Elihu and the Chainsawed Hoover
I heard a story about Elihu. It got me wondering, Eli-who?
And then I remembered. Job 32.
There. You can have that little aide memoire for free.
Don't say I never give you anything.
lol.
Now, while you have that page open, let's try something…
This could be true.
Imagine you and God.
And your life.
Right now.
And God looks at you.
Through the eyes of Jesus…
And He sees what you're going through.
And —
if this were a poem or something, He might beseech you (people do that in poems) to see something you do not yet see about how things are turning out. And you might not see Him there (beseeching), or hear Him for that matter.
But that might be exactly what's happening.
In the poem.
Or…
He sees what you're going through, and —
if this were
a reality TV show, He might be standing right there beside you (or via a remote camera, or a drone or something) shoulder to shoulder, as if with the rope tied around Him and you're tied to that rope with carabiner clips, and if you slip on this cliff edge, He's like Bear Grylls, taking the strain —
for some reason Mr Grylls seems really really good at this stuff, training through all the years you were eating crisps and watching ITV
— so you know you're safe, which seems unfathomable, yet trustworthy.
And
the viewers at home are voting for you to stay in this week, but they really tune in for Bear because, well, watch how he keeps smiling, sheds tears and stuff.
Wow.
Also, Jesus.
In reality TV.
Or…
He sees what you're going through, and —
oh, my, this is not like Christmas Carols with Him up there beyond the snow,
he's actually, somehow, hmm, how do I put this —
Within.
Yes, even like, as your eyes are seeing, perhaps he's looking through them too, somehow. From the inside out.
(Bear Grylls can't do that. I'm sure he'd say so himself.)
Poets seem to be able to, but this is more than rhyming verse or clever metaphor, this is —
sorry.
CUT!
(Had to stop.
No one's going to believe this.
We're going to need to find a different angle.
And will SOMEONE CLOSE THAT BRACKET, please?)
Thank you.
Hmm. Let's go again.
He sees, and —
within,
almost like shoulder to shoulder with you (and Jesus) staring into a monitor that shows what's happening…
— yes, you both see what's playing on the monitor —
(I know, I know. That's a really poor simulation, but I need some kind of workable setup so I can move onto the important part. Don't shoot the architect, this is just a picture, okay. Just a picture…)
Okay.
He sees, and —
nah.
CUT!
This still has our in-built assumptions about what's happening to us — like Job probably had.
Jesus is (probably) cross, Jesus is thinking, Jesus is crying, Jesus is busy…
You see? Presets. Defaults.
Don't panic. I'm showing them here so we can try something different instead.
Like this —
Jesus is —
within us, like —
peers.
Peer to peer.
Peers who get the same jokes.
Not just like a dad laughing at his four year old. Aww… how sweet.
Not just an audience of loyal fans, showing willing. Yay! Just, YAY!!
No.
He was —
He was already laughing
before you got to the punchline.
Same wavelength. Same vibe.
Y'know.
But now, let's try this.
Jesus —
Within, like —
colleagues.
Colleagues —
with the same shared experience of formation,
who know this never was an easy pathway,
but agree on the mutual goal,
with indelible commitment…
Yes?
Oh. Okay.
Yet, you're here
like Job,
carrying the burden — 1000% — while
all that is within you cries…
REALLY, NOT FAIR.
Really, not fair.
Like Job.
(I get that. Yeah.)
And other colleagues around him
(not within, in fact without…him…?)
(Hmm.)
saying,
we…ll — we know what you mean,
but
well
we're just trying to do the maths ourselves, so don't take it personally, but it's not looking good for you,
because
— God.
(Ah, the limits of metaphors. But keep the plates spinning. I'm going somewhere. Honestly…)
How about,
Jesus —
within, like —
brothers.
Now we're talking.
Picture Band of Brothers.
Picture Brothers in Arms.
Yes, Dire Straits.
Mist covered mountains.
Picture that.
Hear — that.
(And always will be —)
Tears-to-the-eyes kind of brothers.
Very moving.
Unshakeable.
Blood.
More trustworthy than Bear Grylls even, possibly.
(If Bear Grylls has a brother though — whoa. That rope must be a trustworthy rope.)
Like brothers who see the bind you're in and cannot flinch because it's your bind,
jointly.
Mi casa su casa.
[My home is your home. What's mine is yours.]
Hmm. Casa… casa… casser…
(Gets me thinking in other languages…)
Tes cassures, nos blessures.
[Your fractures, our wounds.]
(Spanish, French, all over the place now. Making it up in all directions. Spin the plates. Spin! Spin! And keep them spinning.…)
Perhaps within in an even deeper way —
Friends.
Just friends.
I know. It sounds like a cop out. A distancing move. But go with it —
What a friend I've found,
said someone.
(We played this at our sister's funeral.)
Closer than a brother.
(My brother chose it. We were all very sad of course.)
The thing is, I read a verse today in Job that started all this.
Elihu said it.
(Eliwho? Yes, exactly. Who's on first base. Rain Man. )
I heard that some think this character was a bit like Jesus, while others think the opposite.
The Bible keeps us guessing.
