Inner Sanctum
Maybe you're like me. The quarantine has stretched on. No longer a new event, it's still not "normal." Nor is there an end in sight. Everyone is restless. Everyone misses their normal life.
These challenges are substantial, no doubt, but they have additional layers, don't they? The constant bombardment of news, updates, warnings, data. The back and forth of governments and politics. The freely-expressed opinions in favor and against measures being taken. The financial strain of job loss or loss of help from some of the places we'd been accustomed to receiving help. Fear of the virus' impact on those of us who fall into the "other category": either because of age or underlying health conditions. Stress as work continues for many, either out in public or from home (with the added challenge of childcare). Fear of grocery stores lacking what we need, hospitals being overwhelmed, or that all of this was nothing more than an overreaction (or worse, an underreaction!).
Every other minute, I feel a different emotion. Each is intense, valid, consuming. Each is accompanied by a host of other emotions: guilt, fear, uncertainty, even anger. For days, I've felt myself saying over and over, "I just need a place for my heart to land. I just need a place to rest."
Do you feel it?
This morning, desperate for that place, I turned to Psalm 91. I needed a hiding place, a place to get away. What I found, rather, was a place of strength to stand in the face of it all.
The psalm opens with these words,
"Those who live in the shelter of the Most High
will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
This I declare about the Lord:
He alone is my refuge, my place of safety;
he is my God and I trust him." (Psalm 91: 1-2, NIV)
Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest. He alone is my refuge, my place of safety.
Other translations word this passage somewhat differently. I pulled out a commentary, because I wanted to better understand this place, this place I so desperately needed.
The "shelter of the Most High," the fortress or stronghold, is like a deep, secret place. It's our place of retreat. The inner sanctum of our personal lives. It's a place we don't just visit from time to time, but one where we live. In many translations, the word is "abide." To abide is to remain in a place, to stay in it.
So this place, this shelter, is an inner room from which we live our lives habitually, daily. It's the place to which we withdraw and from which we draw strength. Not because of some magic, but because in this place we rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
Let me ask you, when was the last time you walked in someone's shadow? I mean, walked in their literal shadow? With perhaps the exception of late evening or early morning when shadows stretch long, in order to walk in someone's shadow, we must be very close to them. My kids play this game sometimes, stomping on one another's shadows as we walk. Inevitably, someone stomps on the actual person, because to be in the shadow means to be in close proximity to the person themselves.
Allow that to sink in for a moment. Your inner room, your place of daily abiding, is a shelter because in it you rest in the shadow of the Almighty. He is there, friend. He is close. He, because of his presence, becomes our place of refuge and safety. Later in the chapter the psalmist talks about being covered by his feathers and sheltered under his wings, like a mother bird protecting her young. This place is our stronghold, our sure defense, our place of refuge. It is where we find our rest and draw our courage. Here we are centered, balanced, strengthened for what lies ahead.
Because in the following verses, just as in our lives, the battle rages on. Terror, war, disease, disaster. Plague and pestilence (and pandemic). A thousand will fall, it says, even ten thousand, "but it will not come near you" (verse 10).
Here I hesitated. How can the psalmist say that these tragedies will not come near? How, when so many good people are impacted by such bad things?
This is not an absolute promise, friends. This pandemic has and will touch many of our lives, whether by affecting our health, our finances, our relationships, or some other aspect of our lives. It is true that God is, and has always been, our protector. Each of us can tell stories of times we were spared the financial disaster, had food in a time of need, were given a cure for the diagnosis, or were met with sudden healing. Sometimes he does choose rescue. He could equally choose rescue now.
But this passage is about far more than immediate circumstances, even those that are dire. The promise, friends--the absolute promise-- is that we do not face harm unprotected. We do not enter the battle alone. We don't withstand the storm without the protection and shelter of his wings.
Because we have this inner shelter, this place of rest and strength, we can face it all. We are not alone. We are not at the mercy of the terrifying waves that crash all around us. We have a place of security, a place away from it all. And when the battle call is given and we march forward, we march with the shield of the God of the inner sanctum before us. We tread on the lion and the cobra (verse 13). We are unafraid, because he is our refuge.
We are facing uncharted waters. We are in the midst of uncertain times. Our minds and hearts are being tossed about by the waves of danger and news and fear. But we are not at their mercy. We do not face them unprotected. There is a harbor, friends, a safe haven for our souls. There is a place of rest. Draw into this inner sanctum--not once in a while, but always. Pull away from the battle, abide in this shelter. Allow his presence to fill your soul, to give you peace and strength and courage. He will walk with you even as the world falls apart around you. He has done it before. He will do it now. That is a promise on which your heart can rest.
