John Mark Hicks

Spiritual formation the hard way?

Spiritual formation–being formed into the image of Christ by the Father through the power of the Spirit so that Christ is formed in us from the inside out–comes in at least two ways. Neither are easy; both are difficult. Neither are instantaneous; both are processes.

There is a disciplined, habitual approach to spiritual formation. These are the historic practices of solitude, prayer, Scripture reading, and simplicity of life–those four are common to all traditions of spirituality (and the last one is the probably the most absent among American Christians). There is a growing renewal of these spiritual disciplines in the life of the church and among many Christ-followers.  Disciples are trained in the spiritual life through concentrated attention to practicing the presence of God. Any disciple who ignores them places their spiritual life in danger.

In this post, it is a second mode of spiritual formation that captures my attention.  I recently finished Gary Thomas’ Authentic Faith: The Power of a Fire-Tested Life.  Thomas, whose book Sacred Marriage was quite enriching to my wife and I, is a prolific writer about Christian spirituality. He is the founder of the Center for Evangelical Spirituality and, I might add, a favorite writer of our good friend Jim Martin. Authentic Faith is an exploration (he calls himself a “tour guide”) of spiritual formation through fiery trials.

Solitude, prayer, Scripture reading, and simplicity shape our inner life as intentional, daily habits. We set aside time and orient our lives through these practices.  But the fires of life erupt without warning; they come out of nowhere. We don’t see them coming.  They happen to us.  Our daily habits may prepare us for them–that is the value of the training, but we have no control over them.

These fires burn through our lives in many different ways.  Physical suffering–whether cancer, chronic illness, genetic disabilities–is one fire.  It is, as Thomas calls is, the “discipline of suffering.”  But there are other fires as well such as “the discipline of waiting,” “the discipline of mourning,” “the discipline of sacrifice,” “the discipline of contentment,” and “the discipline of social mercy.” 

One of the more helpful chapters for me was the “discipline of forgiveness.”  When we are betrayed, insulted, gossipped about–when we are sinned against, this is something that happens to us. We did not ask for it. In fact, we perhaps never imagined it.  It is a trial, a test. It is a burning fire that will either destroy us or refine us. It is a moment when we will reject God’s heart of forgiveness for others or we will embrace his mercy for ourselves as well as for others. It is an occasion for spiritual transformation.

Our circumstances are beyond our control.  “Stuff” happens!  It can be very ugly, horrid, evil stuff, or it can be seemingly minor frustrations and unmet expectations. Both, however, are opportunities for spiritual growth.

When “stuff” happens, God is present in ways that transcend our ability to grasp but is also present to lovingly refine and/or purge us. It becomes part of the process of transformation just as Jesus himself was formed spirituality through his suffering (he was made perfect by the things he suffered, Hebrews 5:9).

“Stuff” hurts.  But the hurt, by God’s grace and power, is a way forward into the Father’s heart, participation in the Son’s suffering, and communion with the groaning Spirit.  Living through and processing the “stuff” is part of becoming an image or icon of Christ in this world. 

I recommend Thomas’ book.  Though I think the chapters are rather uneven–as are the chapters in my own books (especially the chapters written by Bobby Valentine!)–the book will help you process how the “stuff” in your life, your “shack,” may actually become an occasion for spiritual transformation.

When Sheila died in 1980, I discovered that I was one who neither enjoyed nor desired to visit graves.

For me visiting the grave was not very comforting. In fact, it was the opposite. The graveyard seemed too permanent. It contained too many granite stones which testified to both the pervasiveness and intransience of death. I didn’t like it and never found consolation there.

The same has been true with both my father’s (1994) and my son’s (2001) graves.  Graves reminded me of death, not life. They brought neither comfort nor closure.

What I have discovered this year, however, is that there was something deeper going on inside of me that prevented their “resting places” from providing the kind of solace that it seems to provide others. My avoidance of their graves was a symptom of my avoidance of grief itself.

I was in full flight from my grief. Rather than embracing it, living through it, and accepting it, I evaded it. My avoidance of the grave–for me–was a way to escape the pain, to push it into the background, stuff it down, and pretend it did not exist. Avoiding my deepest pain, I numbed it through workaholism and in other ways.

I can remember the moment when I decided I would not feel “that” again. At twenty-two years of age, I was basically carried out the front doors of the church building after viewing Sheila’s body for the last time. Standing outside those doors was, among others, the Potter High School chorus from Bowling Green, KY. I was deeply embarrased that those kids–many of whom were my students–saw me like that. I never wanted to feel that way again.

That day I created a facade of sorts. I would protect that part of me that did not want to feel embarrasment. I would not show that emotion again; I would not allow that kind of transparency again. Instead, I would play the strong, stoic hero.  But it was not really a matter of heroism.  Rather, it was self-protection, a coping mechanism.

This year I discovered that I have never really grieved.  This has been my year to surface that grief, experience it, live through it, and let my outsides match my insides. This has been a year of grief recovery for me. And it has been a good year filled with healing through the loving support of friends, therapy, and my wife’s comforting presence.

This year I intentionally went to their graves to remember, speak with, and sit with those whom death has captured.

My blog has been silent this past week because this past weekend I visited Sheila’s grave with Jennifer and spent the evening with Sheila’s family in Ellijay, GA.  Last week I anxiously anticipated the journey and this week I have been talking with friends about it.  It was healing.

For the first time, I shed tears at Sheila’s grave, talked with her, and accepted that what could have been is not what is. I felt like my insides and my outsides were beginning to coalesce at last. Oh, I know it is not a done deal, but it feels right, healthy, and peaceful.

Sheila’s family welcomed me, embraced me, blessed me, and loved me along with Jennifer. I rediscovered that I still belong to them and they to me. I felt at home like at the end of a long journey into the far country.

I still don’t like graves.  🙂  Perhaps I never will.  But I recognize that visiting the graves was a necessary part of my healing this year. What I once resisted has become spirtually therapeutic for me.

Where I had found some measure of comfort through the years–and still do–is in assembling with God’s people.  Assembly has been an event, a moment that transcended time and space. It is the gathering of God’s people in the divine throne room–an assembly of past, present and future where all God’s saints, including those who rest in the grave, are gathered to God with Jesus by the power of the Spirit. I have been comforted by the experience of gathering with Sheila, Dad, and Joshua around God’s throne.  I love to sit in the assembly meditating, singing, listening and praying as a means of joining hands with those who have fallen asleep in Jesus. This is the theology of assembly that is at the heart of my recent book A Gathered People, written with Bobby Valentine and Johnny Melton. The book is dedicated “to those whom we love but cannot see except as we meet them around God’s throne every Lord’s Day.”

Now, however, I also have a new appreciation for visiting graves. There death stares me in the face–I cannot escape it and must process it. It brings acceptance (over time), opportunities to remember, and a terminus where we don’t forget the past but we don’t live in it either. I have not arrived, but I am learning…and growing.

This has been part of my “shack” experience this year. Thanks for listening.

Pray Romans 15:13 for me, my friends.

John Mark

[My book on the Shack is now available on Kindle.]

