Don't Put Your Feet Down!

Where we lived in Western North Carolina, we were near a lot of mountain-y type of outdoor activities. Not terribly far away was the Nantahala River, a river well-known for its kayaking and whitewater rapids. We're not talking, like... Colorado rapids, but for the eastern part of the U.S., the river wasn't bad.

I was really excited to try my hand at whitewater rafting the day our youth group drove to the launch point. We'd rented a large raft where most of us would navigate with our river guide, and two "fun-yaks" -- little single-person floats with which we planned to take turns.

Before we got in the boat, the river guide gave us our safety talk, and it sobered me up in a flash. He looked seriously across the group and said: There's been at least one death a year on this river. If you get swept out of the boat, do not put your feet down.

He went on to explain that because of the nature of the rockbed along which the river flowed, the layers of rocks beneath were piled so treacherously and shifted so often -- that, inevitably, when someone tried to gain their footing, the crevices would grab the foot, and the weight and current of the river would push over the person, who -- stuck -- is unable to return to the surface.

I got in the big boat. Don't put my feet down. Don't put my feet down. It was like a mantra in my head. 

We pushed off, and immediately, we were in for a wild ride. That was a fun river. There were lots of whitewater places, a few calmer spots for a breather, and then another plunge. In one of those calm spots, it was my turn for a fun-yak, so I crawled out of the big boat, eyeing the narrowing riverbed not far ahead where I could see some rather large dips and plunges in the roar of the spray. 

I situated myself, grabbed my oar, and allowed the current to take me. I hit the "big" rapids, and like a rag doll, I realized I had seriously underestimated my ability to stay on the float. Immediately, my raft went one way, and I flew the other. I have no idea where the oar went -- probably after the raft.

The river chewed me up and swallowed me. I came up, sputtering (and was grateful for my life-vest). Instinct immediately made me put my feet down. It was deep; I could barely feel a rock brush my foot as I stretched it out. I went under. Came up, sputtered, choked, water had gone up my nose. Tried once more to gain my footing. This time, I felt two boulders beneath my toes, and I tried to grip them. 

The current was killer; it mowed me over, and I went down again. In an instant -- belatedly -- I remembered: Do not put your feet down!

I was appalled. I had completely forgotten the safety rules of this river in my instinctual efforts to survive, and I'd forgotten the fact that people died each year because they had done exactly what I had just tried to do. 

With a twist, I kicked out of the rock crevice my foot had just contacted and pushed off of one of the boulders beneath my feet. By some miracle, because I'm anything but athletic or graceful -- my feet were free. I pulled them to the surface and rode the rapids on my back through that section by myself, keeping an eye on my fun-yak and the oar floating about ten feet in front of me. 

When the water calmed a bit, I swam toward them, grabbed them, and pulled them toward the shore where I could see some rocks sticking out of the water. I took hold of one rock, and held on until the big raft pulled alongside me, and the river guide helped me back in. It was someone else's turn for the fun-yak, and I relinquished it with relief. My adventure had nearly cost me my life, and I was glad to sit in the relative safety of the big boat.

No one else had realized what I'd done -- all they could see was my bobbing head. No one understood how near to drowning I'd come, because the whitewater had hidden my efforts.

Isn't that the way? We watch other people struggle with so little understanding of the true struggle beneath it all.

Anyway, I'm in James 1:16-27 today. Honestly, there's so much here that I couldn't decide what to focus on, so naturally, I decided to talk about whitewater near-death experiences. ;) 

James writes in 1:17-18: "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, Who does not change like shifting shadows (or like whitewater currents). He chose to give us birth through the Word of truth, that we might be a kind of firstfruits of all He created."

I don't think I was ever so grateful to swim out of the currents and cling to that rock -- that beautiful, steady, unmoving, life-sustaining, foundational rock. It didn't shift with the water's movement. It was as dependable as if it had been placed there before the river, and it held me safely in the movement of the water until the raft came and picked me up. It was the one steady, sure, true thing there; everything else tried to wash me away.

There's such a thing as absolute Truth. I know that's not a popular a idea in our culture today, right? "You do you. It's your truth. I'll live by my truth."

James gives us absolute Truth. "He chose to give us birth through the Word of Truth..." Truth here, the absolute Truth he refers to is the Gospel, the good news, the story of Jesus -- his flesh-and-blood brother -- Who died and rose again for the sake of saving mankind from the chains of sin. That's the Gospel, that's the absolute Truth. 

The thing is: Sin will pick up anything not anchored to Truth. It'll chew it up and play havoc with it, tossing it around like a rag doll. It'll entice us to put our feet down here. Right here. There's a nice crevice with our name on it. It's a great little place to plant our feet. Survival skills 101: Feet on the ground, right?

Wrong. Not on the Nantahala, and not when sin is a trap waiting to mow you over.

Clinging to the rock didn't let me continue down the stream; clinging to the rock stopped my movement. 

But only a blind person would have looked at me gulping in air while I was desperately holding on to my anchor and said: She's trapped. She should let go.

That rock was my salvation in that moment. 

I've lost track of the number of times I've seen or heard the idea that Christianity is "too full of rules," that "there's no freedom," that "I don't want to be trapped in old-fashioned ideologies." 

In James 1:22-25, it says: "Do not merely listen to the Word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. Anyone who listens to the Word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in the mirror, and after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. But the man who looks intently into  the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it -- he will be blessed in what he does."

A plumb bob is a weight that hangs on the end of a string, and is used as a gravitational reference point for what is straight. The gospel, the truth, the absolute Truth -- is a plumb bob. It gives us a reference point by which we can measure our actions -- too far from it on one side or the other, and we wash away. Clinging to it brings salvation. Freedom.

So, your truth, my truth are those a tricky crevices where we try to put down our feet, build our foundation, take our stand. What happens when the currents come and we've positioned ourselves on our faulty perspectives and our shifting ideologies?

They take us down. They trap us where we can't breathe, and they won't let us go free.

In this upside-down kingdom that Christ offers us where clinging to the boulder is salvation and where release from that boulder is treacherous, we've got to anchor ourselves in the Rock.

We see this struggle so much right now, right? I'm thinking about my Facebook feed I woke up to this morning, so much anger and lashing out, because "I'm right." The problem is, every person who is right has a contrasting view with a whole slew of other people, who are just as sure that they are right.

Can I offer this? The only One who is right is Christ. He's the absolute Truth we're all looking for; He's the only One who brings freedom. He's the Rock. He's our Anchor. He's the Plumb Bob.

He is the Perfect Law that gives freedom, the One into Whom we peer to gain a reference for what we ourselves look like. We continue to do this. Y'all, read His Word, study it, think about it at night and in the morning, at work, when you come home and cook supper. 

"Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." 

Remember back in Exodus 33 when God told Moses that He would pass by so that Moses could see Him? He placed Moses in a cleft in the rock and there, He covered Moses with His hand.

Talk about absolute safety, refuge, and security. There's no lack of freedom in that; there is complete freedom in His perfect law.

Don't put your feet down! 

It's a rule. I don't like rules. 

Don't put your feet down!

Don't limit my freedom; I can put my feet down if I want. It's my survival technique.

Don't put your feet down!

I don't know about you, but I am thankful for the Way, the Truth, and the Life, the Only Way to the Father. He is our reference point, our perfect and life-giving freedom... 

And in a world at war over freedom... He's what we need.