My life has been filled with sorrow, loss, and pain, and therefore I’ve always felt great earnestness about why I exist and what might be the reason for my life. Perhaps because pain and trouble have haunted my days, the matter of salvation for me has always been deeply existential. I did not hunger for healing to find solace over the various disappointments that commonly attend our lives; for me the question was a matter of life and death. I felt like was suffocating and dying inside every day. “Find God or die.”
I was abandoned as a child, and that wound – delivered before I knew “my left hand from my right” – made me an exile and an orphan who had difficultly trusting others. When you are shattered of heart at a young age, it is hard to believe that others will be there for you. Inner pain makes you feel lonely, different, strange…. You always feel like your an outsider, a voyeur who stands alone, lost within your aching heart… Fear shadows your way and there is no place of rest for your soul. I tried various ways to kill the pain, but none worked; I always returned to the brooding questions of whether life was worth living, and whether there was any purpose for my pain-riddled existence.
The ancient Greek philosophers sought for “salvation” (Σωτηρία), which they generally understood as freedom from the fear of death… Therefore Socrates sought to dispel mythical superstition by regarding philosophy as the “practice for death,” by which he meant that reflecting upon this “shadowy world” would instill a profound hunger for the eternal (and ideal) world, and he therefore advised that, since we all must die, we ought to prepare ourselves now for eternity, by focusing the mind on what is most essential, real, and beautiful.
If you can’t detect God’s hand in your circumstances, then trust His heart… The heart of faith affirms: gam zu l’tovah (גַּם זוּ לְטוֹבָה): “this too is for good,” particularly when the present hour may be shrouded in darkness… Whenever I am confused about life (which is often enough), I try to remember what God said to Moses after the tragic sin of the Golden Calf: “I will make all my goodness pass before you and will proclaim before you my Name, ‘The LORD’ (יהוה). And I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy” (Exod. 33:19). God’s character does not change: the LORD is the same “yesterday, today, and forever.” The meaning of the Name, however, cannot be known apart from understanding the need of the heart…
An honest person is invariably a humble person, since honesty compels the soul to confess the truth that it is profoundly ignorant, incapable of understanding even the simplest matters of life, and entirely powerless to heal itself… People may argue over words, concepts, and abstractions, inflating their opinions above even the Reality they purport to define, but the humble soul acknowledges that he doesn’t really know much about anything… And if “all the efforts of the human mind cannot exhaust the essence of a single fly,” then how is it that people get puffed up and proud regarding their supposed knowledge of life itself? It is far better to approach life in deep reverence, wonder, love, and childlike trust than to profess your dogma based on pride and illusions…
It is written in our Scriptures: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God” (Phil. 4:6). Note that the verb translated “be anxious” here (i.e.,μεριμνάω) comes from a root word (μερίζω) that means to be fragmented or divided into parts and pieces. Being anxious is therefore the uneasy state of being distracted, unfocused and divided within yourself. When we worry we heed voices of fear and begin to feel ‘double-minded,’ (i.e., δίψυχος), unstable, and unable to think clearly; we get restless and find it difficult to deeply breathe. We start to feel out of control, fearful that something bad will happen despite all our efforts or wishes to the contrary; we sense doom; we lose heart; we go dark… The Scripture here admonishes us to pray when we are tempted us to be anxious by focusing on something for which we are grateful. Doing so will instill the “peace of God” (שלום יהוה) that rises above all worldly thinking to keep watch over your heart and your thoughts through Yeshua the Messiah (Phil. 4:7). We gain the “light of life,” that is, inner illumination from God, so that we can remain steadfast and unmovable in our faith, despite the temptation to look for relief from our struggles apart from God.