The portrayal of the Trinity in The Shack has come under two assaults from critics.  Some suggest The Shack teaches modalism while others believe it teaches tritheism. The fact that such polar opposite accusations are present in the blog-o-sphere indicates….well, it is interesting to say the least.  Perhaps it is more in the eye of the reader than in the text of the novel.

Heresy?

Modalism is an ancient heresy that affirms that the one God comes to us as Father, Son and Spirit–these are merely different modes of revelation or different hats that the one God wears. There is no personal distinction between the Father, Son and Spirit.  Rather, God is one person who appears in different ways at different times in the history of redemption. Ultimately, the Father is the same person as the Son and the Spirit is the same person as the Father and the Son is the same person as the Spirit. There are no real, personal distinctions or individuations of any kind within the one God.

Tritheism is another ancient heresy which few, if any, ever affirmed but the early church sought to avoid.  It affirms that God is a triad of three independent beings as if three gods came together to work on an agreed plan of action. They formed a kind of corporation to accomplish a task together. There is no union in substance or essence but only in terms of purpose and goal. They are three autonomous gods who decided to work together.

Trinitarianism has always sought to avoid both extremes, though not always successfully. I think The Shackwants to avoid those extremes as well.  It is hard to see modalism when all three sit at the table eating with Mack and he has personal conversations with each. Each is clearly distinct from the other in the parable.  Tritheism seems more likely because threeness is emphasized in The Shack.  But Young is also careful to stress the unity, mutual interdependence, and shared consciousness of Papa, Jesus, and Sarayu–their total transparency, deference and shared life are intended to communicate oneness.  In fact, Papa’s statement to Mack clearly rejects both modalism and tritheism (p. 101):

We are not three gods [tritheism, JMH], and we are not talking about one god with three attitudes [modalism, JMH], like a man who is a husband, father, and worker [wearing different hats, JMH]. I am one God and I am three persons, and each of the three is fully and entirely the one.

Young’s formulation is a classic statement of Trinitarianism: one God in three persons. It seems abundantly clear to me that he seeks to avoid both modalism and tritheism.

So, what are we to make of this? What is important here theologically? What generates confusion about this?

Modalism?

The accusation of modalism is basically rooted in Papa’s wounds. The Father, in Young’s parable, has stigmata, the wounds of the cross, on his theophanic body. He bears the marks of the cross.  “Mack noticed the scars in her wrists, like those he now assumed Jesus also had on his” (p. 95).  This is, supposedly, evidence of Patripassianism, that is, that the Father suffered on the cross as if the Father and Son were the same person rather than distinct persons.  Patripassianism is a form of modalism.

I think this accusation misses the point and thus misses one of the key theological motifs that the parable embraces.  The scars are not about modalism, but about the experience of the Father through the incarnation of the Son.  The Father suffers through the Son rather than suffering as the Son (Patripassianism).  The Father dwells in the Son as he suffers and thus the Father suffers as well. In that sense, as Papa says, “we were there together” (p. 96). The Father was in Christ reconciling the world to himself (cf. 2 Corinthians 5:19).

This is an important theological point.  The Father empathizes with humanity through the Son.  Mack wonders how Papa could ever understand how he feels….and then he sees the wounds on Papa as tears trickled down her face (p. 95).  When Jesus suffered, the Triune God–including the Father–suffered through him because he participates in the divine community and the divine community is transparent with each other. Jesus’ human experience becomes the experience of the Father through the shared consciousness of the Triune God. This does not mean that the Father became flesh or experienced flesh independently of the Son, nor does it mean that the Father died on the cross, but the Father did enter into human experience through the suffering of the Son by means of the shared consciousness (the oneness) of the Father, Son, and Spirit.

A populist understanding of atonement tends to distance the Father from the suffering of the Son. The Father is the punisher and the Son persuades the Father to accept us sinners.  The wounds on Papa are a corrective to this populist misunderstanding. When Mack is angry about how broken the world is, he asks “why doesn’t he do something about it?” “He already has,” Sophia answered, “Haven’t you seen the wounds on Papa, too?” (p. 164). The Father suffered–the whole Trinity suffered–through the death of Jesus, and they suffered for the sake of mercy and out of their love.  This is not modalism; this is good pastoral theology.

If you are interested in reading something more “heady” on this point–the Father suffered through the Son–I would recommend Between Cross and Resurrection: A Theology of Holy Saturday by Alan Lewis.

Tritheism?

Tritheism, it seems to me, is the more problematic accusation.  The problem in describing an theophanic encounter with the Father, Son and Spirit is the individualization of the Father, Son and Spirit.  Human language is limited in its attempt to approximate the transcendent reality of the Triune relationship.  Anytime we describe this relationship with human metaphors (e.g., African American Papa and Asian Sarayu) we risk reducing the Trinity to those metaphors. Anytime we talk about the Father, Son, and Spirit as distinct individuations or persons, we risk tritheism.

But Scripture itself does this.  There is a threeness that can certainly appear tritheistic at the baptism of Jesus–the Father’s voice, Jesus in the water, and the dove descending. John 14-17 can be read in a trithesitic way–there are clearly three identities with their own personal pronouns distinct from the other as Father, Son and Spirit. At the same time in John 14-17, there is unity of nature, purpose, and communion.

The fundamental problem, I think, is that the unity of the three persons of the Trinity far transcends any human ability to imagine.  Modern Westerners live so individualistically and look at the world with such compartmentalization that the substantial and communal unity of three persons is inconceivable. In reality, it is indescribable as the finite human mind attempts to grasp the transcendent unity of God in three persons.

Theophanies will naturally tend toward individuation but these are theopanies, not the reality of God within himself.  So, it seems to me that we should given Young a break here just as we see Scripture doing something similar.  Human language cannot fully describe or portray the one God in three persons.

The Shackseeks to maintain the Trinitarian balance of “oneness” and “threeness.” Whether it does or not is subject to debate just as any account–even by theologians of the rank of Barth, Pannenberg, etc.–is as well. But it seems clear to me that Young intends to steer a course between modalism and tritheism.

The Shack’sTrinitarianism

In fact, if we want to identify the Trinitarianism present in The Shack, it comes closest to the Social Trinitarianism of the Eastern fathers, particularly the Cappodocians, and is articulated by various modern theologians (even by the evangelical Stan Grenz and Reformed Cornelius Plantinga). What is important about this way of conceiving the Trinity is, in part, the social relation between the persons of the Trinity, that is, they exist in a communion of relationship in which they experience what the Greek church has called perichoresis. They live in a harmonious community as being-in-relation; they live in transparency and in sync with each other as one. The one God lives in a relational community, a circle of love, in a beautiful and wondrous dance of love. Their oneness far exceeds any vision of oneness humans can muster but their relationship is exactly what we were created to image in our communal life.

This is what, I think, Young pictures in The Shack. Clearly, it is an accomodative, metaphorial picture. It is art, not science. And this kind of picturing of the Trinity is a historic part of Eastern Orthodox iconography. One of the most famous is Rublev’s “Holy Trinity” (1410). The icon portrays Abraham’s three visitors as the Trinity. It paints a theophany.  Here, as in Young’s story, we have three sitting at a table communing with each other but also inviting us to commune with them.  Notice how the chalice on the table invites viewers to come sit at the table as well and drink with God.  I suggest that Young’s parable is a literary form of what is pictured in this icon.  It is far from heretical. Rather, it is a parabolic portrayal of the reality of social Trinitarianism which is what the Eastern church has affirmed for centuries.

