Marriage Skits for Laughter and Learning
produced
by
Nancy Landrum
Suspended Between Death and Resurrection
by Nancy Landrum
November, 2006
Do you remember the story about Abraham agreeing with God to sacrifice his son Isaac on an altar? I have always marveled, as I suppose everyone has, at the brazenness of God to first of all promise Abraham that he would be the father of many nations, then wait many, many years to deliver Isaac—the hope of the fulfillment of that promise— to him and Sarah, and then ask Abraham to not only surrender Isaac to death, but ask him to be the one to kill him! From the comfortable vantage point of our local church pew, it is easy to spiritualize that story and just be mildly amazed at the depth of Abraham’s faith. Hebrews 11 tells us that Abraham simply believed that God would raise Isaac from the dead. I think that he was clinging to that hope for resurrection with all the strength he could muster while raising the dagger above Isaac’s heart, ready to plunge it into flesh of his flesh.
Lately, however, I’ve been identifying with the events not recorded but as I imagine they could have been… Can you fathom hearing the words, “This boy, this long-awaited hope of your heart, take him up to the mountain, build and altar, and sacrifice him to Me”? If it were anyone but God giving this instruction we’d say, “What a kook!” and pay no attention! How long did it take Abraham to wrestle his will into submission to this outrageous act? Assuming he was human—not just a ready made spiritual giant—I can imagine it was weeks, or even months between God’s instructions and Abraham’s words to Isaac, “Help me pack. We’re taking a trip to the top of the mountain to offer a sacrifice to the Holy God.”
In the meantime, I suppose Abraham was hard to live with. The entire household must have known he was terribly burdened by some crushing dilemma. I doubt that the preparations were done with the lightheartedness that would normally accompany “quality time” with his beloved son. Up until that time, Abraham’s relationship with God, although sometimes bewildering, was mostly an exciting journey of faith.
Jim and I began an exciting spiritual journey of our own in early 2002. God clearly told us He wanted to teach us an entirely different way of life. He wanted us to learn how to live without anxiety…something we could barely imagine…just as I’m sure Abraham could barely comprehend being the father of a nation! Up until that time we considered ourselves good Christians…Jim was even a pastor! We had spent hundreds of hours studying the Bible—even teaching Bible classes—and doing our best to follow the light we’d been given. We thought of ourselves as believers—trusted Jesus as our Savior—and lived obedient to the teachings of scripture as we understood them.But we were in for surprise. Day by day, as we read and prayed—as God slowly pealed back the layers of our unbelief—we were shocked by the degree to which our lives were filled with and our decisions dictated by anxiety.
Whenever I’d read stories of the ancient Israelites, I’d harbored an attitude of superior distain for their promise to worship the One True God, a promise followed—often in a very short time—by idol worship, then suffering, then eventual repentance and renewed vows of faithfulness. This cycle repeats itself so many times in the Old Testament as to become boring. “Oh yeah, they’re doing it again. How could they be so dumb?”
Now, God was telling us we were no better than them! How humiliating to discover that He was right! I’d come to Him with a problem, pray about it, trust God with it, and not 15 minutes later be stewing in the thick morass of anxiety—bowing down to the belief that a solution would come if I just worried about it enough. There were some days when I’d catch myself falling into the anxiety trap twenty times—and twenty times have to say to God, “I’m sorry. Forgive me. I do trust You. Help me to trust You more consistently.”
It became the most demanding spiritual discipline either Jim or I had ever practiced—catching ourselves in anxiety and releasing, again, the issue into God’s hands. But it also, gradually, became an exciting journey of discovery…and, very gradually, came the rewarding outcome of more peaceful lives.
During this time we believed we received many promises from God about our future. We had taught marriage education classes for years and dreamed of expanding our influence in that arena. We were also very excited about what we were learning about leading an anxiety-free life. God seemed to be telling us that we would pass on this understanding to others. We were certain we had a good thirty years of loving, productive partnership ahead of us.
So when Jim was diagnosed with cancer in June, 2004, we weren’t too worried—even when the surgeon told us that Jim was sure to die within months. We just took this latest anxiety on like a well-conditioned prize fighter would welcome his next match. We trusted that God would lead us to the treatments or diets that would heal Jim—or heal him miraculously. We did what we felt led to do, but thanks to all of the conditioning of the past few years, we did it with remarkably little anxiety. We trusted.
Nearly one year later, Jim was obviously failing. The treatments/diets hadn’t saved him. He was very weak. There were very few foods he tolerated. He was so thin. And we were still trusting, but now in a miraculous, last minute healing by God’s power alone.