“Faith is the foundation (i.e., ὑπόστασις: the “substance,” reality, underlying essence, etc.) of our hope, the conviction of the unseen… Without faith it is impossible to please God, for whoever would draw near must believe that God exists and rewards (μισθαποδότης) those who seek him” (Heb. 11:1,6). Note that God is pleased when we seek his presence, that is, when we when we look past the ephemera and ambiguity of the phenomenal world for the truth about spiritual reality (2 Cor. 4:18). For our part, faith resolves to confession (ὁμολογέω), that is, aligning our perspective and focus to agree with the revelation and message of divine truth and verbally declaring our conviction. We must say that we believe and affirm it with all our heart (Rom. 10:9). As it says, “I will make Your faithfulness known with my mouth” (Psalm 89:2). When you encounter tribulation, or experience some crisis of faith, boldly reaffirm your hope: “I believe in God’s promise…” Physically expressing your faith is itself an act of faith, and this encourages your soul to trust in God’s healing reward even in the present struggle or darkness…
“We groan inwardly as we eagerly await our redemption…” (Rom. 8:23). We sigh deeply because we are suspended between two worlds, living in the ambiguity of an already-not-yet expectation, enduring ourselves as imperfect vessels longing for perfection, trapped between what is and what will be, seeing the unseen, yearning for healing, believing that we shall never die, even as we die (John 11:26). We are restless for our eternal home and long for God’s presence as we walk through shadowy vales, facing various temptations, whispering our prayers in the dark. And though we must learn endurance and trust in God’s sovereign purposes, our faith nevertheless compels us to cry out, “How long, O Lord?” and “Come, Lord Yeshua” (Rev. 22:20). Our ongoing challenge is to keep a positive attitude despite the struggles we face, and therefore we inwardly pray: “Renew within me ruach nachon (רוּחַ נָכוֹן) – “a spirit that says Yes” (Psalm 51:10).
Recall that before the revelation at Sinai God instructed Moses to set a “boundary” (i.e., hagbalah: הגבּלה) around the mountain with the stern warning that whoever would transgress the imposed limit would die (Exod. 19:12). But why did the LORD command this distance from the people at the time of such intense revelation? Why, for that matter, were God’s first words to Moses, “do not come closer” (אַל־תִּקְרַב הֲלֹם) when he encountered the LORD before the burning thornbush (Exod. 3:5)? In response to such questions the sages have said that there is a fundamental “dialectic” or tension at the core of our connection with God. On the one hand God is utterly holy, sacredly separate, infinitely transcendent, and entirely beyond our understanding, while on the other hand God is entirely present within creation, upholding it and providentially sustaining it, and who is near to all who sincerely call upon him (Psalm 145:18). God is both Elohim (אלהִים) – the Master of the universe and ruler of all possible worlds — the sole Creator (הַבּוֹרֵא) and the only true Judge and moral authority (הֲשֹׁפֵט הָאֲמִתִּית), yet he is also YHVH (יְהוָה), the source of our breath (Gen. 2:7; Num. 16:22), the compassionate Savior (הַמוֹשִׁיעַ), the intercessor (מַפְגִּיעַ), the Redeemer (הַגּוֹאֵל), the Healer (הַמְרַפֵּא), and Lover of our souls (חובב נשמתנו). God is both fully holy (separate) yet his glory pervades and fills the world (Isa. 6:3).
The Scriptures reveal that the Mishkan (or “Tabernacle”) was intended to provide an elaborate “parable” or “pattern” that points to the salvation of our God (יְשׁוּעַת אֱלהֵינוּ). First, the Mishkan designated a central and sacred place (מִקְדָּשׁ) representing the Divine Presence, with the tribes carefully arrayed on each side (east, west, north, and south), and the four families of the Levites arrayed on each side of the courtyard (Num. 2). The gate to the Mishkan opened from the east, where the tribe of Judah was positioned (Gen. 49:10) and where the Kohanim (priests) had their camp just outside the court (Heb. 7:14). As you entered the Mishkan itself, you would immediately behold the mizbe’ach (i.e., copper altar), which revealed the “korban principle,” namely, that the only way to draw near to God is by means of sacrificial blood offered in exchange for the sinner, as stated in the Torah, “For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it for you on the altar to make atonement for your souls, for it is the blood that makes atonement by the life” (Lev. 17:11), and “without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins” (Heb. 9:22).