Faith or Fatalism?
By Audrey Stallsmith
My current employer, whom I’ll just call C, is losing her mental faculties and already has lost her voice to an incurable disease. Actually, her daughter probably would be considered my real employer, since the mother now is reduced to doing what others think best for her.
In fact, the daytime aides often keep C entertained with occupations that generally would be considered more appropriate for her grandchildren, such as coloring and sticker books. I’ve noticed, though, that—while the rest of us might question God on her behalf—she still seems to find her ultimate comfort in scripture.
She has a small, handheld device which reads the Bible to her, and she often will fall asleep in the evening with it nestled on her pillow beside her ear. So, on my nighttime shift, I often have to tiptoe in to turn that device off. Provided, of course, that she isn’t still holding on to it.
I have to conclude that C has achieved a spiritual goal that many of we healthier Christians only can aspire to: clinging to God in complete trust. Implying, as Job did, that “Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.” (Job 13:15) But none of us would want to reach that goal the way she has.
Fortunately, her malady is a rare one, which the rest of us aren’t likely to get. But we all do have a one in ten chance of contracting the similar symptoms of Alzheimer’s—actually a one in three chance if we live to over 85. I suspect most of us would rather die first, since there are few things more terrifying than losing one’s reason and being utterly dependent on other people.
Actually, an introvert such as myself finds the idea of having other people constantly on hand daunting enough. Perhaps that is why C occasionally has begun to rebel against a couple of her aides.
But, rather than rebelling against God in anger over what He has allowed to happen to her, she seems to need Him closer. It is at such times—when our inability to help ourselves becomes most obvious—that the promise of the ultimate Power to never leave us becomes most important.
But there is a big difference between clinging and capitulating. I’ve been reading Charles Martin’s What If It’s True? in which he talks about the dangers of resignation. When we have prayed for something for a long time without perceptible results, as my patient probably prayed for healing, we often stop expecting an answer.
We may sink to believing that God simply isn’t powerful enough to do whatever it is we are asking of Him. So we figure we just are going to have to accept what can’t be changed. As Martin writes “At its root, Resignation spins a lie that says our enemy is stronger than our King.”
If we don't fall for that lie, the enemy may revert to implying God doesn’t care enough about us to give us what we need. So we have to be careful that we don't give up and call our surrender “yielding to God’s will” when it actually is all too close to the fatalism of many heathen religions.
There is no virtue, after all, in serving a cruel god even if we believe that—by catering to his whims—we can win concessions from him. Just as good men would rebel against an evil ruler, no matter how powerful he might be, we should rebel against an evil deity. Either we truly believe that our God is good and we hold on to him for that reason, or there is no point to holding on to Him at all.
David Livingstone must have done his share of clinging, since his favorite verse reportedly was Christ’s “Lo, I am with you alway, even onto the end of the world.” (Matthew 28:20) About that verse, the famous missionary explorer said, 'It is the word of a gentleman of the most strict and sacred honour, so there's an end of it!'
When staggering, feverish, through trackless jungles in which he encountered more slave traders than other missionaries, Livingstone probably didn’t always feel the great Three-in-One there. But he trusted that Gentleman to keep His word.
As Martin points out, that word is our defense too, which we can use to refute the lies of the enemy. If we begin to doubt God’s love, for example, we can read again the account of what He—in Christ— suffered for us on Calvary to be reassured. That report also can remind us of how often what looks like defeat is turned to victory.
Apparently my patient understands the importance of the Word, even though the rest of us often don’t. One of the symptoms of her disease is a lack of expression which makes it hard to discern how she is feeling. But she always appears closest to smiling when she has fallen asleep with the promises of God echoing in her ears.