Why Important?

Wounded people tend to isolate. Addicts immerse themselves in their own shame and feel unloved. Trinitarian theology is extremely important for the wounded and the addict because Social Trinitarianism emphasizes the relationality and communion of love between the three persons.  “Love and relationship,” Papa says, “already exists within Me”–within the Triune God.  God has never been alone but has always been being-in-relation, that is, always in relationship with another and that relationship is one of love.

What The Shack does is offer wounded people a vision of the loving relationship into which they are invited.  This is who God is–the lover who yearns to bear hug us and wants us to experience his own loving communion.  Wounded people want to be loved; they need to be loved.  They want to feel loved.  And this is who God, as Trinity, is–“I am love,” says Papa (p. 101).  This is not an abstract idea but a dynamic, real communing between the Father, Son, and Spirit.  The Father loved the Son before the foundation of the world (John 17:24).

The love that the Father, Son, and Spirit have for each other is exactly the love God wants us to experience in our relationship with him. The mission of God is that “the love with which” the Father “loved” the Son “may be in” us and they in us (John 17:26). As Jesus tells Mack, humans were “always intended to be [in] the very center of our love and our purpose” and “my purpose from the beginning was to live in you and you in me” (pp. 111-112).

That is truly amazing! It is the good news of the gospel. Though the world is broken and filled with pain, though I am wounded and sinful, the good news is that God places me at the center of his love and purpose. The good news is, no matter what my shack my look like, I am loved!

[My book on the Shack is now available on Kindle.]

One of the more striking dimensions of The Shack is the intimate picture Young paints of Mack’s relationship with the Triune God. This intimacy is portrayed through actions (eating, gardening, and cooking with God), language (“Papa”), and settings (lake, log cabin, garden). Relationality is at the heart of his picture–God lives in relationship with Mack, the kind of relationship that is fully and personally engaged in every aspect of Mack’s existence.

It seems obvious to me that “Papa” is a modernized English version of “Abba,” an Aramaic term for the male parent. But “Papa” communicates something that is not in the Aramaic term “Abba.” It has been a common misunderstanding that “Abba” is a diminutive form of “Father” such as “Daddy” or “Papa.” Actually, it is a determinative form which is clear by how it is translated into Greek in the New Testament. It is not translated as a vocative (“O Father” and thus could have a diminutive meaning of “Papa”). Rather, it is translated as a determinative (“the father”) in Mark 14:36, Romans 8:14, and Galatians 4:6. While “abba” is the diminutive (“Daddy”) in Modern Hebrew, there is no evidence that it is a diminutive in ancient Aramaic. Those interested in some detailed argument, check out James Barr, “‘Abba’ Isn’t ‘Daddy’,” Journal of Theological Studies 39 (1988): 28-47.

“Abba,” however, is direct address (cf. Mark 14:36) and since in colloquial speech the pronoun suffix is often dropped, the meaning is an expression of intimacy–perhaps something like “my dear father.” The word does express intimacy but with respect, honor, and reverence.

As a consequence, I’m not too enthused about “Papa” as a from of address to God in my own prayer life or talking about God since it can lack a sense of honor or reverence (depending on how it is heard or used). But I understand the point Young wants to make. He wants to lead us into a kind of familial familiarity with God. And, indeed, we should embrace that kind of relationship with the Triune God. “Papa” works as a metaphor for intimacy, but unintended consequences/implications may render its usefulness in liturgy or theology suspect. It can reduce God to a “papa” (a human conceptualization) if we remove it from the context of the novel itself or the context of a broader theology (conception of God).

The context is important here. As I have previously written in other posts, Young is seeking to reconnect wounded people with the God whom they believe, in some sense, wounded them. Consequently, an emphasis on intimacy, relationality, and familiarity is important for healing. Wounded people need to experience the delight that God has in them, the ease with which God converses with them, and the friendliness of God. Young’s parable should be assessed in this context. With this purpose, “Papa” works as a metaphor.

At this point it would be easy to critique the way Young portrays how chummy God is with Mack. One could easily forget about God’s transcendent otherness, his holy separateness when watching Papa, Jesus and Sarayu converse with Mack. But this would be unfair to Young’s purpose.

There are moments when Papa reminds Mack that his appearance to him does not mean that now Mack can fully grasp God’s identity. For example, Papa tells Mack, “I am far more than that, above and beyond all that you can ask or think” (p. 98) and it is a “good thing” that Mack cannot “grasp the wonder” of God’s nature (p. 101). This is a healthy emphasis on divine transcendence.

But despite such caveats and the parabolic context, nagging discomfort remains for some. I understand that discomfort. I feel it a bit myself. I think I feel it because I sense that there is not sufficient acknowledgement of the holiness of God in the book. What I mean by “holiness” is not God’s ethical perfection, but God’s otherness and separateness (cf. Psalm 99:1-3). It is the kind of “holiness” that demands that Moses take off his shoes before the theophany of the burning bush (Exodus 3). It is the kind of “holiness” that evokes a confession from Isaiah before the throne of God (Isaiah 6). This is missing in the novel. And, yet, at the same time, I understand why it is missing: wounded people initially need divine intimacy rather than divine transcendence for their healing.

A corollary of this missing sense of divine holiness is the absence of the wrath of God in the work. But is it really absent? It is absent in the sense that the fire of God consumes sinful people, but it is not absent in the sense that God holds Mack accountable at every point. Mack is not let off the hook. He is confronted, particularly in the chapter where he appears before Sophia. Mack is forced to face judgment in the sense that he has to face himself and acknowledge the truth about himself.

Young’s focus on intimacy and relationship is healthy for wounded people. It is not the whole story and there is no claim that the parable tells the whole story. This parable is no more the whole story than the Prodigal Son is the whole story. But it has a significant and important point to make about intimacy.

Intimacy is what religion addicts and performance-oriented believers lack. We do the rituals, follow the rules, and pursue good works for approval or out of duty. This ultimately wounds us by shaping us into people who emphasize rules rather than relationships. And when the other wounds of life come, it provides little comfort. Rather, we take our licks, continue our performance, and hide a nagging sense of God’s unfairness in our hearts. Since we have little or no relationship with God–no intimacy–we pull ourselves up by our boot straps and keep on keeping on. We persevere in our duty.

That kind of perseverance, however, turns into bitterness and meanness. We are upset that others are not performing like we perform. We are bitter that we are wounded despite our good performances. We become unforgiving, unmerciful, and unhappy–we will treat others the way we think God has treated us, or at least as other religion addicts have treated us. Nevertheless we keep doing our duty because we are religion addicts.

Intimacy is the path of healing for addicts. Intimacy with God–eating with him at the table, as in the Lord’s Supper, for example–heals wounds. It is not the only aspect of God, nor should we reduce God to some human conception of intimacy, but it is a necessary part of healing from our woundedness. Intimacy brings joy in the midst of hurt. Intimacy displays God’s delight in and joy for us. Intimacy with God brings forgiveness, mercy, and joy.

