"I'll Praise You In This Storm"
As the thunder rolls,
I barely hear You whisper through the rain,
"I'm with you."
---Praise You In This Storm, by Casting Crowns
If you, O Lord, kept a record of sins,
O Lord, who could stand?
But with you there is forgiveness;
therefore you are feared.
---Psalm 130:3-4, NIV
This past April I had the opportunity to spend a week in Texas visiting a friend. The flight we took down South was the first time I'd been on a plane since I was very young, at which time I hadn't remembered much of what it was like to fly. Now it was a completely new experience, and amidst all the turbulence and uncomfortable seats and trying to cure boredom by reading the magazine in front of me over and over again I was amazed by how different everything looks when you're up in the sky. It gives you an entirely new perspective on the world around you. For instance, when the plane tilted to the side to turn, you could actually see the earth as if it were tipped sideways, and you fancied you could even make out the curve of the planet. Flying above a cloud bank was fascinating too: it was like flying over the artic, with everything white and snowy (although that kind of snow didn't look like it would be cold if you stepped in it).
The coolest part, however, was the thunderstorm. While passing over Dallas or some other such large city at about ten o'clock in the night, we flew right past a huge, roiling storm. It was like something out of a nature show: the thunder cracked dramatically, the clouds were huge and dark, the streaks of lightning were jagged and startling and absolutely crackling with electricity as they lit up the underbellies of the clouds with white light to illuminate their shape and grandeur. I had seen storms in movies and on TV, but never like this. And our plane was flying right alongside it at the same level. I would have been terrified, except for that the storm was far enough away that there was no way it could endanger us. So we on the flight who were still awake were treated to a spectacular light show that lasted at least a quarter of an hour and was powerful, deadly, amazing, but perfectly safe for us to be with.
It struck me, thinking back on this a few months after having made the flight, that such an experience is a little bit like the experience of knowing God. When you're on the ground, a thunderstorm anywhere near enough for you to witness it can be extremely frightening, because you know it could kill or injure you, if the lightning just happened to strike a house nearby or if the rain caused a flood or if the ensuing weather was bad enough for a tornado to form. Likewise, God is very dangerous, and many people who don't have a relationship with him view God as someone all powerful and all knowing who doesn't approve much of them and could ruin their life at a whim if he felt like it. In one sense, this could be taken as true. God is all powerful and all knowing, and he very well can do anything he pleases, and he does. And many people live lives which God doesn't approve of. In one sense, they have every reason to be terrified of God.
But it doesn't have to be like that, and, just like a person can get on an airplane and fly up to be on the same level as a thunderstorm, so can a person accept Christ and have a relationship with God that lets them know him more closely and get a deeper view of what he's like and how he works. And this is where the symbolism comes in most strongly. I might have thought that I knew plenty about thunderstorms from being disturbed by them on the ground. (I never have liked storms.) I didn't sympathize at all when I heard meteorologists quoted for saying how amazing storms are, or watched my brothers as they ooohed and ahhhed at weather videos on the Internet. It was only once I got up close to a thunderstorm and actually saw how amazing it really is---without having to fear for my life or my house---that I understood what it means to be in awe of one. From where I sat on the same level as it was, I saw beauty and power and the might of nature. I still don't like storms, but I would accept the chance to fly in a plane next to one again so that I could relive the experience.
God is like that. You'll think you understand well enough what it means to "fear God", but just wait until you know him and start to experience who he is when he's not your enemy, when he has control of your life and lets you experience his presence. You'll probably start writing "Him" instead of "him", for one thing. But the Bible really wasn't exaggerating when it spoke of fearing God and being in awe of Him. The overpowering sense of awe that you feel when you're close to God and yet you also know: He's really quite dangerous---it begins to make sense why "awe" can be a synonym for "fear", even as you love God and know God loves you and won't ever be against you.
I read Psalm 130 today, and at first I couldn't make any sense of the words, "But with you there is forgiveness; therefore you are feared." Yet now I think I get it. If I were to rewrite it in my own words, it might say, "But with you a person can be allowed to come into your presence without being hurt and see who you really are; therefore you are feared." But of course I wouldn't rewrite the Bible.
Go watch a storm tonight.
I barely hear You whisper through the rain,
"I'm with you."
