty that God could do something in me. I imagine Him, in that instant…throwing up His hands and saying, “Thank You!!! Now I can get something done around here.”
This lie that I had lived was a wall. I kept walking around it, hanging things on it, putting new coats of paint, patching the holes, and making it look pretty. But walls are walls, and humans can’t walk through them. And that element of freewill God blessed us with kept me from tearing it down. At the moment of that confession of unbelief, that wall fell. And God broke in.
Much like He is about to do with Mack.
Wait, you aren’t thinking this is really from God, are you? (70)
“Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!”
That’s what the father said when Jesus told him all things were possible to him who believed. I tell God that a lot, too. I really do hate that I have such a hard time believing. Some of friends admittedly find it so easy. They just know that God is going to do big things. But, not me.
I am getting better, though. I have learned that I can’t limit God. Granted, God had to do some preeeetty crazy things in my life to bring me to this conclusion. I once believed that God didn’t do the things He did in the Bible because He didn’t need to. You know, that whole God-did-it-then-because-He-was-revealing-His-glory-but-now-that-He’s- revealed-it-He-doesn’t-do-that-anymore mentality. Recently, I have not been able to justify that belief with that other God-is-the-same-yesterday-today-and-forever scripture. Interestingly enough, I can’t recall a single scripture that says God doesn’t work that way anymore, but I can think of plenty that say He never changes (Mal 3:6).
But God doesn’t do stuff like that. At least I’ve never heard of him sending someone a note. Not that he couldn’t, but, you know what I mean (71)
I love Willie’s thought process here. He’s so caught up in his own understanding and experience that he can’t comprehend what God is doing. Personally, I have neeever done this…nope not once. But if I were, it would probably look much the same. I’d be so sure of what a “note” from God would look like, that I’d forget about the burning bush, the firey pillar and cloud, the dove, the blinding light, the whisper, and the physical manifestation of a nonphysical being. But that’s just me.
And why would he want you to return to the shack, anyway? I can’t think of a worse place…(71)
I don’t know either, Willie. I used this line on my therapist once…it didn’t work. We still had to go there.
There are times when you choose to believe something that would normally be considered absolutely irrational. It doesn’t mean that it is actually irrational, but it surely is not rational. Perhaps there is suprarationality: reason beyond the normal definitions of fact or data-based logic; something that only makes sense if you can see the bigger picture of reality. Maybe that is where faith fits in (67).
I like that word…suprarationality. That makes sense to me. I’m pragmatic and skeptical, which is a dangerous combination where faith in an infinite, holy God is concerned. But that sort of logic beyond logic was exactly what I had to come to terms with when God’s invasion of my territory could no longer be denied.
The collision of Heaven and Earth certainly can be explained by a multitude of arguments…sometimes. But sometimes, we just need to submit to the truth that we can’t always explicate God. That’s how faith worked for me.
I always love telling the story of my submission. Yes, it was a moment of conversion, and salvation, and revelation, and all that other jargon. But ultimately, it was a submission…a moment when I acknowledged that I didn’t know everything about God and how He works, but I understood enough to accept his proposal. I understood enough to accept the things I didn’t understand based on what could be proven.
This moment wasn’t glamorous…no bright, white lights. No big parade. No Hallelujah Chorus. Just me. Sitting in a parking lot, chain-smoking. I didn’t pray the “sinner’s prayer” even though I could have recited it perfectly. I wasn’t eloquent (shocking, I know). The only words I could muster were, “I have no idea what I am doing, but I know I need you to do it.” That’s all I said aloud. Of course, my brain and heart and soul were screaming…but I couldn’t articulate all that then, and I can’t do it now.
And I have been perfect ever since…um…right.
Actually, I have realized that life with God is about Him helping us with our unbelief. And much like He does this in Mack’s life, He’ll do this in some really freaky ways that will force us to question everything we think we know:
There was no doubt the possibility that he had turned into a complete idiot or was the butt of some ugly prank…(69).
Maybe I’m just losing it. I know it sounds crazy, but somehow I feel strangely drawn to find out for sure. I gotta go…or it’ll drive me nuts forever (70).
Well, I have decided that this blog will officially be a book study blog for books I am currently reading. As such, I have started another one to record all my other thoughts that I have wanted to post here, but didn’t because I didn’t want to interrupt the flow of discussion.
So, if you feel so compelled…head over here and enjoy waxing mundane.