It is in that context that the metaphor “Papa” works for me. God has invited me into the circle of his love to enjoy the familial reality that is the communion of the Triune God. God rejoices and sings over me…even in my shack. Wow!

Thanks, Papa.

[My book on the Shack is now available on Kindle.]

One of the most striking features of Young’s parable is his depiction of the Father. This has occasioned criticism at several levels.

Is it idolatry to portray the Father in such a manner? Does the female metaphor undermine the biblical image of the Father?

Admittedly, the imagery is startling. To picture the Father as a gregarious African American woman is counter-intuitive to most Western Christian sensibilities. Is the Father really so gregarious? Is the Father female? Is the Father African American? Is the initmacy too chummy, too familiar? Is the holiness–the transcendent separateness of the divine–trumped here? (I will take up the latter two questions in my next post.)

My take on this literary move by Young is shaped by my understanding of what he is doing in The Shack. Young is weaving a story that will help wounded people come to believe that God really loves them. Many, like Young himself, were wouonded by their fathers. In the story Mack was physically abused by his father and wants nothing to do with him.

One critical moment in the parable is when the door of the shack swings open and Mack meets God. Whose face will he see? What kind of face will he see? How will God greet Mack? If Mack sees his father, then shame, hurt, anger, and pain would fill his heart. Instead Mack sees a woman of color. This arises out of Young’s own experience when his earliest memories of love and acceptance were shaped by the dark skinned women of New Guinea. Those memories and some subsequent relationships with African American women shaped Young’s character in the story.

The African American form of the Father in the parable is a metaphor; it is not a one-to-one image of the Father as if it were an idolatrous substitute for God himself. It functions as a theophany in the story, not a digital photo. It comes in a vision (dream; Mack had cried himself to sleep on the floor of the Shack). God appears to Mack as an African American woman because this is a metaphor that will communicate to Mack how delighted God is to spend time with him. It is a metaphor that overturns some mistaken conceptions of God in Mack’s mind–conceptions that are more rooted in his abusive earthly father than in the God of Scripture. It is a theophany–the appearance of God in a particular form for the sake of encounter and communication.

Theophanies are common in Scripture. God comes as three visitors to Abraham’s tent. God, in the form of a man, wrestles with Jacob. God comes as a dove descending out of the heavens. God appears as a burning bush. God is even pictured with hands and feet sitting on a throne in the Holies of Holies.

I don’t find a theophanic depiction of the Father disturbing. It would be rather Neoplatonic to ascribe to the Father a kind of transcendence that cannot appear to human beings in a theophany, vision, or dream. This does not detract from the revelation of God in Jesus. In fact, it is consistent with that revelation where incarnation moves beyond theophany as well as the theophanies of the Hebrew Scriptures.

God comes to his people in a way that communicates something about himself. This does not mean that the form in which he comes is actually who God is. To identify the form with God himself is idolatry and fails to recognize that God transcends any form in which he appears. Instead, it is a revelation of himself through a particular medium but not limited to that medium. I think this is what Young is doing in his novel.

In fact, it is a brillant move. I know people who cannot connect with the Father’s love because their own father was so abusive. If they opened their shacks and saw their fathers, they would hesitate, doubt, and reject the “love” offered. Their hearts would leap with fear rather than delight. But if they open their shacks and saw that God has come to them in a theophanic form (metaphor) which connects with loving experiences in their own life, then they would more readily embrace the love offered. God meets us in our personal experiences in ways that best communicate his love for us.

Scripture uses feminine metaphors to describe God’s love for his people (cf. Isaiah 49:15). Young simply uses the metaphor in an extended way to make the same point that Biblical authors do. It is not an indentification but a metaphor or a theopany of divine love.

God, of course, is neither African American nor Asian nor Western. God, of course, is neither male nor female. God transcends and at the same time encompasses such categories. Masculinity and femininity are both aspects of the divine nature since we (male and female) were created in the image of God. Whether black or white or red or yellow–as we sing the children’s song, the diverse ethnicity and colors are also aspects of God’s own diversity (the Trinity) and his love for the diverse character of creation.

Young recognizes the relative way in which God appears as a African American woman by changing the metaphor when Papa leads Mack to Missy’s body. On that day Mack would need a father, that is, he would need the human qualities that father’s represent, and Papa comes to him as male. The form in which God appears to Mack is relative to Mack’s needs as God seeks to commune and communicate the truth about himself with his beloved.

The theological truth is that God is delighted to meet us at our shacks. Young communicates this through an African American metaphor for the Father because it is what Mack needs (and how Young found recovery in his journey through addiction).

I find it helpful to use different metaphors for God as I envision his delight in me and experience the comfort of his enveloping love–something I am still learning to do. Whether it is crawling into my mother’s lap or a bear hug from my brother, it communicates something true about the Father where an image of a male parent might not exactly do the same thing for me emotionally and spiritually. The Shack’s metaphor is bold and daring but enriching and redemptive for those who connect with it given their own particular experiences.

Our imagination, guided by the truths of Scripture and sanctified by the Spirit, is an important tool for letting the truth that God loves us sink into our hearts, into our guts. During my devotional time, I envision the Father, Son and Spirit meeting with me. They are delighted that I have come to listen to them and talk with them. They welcome me. My imagination becomes a means by which I experience, by the power of the Spirit, the love of the Triune God.

The Shack has given many believers the resources to imagine–to visualize in their minds–their own encounter with God for the sake of imbibing his love and letting it settle into their hearts. The Spirit can use our imagination, just as he uses our dreams, art, poetry, didactic teaching, assembled praise, and the sacraments for such purpose as well.

For those interested, here is a 30 minute video where Young talks about his book.

[My book on the Shack is now available on Kindle.]

If you are interested in a pastoral review of The Shack, that five part series begins here.

While some have perhaps read The Shack as an actual account, the title page clearly identifies the piece as a “novel.” This is a fictional story.

Young himself identifes the literary genre in which he writes as an extended modern parable (listen to his personal story). This is helpful. Like a parable, the events described are fictional though quite possible. And also like a parable, it may communicate something true about God.

For example, the Prodigal Son (Luke 16) is a fictional but true story. It is fictional in the sense that the story has no correspondance in fact, that is, it is not a story about a specific, actual family. But the story is nevertheless true. The Prodigal Son communicates truth. It is theological reflection.

A parabolic story draws the listener or reader into the world of the parable so that we might see something from a particular angle. A parable is not comprehensive theology, but a narratival way of saying a particular thing. As a piece of art rather than didactic prose, it allows a person to hear that point in an emotional as well as intellectual way. It gives us imagery, metaphor, and pictures to envision the truth rather than merely propositions that state it. Parables, as the parables of Jesus often do, can sucker-punch us so that we begin to see something we had not previously seen about ourselves, about God, or about the kingdom. They speak to us emotionally in ways that pure prose does not usually do, much like music, art and poetry are expressive in ways that transcend prose.

The Shack is, I think, a piece of serious theological reflection in parabolic form. It is not a systematic theology. It does not cover every possible topic nor reflect on God from every potential angle. That is not its intent. It is not a comprehensive “doctrine of God.” Its focus is rather narrow. Fundamentally, I read the book as answering this question: how do wounded people journey through their hurt to truly believe in their gut that God really loves them despite the condition of their “shack”?

