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Badlands
O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you;
my flesh faints for you,
as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.
Psalm 63.1
Sharply eroded buttes. Pinnacles and spires surrounded by prairie grasslands. Rugged canyons and drier terrain. Impossibly desolate. Despite the sweet scent of sage and ground juniper, the Badlands looked like Poe sounds. It’s what the French Canadians refer to as "les mauvaises terres a traverser.” The bad lands to cross.
"Black care rarely sits behind a rider whose pace is fast enough.”
Teddy Roosevelt
Badlands. A place of endless conflict. Where the sun is eclipsed and the compass needle wavers without a north. The place where we live. It is remorseless. A killer. Where the street urchins are all grown up. A world where the rainbows of paradise lie shattered on the ground. Memories written in the soil. Written in blood. Many have been warned of the perils. But much to their demise, it fell on deaf ears. The difficulties to overcome prove to be almost insurmountable. Battered by every storm imaginable. Straining every nerve. Exhausting every resource available. Mentally, emotionally, and sometimes even physically withering away as the toil took its toll. Each crisis stymying a once robust faith.
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary."
Living a clean, temperate life becomes a struggle with no compass by which to navigate the treacherous landscape. As we stand in and see a broken world, injustice, strife, violence, contentions and the like, we cry out in a plea for deliverance. "How long?" Moaning about the hardships in life, we lament. "Why?" It’s an emotional burden that at times becomes impossible to bear. The darkness seemingly impenetrable. And before long, the corrosion eats into our souls to the point that we ourselves are called into question. Demoralizing. Drifting. Longing for a righteous retribution. Look at our plight!
But isn’t that the very thing God sees? His agony over our ongoing behavior and sin on a daily basis is evident. His children, the very ones He sacrificed His only begotten Son for, have become the prodigal. Wasting away in the mire. Becoming, as Job said, like dust and ashes (Job 30.19). And yet, for now, He remains longsuffering with us. More gracious than we deserve. Displaying great mercy (Numbers 14.18a). Desiring all to reach repentance (2 Peter 3.9). And to turn away from the Badlands.
Perhaps Bilbo Baggins was right. "Not all those who wander are lost; Deep roots are not reached by the frost." We take deeper root by shaking. Virtutis custos infirmitas. Weakness is indeed the keeper of virtue. And in those moments of weakness, we can become strong. So arise! The hour has come to waken from our slumber. From the endless days and nights of despair.
The night is far gone; the day is at hand. So then let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.
Romans 13.12
Awake, O sleeper,
and arise from the dead,
and Christ will shine on you.
Ephesians 5.14b
When faced with illness, grief, or self-doubt we need to take action. And many times the best course is to face life on bended knee. Casting our cares on Him. Focusing on His unwavering promises. And a light from the shadows will spring. For if we endure, we will also reign with Him (2 Timothy 2.12a).
"The crownless again shall be king."
J.R.R. Tolkien
And thus escape from the desolation that is the Badlands to enter Mt Zion, the city of the living God. Forevermore.
For he satisfies the longing soul, and the hungry soul he fills with good things.
Psalm 107.9
God alone is the one who satisfies the thirsty soul. Without Him we are parched. Searching endlessly for refreshing waters to no avail. “Come everyone who thirsts, come to waters” (Isaiah 55.1a). Heed the invitation. One that accentuates our need and the futility of life without God. For life without Him is not life at all, but death. Death in a wasteland of doubt and despair.
Called the Badlands.
