by David Schrott

“I want men everywhere to lift up holy hands in prayer.”
–I Timothy 2.8, NIV

There are these days, when it is so difficult to find words that wrap around concepts, that, no matter how concrete in one’s mind, find it impossible to find substance in the barrier we use to communicate called language. In those moments, it seems that experience does precede existence and existentialism, for a moment, seems fun (and fun is clearly the wrong word, but for to-day, for this beautiful-day-before-Advent, will have to do).

Mr. Crowder crowed through the speakers “There is nooooo-one like You…” and in the seconds that followed slivers of eternity slipped through the wall of sound. The elders bowed, the beasts bellowed and the saints sang in holy adoration “Holy, Holy, Holy…”

Hope leaks into life in the most unexpected ways, ways that we’d never ask for, but cannot do without. We’d never ask for them because they hurt oh-so-badly; we cannot do without them because they are the pearls of great price, treasures to be cherished.

—

I’ve been more intentional about writing lately (and the reason for that is coming…). The past two-and-a-half years have been epic, at the very least. The genesis of the journey was in March of O-Six, high-lighted by a late-night {spiritual} beat-down in July {thank you, Mark Driscoll}, and punctuated with new life that October. Two months later, on a frigid Friday in December, Pittsburgh was finally in view. Six apartments, three cities, and 80,000 miles on the Interstate later I landed just where I jumped from. I didn’t expect it, honestly, to be back here so soon, if ever…

I write often through the lens of how pain shapes life + faith. This year was far and away the most trying (and sometimes, outright miserable) twelve-months of my short twenty-eight years, six months and twenty-two days of existence. More importantly, the times I’ve been the most desperate have produced the grandest joys in Christ I have ever known. I cannot number the people who’ve blessed me along the way – my only hope is that through these lessons that there will be future days where these experiences of suffering can offer hope to those who feel like they have none.

In Spectacular Sins, Pastor Piper writes: “Christians in the West are weakened by wimpy worldviews. And wimpy worldivews make wimpy Christians. God is weightless in our lives. He is not terrifyingly magnificent. His sovereignty is secondary (at best) to his sensitivity.” We are detrimentally individualistic – the idea of Jesus + me is far from good enough, and it is not biblical. Deep, authentic community breeds strong faith, it breeds a strong-worldview, in touch with the pain and suffering and trials of faith. It is imperative to lay witness to Christ and his work through the communion of the Saints and worship Him for His magnificent grace. This, more than most anything else, was embedded within me in my two years away. The importance of it (like most things) is beyond our scope of understanding.

I expect next year to be equally as difficult as this year was. With pending visits to Phoenix in mid-February or early-March and potential surgery there, along with a 4-10 month recovery, apprehension sits in the bottom of my stomach and it is rarely digested. But in the wake of what the expectations for this year were and the reality of what it was, I look forward to it with eager expectation (is this the same madness Paul speaks of?! I hope so.). In twelve months from now, I cannot wait to look back on the grandeur of 2009, whatever it may bring, and I most certainly cannot wait to lift holy hands in prayer all the way though it, with you, my dear friends.

Mr. S

[EDITOR'S NOTE: this is a repost of an article posted almost exactly one year ago]

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