When reading The Shack as serious theological reflection, it is important to keep in mind two key points. First, Young wrote the story to share with his family (primarily his kids) the theological dimensions of his journey into recovery. His family recognizes that he is “Mack,” that Missy is his own lost childhood, and Mack’s encounter with God is the story of his last eleven years to find healing. It is a story into which his children can enter to understand their father’s journey.

Second, it is serious theology in that he shares the vision of God that is at the root of his healing. The parable teaches the truth–the truth he came to believe through the process of his own recovery and healing. The “truth,” however, is not that God is an African American woman–that is the parabolic form. Rather, the “truth” is that God is “especially fond” of Paul (Mack) despite his “shack” (his “stuff”).

The theological message, once it found a publisher, is now availalbe for others than his children. It now became a parable for other readers as well through which Young invites us to see that the truth he discovered in his own recovery is true for every one of us. God is “especially fond” of each of us no matter what the condition of our “shacks”.

In this series–and I have no idea how far or long I will go with this–I will use Young’s parable as an occasion for thinking about some significant theological themes. The Shack will provide the fodder but I will not limit myself to the book in developing those themes.

While one aspect of my purpose is to discern whether The Shack is as heretical as some seem to think, my larger intent is to think about these themes in the context of my own journey to find healing in the midst of woundedness as well as to think more broadly about what our vision of God actually is.

So, I invite you to read, reflect, and discuss these themes with me, but I write for my own processing more than I write for you. 🙂

Good news and bad news.

The bad news is that the Cubs lost their only three postseason games this year and will not be going to the World Series.

The good news is that the cosmos is stable, the economic crisis has not disturbed the fundamental mechanics of the universe, and electoral deceptions do not disrupt the fabric of the most basic truths of life. The Cubs lost–the world is as it should be.

Am I sad? Not really. Oh, I would have enjoyed a Cub run through the Series to victory. I would have savored it.

But I am a Cubs fan. I understand loss. It does not surprise me. I even, to some degree, find my identity as a Cubs fan in the futility, the pain, and the disappointment. There is a sadistic kind of joyo in losing for a Cubs fan. It is the way it is. 🙂

I am not a johnny-come-lately Cubs fan. I have been a fan since 1967 (since I was 10 years old)–the years of Billy Williams, Fergie Jenkins, Ernie Banks, Ron Santo, etc. I was a Cubs fan long before WGN went cable.

So, my serenity is not disturbed by an early exit from the postseason. In fact, my serenity does not come from sports at all.

If I may wax a bit theological here….are you surprised?….my theology of “play” is not about winning or distraction. It is about enjoying the moment; about taking pleasure in the gifts God has given to his world. To play–or to watch vicariously–is a kind of abandonment to the moment, to experience joy (even when we lose!).

I enjoy the Cubs as a part of my “playing,” just as I enjoy other moments of “play” (from playing cards to playing with my wife). They provide moments of life, moments of joy, spontaneous moments that re-create and enliven our stories.

But my serenity does not depend on winning or losing. My serenity comes from playing in the presence of God…just as the Sabbath was not simply a day of rest, but a day of enjoyment, a day to play…just as the Song of Songs was about the playfulness of sexual love between a man and woman…just as biblical hospitality is not merely an ethical obligation but a moment to play as well.

So, the Cubs lost. That’s ok. God is stil God–obviously! And my abiding joy–as I continue to learn–comes from a divine presence rather a Cubs World Series victory. To despair over a loss in sports is a loss of perspective about what is truly important and from where true joy comes.

P. S. For those interested in a good book on the “theology of play,” read my former professor’s The Christian at Play by Robert K. Johnston. Enjoy! 🙂

[My book on the Shack is now available on Kindle.]

I now come to the third theme in The Shack that I find both emotionally and theologically compelling. The first theme is God’s total delight in and fondness for his children no matter what their shacks look like.  The second theme is that trusting in God’s goodness and loving purposes is the key to living through our Great Sadnesses. The third theme is forgiveness.

Forgiveness is just beneath the surface in the first half of Young’s parable.  By the end it becomes central to Mack’s healing.  Our shacks only become mansions through the grace of forgiveness. Without forgiveness–both receiving and giving–our shacks will remain broken. Without forgiveness–both receiving and giving–we are “stuck” in the Great Sadness.

Forgiving Others

Mack thought he had come to the end of his spiritual journey at the moment he finally learned to trust Papa (p. 222) which is how we experience the circle of God’s Triune loving relationship–through dependance and trust. Mack had arrived, or so he thought.

Papa took Mack on a “healing trail,” but it was not just about Missy’s body. It was about something much deeper, much more difficult.  If Mack is going to fully experience the circle of divine love, then he must also enter into the circle of forgiveness.  Papa says, “I want to take away one more thing that darkens your heart” (p. 223). Mack must forgive the “son of bitch who killed” his Missy (p. 224), about whom Mack had earlier said “damn him to hell” (p. 161).

I believe this is one of the more stirring sections of The Shack and, I think, filled with profound wisdom as well as striking statements.  How do we forgive someone who killed our inner child?  Young remembers his father’s abuse and the sexual abuse he received from tribal children in New Guinea. How can he forgive those who wounded his soul so deeply?

Forgiveness is an obligation of tremendous significance.  The Lord’s Prayer reminds us that we ask God to forgive us as we have forgiven others (Matthew 6:12) and if we do not forgive others then God does not forgive us (Matthew 6:14-15).

But forgiveness is more than a duty; it is an entrance into the circle of divine life. It is an expression of divine life itself. We experience the heart of God when we forgive. We know the nature of God as an insider through forgiving others.

And yet there is also this deep yearning for justice, even revenge.  As Mack says, “if I can’t get justice, I still want revenge.” Papa’s response is brilliantly on point, “Mack, for you to forgive this man is for you to release him to me and allow me to redeem him” (p. 224). Mack, and the reader, is reminded of an earlier scene where Sophia gloried in how “mercy triumphs over justice because of love” at the cross, and then asks Mack, “Would you instead prefer he’d chosen justice for everyone?” (pp. 164-5).

God wants to redeem even those who have wounded us and he prefers mercy for them just as he preferred it for us. Our act of forgiveness releases them to God and takes the burden off us. We can let go of resentment, bitterness, and vengeance as we leave it in the hands of God.

Are we still angry about the wounds?  Yes.  Anger is certainly a healthy response toward abuse, for example. Papa says, “anger is the right response to something that is so wrong.”  “But,” he continues, “don’t let the anger and pain and loss you feel prevent you from forgiving him and removing your hands from around his neck” (p. 227). Forgiving someone does not excuse their actions, but it does release them from our judgment into the hands of God who will handle justice in his world. Forgiveness means that we are no longer vindictive, seeking to do the other harm.  We no longer take them by the throat but hand them over to God.

Forgiveness doesn’t seem fair, does it? That is the joy of receiving it….and the difficulty of giving it.  None of us wants fairness when we are receiving forgiveness but we tend to want our “pound of flesh” before giving it. In forgiving we not only release the offender to the judgment of God, we also release ourselves from the weight of resentment which is too heavy to bear and will only sour the sweetness in our lives.

