The End of Myself

In the spring of 2016 I was teaching an online course in New Testament that included two students from Johnson University Tennessee. They were interns with Ends of the Earth Cycling and were preparing for the Tennessee Bike Ride, a 300-mile ride to resource global youth ministries. Their hope to include someone from the JUTN faculty had not materialized, and hearing that I was a cyclist, they reached out to see if I would come from JUFL to participate. So Leah and I went to Knoxville and planned for a 5-day bike ride over Spring Break.

Day Four broke me. As a Florida flatlander, I don’t have opportunity to train for major hills. What hills I have access to are located in the center of the state, along what is known as the Lake Wales Ridge, the highest point of which is only 312ft above sea level. Climbing hills and mountains in Tennessee (whose average elevation sits around 900ft) really strained my lower back, forcing me off the bike for a day. Dejected from a sense of failure, the support crew in the van lifted my spirits and gave me what I needed to recover.

That night they asked me to preach for the end-of-day worship service. I wasn’t trying to start something. I was simply reflecting on my experience. But what came to mind that night has been used by the Spirit on several subsequent tours as a reflection on the work of Christ during these events:

“On a tour like this, eventually you come to the end of yourself. That’s where you meet Jesus. And you meet him in his People.”

***

“I can’t stop the rain from fallin’ down on you again

I can’t stop the rain.

But I will hold you ‘til it goes away.”

--Third Day, “When the Rain Comes”

***

We live next to a creek (well, a “slough,” technically, which means the water meanders rather than rolls) that feeds Lake Toho here in Kissimmee. The government has vacillated since this home was built in the 1970’s whether or not this property should be classified as a flood zone. (Currently it’s not designated as such.) The previous owners had flood insurance, then didn’t, then reopened, then cancelled, all coinciding with the government’s designations. So it was unclear whether flooding would be an issue.

The only time water encroached upon the house took place during Hurricane Irma in 2017. Irma had (at that time) dumped more water on central Florida than any other storm in recorded history (10-15in) and water never got in the house. The following summer the city reengineered the slough for better drainage, so all indications were that our major issue would be wind, and trees. No one knew that Hurricane Ian would dump more water on central Florida than Irma. Even with the re-engineered drainage system, it was more than the system could handle.

“They knew nothing, until the flood came and took it all away” (Matt. 24:39)

***

I can’t sleep during these storms. I was working, grading papers, rearranging due dates for students affected by the coming cataclysm. As the eye of the storm was about to pass us, I got up to lock the back door and found water trickling in the garage. A few minutes later, the garage floor was covered. In about an hour it was threatening to crest the stoop into the kitchen. It wouldn’t have mattered if it did, because the water was beginning to seep in around every corner, every door, every miniscule crack in the foundation, in the corner of the closet, and over the window sills.

When I first saw the water in the garage, I began praying, “Lord, you have to make the rain stop!” There was already 3 feet of water rushing down the street. But the rain kept coming. When it began to encroach on the house, my mind—a little off-kilter at this point—began to ask, “What can we do to stem the tide?” (Pfft!) Irrational, yes. But the mind is often irrational without proper training, so we scooped up as much water as we could into the shower, which drains in a separate system from the storm drains.

It was a losing effort. Two hours later, rainfall having no end in sight, I stood in the front door and said, “Lord, I’m at the end of myself.”

***

“There is no end to its force…It’s like a dragon…if I look downstream, I get dizzy; if I look upstream, I feel as though I’m looking up the business end of an avalanche…but somehow they managed to salvage almost everything, and live as before.”

– “Flood” (ch. 9), Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

***

I wasn’t really even aware of what was happening behind the scenes. That morning, when the water receded, I went to the garage to start cleaning things up. But the People of God were mobilizing, doing what the People of God do in times of crisis. An army comprised of colleagues, friends, students former and current (“dressed in fine linen, bright and clean,” Rev. 19:14) organized themselves to come assist with the cleanup. They gathered resources, set a time, and cleaned the entire place up in about five hours.

It was really quite something to see how they all worked in tandem with one another. The Apostle Paul told me that the Body has different members, and that each member has gifts that work with, through, and in tandem with all the others (Rom. 12:4-6; 1 Cor. 12:4-12). But it was a sight to see. One who has disaster and remodeling experience and is about as good a handyman as any contractor. Another whose work on the mission field has forged in her a lovingkindness marked by action. A friend who couldn’t be there, but who convinced a local restauranteur to donate lunch for the crew. A public school teacher who, in line with her favorite saying, did in fact “put on her big girl panties” and dealt with the sanitizing all over the house. A preacher who teaches that preachers must above all become servants became, himself, a servant. A couple who couldn’t be there, but donated the use of their truck to haul away things. My T.A.s, past and present, who continue to help me with my life and not just my grading. Some goofy folks who kept me happy and cordial during a stressful time. Yet another whose Ph.D. didn’t train him to drag limbs to the curb, but happily did so. One who has taken lots of advice from me who volunteered to take some refuse away for me. A former student and neighbor who made enough pasta to feed us for 4 days. Those who donated to the recovery fund. And the other folks that I can’t seem to remember right now.

Our family has been through the ringer in the last year. I won’t lay it out here; some of it’s private. But the hits have kept on coming.

Lament (complaint against God) has been the staple of my prayer diet for quite some time. I won’t lay it out here; some of it’s belligerent. But the prayers have kept on flowing.

When the flooding began, it sparked a breaking point in my heart and mind about whether or not the Father even cared about us anymore. The constant trouble, the unanswered prayers, the relentless force of the rushing river a symbol for the avalanche of bitterness flowing down from on high to sweep us all away. In that moment my prayer--“Lord, I’m at the end of myself”—wasn’t a cry for help. It was an accusation. “I can’t see you anymore.”

I see Him now. And I know that He sees me. I’ve seen Him in the army of people who have pledged their allegiance, not just to King Jesus, but to The People of King Jesus, their co-heirs and fellow kingdom subjects. Their love, their concern, their tireless action. And not just to me, but to all who call upon the name of the LORD. Even the ones named “Anonymous.” There’s no longer any doubt.

I came to the end of myself. And that’s where I met Jesus. And I met him in his People.