In my last post, we took a look at The Great Sadness that has pervaded Mack’s life. Finally, in the next few chapters we learn the source and the extent of his grief. Furthermore, we realize that The Great Sadness has “descended and in differing degrees cloaked everyone whose lives had touched Missy’s” (64). But life isn’t meant to be lived focusing on tragedy, and an infinite God is about to invade a finite world and prove just how high and unlike his ways are.
Mackenzie,
It’s been a while. I’ve missed you.
I’ll be at the shack next weekend if you want to get together.
— Papa
This note, which “did not fit well with his theological training” (65), invites Mack back to the place of his greatest hurt. The one place from which Mack has “attempted to emerge”; the place that “had also increased the rift in Mack’s own relationship with God”; that’s the place God wants to go. And it’s the same in our life.
God wants to take me (and you) back to the place of our greatest sadness so that He can change our perception of who He is.
Well, I’ve avoided this particular aspect of The Shack long enough, not because I’m afraid to, but because of the backlash I expect to cause. Granted, I am writing this for myself, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t reading it. When we start messing with people’s emotions, things can get a bit risky. [Un]fortunately, this book is about pain and perception, so I can’t really talk about the book without talking about those aspects.
Mack has experienced loss…extreme loss. His youngest daughter was murdered at an abandoned shack. We won’t know all the details until chapter 3, but we know that this event single-handedly altered Mack’s perception of the world and The Creator. Furthermore, we know that the seven years since this loss have been named, The Great Sadness, by Mack himself no less.
This [un]conscious decision to label the indefinable is a purely human trait that stems from faulty logic, a logic which forces us to define ourselves based on our circumstances. And it’s not new. In the book of Ruth, Naomi, who has suffered great loss, returns to her homeland and actually asks the people there to call her by a different name:
She said to them, “Do not call me Naomi; call me Mara, for the Almighty has dealt very bitterly with me. (Ruth 1:20, NASB)
Mara literally means “bitterness” and Naomi chooses this name because of her situation. The question we must all ask ourselves is what situation defines me? I have found that more often than not, Christians are quick to say “my relationship with God.” And I never want to be overly critical or skeptical (too late), but I can’t help but wonder, if Christians really did let their relationship with God define them, wouldn’t Christians hurt less and love more? Wouldn’t we edify others instead of tearing them down in our thoughts and actions? Wouldn’t we focus our attention more on how we could change and not on how others need to? Wouldn’t our lives be more free and look more like Christ? The very fact that we are not proves that we are defining ourselves based on something that is definitely not Christ.
So I’ll ask again: What situation defines you? What situation has become your filter through which you see the world?
I’m gonna spend some time answering this for myself as well because the next part of this topic is even more treacherous.
As clarification, all thoughts expressed in this blog are my own. In no way do they reflect the opinions of the author, my church, the institution where I work, or anything other than my own brain/mind. Furthermore, I do not submit them as absolute truth. They are just thoughts…no more…no less.
As previously stated, this book is about relationships, the greatest of which is Mack’s relationship with God, and in the Foreword and the first part of the first chapter, we gain a little insight into how Mack views God. Of course, this perception will change radically as the novel progresses, but for now, this is what we get.
We learn on page 10 that Mack hates religion, probably views God as “brooding, distant and aloof,” and “is not too comfortable [in church].” Authors have a way of revealing much in just a few words, even if these revelations are subconscious, and Young is no different. The most efficacious of these brief descriptions is on page 22 when Mack tries to reassure his wife:
“Honey, I’m sure God knows what he’s doing. It will all work out.” The words brought him no comfort but he hoped they might ease the worry in her voice.
As of right now, I have two interpretations:
1. Mack doesn’t believe it will all work out for him or his wife, but he understands that Nan still believes it. Many people in church today share this mindset. God doesn’t understand, and worse, doesn’t care. It won’t all work out. No matter how many times they read Romans 8:28; no matter how many times they read about things working out, they just do not believe that God knows what he is doing.
2. Mack actually does believe it will all work out for Nan, but his words bring him no comfort because he doesn’t believe that God works the same in his life (and yes, this is where I fit in, because I know you are wondering). This is huge…God is good, His word is true, His promises are true…for other believers.
