Sorry-ness and Unconditional Surrender

If I had even a nickel for every time I've heard my kids' normal conversations in the living room escalate into a World-War-III-every-man-for-himself-all-offensive-tactics-engaged warfare...

I could afford to put all three of my teen and pre-teen cadets through college with cash. ;) Oy. Parenting.

Because while maybe I should have stepped in before the atmosphere got that heated, I don't always catch it in time. So then I get to stand in the middle of the rubble and survey the damage. There are usually tears somewhere, definitely pulsing anger, sullen attitudes, resentment, and that horrible virus that strikes deep into the hearts of many today, especially youth, it seems: entitlement: This notion that I deserve better, and therefore, anyone who stands against me should stand down.

Ugh. I hate entitlement. Especially when I find to my horror that I myself can just as easily carry that attitude as my kids.

Anyway, back to my point. 

When the damage has been done, the rebuilding must commence. As I survey the torn emotional limbs and the angry faces, I plant my hands on my hips and polish up my very best Mom-glare. "You," I point to Random Errant Cadet #1: "Tell her you're sorry."

The resentment is palpable; he or she looks away like he or she will apologize to a picture on the wall or a book on a shelf or to the fly that just landed on the table. "Sorry." It's muttered and resentful. 

"Look at her and tell her!"

The angry eyes swivel toward the object of irritation. "Sorry," again muttered.

And I'm ready to throw in the towel. Obviously, I cannot invoke feelings of sorry-ness (yes, I did just coin that word) from an angry heart. 

And so I retreat into my introspection: What is needed is heart change -- which I cannot do, and neither can the errant cadet. That comes from the Holy Spirit alone.

I was reading the next section of 1 Samuel that I'm going through (slowly), and since it's been a while since my last post on it, here's a really brief summary: The Israelites fight the Philistines. They're losing, so they get a lightbulb idea: Hey, let's bring the Ark of the Covenant into battle with us, and then we'll win! But they forgot that they can't force God's hand, so when they carried out their plan, the Philistines captured the Ark and took it back to Ashdod, a Philistine city, victorious. Eli the high priest dies when he hears the news, as do many Israelite soldiers. The Philistines put the Ark in front of their god, Dagon, who -- stone statue or no -- falls on his face before the Ark. This happens twice, and the second time, the head and hands of the statue fall off (signifying death -- head -- and helplessness -- hands). Plagues break out among the Philistines wherever the Ark is, so they finally get the bright idea to send back the Ark. Get rid of this awful thing! Cool. So they do, and Israel is super excited, but when they get too happy and look inside the Ark, a whole bunch of Israelites die, too, because they don't treat the Ark with the revered respect commanded in the Law. So finally the Ark sits in Kiriath Jearim, in a house on a hill that belongs to a man named Abinadab, and Israel consecrates a man named Eleazar to guard the Ark.

All caught up? Good.

In 1 Samuel 7:2, it says: "It was a long time, twenty years in all, that the Ark remained at Kiriath Jearim, and all the people of Israel mourned and sought after the Lord." 

I thought... that's a long time. Sure, it's a flash to read over now in one sentence from an ancient text... but twenty years is a stretch! During those twenty years, though, there's a subtle shift. The people begin seeking the Lord. 

Sorry-ness.

I wonder, during those twenty years, what would have brought this about. 2 Chronicles 7:13-14 says: "When I shut up the heavens so that there is no rain, or command locusts to devour the land, or send a plague among my people (hmm... this is feeling uncomfortably familiar)... if My people, who are called by My Name, will humble themselves and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land."

The people found... "sorry-ness." They found that it didn't necessarily work to keep on throwing their temper tantrums and their World War III's (World War I was still a looooong way off at this point). So Samuel, who is now a recognized and attested prophet in Israel (1 Samuel 3:20) tells the people: "If you are returning to the Lord with all your hearts, then rid yourselves of the foreign gods and the Ashtoreths and commit yourselves to the Lord and serve Him only, and He will deliver you out of the hand of the Philistines."

So... the Israelites did just that. Samuel saw all that they were doing to put away old lifestyles that catered to culture and false gods, and he saw their hearts really begin to repent. So he called for a sacred assembly. "Assemble all Israel at Mizpah," he said, "and I will intercede with the Lord for you."

