These things I want - a letter to my men

There are some things in me that I need to process, that I need to just express. Phillip Yancey once admitted that a large part of his desire to write comes out of a need to work through some of his own discoveries and doubts and beliefs. And that’s what this is for me. I need to put words to some things going on in me. But, I realize, too, that I need to express them to you all because you are my allies and because I’ve seen the violent hearts that beat within you men, the fierce passion and burning desire that is set within you. I love A.W. Tozer’s catch-phrase for the men in the early church after they had received the fire of the Holy Spirit, “Men of the Flame.” That’s it. That’s who you are.

And so how do you go about putting words to the movements of the heart? It feels sometimes absolutely impossible. They are “deep waters,” indeed. I can only hope that God can reach even deeper than the stars are far and draw out what is down there.

There’s something about expressing your heart that seems all the more important as it is awakening and coming alive. Expressing your love for God and your love for others. A friend of mine was killed in a car wreck last Friday. At his funeral on Monday, I glanced over at his parents. They are disconsolate. They are crushed and devastated. I saw it on his dad’s face. And his dad is a man that I’ve known all my life, a friend that I love and respect. What in the world do you do with the death of your 22 year-old son? My heart broke for them. I wanted to open up and wail, to grab something and throw it against the wall. I wanted to rage for their sake and cry out above the nice sentiments of the priest, “It’s not supposed to be this way! Oh God, come for us! Come for Ryan’s family!” I mean, I get a little better now why some of the Old Testament folks would rend their clothes in agony and mourning. But, just then, I turned to see some of Ryan’s closest friends. I remembered them from school, and they’ve since grown up into men. They stand stoic and seem unaffected, concentrating more on their gum-chewing than on the hurt and disorientation of it all. And I know that some men don’t express themselves as much or in different ways, and that’s great. But what I heard from the Enemy was, “You don’t really want to cry. You’ll draw attention to yourself. They’ll think, ‘What are you complaining about? I knew him better than you ever did.’” Right then, right then, I heard God speak. “Mourn with them (Ryan’s parents and brother). That is my gift to them. And your freedom of heart to do that is my gift to you.”

The men in my family have very seldom lived from their hearts. They are largely silent men. And from my dad I’ve come to understand that when a man offers silence, he offers death. There are only two things he can offer into his world: life or death. To offer nothing is not to offer nothing, it is to offer death. Maybe that’s what Jesus meant when He said, “If you are not for me, you are against me.” There’s no “no contesto” there. It’s either “Yes,” or, even in silence, it is “No.”

I was reading the other night the story of David and his son Absalom. Remember the story? Amnon, David’s firstborn, raped his half-sister Tamar. Absalom, Tamar’s full-blood brother, was furious. But David, bound to favor Amnon because of Hebrew custom, did nothing. Amnon got off almost completely scott-free. I mean, David didn’t even address the issue with Tamar or with Absalom, and in so doing, he basically told Absalom, “I don’t care what you feel. It is irrelevant to me.” His silence was deadly, and it stayed in Absalom for years, only to become bitter resentment and eventually hatred. Four years later, he raised up a coupe to overthrow his dad. A war began, a war that divided a nation and cost so many lives. A war that would rival most Hollywood portrayals, with spies and counter-spies, factions, disloyalties, evasion and death. A war between father and son.

What blows me away is that David still cared deeply for Absalom. He did. Just before his victory, he told his men not to kill the commander of the invading army – Absalom! Naturally, Absalom ends up getting killed anyway. And David is so overcome with grief that he can only cry that it should’ve been him that died and not Absalom. He can tell his men how much he cares and treasures his son, and he can wail to the wind of his deep love and delight in him. But he cannot express it to his face. Once again, all he can offer is death, “It should’ve been me that died.”

I read the other day that male sparrows sing to mark out their territory. Their song is their declaration to the world, “I have found my place, and I announce my kingdom here.” I love that. If they remained silent, neither the world nor they themselves would understand their place. Their voice gives dimension to and domain over their corner of the world. They do not rest in others’ songs, though they may be inspired by them to begin their own chorus, or be awakened by them to remember they do, in fact, have a voice and a reason to sing.

Something else about them. Birds of almost every kind will sing even when sick. It’s their defense against predators, who often stalk the weak and dying. Even caged birds will do this. I’ve heard stories of pet parakeets who will be singing strong and beautiful one day, and the next morning will be dead on the floor of the cage. They refuse to give their enemies an opportunity or a foothold. It reminds me of the Princess Bride scene when Montoya, wounded and bleeding, finds his courage and strength to declare his name and wield his sword fiercely against his father’s murderer.

I want to live fully. I want to express my heart – to love, to open myself up to deeper and more authentic relationship with both God and man, to offer life –oh, God, to offer life and not death! I want to really mourn with those who mourn and to really rejoice with those who rejoice. I want to live courageously from my deep heart in conviction and reality, flinging myself violently and wholly into the love of God. I want to live out my calling and from my giftings – not to offer those alone, but certainly to offer those as part of me, as a part of the song I have to sing. No more hiding in shadow and shade. The promise that I will soar on wings as eagles speaks so deep.

I want to be healed more deeply. I want the truth of the heart-stopping love of God to reach to the deeper places within me. I need that grace so desperately. I want to live a life worthy of my calling, and do come to the end of my days having walked so intimately with the Lover of my Soul, having fought valiantly alongside the Great Commander, having loved to death and given until there was nothing left to give.

I want to have enough breath left in me in my last seconds to exhale, “What a ride,” and then find myself home at last – the home I had for so long yearned for and clung to like a man in exile lusts for his native country, remembering the promise that I had already been “a citizen of high heaven.”

And between all the days from this day to that, I want to journey well. I want to ride with you men. I do. I want to remain in your troop with the lasting honor of fighting beside you and for you, of red-faced laughter and known stories, of scars and glory and living in the Kingdom, of experiencing it, of expressing it, and of extending it to others. I want my wife to be vibrantly alive because of the strength I offer her and the passion with which I pursue her.

And that’s it. That’s all I want. And I guess for those things to be true in me and about me, I need Jesus to come through. Just a bit.

Tozer suggested that we "draw near, and feel the heat" from those who walked close with God. I do that with you, Men of the Flame.