How do we let go of resentment?  Here is a practice that I have recently discovered though it has been around for centuries. It is so simple that I feel like an idiot for not having practiced it earlier in my life. 🙂  To forgive and let go, I simply pray for that person every day for a month.  Every day I say to God, “I forgive ‘Joe,’ and I want you to give him every blessing that I seek in my own life.” I have found that habit–which is also suggested in the “Big Book” of the 12-Step program (p. 552)–liberating and enriching.  Whenever I feel resentment, I pray for those I resent, and I pray daily for them until I feel the release…and it may take weeks!  🙂

Forgiveness is not reconciliation. It only takes one to forgive, but it takes two to reconcile. Forgiveness is something that happens in our souls without respect to who the offender is, what they have done, or how they feel about what they have done. Forgiveness is a gift to ourselves by the power of the Spirit who enables us to exercise the love of God in our own hearts. To forgive is to be free. To forgive is to be like God and share his love.

The “miracle” of reconciliation begins with the “miracle” of forgiveness. There can be no reconciliation except where the offended forgives the offender.  I think the word “miracle” is appropriate because such acts are divinely enabled and are themselves participation in the supernatural divine life itself. When we extend forgiveness, and it finds a tender response in the forgiven, then we will, according to Papa to Mack, “discover a miracle” in our own hearts that allows us to build “a bridge of reconciliation” between the parties involved (p. 226). The miracle begins with God working in our own hearts and not waiting for the “other person” to make the first move.  The first move is forgiveness; it was God’s own first move, right?

Forgiving Self

Mack has a problem, however, with himself as well as with the murderer.  He lives under the burden of self-blame and self-punishment.  He deserves, so he thinks, to live in the “Great Sadness” because he did not protect his daughter.

The “Great Sadness,” when we feel responsible in some way (no matter how small!), creates a self-perpetuating cycle of blame and punishment. It becomes a form of self-flagellation. We deserve the pain, so we think. It is our just deserts. How can Mack enjoy life when Missy is dead? He has no right to joy and peace. He did not protect his Missy. He even feels like God is punishing him because of how he treated his father as a teenager (p. 71, 164). That is the insanity into which the “Great Sadness” throws us.

How do people forgive themselves?  I wish I knew.  Ok, I have some ideas, but I don’t know how to let it sink into my soul.  I still have days where I want to beat myself up over my divorce. I still feel a deep sense of failure over it and sometimes I still feel the guilt associated with that failure.

I do recognize problems in my occasional foray into self-affliction.  For example, my self-worth is not found in my perfection, my ability to keep the law. My self-worth is found in the delight my God has for me; he welcomes me and is “especially fond” of me.

On one occasion when I was shaming myself for my sins, a friend asked an empowering question. “Do you believe God has forgiven you?”  Yes, of course, I answered.  “So, do you know something God doesn’t know?” I recognized the point immediately, at least intellectually. When I fail to forgive myself, I make myself god.  I become the judge.  Whereas God has declared me “free,” I continue to bind myself to my sins. What I forgive in others and what God forgives in me, I find difficult to forgive in myself.  That is nothing but arrogance and ingratitude. But it is easier said than done.

The Shack, however, has helped me process self-forgiveness. It is rooted in trusting God’s fondness for me, his forgiveness, and that God finds me worth his sacrifice for the sake of enjoying my presence (p. 103). The parable provides a narrrative in which to experience God’s love which enables me to forgive myself.

God takes my “shack” and transforms me into a mansion.  When I experience God’s forgiveness at the gut level and when God’s beaming joy envelops me, then I can see self-affliction as rebellion and self-forgiveness as trust.  I can even see Papa smile and wink as I look myself in the mirror and say “I forgive you.”

Forgiving God

Mack blames God (p. 161).  He becomes the accuser, taking on the role of the Accuser (Satan). He assaults the goodness and honesty of God. His anger boils against the one who did not protect Missy. Mack must learn to “forgive” God. The Shack does not use this language and I am extending the parable’s point here. I am taking it a step beyond what is present in the book.

“To forgive God” is a difficult expression and it must be carefully nuanced.  When Rabbi Kushner adopted J.B.’s position from Archibald MacLeish’s modern retelling of the Job drama, he suggested that humans need to forgive God in order to move on with their lives.  Humans need “to forgive God for not making a better world.” After all, in Kushner’s worldview, God is ontologically limited–he can’t do anything about evil in the world or heal diseases. To forgive God, then, is to recognize his limitations and not expect more from him than he can deliver.

This is not, however, what I mean by “forgiving God.” It is not to forgive God’s limitations or his unrighteous acts. The transcendent God does not have limitations and he is holy without any darkness.  Forgiveness, in the sense of showing mercy toward an imperfection, is not applicable to God. So, what does it mean to “forgive God”?

Fundamentally, it means letting go of the need to judge God. It means letting go of “getting back” at God, of brooding over the seeming unfairness of it all. That kind of resentment and bitterness not only stalls spiritual growth, it can kill it. Instead of holding a grudge against God, we let it go.

This is has been my experience; my anger with God has led to self-pity and resentment. I have, at times, felt “picked on” by God. I have railed against God with the angry but despairing cry, “This is just too much.” I understand that anger and I cannot simply pretend like it is not there (though I have tried that as well, stuffing it down into my soul). But anger is not the problem–anger should be vented, expressed, prayed. At the same time, it is the deep mistrust that sometimes accompanies anger which turns it into resentment.

When Mack blamed God, resented him, and was willing to simply give up on God (Mack: “I’m done, God” [p. 80]), it was because of his basic distrust of God’s goodness and purposes. When trust re-enters his soul, he lets go of the blame-game; he lets go of the resentment. This is a form of “forgiving” God.  Trust conquers fear; faith triumphs over resentment; and love does not blame.

Perhaps Mack could have prayed, and we might pray:

“God, I don’t understand why this great sadness is part of my life.  I don’t know why you allowed it.  It seems so meaningless and hurtful to me. Every fiber of my being wants to protest and even rebel.  But I know you are good.  I know you love me.  I trust you.  I forgive you and let go of my resentment. Open your heart to me that I might enjoy the circle of your love and feel your fondness for me. Increase my trust and root out my resentment. Though I do not understand or know the way, I will walk by faith and trust that you will lead me in your way.”

“Who is a God like you, who pardons sin and forgives transgression…” Micah 7:18

“forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you…” Ephesians 4:32b

[My book on the Shack is now available on Kindle.]

The first time I encountered the phrase “The Great Sadness” in The Shack it immediately resonated with me.  I knew exactly what my own “Great Sadness” was though I did not as yet know what Mack’s was or what Young’s own personal sadness was.

Grief Renders the Creation Colorless

My “Great Sadness,” like Mack’s, colored everything in my life. It touched every aspect of my being–the way I looked at the world, the way I experienced life.  It sapped the color out of life and turned everything to a dingy grey and, at times, an “inky darkness,” as The Shack describes so well. The “Great Sadness” tints our vision with shades of grey and black rather than with bright, vibrant, and life-affirming colors (p. 196). It sees the world through tinted windows. It is worse than blinding; it distorts the goodness of God.