See, there was this thing in ancient Israel where at times of national distress, the prophet or leader or king would call together an assembly, and together, as a nation, they would truly seek the Lord in "sorry-ness" (per the 2 Chronicles passage above), and the Lord would hear and move His hand to act on their behalf, because He saw true repentance.

But what happens when there's no "sorry-ness"? What happens when the angry glares are still happening, and the resentment still has the hackles up, and the surly attitude and the entitlement still rages inside? 

God HATES that. Look at this. Isaiah 1:parts of 10-14: "'The multitude of your sacrifices -- what are they to Me?' says the Lord. 'I have more than enough of burnt offerings, of rams and the fat of fattened animals; I have no pleasure in the blood of bulls and lambs and goats... Stop bringing Me your meaningless offerings! Your incense is detestable to Me. New Moons, Sabbaths, and convocations -- I cannot bear your evil assemblies... They have become a burden to me; I am weary of bearing them!'"

What happens when a nation shakes because of a drought, or because of pestilence, or because of a plague... and the church does what the church should absolutely do: they get on their knees and seek the Lord for direction, they seek the Lord in repentance, they seek the Lord for His guidance...

But they do it for the wrong reasons? 

Fix us, Lord... so we can get back to normal. Fix us, Lord... so we can stop focusing so much on You and return to what is more important: Me. Entitlement. 

Psalm 51 is David's prayer after he's been caught and confronted in his sin by Nathan the prophet of God. 

David really blew it. And the thing was... it wasn't a mistake. It wasn't a one-off oops moment when he messed up. He saw a naked lady, and rather than turning away and "taking every thought captive," he dwelt on what he saw. Then he used his privilege as king to bring her to the palace and to sleep with her. Then, when he found out that his one-night (or more, it doesn't say) stand resulted in a pregnancy, he recalled the woman's husband, Uriah, home from battle to cover it up and make it look like the child was the woman's natural child with her husband. But Uriah, too honorable to sleep with his wife while his brothers-in-arms were still on the battlefield, very clearly did not sleep with her -- he slept among his master's servants instead, so, you know, alibis -- and then returned to battle, carrying a message from David to his commander Joab that ordered his -- Uriah's -- own death, and to make it look like an accident.

Deceit, deceit everywhere. 

And David didn't feel the least remorse until Nathan showed up and confronted him in the form of a parable. And then the guilt hit hard. The "sorry-ness" had come. He cried out: "Have mercy on me, oh God, according to Your unfailing love; according to Your great compassion, blot out my transgressions. Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin." 

See, at the moment of sorry-ness, David recognized his heart's condition, and it didn't matter that he was the king and made sacrifices to the Lord all the time. What did matter was this: His heart was wrong, and it needed reformation. Restoration. Cleansing. 

"Create in me a pure heart, oh God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me from Your Presence or take Your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of Your salvation, and grant me a willing spirit to sustain me."

David recognized, at least by the time he wrote this psalm (Psalm 51), that his heart was wrong, and that it didn't matter how long he was on his face before the Lord -- if he didn't mean it, or if he meant it for the wrong motives -- the Lord would despise it.

"You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; You do not take pleasure in burnt offerings."

And here's the kicker: "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, oh God, You will not despise."

So where are we as a church? What is the condition of our hearts? For whom are they breaking? Are they breaking for ourselves? Or for what breaks the heart of God? 

The lost.
The forsaken.
The derelict.
The despised.

Also...
The faithful.
The true-hearted.
The constant.
The seekers.

See, the Lord was broken for all of the above. Not just the prodigal son. And not just the prodigal's older brother. All. 

And when we focus on getting attention back to where we had been, repenting for the sake of "moving along," that's where the strong words of Isaiah come out.

Break our hearts for what breaks Yours, Father! Bring us back to the heart of worship, where we meet with You and no one else. Where we are stripped clean of our silly comfort zones that we try to surround ourselves with, where we are surrendered and whole and complete in our relationship with You, trusting You without regard to the storm surrounding us.

Next time World War III invades your heart... make room for the "sorry-ness." It's the only way back to healing, peace, and hope in Christ.