There is a reason that mountaintop experiences are called mountaintop experiences- because it is the very glory of them that makes them so rare. The top of a mountain is sublime, exhilarating, moving. But you can’t live there. All of us on our journey to the Celestial City have moments of joy and comfort, and all of us pass through dark nights of the soul. If the authors of the Psalms, each of which experienced something I’ll never experience- the direct inspiration of the Holy Spirit from which comes the very voice of God- can go through these moments when God feels distant, surely we shouldn’t expect anything different for ourselves. When those times come, what do we do?
First, we respond neither with panic nor complacency. That God feels distant is not proof that He is distant. He is both ever and always on His throne, and at our side. Our experience doesn’t determine what’s true. Rather we are called to labor to have our experience submit to what’s true. That these moments happen, that they are normal, doesn’t mean they are good, or that we should be content to remain in the valley. We are called to draw near. And we should delight to draw near.
Second, we avail ourselves of the means of grace, even when we don’t feel like it. The Word preached comes with power, even when we don’t think we want that power, or fear it won’t come. The sacraments are food indeed. For me, coming to the Lord’s Table, because it not only reminds me of my sin, but of His grace, because I know I come as a child welcomed to the family table of my heavenly Father is always a refreshing rain in the desert. I not only come to the table, but remember that I, by His grace, belong there. My Father wants me there. Which in turn feeds my prayers. Take your dryness to the waters of life. I want every struggle to be a struggle I bring to my heavenly Father. In the midst of the means, however, I’m not looking for a miracle. That is, we don’t deposit our entering into the means of grace and then download immediate healing for our dryness. We instead go back to point one, neither panicking nor being complacent.
Third, I put before my eyes and ears those things that remind me of His grace. For my eyes, that means my wife. As I spend time with her I remember that I am His child, that my love for her is but a pale reflection of His perfect love for me. For my ears, I tune into those two musicians who have over the years consistently fed my soul, Nathan Clark George and Andrew Peterson. Each of them have a peculiar ability not just to sing happy songs about happy times, nor angsty songs about angsty times, but write honest accounts of both sin and redemption. They each take the gospel promises and break them open that we can see the richness of all we have in Christ. They feed my soul, and draw me closer to the One who loves my soul.
In short, we work, not out of fear, but in confidence. We receive, remembering we always and only stand because He was hung. Third, we rejoice in song. When He seems far it is never because He has moved, but because we have. And like the prodigal Father, He always welcomes us into His arms.