5 Lessons From The Dark Night

She blew in like the wind, like she did before — Julie was a righteous enigma. She lived in Colorado, but would fly out to visit our tiny church in South Jersey, should the Spirit prompt her.

She hadn’t been back in four years, and today of all days, she was visiting our church again.

It was my last Sunday at this church, I was sad to leave but excited for what was next. I was preaching and Julie was part of my sermon. I preached at this church many times, and not once did I mention Julie. But today was the one day I chose to mention her, and there she is sitting in the congregation.

I was shocked to say the least, and so was she.

The first time I met Julie she prophesied. I didn’t know how to respond. The Baptist in me was skeptical, but the child in me was curious.

The child won.

When she prayed over me, God spoke to me in a way I didn’t know was possible.

Holy Fire, I was shaken. A word too great, loving, and gracious for my heart to bear.

Now, she was back, and hearing this story afresh four years later.

She prophesied again, but gave a word less desired.

“Because you walk the way of death, you will experience the resurrection power of Jesus Christ.”

At the time, I thought I understood those words, but I did not. Now I know what they mean, because they have marked my life. After that Sunday, I began my descent into the dark night of the soul.

Without going into the gory details, suffice it to say I have walked the path of death. The next three years seemed to contain in them a lifetime’s worth of suffering.

It appears my family and I have emerged from the afflictions we have faced, only by the grace of Christ. In emerging, I am no longer the man I was. I died with Christ through tangible suffering. I am being raised with Christ through His glorious resurrection.

This journey cannot be condensed into mere facts. It was not as though there was information I was lacking that the cruciform life has provided. Rather, Christ has used this to craft my character in unexpected yet necessary ways.

These 5 lessons then are not mere pieces of information, but truths which must be embodied. (Which is the primary goal of all spiritual formation.)

1. The necessity of joy.

I have heard the phrase “choose joy” many times growing up in church; I think it is painting the wrong picture.

Here are some ways I would push back on this sentiment.

First, we must challenge modern assumptions about joy. What does it mean to be happy? Is happiness an attitude? A disposition? A feeling? Or is happiness something more?

Joy I think is bound up in the idea of “blessedness.” Ancient notions of happiness were not merely caught up in “pleasant feelings” but were about a life well-lived. To be happy is to live in accordance with one’s design or essence — happiness is being fully human.

Drumming up a false or contrived attitude of gladness is a denial of joy. It is contrary to human nature to behave in that manner.

Inversely, lamentation and sorrow are harmonious with joy. They are aspects of living in accordance with one’s design. Our sorrow at suffering is an echo of Eden — a memory of paradise lost. Lament is the cry of a heart not made for a fallen cosmos; a heart that yearns for a Mighty Judge to set the world right.

This vision of joy will permit sorrow, and it will yield pleasant feelings. It will set your heart in a glad disposition from time to time, but it does not morally judge you by moments that are not in our control. As a matter of fact, in order for gladness to be genuine it cannot be forced or controlled (because once again — contrivance is a departure from the life of joy.)

“What do we do with all of these biblical mandates to rejoice then?” You may ask.

Commands to rejoice are not arbitrary edicts to flip an emotional switch. “Stop being sorrowful, start being happy.” Rather, commands to rejoice or be glad are almost always connected to delighting in something.

For instance, to “rejoice in the Lord always” means to cultivate a lifestyle which partakes of Christ and responds appropriately. It is a command to behold the glory of God and allow that to shape the disposition of the heart. That is not the same thing as asking for a forced perspective or a contrived attitude. It is not commanding you to flip the feelings switch, or put on a happy face. It is a command to exult. It is a call to an action you can control, which will affect the feelings you cannot control or coerce.

To put it another way, joy is like a flower. You can plant the seed, water it, and give it ample sunlight; but you can’t tell it when to bloom. (I have noticed that there tend to be more blossoms in gardens than on sidewalks however.)

Photo by Ted Balmer on Unsplash

It would be more accurate to exhort the sorrowful to “cultivate joy” than to demand them to pretend at it — and so play the hypocrite. I find that this moral instinct (denying our humanity in the name of false happiness) makes many “shiny happy people” who appear nice on the surface, but beneath are filled with many vices.

2. Despair is a curse, mourning is a blessing.

Despair is to lose yourself in suffering; mourning is to find yourself in it.

The despairing heart bemoans all that is bad, the mourning heart weeps for all that is beautiful but lost. To mourn is to allow virtue to speak through sorrow. To despair is to allow sorrow to silence virtue.

While the one suffering should never be morally judged for their sorrow, the sufferer must be ever diligent to insure they do not fall into that pit of despair. They must resist that pain-numbing inward turn — resist with all of their might.

Despair is a more comfortable posture than mourning. Mourning is bittersweet, it rejoices while it weeps. Despair is lost in sullenness and sorrow. The happiness of mourning makes it all the sadder, the sadness of despair makes it all the easier.

I have fallen into that pit, as all do from time to time. Despair made me less of who I was; it was an act of retreat.

I have also stepped into the battlefield of grief, and joined the company of the joyful. Mourning loss was the beginning of retrieving stolen beauty. In remembering what has gone by, my heart was stirred for what could still be.

A distant land.

Glistening shores.

Bounding hills.

Resplendent sunshine.

Lamentation taught me to long for Resurrection.

