“So Jacob named that place Peniel, saying, ‘I have seen God face to face, but my life was saved.’ Then the sun rose as he was leaving that place.” – Genesis 32:30-31a NCV
“I’ve been waiting for the sun to come blazing up out of the night like a bullet from a gun, till every shadow is scattered, every dragon is on the run; oh, I believe, I believe that the light is gonna come; this is the dark, this is the dark before the dawn.” – Andrew Peterson
Shiny things attract me.
Things that sparkle, things that glow. Not blingy stuff, per se, but things that just shine or catch the eye in a beautiful or magical way.
I remember being a little girl at the local show, and as dusk fell, all the carnival vendors would pull out their cheap plastic gadgets and toys with pulsing LED lights inside them. The dark alleys would soon be lit up with the neon of the show rides, and hundreds of glowing orbs, gaudy headbands and lightsabers. I used to admire the teenagers walking by laughing and rowdy with all their trinkets; shadowy figures you could see coming from a long way off thanks to glow stick necklaces and flashing stuffed toys. Add to this the excitement of fireworks at the end of the night, and all of it transformed the dusty showground into a fairyland. Once I got home, I remember putting the one trinket I was allowed to buy on my nightstand, and I would watch it pulse and glow with wonder. I’d stare at its magic until I drifted off to sleep.
I still like shiny things, however they’ve taken on a different form since I’ve gotten older. From my teenage years, my love of glowing things slowly morphed into a love of glowing praise, shiny words, or sparkling affirmation. I was drawn to the magic of people’s approval, and I would bask in the wonder of the love I thought people had for me. While I didn’t particularly seek out the brightness of the spotlight, I did strive to always be a star; whether that was being the best at a given task, or being the favourite – a teacher’s pet.
In recent times this tendency has shifted to seeing the gold in others. It is so natural for me to admire the character of people I respect, to take a shine to their virtues, and aspire to be like them. For me, the impact they've made for the Kingdom and the legacies they have left behind glow like beacons in such an attractive way that I can’t ignore them. So you see, I’m still a sucker for shiny things.
The trouble with shiny things, is that they often make perfect idols.
Whenever I think of the word “idol”, the image of a squat little golden Budda statue often comes to mind, but that is a rather two-dimensional understanding of the word. Idolatry is a sin the Bible talks about at great length, yet so rarely makes its way into our present day conversations and sermons. Since working my way through Isaiah and Jeremiah this year, however, I’ve come to recognise more clearly how prevalent a sin idolatry is, particularly in my own life.
You’ve probably heard it said that discerning between good and bad isn't hard, but rather, it’s discerning between what is good and what is best. I find it incredibly easy to recognise the good in people and situations. This, of course, is a Godly thing. It’s good to be able to discern the Presence of God or the fruit of the Spirit in someone’s life, or to recognise the way God uses people and things to encourage us and remind us of His great love and care for us. They are reflections of His nature. It’s when I become bedazzled by those reflections instead of Him that I get into trouble.
I’m ashamed to admit how easy it is for me to make an idol out of good things, rather than seeking the best that is Christ. It was one thing to go through books of the Bible and write notes in the margins about the idolatry of Israel, but another thing to recognise the ways I so quickly stumble into it in my own life. It was enormously confronting to see the pathetic neediness in my nature that wanted to wrap my hope, my worth, and my admiration around what mere people could give me. How I craved affirmation, to be told I had done well, and to be considered of special regard or importance. I recognised it in the disappointment I could feel if I wasn’t as praised as someone else, or how I wanted to see my name in writing when it came to offering thanks. It was disgusting to me and discouraging how compulsive these thought patterns had become. Even my use of past-tense words right now are a stretch. Turning from these temptations and tendencies remains a present work of God in my life.
“It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.” – C.S. Lewis.
So much of this struggle has highlighted the fact that this life is not my final destination. C.S. Lewis was right; how easily pleased I am. How is it I can look to the words or affirmation of another human as my ambition? Why do I work so hard to please people, doing a dance for their approval or making a god out of their character and virtues, when in the end I will stand, not before the crowd or a human, but before my Maker? The foolishness of the Israelites’ constant repetition of bowing down to something shiny only confirmed my own folly of losing sight of eternity. The glimpses of good in others – affirmation, encouragement, love, approval, character, virtue, praise – no matter how good, are still incomparable with the best that Christ is. I know it, in my head. But my heart still reaches out to snatch at the goodness it sees like a selfish, hungry child.
I’ve often been critical of those who seek instant gratification above holiness. How could someone choose the convenience of sex over an intentional and healthy relationship, I would wonder. Or choose a high, a good time, a drink, or a binge over faithfulness to Christ? Yet I (so holy!) can fold like a stack of cards to a compliment, or bow down to saying “yes” to please another, or bask in the glow of praise from a superior as if I’m God’s gift to the world. Who is the hypocrite now? Chasing reflections was just my preferred form of instant gratification.
A friend of mine once called these shiny reflections ‘echoes’. “If you chase the echoes, you will never find what you were looking for,” He said. “Men have driven themselves mad that way. But if you chase the real thing, and set your mind on eternity, you can find much of what you thought you had lost.” How much more true this statement has become for me. It’s not the reflections that I truly want, I keep telling myself. It’s the sun.