Let’s face it; we are control freaks who believe lies and fail to recognize or establish effective boundaries, so it makes sense that our perception of God would be skewed. Those filters, the ones through which we interpret everything, are firmly in place. Like an old car battery, they are corroded and misfiring, and we don’t even see it until someone pops the hood and shows us the mess.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve seen God do amazing things in my life. Without God’s divine intervention, I’d be dead. I know that. But all that has happened in the past, and for some reason, I am not convinced that He will be there for me in the future. It’s a trust issue. I get that. Of course, just recently someone else submitted that it’s also a pride issue. I’m not so sure how I feel about that. Pride always seems like something that elevates us above others, not belittles. And yet the subtext of her question suggests pride: What makes me so different (so special) from everyone else that God could be trusted in their life but not mine?
The answer is not as simple as, “nothing.” I wish it were, but the truth is that apparently I believe I am different in some way…and my guess is it’s not a good way. So what is the answer?
I simply do not know.
As clarification, all thoughts expressed in this blog are my own. In no way do they reflect the opinions of the author, my church, the institution where I work, or anything other than my own brain/mind. Furthermore, I do not submit them as absolute truth. They are just thoughts…no more…no less.
Ever notice that when you ask someone a difficult question, they often respond with one of the following: It won’t make sense unless I tell you a little about where I come from; before all this happened…; I should preface this statement with…; or any other means of back story they deem necessary for your understanding? Think of the foreword in The Shack as the beginning of a response to a difficult question.
Young presents a very strategic description of our lead character (I’d call him the protagonist, but I’m not quite sure this novel is really about Mack). A cursory reading will overlook the depth of Mack’s character and what insight we can glean about ourselves. Of course, the tendency of human nature is to see these traits in others, not in ourselves. We do this when we hear sermons, too. We sit through a whole service and think, I sure hope s/he is listening because this is exactly what s/he needs to hear. And you will do the same thing as you read this book. You will take a characteristic of Mack’s and think of everyone but yourself. When you do this, stop! Recognize this behavior/thinking in your own life. It’s there…I promise.
At its heart, this book is about relationships. So what do we learn about Mack and his relationship to others and God?
His closest relationships bring him pleasure, and in spite of his circumstances (of which we are unaware at this juncture), he mostly laughs with those closest to him:
Our conversations bring a deep sort of pleasure, always sprinkled with lots of laughs and once in a while a tear or two. Frankly, the older we get, the more we hang out, if you know what I mean (7).
Safe relationships should bring us pleasure. They should be grounded in truth. Notice that the tears come every now and then. It would be easy to chalk this up to their male gender which is far too often characterized as less emotional, but I would like to submit that they mostly laugh because they have chosen to focus on the joy, not the sorrow. Willie has known Mack for “more than twenty years,” and their deep conversations suggests that they have shared much, including the tragedy that surfaces a few pages later; and yet, they mostly laugh. There is a time to laugh and a time to cry, but far too often, we are crying when we should be laughing.
His closest relationships recognize who he is, where he is, and how he got there.
The family tradition holds that “the men all have the same first name but are commonly known by their middle names…” Apparently, most people know him as Allen, his middle name, but his closest family and friends break the family tradition and call him by his first name, Mack. Again, we are unclear of the motivation behind this break in tradition because we are not yet privy to the tragedy that is Mack’s life. We just know that, for some reason, only his wife and his close friends call him Mack. The intimacy he shares with them is obviously not one he shares with others, including his parents.
It is the same with us. Those closest to me, often call me T. In fact, for the longest time, Tim hated it when others would call me that because it was “his name” for me. Those who are closest to us will know us in ways that others cannot.
It is the same with God. He knows us, the very hairs on our head, where we sit and where we lie down. In fact, He knows us so well that He even knows what we will look like when His work in us is completed. He gives us a new name. A name only He knows, and no one will be able to call me that.
The relationships that should have nurtured him hurt him, and his responses to others are filtered through this lens of pain.
After a startling confession to a church leader, Mack is beaten extensively by his father for two weeks. The one person who should be his protector is his accuser and attacker. And in the aftermath, driven by this hurt, he responds in anger:
Two weeks later when Mack was finally able to put one foot in front of the other again, he just up and walked away from home. But before he left, he put varmint poison in every bottle of booze he could find on the farm (8).
Isn’t this exactly what we do when we are hurt (okay, maybe not the rat poison part)? Especially if that hurt comes from someone that should be protecting us or helping us? And isn’t the church supposed to be nurturing? And yet so many times, we are hurt by the very people we need to help us. Even worse, we hurt others who really just need a safe place to grow or heal. My senior pastor often says that “hurting people hurt people.” And it’s true. If we are around people, we are going to get hurt, and we are going to hurt, because we are all hurting people. And once we have been hurt, we view everything that happens to us through the experience of that hurt. We take drastic measures to ensure we are not hurt again. And more often than not, these drastic measures hurt us and others.
