Broken Hearts

Yes, it’s been a while. Some of you have emailed me out of concern, and I deeply appreciate your thoughtfulness. What of the letter to my parents explaining my turn from faith? I wrote it, but I never sent it. I’ll explain further in another post on another day. How have I been? The desire to believe has been intense for no identifiable reason. I have spent my mornings devouring scripture and writing down every moment where I see God’s goodness and mercy—instead of writing down the inconsistencies or attributes of God that seem corrupt. I do still see those things, but I’m shifting my focus and forcing myself to read further when I get there instead of slamming my Bible shut. With every question my skeptical mind raises, I ask myself “How would I answer this if I believed? What evidence would I point to? Is there any way I can make that evidence sufficient?” Is this a fair method for examining my faith? Not at all, and I don’t advise anyone to use it for such a purpose. I do think it keeps my thoughts dynamic. In high school debates, I was most successful when I learned to think like the other side.

I’ve been praying—a lot. I don’t really feel heard, but the longing to do it is there, so I just do it anyway throughout the day, and sometimes I imagine God responding. It’s not hurting anyone else, and I don’t really care if it’s hurting me. I’m already broken.

Broken. Perhaps never more broken than I was yesterday in a church service. At least, it’s never affected me so suddenly and so strongly and so publicly as it did yesterday. We went to the early service at the First Baptist Church in our new city (we’re in the middle of a move to get our older daughter into a better school district). We have been going for a few weeks now to the late service, but yesterday we tried the early one because I love a good Baptist choir (the late service is contemporary and choir-less).

God, let me find you, I silently prayed as the service started.

One praise set complete. So far, so good. Next came a scripture reading by the music minister from Luke 16:19-31, which ended with “…neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead.”

Will he end it with that? Where is the hope? What is next?

I turned to my husband. “Is that it?” I asked. “Are they just going to leave us there?”

As I spoke, the minister turned to face the choir, and they stood. “I think the scripture was to introduce the song,” Russell said as a single note played to give the pitch for the a cappella piece.

What I heard next was nothing short of bizarre. This was the song they sang:

Most of you won’t click on the link, so here are the lyrics:

Poor Man Lazarus (American Spiritual)

1 Poor man Lazarus, sick and disabled,
dip your finger in the water;
come and cool my tongue,
’cause I’m tormented in the flame!
He had to eat crumbs from the rich man’s table
dip your finger in the water;
come and cool my tongue,
’cause I’m tormented in the flame!
Refrain:
I’m tormented in the flame!
I’m tormented in the flame!
Dip your finger in the water;
come and cool my tongue,
’cause I’m tormented in the flame!
2 Rich man Divies, he lived so well.
Dip your finger in the water;
come and cool my tongue,
’cause I’m tormented in the flame!
And when he died, he went straight to hell.
Dip your finger in the water;
come and cool my tongue,
’cause I’m tormented in the flame! [Refrain]
3 I love to shout, I love to sing.
Dip your finger in the water;
come and cool my tongue,
’cause I’m tormented in the flame!
I love to praise my heavenly King.
Dip your finger in the water;
come and cool my tongue,
’cause I’m tormented in the flame! [Refrain]

This was sung in chipper voices that came from people with bright eyes and broad smiles. I don’t remember if the pitch or tempo were perfect. I don’t remember if the harmonies were tight. All I remember is the oppressive feeling that this was a cruel joke and that I had to escape. During the first verse I looked at my husband with incredulous amusement. By the first refrain, my eyes were full of tears. By the third verse, they were pouring down my face. This isn’t a normal response for me under any circumstance. I cry alone, usually long after the inciting event is over. Yesterday was different, and I had to leave before someone thought I was seriously being “moved” by the “worship.” I slipped out during the applause. Applause.

I walked through the foyer and out the nearest exit I could find with tear-blinded eyes. I drew in cool air and shakily exhaled as more tears emerged. The last verse replayed in my mind:
“I love to praise my heavenly king.
Dip your finger in the water;
Come and cool my tongue,
‘Cause I’m tormented in the flame.”

Is this how I’m supposed to find you, God? Are you clapping too? I whispered accusingly. There was no audible answer. Just the one my mind made up—the one my God would give.

No applause; I’m crying here with you.

If Luke 16 is true, they should all be crying too. This time my words were silent, not whispered. Someone had walked out of another door on the other side of the sanctuary, and I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself. Was this worship? The God in my head replied again.

They honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me…

The man approached me, but he didn’t seem to notice me. He re-entered the building through the door next to me, whistling the morbid song as he walked. Tears filled my eyes again. They just don’t see it at all. This song destroyed me, and he is whistling it without a thought. Back to the late service next week. I’m sick of their songs too, but at least they don’t crescendo to the words “he went straight to hell.”

The God my mind made up didn’t respond this time, but two phrases from two songs came into my head simultaneously. Two overdone songs. Two songs that often end up seeming more like performances than opportunities for worship. Two songs that define the Baptist contemporary “late” service in America.

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander from “Oceans” and Break my heart for what breaks yours from “Hosanna,” both by Hillsong United. These were the phrases that replaced the tragic song in my mind. I must confess that both of these lines have been my prayers—I am often moved deeply by the most overdone youth group songs. I have no idea what was sung in the late service yesterday at my church—but in a late service somewhere, I am almost certain that a group of people sang the words “Break my heart for what breaks yours” as they worshipped. How many people thought of Luke 16? How many hearts broke for those who fear hell or for those who they think might already be there? How many hearts broke for the spiritually abused or the confused or the apostate? How many hearts broke for me? If I could build my own God, he would weep over a tormenting flame—not condemn people to it. His heart would break for this.

What of the other phrase—Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander—? If I could create the God I want, he would answer that prayer.

So, readers—what breaks your heart? How does your life reflect this? And if you believe, how does your heartache over these things reflect your God?

Photo credit: © Copit1606 | Dreamstime.com – Broken Heart Photo