“So I’m waiting for the King to come galloping out of the clouds while the angel armies sing, He’s gonna gather His people in the shadow of His wings and I’m gonna raise my voice with the song of the redeemed because all this darkness is a small and passing thing.” – Andrew Peterson
The sun. The Son. When the reflections dazzle and distract me, it’s not the shiny that I really want. It’s what the shiny reflects. My worth and my validation cannot survive on human praise alone. I was wired for the words of my Saviour: “Well done, my good and faithful servant.” The reflections con me. They make me think I’m not living in the dark, that there aren’t shadows and dragons here. They make me think human love is enough, that their praise equals fulfillment. It doesn’t. They are fleeting, passing things. It’s the Master’s voice I need. I am driven mad when I seek it from my peers, or my mentors. Yes, both are important and both can be expressions of God’s love and guidance towards me, however they are not Him. They are good, but they are not the best.
Pride would tell me I am blameless. I try not to listen to that voice. It’s far too easy to see oneself in a favourable light and not recognise the darkness of such idolatry. Isaiah’s words chasten me well: “woe to those who trust in Egypt, horses or chariots; who do not look to the Holy One of Israel, nor seek the Lord! The Egyptians are men, and not God; their horses are flesh, and not spirit. Return to Him; for in that day every man shall throw away his idols of silver and his idols of gold – sin, which your own hands have made for yourselves” (Isaiah 31). It is a painful retraining of my mind to look a friend in the eye, receive their kindness, and still say, “you are not my God”. How foolish it seems, written there so plainly on the page. How much it proves my desperate need for grace and mercy.
So, only by the said grace and mercy of my Saviour, I’m able to lift my eyes from the things of earth. With the recognition of their futility, the shiny things grow strangely dim, and I’m again searching the skies for the Son. It makes a yearning, a longing, a desperation well up in my heart when I don’t see Him yet. No longer distracted by reflections, I ache for the real thing. Isaiah’s words ring true once again, “in that day a man will look to his Maker; and his eyes will have respect for the Holy One of Israel. He will not look to the altars, the work of his hands; he will not respect what his fingers have made, nor the wooden images nor the incense altars” (Isaiah 17:7-8). This dawning has been slow to arrive, but I see it now.
I wonder at Jacob, having wrestled with God and seen His face – a face that left Moses’ face glowing with the reflection of it. How must the sunrise have looked that morning? Dim? Jacob had been made weak with a limp in the wrestle, had turned from his own desires, and looked into the face of his Master. Yet he couldn’t stay there. He had to limp away to face his future. He wasn’t home yet. Did all his possessions seem lacklustre after that moment? Did the approval of his brother no longer matter? Did he quit scheming to keep his image intact and make peace with the weak and pathetic man he was? Weak and pathetic, but who had seen the face of God. I don’t know for sure, but I can’t help but imagine that every sunrise he saw after that encounter served to remind him of the true Light he was looking for. He had seen the real thing. He was no longer content with the reflections the world had to offer. Even the dawn was just a shadow compared to the glory of God.
My favourite quote of all time (and probably will be forever), was penned by a young man named Joshua Eddy. If you don’t know his story, I strongly suggest you seek out his blog and read it. The quote reads, “to pursue anything but the full measure of the glory of God’s love is a wasted life.” I have known this truth to varying levels over the course of my life, however facing my own shallowness has given it a greater depth. Do I truly live like I believe this? Sadly, not always. The wrestling with evil will blind me at times. The limp of humanness will occasionally make me falter. But I don’t want to live there. No, I want to deeply, truly, wholly know the love of God that surpasses all knowledge. I want to believe with all my heart and soul the love of God for myself, for me: to know in a tangible and undeniable way that He, He loves me. To be assured that my life is not wasted on this glorious pursuit. How I wrestle! How pride tries to rise above the goodness of God and reduce it to a reflection. How I love myself or others too much or not enough, or hate what I do too much or too little. Though I can despair at times when my level of belief doesn’t match what I claim, I cling to the pursuit of believing God’s love for me. How I long for the day that my understanding is unimpeded by any lie, by any selfishness, or by any sin. When I finally stand before my Maker, trusting fully in His Son, coming home at last, and I finally believe the King truly loved me all along. Eternity glows like the dawning sun in the distance; the Son rising, guiding me, reminding me that He is calling me Home, to where I belong.
Home.
Make haste, my Beloved.
~
“I had a dream that I was waking at the burning edge of dawn, and I could see the fields of glory, I could hear the Sower’s song. I had a dream that I was waking at the burning edge of dawn and all that rain had washed me clean, all the sorrow was gone. I had a dream that I was waking at the burning edge of dawn, and I could finally believe the King had loved me all along, I had a dream that I was waking at the burning edge of dawn, and I saw the Sower in the silver mist, and He was calling me Home.” – Andrew Peterson
“Lead me home, Jesus. Let me die to my need to be someone important. Let me die to my need to leave a mark.” – Andrew Peterson