I haven’t read Christian fiction ever since Left Behind left me, well…behind (and please don’t read too much into that statement). After about seven books of near-death experiences and plane hopping, I just couldn’t bring myself to finish the series; so yes, when my pastor mentioned The Shack and said I should read it, I already had a preconceived notion of how the book would read and how it would all play out. As someone who enjoys all theological discourses and the refining of my beliefs through those discussions, I humbly submit that this book, whether you agree with everything in it, will wreck your theology. After the full 250 pages, my mind is reeling from disjunctitude (I made that up because I can). And Young’s style moves far beyond the spiritual substantiveness; it actually has literary value! The writing is rich in detail and structure and extended metaphor, reflecting a better than average vocabulary.
My church uses book studies as a means to engage people relationally and intellectually, and I mentioned to my pastor that I would love to lead one on this book. I don’t know if it will happen, but if you read my previous post on contentment, you just might realize that I’m okay with that. Relatively speaking, I am a young believer, a 1st grader, if you will. My life prior to my confession (submission really) of belief in 2001 was spent trying to do all the right things so that others would believe I was great and wonderful and had everything put together. I didn’t just learn from the models of behavior of those around me; I would delve whole-heartedly into mimesis, not out of pure motivation, but out of an intense need to be “right.”
I have found that my post-confession life often falls into this same trap. I see how others respond to and experience God, and I am convinced that this is what my faith should look like. And if it doesn’t? Well, I must be doing something wrong. If I am not serving on a ministry team like other believers whom I respect, then I must not be doing it right. If I don’t “feel” God, then I must be doing something wrong. If I’m not…well, you get the idea. Fortunately, God is faithful to help me recognize this faulty thinking, or “stinkin’ thinkin’” as a bag lady once called it. Sometimes, he does this instantaneously. Mostly, like over the last year, he lets me wallow around in my own stink for a while. He’s probably trying to get my attention; I just can’t see Him through all the filth. A week and half ago, I finally saw His face through a cloud of dust, and realized just how trapped I was. And it was the freedom from guilt I expressed that prompted my pastor to recommend Young’s book.
What’s the biggest revelation I received from The Shack? The beauty of contentment. Ultimately, if we are honest with ourselves, we desire because we lack contentment. In some cases, such as “not being content with a mundane Christian life,” this lack motivates us to seek more of God. But more often than not, I find that lack of contentment produces resentment primarily focused at God, though we may certainly project that resentment onto others because they are actually tangible.
So if I never get to lead the book study, I’m okay with that. My relationship with God will not suffer because I am learning to be content again with me and God and this awkwardly beautiful dance we began almost seven years ago. But my mind is still reeling with all these thoughts spurred on by the book.
What I have decided is this: I’ll work through them here, in this blog. I invite you to join me. If you haven’t read the book, go get it and join me. I encourage you to post comments, as we might just develop a community here in this space as we journey to the shack.
What is contentment? Consider the insight of William P. Young:
For me, everything is about Jesus and Father and the Holy Spirit, and relationships, and life is an adventure of faith lived one day at a time. Any aspirations, visions and dreams died a long time ago and I have absolutely no interest in resurrecting them (they would stink by now anyway). I have finally figured out that I have nothing to lose by living a life of faith. I know more joy every minute of every day than seems appropriate, but I love the wastefulness of my Papa’s grace and presence. For me, everything in my life that matters, is perfect!
Increasingly, individuals are seeking a purpose, something larger in this large world that gives them an identity. We search for that “one thing” that God has called us to do so that we can be a part of all that God is doing, and we miss it. We miss the beauty and wastefulness of just communing with a Holy God, probably because that communion engenders the realization that we are so incredibly small. Unfortunately, that realization is not truth. We are small, but not insignificant. Far too often, we try to do something to counteract this feeling of smallness. Even when we try to be like Mary, we sit at the feet of Christ with a Martha mentality, reveling in what we are “doing” by just sitting there worshiping our Creator, Savior, and Lover.
Dreams, visions, and aspirations are good, but only if they come from the overflow of contentment that we find just being with Christ. Anything else is just works.
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