Mack’s “Great Sadness” is his missing, and presumed dead, daughter Missy. For Paul Young, the author, Missy is a metaphor for his murdered innocence as a child; it is his wounded child.  Young was wounded by a physically abusive and angry father as well as by sexual abuse from others.  His “Great Sadness” is lost innocence and unhealed childhood wounds. Missy’s murder is Young’s own childhood loss.

My own “Great Sadness” is the cumulative experience of the deaths of my wife, son, and second marriage.  To many I have given the appearance of strength and joy.  But I now realize that was mostly a facade.  It was an unintentional deception.  I had built a Hollywood front around my “Great Sadness.”  It is easier to put up a facade than to deal with the real hurt and pain that goes so deep that you can’t imagine ever being rid of it.

The “Great Sadness” shapes how life is lived. It becomes our “closest friend;” it is darkness (Psalm 88:18).  I hid that darkness deep within me, giving no one–not even my wife–access to the hurt.  It hurt too much to speak. To acknowledge the pain would shatter my heroic self-image, my identity. The “Great Sadness” had become, like for Mack (p. 170), my identity as I lost joy in my inner soul and propped up the image of a superman, the Great Comforter. While I have no doubt God worked through me in ways beyond my imagination, I now know that I did not deal with my own grief in healthy ways.

It is easier to ignore, numb, or escape the feelings of grief than to live through them. Mack’s journey in The Shack is the story of dealing with his grief and anger that had become a barrier to his relationship with God and others.

My “Great Sadness” stalled my spiritual growth; honestly, it more than stalled it, it diminished it. And, in February of this year, I crashed.  I, like Mack, was “stuck” (p. 161) in emotionless silent grief and anger (p. 64).  It was an anger toward God as well as myself, perhaps mostly at myself. I was not living up to my own self-image; I was not honest with my own pain.  Instead of seeking spiritual nourishment, I performed. I thought that would do it. I thought excelling would heal the grief, soothe the anger, and get God and I on the same page. But my performance was an escape; it was a religious addiction, a workaholism. I was running from my grief rather than living through it.

I was, in fact, holding back the tears. The Shack has renewed my appreciation for tears. The waterfall present on the shack’s property is a symbol for tears (cf., p. 167).  Tears can “drain away” the pain and replace it with relief (173); they are God’s gift to cry “out all the darkness” (p. 236). And the Holy Spirit collects tears and they become part of the heart of God himself (p. 84). Indeed, God himself weeps with us and sheds his own tears (pp. 92, 95). God, as Young rightly pictures it, is “fully available to take [our] pain into [himself]” (p. 107). That is the empathetic, redemptive, atoning love of God.

Stuck in Grief and Anger

One of the more significant points The Shack raises is what fuels the “Great Sadness” when we are “stuck” in it.  Why does it continue? Why does it sink in deeper? Why does it become an identity rather than an experience endured? This is pursued in one of the more outstanding chapters in the book, “Here Come Da Judge.”

Sophia, the Wise One, invites Mack to sit in the judge’s chair.  Mack will decide how the world is run. The encounter is analogous to Job’s encounter with God in Job 38-42, and presumably Young wants us to draw the link.  As God questioned Job, so Sophia questions Mack. Though Mack sits as judge–because this is what he has presumed himself to be in his anger–Sophia questions him about love, blame, and punishment.

The dialogue reveals the underlying problem. Sadness is never intended to be an “identity.” When the “Great Sadness” becomes our identity rather than our just part of our experience, we get stuck in the Sadness instead of living through it. It becomes our “identity” because it consumes our experience, becomes the sum total of our experience, and colors everything we are, believe, know, and hope.

Then the point comes. Sophia, the personification of divine wisdom (like Proverbs 8), asks what “fuels” the Sadness. She answers her own question with a rhetorical one, “That God cannot be trusted?” (p. 161). Rather than trusted God is blamed. This is the critical juncture; this is the orienting choice humans make. This is how we get “stuck.”

We do not trust–at a deeply emotional level–that God is really good.  We do not trust–with our heart as much as our head–that God loves all his children.  We do not trust–with our gut–that God has a goal or purpose for his world, for my own children, for me. We doubt that every story participates in God’s Story and that his interest in everyone’s story (even Missy’s or Joshua’s) is good, loving, and meaningful.

As many, including the fictional Mack (p. 141) and the real Paul Young, I have lived much of my life in the past or the future. I am only now truly learning to live in the present, to live one day at a time. Living in the past or future is largely driven by fear–fear of past secrets, hurts and pains or future ones. It is the kind of living that Job confessed: “What I feared has come upon me; what I dreaded has happened to me” (Job 3:25). And, as Jesus tells Mack, “your imagination of the future, which is almost always dictated by fear of some kind, rarely, if ever, pictures me there with you” (142). The future without God is indeed bleak.

Jesus then said to Mack, “You try and play God, imagining the evil you fear becoming reality, and then you try and make plans and contingencies to avoid what you fear.”  Mack asked, “So why do I have so much fear in my life?”  “Because you don’t believe,” Jesus responded.  “To the degree that those fears have a place in your life,” Jesus continued, “you neither believe I am good nor know deep in your heart that I love you” (p. 142).

Exactly! I have said it before, written it (Yet Will I Trust Him), and knew it in my head, but it had not sunken deep into my heart, into my emotional being. The baggage of my life, for the most part, prevented God’s love from fully saturating my soul.

This, for me, has been the value of The Shack.  It has given me powerful emotional imagery to explore my grief, recognize my own “shack,” embrace the theological and emotional truth of God’s love at a new level, and see beyond the Sadness.  Emotional, of course, does not mean irrational or atheological, but it does mean that God has used this story to connect me more fully, more deeply with his Story.

The Garden

The Garden that sits beside the shack in Mack’s vision is important.  The garden is Mack’s own heart, his soul. It is a chaotic mess but beautiful, and more importantly, tended by the Holy Spirit. Indeed, speaking for the Triune community, the Spirit assures Mack that it is also “our garden” (p. 232). There is hope for the mess because God works in this garden; it is his garden too! To God it is not a mess but a fractal. It has meaning, significance, beauty, and purpose.

Amidst the “chaos in color” (p. 128), there is a “wound in the garden” (131). It is Mack’s pain, his “Great Sadness.” Young offers a wonderful picture of somatic and psychodramatic endurance of grief. Papa leads Mack to the body of his daughter, Mack weeps for her, and carrys her back to the garden for burial. Mack buries her in his heart–in ground prepared by the Spirit, with a casket made by Jesus, and in the loving embrace of the Father. It is a pure act of love. With their presence, the garden blossoms with the beauty of Missy’s life and God’s heart.

Mack’s encounter with the Triune God has given him perspective. He sees his life as a garden tended by God.  Through his story-telling and his own recovery, Young is able to “become the child he never was allowed to be” and abide “in simple trust and wonder” (pp. 246-47).  The more his woundedness heals, the more intimtate he becomes with God and with others. And he can even see the wounds as part of the process. The journey, in the judgment of The Shack, is worth it just as Jesus’ own journey through his Great Sadness was worth it (pp. 103, 125).

