“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . .” Psalm 23

“To know something, then, we must be scrubbed raw, the fasting heart exposed.” Gretel Ehrlich

9/11. Where were you twenty-one years ago today? 

For many, it marked the entrance into the passage through the valley of the shadow of death.  For some, they would come out not on this side, but on the other.

When have you walked through that shadow?

What in life has scrubbed you raw?

And it you have, how has this experience transformed you?

Few, if any purposefully choose this path.  A path of shadows, suffering, sorrow,  pain, darkness, and yes, death.  And yet our pilgrimage often-times takes us there.  And it will take us there again.  To piously proclaim that God will miraculously deliver us, or to default to quoting bible passages like “All things work together for the good of those who love God”, as some might be wont to do, is not only unfeeling but fraudulent.  The best that I can say is that in that journey through the valley one will be scrubbed raw, and the result will be to know something better and more fully.  That something may be oneself, one’s faith, one’s God, or Love.  It is that loss of love that often catapults us down that path.

Recently I met with a friend for lunch.  Some years ago, he had lost his wife in the most horrible way imaginable.  In his words “It not only broke me but shattered me.” Consider that imagery for a moment.  Shattered glass lying scattered across the floor.  That is how he described his life.  I welcome meeting with him because there is a level of comfort and honesty that allows us to immediately dive deeply into our conversations without the small talk that often characterizes other conversations.  It is unique.  We both recognize that fact.  It is difficult in our culture to move below and beyond the shallow superficiality which is so common.  And too frequently even more common in churches, where one is not allowed to be real and honest and vulnerable.  But when you pass through that shadow, when you are scrubbed raw, the need to pretend or try and make good impressions or tell people what they want to hear . . . well, it all disappears.  And what is left is abject honesty.  And that’s why we connect.  We connect with one another not only because of our shared losses, but also due to what we gained in the process, which is a “knowing” without ever fully knowing.  And an acceptance of that paradox.  

We don’t know why certain, tragic, inexplicable things happen in life.

We don’t know where God is when we walk through that darkness.

We don’t know why so many people feel uncomfortable with pain and suffering, and why they feel compelled to try and fix things or give answers.

There’s so much we don’t know.

But we do know that it is more important to learn how to live the questions rather than insisting on having answers.

And we know that this journey, heart-wrenching and soul-rendering though it may be, has somehow led us closer to God and ourselves.

And we also know, at least a bit better, the value of companioning others on their pilgrimage.

And we know that it is when one is most lost that God is most likely to find you.  And when you are found by God, there will be a transformation and you will know God and yourself in a way you could’ve never imagined.  And Love.  Always love.

Do you know what I speak of?

Do you know of this journey?

Do you know of this knowing?