Here you can find the video script written for our second session as a reference.
When we’re talking about Treasures of Darkness, I feel like you can’t go wrong with a good diamond metaphor…
Diamonds are formed in dark places, under incredible pressure, over long periods of time. There’s a huge cost involved, but you come out with something very precious. In the hands of the Designer, they’re cut, polished and transformed into something beautiful, yet incredibly hard — almost impossible to scratch. When placed on a black backdrop, the light reveals their purity.
It’s a picture of what God can do in our lives, as followers of Jesus, when we walk through dark and difficult times.
Diamonds have so many facets, so many angles. No two are exactly the same. When white light shines through them, it’s refracted in lots of different ways. The light is split into different colours, and you see its component parts. The diamond helps you see what you couldn’t see by yourself.
There’s something about the light of the gospel, as it shines through the substance of our faith, that enables us to see its amazing component parts.
And there’s many people in our church with pockets full of diamonds, pearls, and precious stones — pockets full of wisdom and experience. A tried and tested faith that’s become incredibly resilient, and of real substance.
This ‘treasures of darkness’ is such a huge topic. Like the many facets of a diamond, there’s so many things you could talk about, so many places you could start. You can’t quite sum it up in a short and snappy one-liner, like we so often want to.
Yet the place I think is most important to start is right down in the pit, when you’re at your lowest, when you feel like God might even have abandoned you.
One of the most famous passages in Scripture is in Isaiah 40 verse 31: “they who wait for the Lord will renew their strength; they shall mount up wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” We love this passage for obvious reasons.
But what we often miss is that this promise is made to a shattered people, who’ve lost everything. Here, in Isaiah 40, God’s people are in exile. They’ve been hunted almost to the point of extinction by foreign powers. And now they’ve been taken captive in Babylon.
Chaos and calamity surrounds them, the ground ripped from beneath their feet.
Yet if we rewind just few verses to verse 27, God questions them. He questions their despondent hearts: “Why do you say, O Jacob, and speak, O Israel, “My way is hidden from the LORD, and my right is disregarded by my God”?”
The Israelites feel like God has completely forgotten them, like he can’t even see them. Maybe even that God has abandoned them. Have you ever felt like that? Like you’re Heavenly Father just can’t see you, and your way is hidden from him. He can’t hear you, and he can’t hear your prayers?
Why else would he remain so inactive while you pray so desperately?
What we’re dealing with here is the often unspoken reality that your faith in a loving Father can actually make your experience of suffering much, much harder. Because not only are you dealing with physical suffering and all it’s ramifications, but it’s very much compounded by a God in Heaven who seems to be ignoring you; who claims to be good, who claims to love you, and be all-powerful.
This is a God who could just speak a word, or click his fingers and make all the bad stuff go away. Yet each and every time you pray, he presumably hears you, yet chooses not to act.
Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months. And horrifyingly, months turn into years, which can roll by, one after the other. Perhaps a mountain of prayer has gone up — and nothing seems to happen.
This anguish you feel, of being forgotten by God, can both eclipse and multiply all the other pain you’re going through. Often I think the emotional pain and the feeling of abandonment can actually be worse than the initial source of suffering.
Emotions can be very powerful, and can at times overwhelm you like a tsunami. It can blow all your lovely theology apart and leave you in quite a state of confusion. I know it has been that way for me at least. When I look back, it felt like my theology of suffering was roughly in place, but it was held together by sellotape. It hadn’t been stress-tested. It hadn’t yet been exposed to all the nuance — the elements that take you off-guard, and all the forces you don’t expect. And they can be overwhelming. It can leave you in a daze. You almost have to relearn everything you believe in light of your experience.
I think this is why it’s been said “Atheism is the opiate of the masses”. If we can just take God out of the equation, we can sooth that big emotional fallout, and make dealing with things that bit easier. We can piece things back together, and make sense of life and its difficulties in our own way, whilst simultaneously turning our back on a God who seems to have turned his back on us.