Mack–Paul Young, and I would add myself–now progressively though imperfectly embrace “even the darker shades of life as a part of some incredibly rich and profound tapestry; crafted masterfully by invisible hands of love” (p. 248).

“I believe, Lord; help my unbelief.”

[My book on the Shack is now available on Kindle.]

“Triune Shine”….what is that?  Ok, I admit it is my own invention.  But hear me out, ok?

Many who have attended a 12-Step group for any length of time have heard about the “shine.”  It might be an “AA shine,” or an SA, NA, OA, WA, etc.  The “shine” is the glow of recovery, and it stands in stark contrast with the first time that someone attended a meeting. In their first meeting, addicts enter despondent, shamed, and hopeless. They attend a meeting as a last gasp of sanity.  Through recovery–working the steps which includes confession and spiritual transformation–they begin to “shine” with hope, joy and contentment.

I have turned the phrase on its head.  When I say “triune shine,” I do not mean that the Trinity has gone through recovery.  I hope that is obvious.  🙂  I mean the opposite.  An encounter with the Triune God leaves a shine on our faces. It is the afterglow of meeting God at our shacks.

Shine, of course, is what shacks need. Our shacks are broken, empty, dark, and hidden. They need healing, filling, light and openness. When our true selves–our shacks–encounter the healing life and light of God in authentic relationship, we are transformed into the beautiful images of God–beautiful homes. Shacks become mansions when we meet God in the circle of love. Our shacks get a triune shine and become mansions.

This is Mack’s vision of God, of course.  Mack, contemplating suicide, cries himself to sleep on the floor of the shack filled with anger, grief, and pain. This darkness was Mack’s closest friend (much like Psalm 88:18); the Great Sadness was all too familiar to him (p. 79).

Upon waking, Mack left the shack only to turn around to see it transformed into a beautiful log cabin with a garden and manicured lake. Hearing laughter from the cabin, Mack cautiously approached its front door (p. 81).

This is a critical moment in the book; and it is a critical moment in our lives.  Can we really believe that our shacks can become mansions?  Can we really believe that our pain, hurt, and shame can be transformed into joy, beauty, and honor?  I think it is almost impossible to believe that; it certainly seems impossible.

My own experience tells me it is well nigh impossible to believe that in the midst of the pain itself. The pain is a fog that blinds us. As Papa says to Mack, “When all you can see is your pain, perhaps then you lose sight of me” (p. 96). Shame accuses us, and we feel the guilt and burden of our sin and addictions. I understand how impossible it is to believe; I’ve been there.  The shack is hopeless; the fog is real; the soul is broken.

Addicts–and all who know themselves as sinners, and sin is itself an addiction–feel they deserve the shack. It is where they belong. They are unworthy of God’s love; they are a pile of “s**t.” As Mack thought to himself, while “God might really love” Nan, that is understandable because “she wasn’t a screw-up like him” (p. 66). Addicts, shamed by their compulsions and powerless before them, do not believe they are “good” people. Surely, they think, God could not love people like them.

So, Mack, standing on the front porch of the log cabin, is ready to knock on the door.  He is angry (“energized by his ire”), but he also feels like a screw-up. He does not know what to expect.  What will he find behind the door? He knows God invited him to the shack, but now the shack looks like a summer house, there is laughter inside, and he wonders how there can be laughter in a world where Missy is absent.

I think the story, at this point, invites us to contemplate our own vision and understanding of God.  When we knock on the door, who is this God that opens it?  When God opens the door to a shamed, guilt-ridden, hopeless but complusively driven addict, how does he greet him? Will God berate us for our addiction? Will he continue the shame by shaking his finger at him and rebuking him?  Will God’s face confirm our belief that God is disappointed with us?  Will God show his disgust?

This is why I think this is a critical point in the parable.  It says something about us and about whom we believe God to be.  Will we knock? Will we seek his face?  And what will God do? How will he receive us?

Before Mack can even knock, God–in the theopany of a gregarious African American woman–engulfs him in his/her love with a bear hug that lifts him off the ground and spins him “around like a little child.” God greets Mack as “a long-lost and deeply-loved relative” (p. 82).

No disappointment. No shaming.  No hesitation.  No rebuffing. No reminders of the past.  No anger.  Instead…an exhilarting, loving, enthusiastic “my, my, my how do I love you!” (p. 83).

When we encounter God, how will he receive us?  Will he check his list of rights and wrongs? Will he evaluate us on a point system of some kind? Will he look over our record and shake his head with frustration and disappointment? I think not. Young’s parable has it right.

Intellectually and theologically I get it. I really do think God’s reception of Mack in the story is the way it is. But, along with Mack, it is emotionally difficult to receive it and believe it.

I grew up with an angry God for the most part, at least I heard it that way.  He was the God of the Old Testament who zapped Uzzah for touching the ark, killed Nadab and Abihu over something as small as where they got the fire for the altar, and threw his original creation out of the garden over a piece of fruit.  My simplistic hearing of those stories fired my fear of a God who was always looking for my mistakes and ready to give me what I deserve. He was, in my young imagination, Zeus ready to fling thunderbolts at those who displeased him.

I also grew up with a God whose approval I sought, at least I heard it that way. The little boy in me saw God as one to please in order to gain his approval. I performed to please this God; I sought his applause and his delight. If I could do enough, then he would be pleased with me.  If I did it right, he would delight in me.  It was a kind of religious perfectionism. Add that with workaholism, and you have one tired dude running all over the world looking for Papa’s approval. That was (is?) me.

This is the joy of the emotional picture that Young’s parable offers. I already knew it intellectually, but emotionally I need to feel it in my gut. I needed to know–to know in ways that are not mere cognition but reach deep within my soul, my shack–that God delights in me and yearns to give me a big ole’ bear hug. I needed to know that God was “especially fond” of even me even when my performance is not “good enough.”  I need to feel deep down within me that God already delights in me and that I don’t need to seek his approval. Young’s thrilling picture of Mack’s encounter with God provides an image–a relational picture–that I can hang my hat on emotionally.

Even more….God is already present in my shack waiting for me to show up, waiting for me to be my true self. When I come to my shack, and when you go to yours, God is already there. He is waiting to renew, sustain, enjoy and pursue relationship with us. We find ourselves, even in the shack, right where we were designed to be–in the center of God’s circle of relational, triune love (p. 111).

Ultimately, Mack leaves the shack with a “Triune shine.” He comes to know that all his “best treasures are now hidden in” the Triune God rather than in his little tin box with Missy’s picture (p. 236).  His encounter with the Triune God has filled his emptiness and his nightmares have now become colorful, vibrant dreams.

The “Triune Shine” is what I call that deep recognition that I am loved by the Father, filled with his Spirit, and live in the life of the Son. The “Triune Shine” is the joy of living in a circle of relationship with Papa, Jesus, and Sarayu.

When the shack is filled with God and we choose to embrace that relationship, our shacks become log cabins (maybe even mansions 🙂 ).

Yet, we know that is a long journey. It is not a quick fix. But it is a divine promise.

P.S. As far as the controversial metaphors and ideas about the Trinity in The Shack, I will leave those for another day and another post. I think the point above is much more important than precision in our Trinitarian theology…and who can be truly precise about that anyway?!  🙂