
There is a reason we call mountaintop experiences mountaintop experiences- the very glory of them makes them rare. The top of a mountain is sublime, exhilarating. But you can’t live there. On our journey to the Celestial City we all have moments of joy and comfort, and all pass through dark nights of the soul. If the authors of the Psalms, who experienced something I’ll never experience- Holy Spirit inspiration from which comes the voice of God- can feel God’s distance, surely we shouldn’t expect anything different. 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 things that remind me of His grace. For my eyes- my wife. With her I remember I am His child, that my love for her is a pale reflection of His perfect love for me.
For my ears, I seek musicians who over the years have fed my soul. I seek those with the peculiar ability not just to sing happy songs about happy times, nor angsty songs about angsty times, but honest accounts of both sin and redemption. They take the gospel promises and break them open that we can see the richness of all we have in Christ. They feed my soul, drawing 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.