But in Isaiah 40 there’s a big clue in the text — that targets the heart of this emotional fallout. The text doesn’t just say “my way is hidden from the LORD” but “my right is disregarded by my God”. This is their complaint. This is the source of their anguish. The idea that God has abandoned them is attached to something they feel they are entitled to, that God has withheld, and hasn’t delivered.
And it’s like “ouch!”. The source of their anguish is directly connected to their sense of entitlement. That God owes them; and they have a right for it to be delivered in the timeframe that they deemed to be acceptable. At the heart of this fallout is the idea that God works for us, that we dictate what he should do, and when.
That’s a very humbling thing to read, and consider — and apply to our own lives. It’s certainly been very humbling for me, as I’ve walked through a sleep disorder over the last six years.
It’s been so crazy painful and debilitating. God kind of blew my mind in how much pain he would allow in my life. It kind of broke my heart.
And I’d read things, like in Psalm 34 where it says “The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit”. And I couldn’t help but respond “but God, you’re the one breaking my heart”.
It’s such a terrible thing to think, to admit to thinking. It’s an accusation. I hate it. But I couldn’t ignore that it felt so true. So I had to confess it. “Lord, this is what feels true. It feels like you’ve abandoned me, but I know you haven’t, because I know your Word. I know what’s written. But this feeling is overwhelming me, please help me, help me, help me. Please help me see how this isn’t true”.
And this is the first treasure that I think God wants to put into your hand: the precious art of lament.
Lament can be incredibly deep and faith-building. It’s a hidden treasure that we don’t often talk about. I think it’s actually at the heart of every prayer we pray for God to move.
It’s where we go to our Heavenly Father and say “God, I’m dust without you. If you don’t show up, I’m finished. I’m nothing without you. I have no strength of my own. I need you to do what I cannot do for myself”.
When we start to lament in depth, from the bottom of our hearts, when we feel like we’ve reached the end of our tether — this is the beginning of us learning to rely on God, and not on ourselves. I think it only really happens when the doctors have got no answers, when all our other sources of security and strength have failed and we’re out of options.
Lament is where we confess everything that we’re confused about, and give it to God and ask for his help. We confess our anxiety, our anger, our sense of injustice, and all the emotions we’re going through. We confess all the thoughts going through our minds, including all the ones that feel really ugly.
It can take quite a lot of time to lament well, to figure out what you’re feeling — and why — so that you can put it into words and tell God about it.
There’s something very healing about the whole thing. We become a lot more self-aware when we start to put our complaints into prayer, when we invite God into that space, when we invite him into our broken hearts.
When I’ve started confessing my sense of abandonment and gone through the reasons why, slowly I’ve started to see the entitlement embedded in my heart as I try and articulate my prayers. As you listen to yourself you realise, God isn’t the one breaking your heart, but he might just be showing you how broken your heart already is.
By the way, I am just talking about myself here! I can only see my own heart, and it may be unfair to project it onto you. But does any of this resonate? Have you noticed an ingrained sense of entitlement as you’ve encountered hard times? Especially in the senseless stuff, where there’s no one else to blame but God?
The truth is God doesn’t owe us anything. And, perhaps ironically, it’s been healing to meditate on that.
Without Jesus, I deserve nothing but the wrath of God. There’s no injustice when he leads me through difficult things, and asks me to rely on him; to wait on him and renew my strength. He wants me to take all that trust that I had invested in other things and transfer it all to him. And also, because of Jesus, this life is the closest to hell I will ever get. It’s not even a fraction of what my sins deserve. And a little taste of hell now very much helps to put the fear of God right back into me, which Proverbs describes as a fountain of life (Proverbs 14:27).
This realisation has helped to start melting all that entitlement — that God should act immediately in the way I deem fit. Instead, he wants to replace that with humility and trust. That he will act when the time is right, that he has good plans, but like any work of art, you can’t skip the process. Some things have to be done slowly.
I love that word “wait” in verse 31, of chapter 40. What do we do when it feels like God has forgotten us?
We just wait.
Don’t go anywhere. Don’t run off. Don’t search for something else. Wait there, he’s coming.