3. The Ordinary is Sacred

The dark night taught me the dignity of an ordinary life. I don’t need to change the world. I can take the “S” off of my chest. I wasn’t made to be a hero, but I was made to be somebody’s husband, son, father, friend, coworker, and neighbor. That’s enough.

It’s more than enough.

The brave embrace mundanity in joy, while cowards flee from the overwhelming beauty of an ordinary life.

It takes courage to be contented —contentment opposes the angst of insignificance and resists the fear of missing out.

Suffering showed me my humanity. That life is incredibly short and fragile — and because of that, each moment is utterly precious and valuable. Squandering away this moment to pursue an imaginary and exciting future misses all of the excitement life has provided.

Beyond this, neglecting the ordinary to be extraordinary is the path to mediocrity.

How does anyone become extraordinary? They do an exceptional amount of ordinary deeds; they pursue what most people find boring, and do so with vigor.

A musician becomes a virtuoso by practicing scales for hours on end. An athlete becomes a professional by running drills, intense training, getting up early, studying tapes, and many other dull activities.

While most of us will never experience such high level performance, being an exceptional human being is no different. What makes an extraordinary parent to toddlers? Eagerly listening to a thousand nonsensical stories and incomplete sentences with full focus and attention. Changing diapers. Following a bed time routine.

What makes an extraordinary spouse? Doing chores. Managing a home. Resolving conflict. Being a good listener. Coordinating schedules. Sticking to a budget. Self-sacrifice.

If anyone wishes to live extraordinarily they must learn to love the ordinary.

4. Suffering as self-revelation

Suffering taught me my limits. It was in the darkness where the light of the Lord revealed to me my secret sins. For years, my vices had put on their “Sunday Best” and hid themselves under a hypocritical veneer of righteousness.

But on the battlefield of suffering all was laid bare. Never in my life have I been more aware of:

• My pride

• My foolishness

• My cowardice

• My ambition

• My bitterness

• My lack of love.

Seeing all of this vice, hidden from me for years now clearly revealed through suffering, educated me in my own poverty of spirit. Even in writing this, I feel the twisted vanity of spiritual pride at my own humiliation — my sinfulness is unveiled and inescapable.

I used to be quite impressed with myself, and was not aware of that fact. Now I marvel that I have any faith in Christ at all — and realize this must only be by His grace.

This leads me to another aspect of suffering’s self-revelation: the indwelling reality of Christ.

I spoke to a friend the other day, who knows all my family has overcome.

“How do you think you were able to endure all of that?” He asked.

The simple answer? “When I am weak, then I am strong.” It is in my weakness — in facing my own limitations, that I discovered the boundless strength of Christ.

Suffering showed me that all that is good in me, is not of me, and so “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.”

5. Deal in grace.

Christ saved me from a life of Pharisaical self-righteousness. It is for this reason, I resonate with the word Christ gives to Paul “I will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of My Name.”

Suffering was part of the call of God on Paul’s life. While that is true for every Christian, it is distinctly so for Paul.

Why?

God appointed suffering for Paul, so that Paul would “place no confidence in the flesh.” After saving Paul from his own self-righteousness, Christ instructed him in the futility and weakness of his flesh through suffering. (And by extent, He instructed Paul to continually rely upon grace.)

Perhaps this is how the Lord works for all recovering Pharisees.

It was one thing to realize I am a sinner in need of saving.

That happened in a moment.

It is another thing to become intimately familiar with my own frailty, and my utter reliance on grace.

That’s happening over a lifetime.

In enduring suffering, I found the Lord was graciously slaying that persecutor within — and transforming him into a martyr.¹

Previous to my dark night, while Christ had gotten into my heart, grace had not seeped into my conduct. I was often judgmental, unyielding, devoid of empathy, quick to label, and generally harsh. (Even after all I have been through, there are times I still deal with those things.)

In becoming familiar with my own weakness, the faults I hear as whispers in the lives of others, sound like shouts in my own. It is not though the weight of the law has lessened, rather it has increased. Suffering has taught me, as it taught Paul, that I am the chief of sinners. And so, I do not get to pretend I am the judge — enforcing a law I cannot attain. Rather, I have been forgiven much, so I ought to love much.

I find I have less opinions of others, I know their condition is as my own. They, like me, are desperate for grace, incapable of bearing the burden of the law. So, I ought to be desperate to point them to the grace which is available in Christ.

Suffering also taught me that you never know what someone is going through. You don’t know their story. You don’t know where they learned their particular brand of brokenness. All you can know, is that Christ is their solution.

Be forbearing and gracious with them, as Christ has been with you.

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Note to my subscribers:

I have missed writing to you! Thank you for being patient waiting for this article. I have reevaluated my rhythms of writing, and what kind of content I want to create. I am pivoting from a focus of quantity to a focus on quality. This means you will hear less frequently from me, but what you hear will be more focused.

Because of this, some of the article series I started will be discontinued. I have not yet sorted through which articles are going to be on the chopping block or not. I am looking to focus more on meaningful and edifying content, more than content I find is personally fun to write. If you have an article series you have been enjoying specifically, or want to see completed let me know! I would hate to cut something that is actually valuable.

Here is what you can expect going forward. More articles on Christian living, theology, and the Church, less articles on hot takes and quirky ideas. I am specifically looking to write on some theological errors I have noticed, that I believe contribute to the abuses of authority we are seeing in evangelicalism.

Thank you for being a part of my writing journey!

1. Martyr’s are those who endure suffering for Christ in faith. Persecutors are those who create suffering on the faithful. You are either one or the other.