One morning in late May, 2005 we read in the Gospel of Luke about the woman who brought a bottle of expensive perfume to the banquet where Jesus was eating and bathed his feet with it as an act of worship. Some who were present were outraged that she would spend such an exorbitant sum on perfume (a year’s income for an average man in that day) when the same amount would feed many poor for a year. Jesus hushed them by saying, “The poor you will always have with you. She is preparing my body for burial.” There is no record of any response to this incredible declaration. His words seemed to fly right past them without any understanding.
The depth of her love and humility and sacrifice touched us. And then, as was our habit, we opened our journal and reread what we had written from our readings and prayers one month earlier. On that day we had been in Matthew, reading his version of the very same event. We knew it was more than coincidental. In that direct and quiet but powerful way of the Holy Spirit, I heard Him ask me, “Nancy, what are you willing to pour out in worship that would cost you dearly?”
I answered, “The only thing I have at this moment is Jim’s life. I surrender it to You…and promise that, if You take him, I will do my best to still trust You.” Jim prayed a similar prayer. It was a moment of such profound surrender. The room was so filled with God’s presence as well as the thick emotions grief and trust…and hope. We thought, hoped and prayed that God was waiting for just this demonstration of sincere and utter trust before he graced us with the healing of Jim’s body…
At that moment, I felt like I imagine Abraham must have felt as he raised the knife above the body of his precious son. The thing I wanted most—Jim’s health—had been offered in surrender to the Most Holy God. I expected a ram to appear in the thicket as it did for Abraham so that he didn’t have to go through with his supreme act of faith. But four days later on June 2, 2005, Jim died.
It’s been eighteen months since that day. Lately I’ve been thinking more about Isaac. What was that experience like for him? To go on this special trip—alone with his dad; to be included in the spiritually intimate space of his father’s relationship with God; to test his young muscles on the mountain climb and test his patience with his elderly father’s slower gait; to exuberantly bring three stones to build the altar for every one his father brought; to help Dad pile the stones on top of one another until a suitably high and strong base was built to serve as an altar; to gather the sticks that would fuel the fire: and then….to see his father walking toward him with the cords that were meant to tie an animal for sacrifice; to look into Abraham’s eyes for a clue as to what was going on; to feel the cords tightening around his wrists and feet; to be lifted up by the arms he had always trusted—arms that, until that day, had always meant safety and love—and placed on the pile of kindling wood; to see the dagger in Abraham’s hands, raised high, ready to be plunged into Isaac’s heart.
What did Isaac think? feel? Was he angry? Did he feel betrayed? Did it open up a wound between him and his father that took years to heal? Did it ever heal? Did he find it hard to trust Dad in the future? When invited to spend “quality time” with Dad, did he shiver and hesitate? All we know for sure is that Isaac chose to worship the God of his father for the rest of his life…a tribute to whatever inner work Isaac may have had to do to resolve the heavy emotional issues from that experience.
I can only imagine both Abraham’s and Isaac’s gratitude and euphoria when God stopped the ultimate act and provided that ram for the sacrifice in place of Isaac. I can only imagine the conversations Abraham and Isaac had on their way home and perhaps for years to come—the questions, explanations and the teaching about God and faith.
But for me the dagger continued its course into my heart the day Jim died. The God I had been committed to trusting with all my heart and will, did not stay the progress of Jim’s disease, but allowed it to take his life…killing life as I knew it, and as I expected it to be.
Since that time so many things have changed for me that they are hard to count. It seems almost nothing is the same. Jim and I were so close. We had worked hard to learn the skills we needed in order to save our floundering marriage and subsequently treasured a better marriage than we had ever dreamed of! We developed a curriculum and taught marriage classes to hundreds of couples. He believed in my ability to write. Without him I would never have had the courage to write the book we had published in 2002. He encouraged me to finish my Masters Degree. He brought more laughter and playtime into my life than I had ever known before. We were a team. We had supported each other through struggles with our children. We held hands everywhere we went. We shared the responsibility of major decisions. We were partners on every level. We were so good together.
Now, the dynamics of other relationships have changed because I am no longer a couple. The dynamics of the family have changed. The one who brought games and jokes and laughter to the family gatherings is no longer there. Decisions are mine alone to make. I have to look elsewhere for emotional support. My writing cheerleader is gone. The arms that held me are gone. The special twinkle in his eyes that was reserved for me is gone. So much that I depended on is gone…dead.
And it isn’t just the obvious things I miss because Jim isn’t beside me. I miss the confident, competent woman I was when he was alive. There doesn’t seem to be any solid ground under me anymore. Things I used to do with ease are now chores I can’t face. Relationships whose irritations were barely ripples now present major hurdles to overcome. Every change in me that, to some, signals recovery or progress, elicits another wave of unbearable pain as I leave my life with Jim behind and step, oh so tentatively, into this new territory where he no longer lives.