And lament, I believe, is part of that process of waiting — of calling out, of confiding in him. As we pour out our hearts, it’s a confession of how much we need him, how hungry we are for him — how desperate we are for him and only him.
I’ve gone for lots and lots of early morning prayer walks over the Downs, for an hour or so, doing just this. And the strangest thing happens each time, when I do it well and don’t rush.
I start to feel his presence. Like he’s really listening. Quietly, patiently, and he’s not rebuking me. I find my heart being propelled into thankfulness as I feel heard, and feel him with me. I can’t really explain it. This has happened again and again. And it happens a lot in the Psalms. What starts in lament often ends in thankfulness.
I don’t know if you’ve ever thought this, but gratitude and lament are joined at the hip. In Kelly Kapic’s book “You’re Only Human” he describes them as mirror images of each other. Lament says “Lord, help! I need you to do what I cannot do for myself, for I am dust”. And gratitude says “Lord, thank you. You did what I was unable to do for myself, for I am dust”. They are the ‘before’ and ‘after’ of God’s moving in our lives. They’re both expressions of our utter dependance on God.
Lament is also an expression of trust — that God can deal with my honesty; that he’s big enough to cope, and that our relationship is strong enough to survive it.
I’m convinced that God absolutely loves our honesty. Much more than our textbook prayers. He knows it all anyway. He knows our prayers before we pray them. How? Because he’s already listening to our hearts. He’s listening to every fibre of our being.
“for the Lord searches every heart and understands every desire and every thought.” (1 Chronicles 28:9)
And this leads to a beautiful truth: we can never be misunderstood by God, even when we feel our prayers are clumsy. We are fully known by him (1 Cor 13:12). Even when we can’t put it into words; even when we can’t make anyone else understand what we’re going through. He knows.
He Knows
I have a little theory (and this is just a Sam Arnold theory!) that we are so fully known by God — that he knows every cell, what’s happening along every nerve and neuron — he knows what every atom in our body is doing, and occupies the space in between. He does in fact know us on a quantum level. He knows us so fully, I believe he doesn’t just know what we think and feel in an academic, informational sense — like he’s looking at a bar graph on a computer screen — but can so fully and closely resonate with us, that he can exactly perceive how we feel as if it were happening directly to him.
In a sense, he can feel how we feel. He has that type of knowledge too.
He fully understands all the pain and all the emotions flowing through us. Even when I can’t articulate my prayers well; when all I’ve got is inexpressible groans, he knows exactly what I’m trying to say — and he stills hears that prayer.
We have a God who understands, and a God who is close to the brokenhearted. As we draw near to him, he draws closer still to us. And when you combine that with Jesus’ first hand experience of being human, I don’t think anything is a mystery to God. He knows.
Again, this might be just a crazy theory. I’ve just got a hunch that the fullness of God’s knowledge and the type of knowledge he has is far greater than we can imagine.
Going back to Isaiah 40, if we move onto the next verse (28), he is described as having “unsearchable understanding”. This is where our hope and comfort comes from. And this is also the lesson of Job. Our hope doesn’t come from the explanations and logic that others try to come up with; which all fall short. Our hope comes from a vision of a massive God whose understanding is unsearchable — completely beyond our grasp — yet is wholly and completely good.
When we grasp this, and finally learn to wait for the Lord — to hope and trust in him and his timing, even in the most difficult of circumstances — what follows is incredible. This is a description of what’s possible for your inner person, the inner you. Your spirit, your emotions, your peace and your godliness and your contentment.
“They who wait for the LORD will renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.”
This is possible for the Israelites, with shattered lives, in the midst of suffering. And it’s possible for you and me right now, no matter what we’re going through.
When all your hope is in the LORD, and nothing else, it’s the beginning of an invincible Christian. You’ve found the secret of contentment. You can soar like an eagle in the presence of God, nothing can tie you down. The view is breathtaking. This is where God wants us. Sometimes we need him to take us through dark and difficult things to get us there. But in the darkness, he unlocks hidden treasures. What we come out with, in the end, is far too valuable to wish it never happened.
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