Power of Presence (eBook)

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The Absence of Presence

Every night I help Joanne do her “ablutions.” That is what she called her evening bathroom rituals, which always seemed to take an inordinate amount of time. I thought that “ablutions” was a word she made up to describe her routine. I was surprised to find out that “ablution” is a real word that means a washing or cleansing of the body. Being a prolific reader, her vocabulary is more extensive than mine. Her degree is in home economics and food, but it should have been English literature. She typed all my papers, two master’s theses, and a doctoral dissertation for my first four degrees. When Biola University supplied all the faculty with an Apple computer, I knew I needed to learn how to type. Joanne taught me how, and I typed my final dissertation and every book since. She was also the first editor of all my books. What a blessing that has been to me. She corrected more than my grammar. She provided a feminine critique of our message. I say “our” because we have lived our message together. Her name only appears on two of my books, Daily in Christ and Overcoming Depression, but there is a little of her presence in every book.

After she finishes dinner at night I help her to the bathroom. She sits in front of the sink and asks, “What do I do next?” Even simple routines have become cloudy. I wash her face and put on the night cream that has kept her looking much younger than she is. She is a physical wreck, but Joanne has the skin of a twenty-year-old. I bought her a power toothbrush that she motors around her mouth, while remnants of her evening meal come drooling out. People with dementia have trouble swallowing, and food stays in their mouth like a chipmunk. Then it’s off to bed.

I used to pray for her before I left every night, but for the last few months she has been praying: “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” Then she says the Lord’s Prayer. Short-term memory is gone, but remnants of long-term memory linger. She is like a little girl saying a child’s prayer, but the sincerity in which it is said brings tears to my eyes. The Lord is still in residence.

I often stay until she is asleep. One evening I had drifted off to sleep myself when she suddenly broke the silence with a desperate cry of “Neil!”

It startled me. I said, “I’m here, Babe.”

“Oh, I was afraid you were gone,” she replied. She had been mentioning some struggles with fear, which puzzled me at first. We had talked many times in the past about fear. She once had a fear of flying, but overcame that and was able to travel with me when she wanted. She also edited Freedom from Fear, which I wrote with Rich Miller. So she has an above average understanding of what constitutes the God-given ability to fear the objects that threaten our physical and psychological safety, and could normally distinguish that from an irrational fear or phobia. She also knew that physical death is no longer a legitimate fear object. Paul said, “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21). So what was she afraid of?

A similar cry came from the middle cross two thousand years ago. “And at the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?’ which means, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’” (Mark 15:34). Nietzche said, “God is dead, and we have killed him.” Such apostasy overlooks one of the most basic tenets of Christianity. Jesus was fully human and fully God. He was one person, with two natures. God didn’t die, but the One who came in the flesh did physically die. The concept of being alive means to be in union with, and to die means to be separated from. We are physically alive when our souls are in union with our bodies, and we are spiritually alive when our souls are in union with God. That is why the early church defined salvation as union with God. Like Adam, Jesus was both physically and spiritually alive. Unlike Adam He never sinned, and therefore never died spiritually, even though He was tempted in every way that we are. From the middle cross also came these words, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit” (Luke 23:46).

The Apostles’ Creed states that Jesus descended into hell, which is the Hebrew word sheol. Hebrew has only one word for hell and death, and that is sheol (in Greek, hades). The emphasis is on separation, not destination. It was the separation of His human nature from the Father that caused Him to cry out. Between the excruciating pain of the crucifixion and the resurrection, Jesus took the plunge into the abyss of aloneness – complete abandonment – which is a frightening prospect.

The fear that comes from being totally alone speaks to our vulnerability. We cannot rationally explain it away. That is what Joanne sensed that evening. Almost every time I leave the room Joanne asks if I will be back that evening or the next morning. If she doesn’t ask, I tell her that I will always be there for her, and I mean it. So does God. He says, “I will never leave you nor forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5), which qualifies Him to say, “Fear not. I am present with you in your distress, whether you sense My presence or not.”

In that moment of separation Jesus quotes from Psalm 22. His cry of agony is a prayer: “My God, My God.” While the mocking crowd and the first thief have given up their faith in God, Jesus clings to it. What an incredible example that is for us in the hour of our greatest despair. In the midst of His own abandonment, He declares the nearness of God.

In the beginning of time God said that it was not good for us to be alone. Imagine how you would feel if you were in a mortuary and entered a room alone where the corpse of a stranger was displayed? Would you feel uneasy? Eerie? Maybe you would feel a little frightened even though you know that the dead person can do you no harm? This is not the fear of anything in particular, but the fear of being alone with death. This speaks to the most basic of human needs – to have a sense of belonging – and why many struggle with issues of abandonment.

Such a fear cannot be overcome by a rational explanation of its groundlessness. A child’s fear of walking through the woods alone on a dark night can only be overcome by the presence of another. The uneasiness of sitting alone with a corpse disappears when a friend or family member joins you in the room.

When I was a young child on the farm I woke up one afternoon from a nap. I went downstairs but didn’t see anybody. “Mom, where are you?” I asked. There was no answer. It was a warm summer day, so I assumed that my parents and siblings were outside. I ventured out with the hope of finding someone, but they were nowhere to be found. The apprehension mounted as I raced from the barn to the cornfields. I was almost overcome with fear, but it was immediately eradicated upon seeing the family car turn into the quarter-mile-long lane that led to our house. They had taken a quick run to a neighboring farm thinking that they would be back before I woke up.

I was pedaling a stationary bike, rehabbing my knee and watching television, when I saw another plane hit the second tower of the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. Instantly, I knew it was no accident. Even though Joanne was home with me I felt an urgent need to be with other people. I just needed to be a part of our collective humanity, which had just been assaulted. I wanted to be in the presence of others and share in our common grief. I really don’t have adequate words to describe the power of presence. I just know that it is real, and without it we suffer.

A similar reaction happened when Islamist terrorists attacked and killed two police officers and the staff of the satirical publication Charlie Hebdo, in January 2015. To protest the atrocity, forty world leaders joined hands in solidarity with 3.7 million people. It was the largest demonstration in France’s history. Some of those world leaders were sworn enemies of each other, but they set aside their differences for a day to stand together against a greater threat to all humanity. Sadly, there was no significant presence from the US executive branch of government. They missed an opportunity to say to the rest of the free world, “We’re with you, and we are in this together.”

Our presence or absence at certain events speaks volumes to others. When my children were growing up I always made a point of circling important dates in my calendar that involved my immediate family. I don’t think I ever missed one of Karl’s soccer or baseball games. If someone asked for an appointment to see me when I was a pastor, I would tell...