Mists

Mists are often the stuff of horror: a movie titled The Fog, stories of sounds in the mists, just beyond sight, a Stephen King novella titled The Mist. The mists shroud sight. With the next step, you might arrive at your destination, or you might step off a cliff into nothingness. You can’t see what’s in front of you, what’s behind you, or what’s around you.

But the mists can be comforting. In a dense fog in the mountains, there’s quietness. There’s coolness, the nourishment of life-giving water in the air. There’s aloneness, and there’s rest.

In my journey with Christ, I’ve spent a lot of years intentionally ignoring the mist, and further years trying to burn it away. I’m still trying to develop my perception, still trying to improve my footing in the mists–but I’m learning to walk “by faith, not by sight”, to trust the God who started a people by telling a man to leave his family and “go to the place I’ll show you” and expected him to go into the unknown, to believe that something good can come out of Nazareth.

The mists aren’t a safe place. There are a lot of mountain footpaths with steep dropoffs. There are a lot of wild animals, of bandits, of pitfalls. There’s starvation of various sorts, alienation, of wondering what delusions started this journey. But, as Lewis tells us, Aslan isn’t a tame lion, and life with God is not safe. But it’s good. And I’m learning that the God who became human for love of his followers still loves to reward those who seek him. Intimacy with God is the path’s destination–but I’m learning what a gift it is to have the Counselor, the Guide, the Comforter, helping me along the path. And I’m haltingly learning the language of the Kingdom, of love, of the glory of Christ incarnate.

This isn’t a theologically safe blog. I love God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I confess the Apostles’ Creed. These are the days of worshiping God in spirit and in truth, and God is truth. I’m in a process of releasing what I’ve thought I need to hold true, beliefs I dared not question about God, about the church, about Scripture. I’ve held these things as the core of my faith, as things without which I will lose God. I acted as though I’d arrived at the perfect set of beliefs, and couldn’t risk disturbing them by encountering others. But this wasn’t faith; this was a combination of arrogance and fear, and I’m moving toward releasing it toward God, trusting God to guide me into truth.

Walk with me in the mists if you wish. It’s a dangerous journey. I’m not a great guide–I’ll take some wrong turns, and I’ll probably get hurt. So will you, if you go with me. But God is a superb guide, who knows every inch of the way. God uses the aloneness, the quietness. God knows how to use the risks, even the falls, to shape us for the rest of the journey, and for our final arrival.

Is the journey safe? Of course it’s not safe. Is the guide safe? Of course Aslan’s not safe. But he’s good.