Spinning plates. Wondering aloud…
But anyway. Elihu said,
And that brought me to tears…
…because the other day I heard myself say,
"I'm fed up."
In prayer. Aloud. And it was a gross underexaggeration.
Sobbing like a child trying to cope, and ending up noticing her own limits; the lack of rescue.
Fed up? Fed up like — Robinson Crusoe.
On his birthday, or something.
"It is of no use to a man when he becomes friends with God."
IT'S. NO. USE!!!
the child might sob. Or shout.
Over a difficult homework assignment.
Over a tricky household chore she's been given:
Untie these knots, and THEN you can play.
For Job — if he did say that in the first place! — perhaps his sounded a bit like —
"God doesn't help you after all."
(Doesn't sound like Job, but maybe.)
"You don't get what you hoped for, whatever they tell you."
"You lose everything you trusted. Everything."
"EVERY-THING"
"What's the point."
And Robinson Crusoe might be sitting on the beach.
32 days in.
132 days in.
The day when a page from the book of Job washes up on shore.
And he dries it on a rock, saving the type from the tide —
Then he tries to hold it close, and renew his faith.
But — argh those seagulls—
and false sightings —
and no rest.
Long nights wondering about wild animals and such…
No — sigh — use.
WHY?
Why have You forsaken me, GOD?
It's ME!
yeah. Now we're getting somewhere.
Within, like —
— like, in a rerun of the footage,
up there in the studio looking at the edits, shoulder to shoulder with Jesus, who says…
(((…as you both muse, shoulder to shoulder, eyes on the screen…)))
(((…toying with the options…)))
…shall we do this?
Are we together on this?
You with Me?
All in?
Nothing to lose?
(Apart from everything? — I know.)
Say the word
— about a hard decision, in the light of day, as you're looking back at the edits that took you to the end of yourself.
of THIS story.
YOUR story.
YOUR narrative arc.
YOUR scene.
YOUR cue card.
YOUR cue.
And you take a moment.
This character you're playing?
— they're really paying for it.
You're not even playing a role in this footage.
This is actually YOU.
A very high cost.
"I'm with you, whatever you decide."
(He pays it too. Already paid. And also now — still here — with you — in this.)
Now, let's step away for a second.
I need to hand you a scene that I didn't write.
From the The Great Divorce, by CS Lewis.
My paraphrase though, from years and years ago.
Popcorn? 🍿
Roll it…
There’s a scene
in CS Lewis’s,
The Great Divorce
where an angel offers
to kill a parasitical creature
that is draining the life
from a dying man.
The man rejects
the offer a few times,
with excuses like,
‘I’m not feeling well today,
let’s do it another time,’
or,
‘I’ve managed this far,
it’s not too much of a problem,’
maybe even,
‘I‘ve accepted it
as my cross to bear.’
Finally,
in the middle of
yet more excuses,
he lets slip
something to the effect of
‘go on then, get it over with…'
and the angel
needs no further encouragement.
He kills
the creature.
There’s
a
deathly
scream.
And then
the creature
changes
into —
a beautiful stallion.
And at the same time
the man
transforms
from someone
withered
and rather poorly
into a strong,
healthy,
energetic
rider
on the back of
the stallion,
and they
charge off
into the distance…
You got the gist?
Parasite
becomes stallion.
Dying man
becomes healthy man,
who now has
far more going for him
than just a lack
of parasite.
Redemption.
It’s an old fashioned word,
but if it means that
the life-sapping,
parasitical
themes in my life
get transformed
into
life-giving, energising,
potential-fulfilling
stallions,
then
it’s a word
I aim to use
more often.
For my own well-being
and peace of mind,
I find a spell of stillness,
silence and solitude,
(plus a decent hoover)
picks up any number of
resource-draining-
red-herring-parasites
that have been trying
to persuade me
to have a good
and justified wallow
in my own despair.
In my experience,
if I can bear
to let Him part me from them,
God sometimes turns them
into stallions.
Ouch, eh?
The bold print was mine.
Now, I mean.
In hindsight.
(To be honest, the hoover back then wasn't as strong as I hoped it was.)
(Some clever hoovers have all these clever attachments for tricky corners and crevices.) (Some clever hoovers seem to find the clever attachments get stuck and you can't remove them — without a chain saw.) (Chain-sawed hoovers aren't as mended as they might sound.)
Now,
in the rear view mirror,
this same idea
of Jesus
(and me — and you — in hindsight)
looking at something more —?
It's even more compelling.
But if you want the kinaesthetic version
(something you can pick up in your hands and play with while we think) —
It's possible that if you
turn the timeline
of your life
on its head
(instead of left to right like
an X axis,
or an English,
French, Spanish
or Greek sentence
— though not in Job's Hebrew —),
you might turn it toward you
like a telescope.
Better still,
like a kaleidoscope.
Everything all at once, but now as scenery and backdrop stage elements, positioned at key distances to show something beautiful when you look through the —
…opera glasses.
Yes.
Then, just wait for the stage lights.
It'll make ALL the difference.
Now, you see.
THIS!
is why we have Bibles
and not just blog posts.
After all, this one might as well be in Greek!
Or Hebrew.
At any rate, it's a stranger worldview than we were used to —
Still.
It might be true.
