When things fall apart

Everything’s falling apart on me, God; put me together again with your Word. (Psalm 119:107 The Message)

What do we do when things fall apart?

Because they will.  We’ll snag on life’s gnarl and come undone, thread by thread by spooling cord.  Things won’t go as we planned or hoped.  I once knew someone who, reflecting on a struggle, said, “It’s like someone just pulled a string, and I fell apart.”  That’s how it feels.  Someone got hold of our string.

When things go bumpity bumpity boom, my tendency is to get sentimental, to turn the situation into a personal morality play, a life lesson.  I may come away like a kite tattered in a tree, but I tell myself that at least I’ll be wiser next time.  (Or something like that.)

Or I try to twirl out a happy ending.  There’s got to be a silver lining in there somewhere.

Or I look for somebody to blame.

Or I’m tempted to see it all as God’s will.  You’ve probably heard it: everything happens for a reason.  Except that everything doesn’t.  Terrible, unhinging, unraveling things happen all the time, and I can’t accept that just because they happen, they’re God’s dream for the world, that God has a “reason” for them.  God is sovereign in an ultimate sense: he’s guiding all of history to its proper fulfillment.  But there’s a lot that takes place in the nooks and crannies beneath God’s ultimate sovereignty.  We pray, Thy will be done for a reason.  It’s because sometimes, the Father’s will is not done.

But that’s not the end of the story.  When things fall apart, God does the painstaking work of putting us together again with his word.  What does that look like?

The Sunday School answer is that we rely on God.  We spindle our problems on his word.  But this isn’t easy.  When something’s really on the line, it’s hard to hang on to God’s word.  And God’s word is often strange comfort.  Hanging on to it often looks more white-knuckled than tranquil.

The first time I really read carefully Jesus’ words in the Sermon on the Mount, I remember being cut to the heart.  His teaching was narrow and clear: no hatred, no unforgiveness, no violence, no enemies.  Take up your cross and follow me onto the gritty, real way of life.  The “family values” faith of my childhood with its easy categorizations of good guys and bad guys started to unwind.

This happens to me a lot when I really wrap myself in God’s word.  I find that it isn’t so much a comfort.  God’s word is more like rough rope.  Hanging on blisters your soul, but what else can we do when things are sliding away?  The Lord alone has the word of life (John 6:68).  Hang on.

How have you been hanging on to God’s word in these unraveling days?  Share your story with me in the comment section.