Desertion
Called ‘spiritual depression’ by Martyn Lloyd-Jones, the sense of having been abandoned by God is called ‘desertion’ in older books of theology. Desertion is the sense of having been excommunicated, not by a church, but by God. In order for a period of desertion to take place, a person has to have been in close communion with the Father. Who can feel deserted by someone that he has never been close to? For desertion to happen, a Christian has to have risen to more than average knowledge in divine things, for close communion develops through knowledge. There is not likely to be any intimacy, for example, with a person we have little knowledge of. The more growth that a Christian is determined to enjoy, the more likely it is that he will be deserted at some time. Preachers greatly used of God have been refined through desertion. The face of a man who has crossed the desert looks wizened; a soul that has gone through desertion has been made wise. Having crossed a desert, we have wrestled with nature; having come through desertion, we have wrestled with supernatural powers.
The classic exhibition of this spiritual affliction is the biography of Job. He who had reproduced, prospered, and been vigorous, lost his family, his property, and his health. He who had closely communed with God, now feared that God had cut him off. On the one hand, he could say, “I have not concealed the words of the Holy One” (Job 6.10.) On the other hand, he had to admit that the Holy One seemed to have rendered his life hopeless. “What is my strength, that I should hope?” (verse 11.) It seemed as though he were being punished for having obeyed God. Before his afflictions, Job was a reverent man; during his afflictions, he was a reverent man confounded; after his afflictions, he was a reverent man humbled; since his death, he has been remembered as eminently reverent. “Though these three men, Noah, Daniel, and Job, were in it, they should deliver but their own souls by their righteousness, saith the LORD God” (Ezekiel 14.14.) To be in the company of Noah and Daniel cannot be except through tribulations added to faith. Desertion ordinarily happens through an episode of marginalization or obscurity. Beyond the wilderness of desertion, though, are peace, joy, a sense of security, and recognition.
Who can doubt that Noah and Daniel had each their desertions to contend with? But I pass on to the prophet Jeremiah for exhibit B. The desertions that Jeremiah suffered are so explicitly communicated that only characters such as Job and Ezekiel can compete with him in this matter as far as Old Testament history is concerned. After being told of his ordination to prophecy, Jeremiah answers, “Ah, Lord GOD! behold, I cannot speak: for I am a child” (Jeremiah 1.6.) Maybe some selfish reluctance can be detected here—maybe. But the wider context shows this prophet to have been meek. He went out from the divine command, usually without so much as a question to return to God, and disclosed offensive prophecies to obstinate, dangerous men. When God commands a prophet to ‘be not afraid of their faces’ (Jeremiah 1.8), that prophet may count this as the cost: his opponents will be fearsome; deliverances from them will be necessary; he will sometimes feel abandoned by the God who sent him forth; deliverances may hinge on the prophet’s maintaining holiness; and he might, nonetheless, be executed for his faith. If the prophet had nothing but nominal faith, he would then have cause to fear their faces because if put to death he would instantly go from death to hell. To be so cast down that you purpose to speak no longer the word of the LORD, and at the same time feel compelled to speak nevertheless, is to be in the torment of a deserted frame of mind. “Then I said, I will not make mention of him, nor speak any more in his name. But his word was in mine heart as a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I was weary with forbearing, and I could not stay” (Jeremiah 20.9.) How had Jeremiah come to this vexing ambivalence? No matter how disappointing external appearances were, the prophet knew that the message committed to him was the word of God, and he felt it in his bones and bowels. That word was ‘shut up’ in his very ‘bones.’ He could not uproot it, though he was tempted to want to try. Deep down, he knew that his purpose to not speak could not out-bottom the trench that the word of God had dug in his soul. His foundation could not be undermined, even by desertion.
Desertion is quite a cost to have to count. Every would-be disciple should count on having to count it. And every disciple should endeavor to know God well enough that he will be counted worthy to suffer periods of it. How will he know that he is in such a period? It will be so obvious that he will not have to wonder about it. But if a definition is desired, take it from the experience of Job and Jeremiah: Desertion is when God seems to have left us with nothing but the weight of his word. It is then that the Scriptures appear as lucid as they feel locked up. They seem to laugh and mock, to which the disciple should nevertheless utter, in the fashion of Peter, “Where else to turn? These are the words of eternal life.”
There are professing Christians who say they’ve never had doubts regarding their conversion, and none either, regarding any essential point in theology. I doubt that such persons have ever been deserted, and something intimates that they might never have been converted. A person who has been deserted has been humbled to the point of admitting his trials; and he is too honest to admit desertion and at the same time deny the doubts that he had during his trial. I know a Christian man who, speaking of supernatural elements that the Bible contains, exclaimed, “Sometimes I say to myself, ‘Do I really believe this stuff?!’” I have more faith in the faith of a man like that than in the faith of a man who tells me that he has never doubted since the day of his conversion.
Because of the desertion that Jesus Christ suffered on the cross, no desertion is without hope. Even Job, before the composition of the Pentateuch, looked forward to the Mediator between God and men. Disciples have the privilege of feeling rather than being, forsaken by God; they have this privilege because their faith is in the Lord who was forsaken by God on their behalf. “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” (Matthew 27.46.) Jesus was forsaken, or else he uttered a lie in the very place where the atonement is said to have been accomplished. Even to muse about the possibility that Jesus lied, or committed a sin, might be bordering on blasphemy, might it not? Musing may lead us into unpardonable territory. We must be careful. Therefore we accept that Jesus Christ was forsaken on the cross, even if he was God, and as God, omnipresent. We accept the paradox that we have no solution to, though the fact that he had (and still has) two natures helps us understand his desertion to a point. During desertion, we must rest on the fact that Jesus was deserted for us; acknowledging his desertion on our behalf is our way to regaining the sense of our being accepted by God. When God hides his face, our plea must be that he not allow our faces to turn away from him; and our resolution must be that we will look to him even from hell if it comes to that. We borrow a phrase from King Solomon’s prayer, “O LORD God, turn not away the face of thine anointed: remember the mercies of David thy servant” (2 Chronicles 6.42.) And then, because the Son of David has come, we modernize the thought for our consolation: “O, LORD God, turn me not away; remember your mercy toward me through my faith in thy Servant, the Son of David, whose life is my obedience to the law, and whose death is my never-ending life.” When a person becomes a Christian, and determines to make progress in holiness and understanding, he may count on his theology being applied and his being led into trials of desertion. ‘Lead us not into temptation’ is our prayer. But being so led may happen for our testing. And to persevere through a period of desertion is the only way of passing this test.