---Praise You In This Storm, by Casting Crowns
If you, O Lord, kept a record of sins,
O Lord, who could stand?
But with you there is forgiveness;
therefore you are feared.
---Psalm 130:3-4, NIV
This past April I had the opportunity to spend a week in Texas visiting a friend. The flight we took down South was the first time I'd been on a plane since I was very young, at which time I hadn't remembered much of what it was like to fly. Now it was a completely new experience, and amidst all the turbulence and uncomfortable seats and trying to cure boredom by reading the magazine in front of me over and over again I was amazed by how different everything looks when you're up in the sky. It gives you an entirely new perspective on the world around you. For instance, when the plane tilted to the side to turn, you could actually see the earth as if it were tipped sideways, and you fancied you could even make out the curve of the planet. Flying above a cloud bank was fascinating too: it was like flying over the artic, with everything white and snowy (although that kind of snow didn't look like it would be cold if you stepped in it).
The coolest part, however, was the thunderstorm. While passing over Dallas or some other such large city at about ten o'clock in the night, we flew right past a huge, roiling storm. It was like something out of a nature show: the thunder cracked dramatically, the clouds were huge and dark, the streaks of lightning were jagged and startling and absolutely crackling with electricity as they lit up the underbellies of the clouds with white light to illuminate their shape and grandeur. I had seen storms in movies and on TV, but never like this. And our plane was flying right alongside it at the same level. I would have been terrified, except for that the storm was far enough away that there was no way it could endanger us. So we on the flight who were still awake were treated to a spectacular light show that lasted at least a quarter of an hour and was powerful, deadly, amazing, but perfectly safe for us to be with.
It struck me, thinking back on this a few months after having made the flight, that such an experience is a little bit like the experience of knowing God. When you're on the ground, a thunderstorm anywhere near enough for you to witness it can be extremely frightening, because you know it could kill or injure you, if the lightning just happened to strike a house nearby or if the rain caused a flood or if the ensuing weather was bad enough for a tornado to form. Likewise, God is very dangerous, and many people who don't have a relationship with him view God as someone all powerful and all knowing who doesn't approve much of them and could ruin their life at a whim if he felt like it. In one sense, this could be taken as true. God is all powerful and all knowing, and he very well can do anything he pleases, and he does. And many people live lives which God doesn't approve of. In one sense, they have every reason to be terrified of God.
But it doesn't have to be like that, and, just like a person can get on an airplane and fly up to be on the same level as a thunderstorm, so can a person accept Christ and have a relationship with God that lets them know him more closely and get a deeper view of what he's like and how he works. And this is where the symbolism comes in most strongly. I might have thought that I knew plenty about thunderstorms from being disturbed by them on the ground. (I never have liked storms.) I didn't sympathize at all when I heard meteorologists quoted for saying how amazing storms are, or watched my brothers as they ooohed and ahhhed at weather videos on the Internet. It was only once I got up close to a thunderstorm and actually saw how amazing it really is---without having to fear for my life or my house---that I understood what it means to be in awe of one. From where I sat on the same level as it was, I saw beauty and power and the might of nature. I still don't like storms, but I would accept the chance to fly in a plane next to one again so that I could relive the experience.
God is like that. You'll think you understand well enough what it means to "fear God", but just wait until you know him and start to experience who he is when he's not your enemy, when he has control of your life and lets you experience his presence. You'll probably start writing "Him" instead of "him", for one thing. But the Bible really wasn't exaggerating when it spoke of fearing God and being in awe of Him. The overpowering sense of awe that you feel when you're close to God and yet you also know: He's really quite dangerous---it begins to make sense why "awe" can be a synonym for "fear", even as you love God and know God loves you and won't ever be against you.
I read Psalm 130 today, and at first I couldn't make any sense of the words, "But with you there is forgiveness; therefore you are feared." Yet now I think I get it. If I were to rewrite it in my own words, it might say, "But with you a person can be allowed to come into your presence without being hurt and see who you really are; therefore you are feared." But of course I wouldn't rewrite the Bible.
Go watch a storm tonight.
posted by Yfalle | 10:11 AM
1 Comments:
Wow, cool update, Eruvyweth! It reminds me of a post I just published on the fear of the Lord, on Think Upon These Things. Neat how we both thought of the same topic!! Hebrews 12:18-29 is a great passage on God as a fire.
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