And the only place where I find any firmness on which to stand is trust…trust in the same God who sent a dagger into my heart…the One I hesitate to trust. When the anxiety that I was so committed to overcoming washes over me in waves, the only relief is to return to the scripture—the formula—that became the foundation of what Jim and I called our “faith-walk.”
Philippians 4:6-8, “Don’t worry about anything. Instead pray about everything. Tell God your needs and don’t forget to thank him for his answers. If you do this, you will experience God’s peace which is far more wonderful than the human mind can understand. His peace will fill your thoughts and hearts as you trust in Christ Jesus.”
So I am doing my best to trust that a new life is being formed in me, coming towards me, awaiting me, that there is resurrection after death. I can’t imagine it. I can’t believe it. But I trust it is coming.
I have a fresh appreciation for how it must have felt to be one of Jesus’ followers. They had such grand ideas of what the Kingdom of God meant. They interpreted that phrase through the cloudy lenses of their human experience. They thought it meant political freedom, enough food to eat, a grand seat next to the King in His opulent palace. Jesus took Peter, James and John with him to a mountain. There he opened their eyes to see Moses and Elijah communicating with him. 1 Foolish Peter (we, with our superiority, call him foolish because we have the advantage of hind sight and, hopefully, greater understanding!) wanted to build three temples to commemorate this deeply moving spiritual experience. He still thought the Kingdom of God would look like other kingdoms with palaces and temples of worship and governmental hierarchy.
And I’ve been embarrassed for the mother of James and John who came to Jesus, lobbying on their behalf for the right and left seats nearest Jesus when His kingdom came out in the open. But how could she, or the others, understand? Nothing had prepared them for this spiritual journey that violated or contradicted everything they’d ever known about life on earth!
And then he died. Just like any other mortal, he died. Many had given up their sources of livelihood, had gone against the wishes of their families. All had followed this amazing Jesus at great personal cost. Against all logic they’d believed! And where did it lead? For Jesus, it led to a death reserved for the worst criminals and for his followers, a ga-zillion ceaseless, unanswered questions and conflicted feelings, not to mention the threat of similar deaths.
What was it like for them between Friday afternoon and Sunday morning? Were they, as I, feeling despondent, hopeless, despairing, angry, disoriented, frightened…feeling betrayed? Their life as they believed it to be was lost to them…dead. Their beliefs were in tatters, their confidence shattered.
And even after the resurrection, when proof of Jesus’ new life was in front of them, they still didn’t understand where they were being led…they still couldn’t see it…there was still a thick fog clouding their understanding. Even after the advent of the Holy Spirit, I suspect it took years and years for the disciples to re-orient their thinking around a spiritual kingdom that had no walls, no visible seat of power and no glamorous trappings for its stars.
Life as he knew it ended for Saul on the road to Damascus. He was even given a new name—Paul—and was sent to the boonies for many years before his public ministry began. It took that long for him to study scripture with his brand new spiritual eyes and be tutored by the Holy Spirit before he could be trusted to teach anything of value to the Christian community or the world!
Now I, too, am waiting for new life, renewed purpose—resurrection. And for me, as well, God doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. I would give anything to understand what purpose is being served by Jim’s death, to know where I am headed and what useful work I may do until I have the relief of going Home. Instead, I am suspended between Friday evening and Sunday morning with only Philippians 4:6-8 to tell me that trust is the only bridge that will support me in the gap between death and resurrection.
I realize that the physical death of a loved one is not the only thing that can keep one suspended, waiting for an outcome…the shape and form of a new life…for resurrection. Death can be the loss of a job, a divorce, physical injury, a betrayal, financial reversal, a limiting disease—all of these things can change forever life as we have known it. The waiting to see what will emerge out of the fog is excruciating no matter what the cause. I’ve sometimes thought that much of life is spent waiting for one thing or another—to be grown up, to graduate, to marry, to give birth, for a problem to resolve, for test results, for a raise or a bank account to grow large enough for a desired purpose, for a decision to be made clear. Jim used to joke about how crazy it was to pray for patience—it’s a sure thing we won’t like the circumstances required to grow patience!
But waiting is such a huge part of living…death and rebirth such an integral, recurring cycle in life. I hope—during this agonizing suspension between Friday and Sunday—to make better friends with waiting rather than wasting my energy raging against it. Sometimes, I am able to trust that something of spiritual as well as earthly value will emerge from this suspended, unknowing, shaky time of life. I trust that resurrection is coming…and sometimes, at least for a moment, that is enough.
How to Stay
Married and
Love It!
by
Nancy Landrum
