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THE SHADOWED VALLEY
Rev. Edward A. Hartman
He walked into the room wearing a rumpled set of surgical scrubs, fatigue unmistakably evident in his face. I had been sitting alone on the edge of the bed in an empty hospital room on the fourth floor of the University of Mississippi Medical Center. Just a few hours earlier my wife had been wheeled down to undergo a surgical biopsy on a fist-sized brain tumor that had been discovered through an MRI only forty-eight hours earlier. The neurosurgeon took a seat opposite the bed, sighed deeply, and looked at me as if waiting for me to ask the question. "How'd it go?" I asked. He took a long, deep breath and said, "Not as well as we had hoped. The tumor is far more virulent than we had expected, and is definitely inoperable." He paused, and again, just stared, his agony in telling me these things unmistakable.
I quietly asked the only question that seemed to follow from his response, "Is she terminal?" Another long, deep breath--then he quietly said, "I'm sorry." My mind began reeling, as all the questions I desperately wanted to ask screamed in my mind. Yet all I could manage was the question he had already answered, "Are you telling me I'm about to lose my wife?" Again he softly replied, "I am so sorry. We will do all we can for her." And with few more words, he stood, put his hand on my shoulder, and left the room.
I wish I could tell you that this conversation was pure fiction. It isn't--and with those words still ringing in my ears, I entered the darkest valley I've ever been called to walk. During the 204 days that have elapsed since that conversation, I have frequently found myself asking "Why? . . . Why us? . . . Why now? . . . How could God even think of taking my precious wife from me, and the desperately needed mother of our four small children from them? . . . What possible good could grow out of our being led through this valley?"
Alec Motyer, in his commentary on the Book of Isaiah, says, "The valley is never a place in which we are naturally inclined to delight." When the Bible uses the metaphor of a valley, he explains, "it's a place of frustration, a place of hardship, fear, anxiety, evil, loneliness, shame, separation, and despair." The sobering reality is that each of us, at one point or another, must pass through such a valley. Some of you may be in one now. So for our benefit, I want us to look at what Scripture says about the Christian's experience of the valley. Here is the first thing I want you to notice:
I. THE VALLEY IS A PLACE OF VISION
I begin in Isaiah 22, where the prophet is describing the devastation of Jerusalem by an invader:
"An oracle concerning the Valley of Vision: What troubles you now, that you have all gone up on the roofs, O town full of commotion, O city of tumult and revelry? Your slain were not killed by the sword, nor did they die in battle. All your leaders have fled together; they have been captured without using the bow. All you who were caught were taken prisoner together, having fled while the enemy was still far away. Therefore I said, 'Turn away from me; let me weep bitterly. Do not try to console me over the destruction of my people.' The Lord, the Lord Almighty, has a day of tumult and trampling and terror in the Valley of Vision, a day of battering down walls and of crying out to the mountains."
You will notice that twice in those verses Isaiah refers to Jerusalem as "the Valley of Vision." Actually Jerusalem is situated on a hill, and just twenty chapters earlier Isaiah prophesied that one day "the mountain of the Lord's temple will be established as chief among the mountains; it will be raised above the hills, and all nations will stream to it" (Isaiah 2:1). Yet, ironically, by the time we get to this twentieth chapter, the city built on a hill, the city where God dwelt, the city which one day would be so greatly exalted, has unexpectedly become a "valley"--a place, to use Motyer's words again, of "frustration, hardship, fear, anxiety, evil, loneliness, shame, separation, and despair." Yet, as the prophet indicates, a valley can also be a place of "Vision."
The vision to which he is referring is the capacity to see with clarity from God's perspective and with God's priorities. We are so easily distracted by lesser pleasures and preoccupied with lesser passions, that it sometimes takes a valley to get our attention and straighten out our perspective. That's what C.S. Lewis was talking about when he said that God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our work, and shouts at us in our pain. Sometimes it takes a valley to get our attention and alter our vision. I have been greatly blessed recently by a book entitled, The Valley of Vision: a book of Puritan Prayers and Devotions. This is the introductory prayer of that book:
"Lord, high and holy, meek and lowly; Thou has brought me to the valley of vision where I live in the depths but see thee in the heights; hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold thy glory. Let me learn by paradox that the way down is the way up; that to be low is to be high, that the broken heart is the healed heart; that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit; that the repenting soul is the victorious soul; that to have nothing is to possess all; that to bear the cross is to wear the crown; that to give is to receive; that the valley is the place of vision. Lord, in the daytime stars can be seen from deepest wells, and the deeper the wells, the brighter thy stars shine. Let me find thy light in my darkness, thy life in my death, thy joy in my sorrow, thy grace in my sin, thy riches in my poverty, thy glory in my valley."
Job experienced what the unnamed puritan who wrote those lines was expressing. He had gone through a terrible valley, losing his sons and their families, his wealth and his health. But in the end he emerged from his valley to say to God, "I had heard of you with my ears but now my eyes have seen you" (Job 42:4). One thing is unmistakably certain, the valley will never leave you neutral. It will either blind you and harden you against the grace and mercy of God, or it will sharpen your vision of His grace and mercy, and cause you to embrace it as being ever more precious. In addition to being a place of vision, in the second place --
II. THE VALLEY IS A PLACE OF DECISION
The image of the valley is used again in Joel 3:14: "Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision! For the day of the Lord is near in the valley of decision." I recognize that I am taking some liberties in my use of this passage, because it deals specifically with the day of final judgment. But what is true of that ultimate judgment is also true of every lesser valley that the believer is called to walk through: it is a place of decision. In its verbal form the Hebrew word here translated as "decision" has the idea of sharpening, of cutting decisively or of moving quickly. The valley, you see, is a place which demands sharp and decisive decision. The ambivalence, indecisiveness, wavering and complacency that is so common to our experience is impossible to maintain in the valley. The valley cannot, and will not, leave you neutral, because the valley demands decision.
When news of Amy's diagnosis first spread, we received a mountain of mail. In fact, the third or fourth day after she came home from the hospital, I went back to my office, turned on my computer and found over 35 e-mail messages waiting for me. As I read them I came to one from a good friend from college who is now a pastor in Kentucky. This is a man who two years earlier had a son die in infancy. His words leapt off the screen: "Ed, this is not the time to be figuring out your theology," he said. "You simply do not doubt in the dark what was clear in the light." His point was, we must not evaluate God on the basis of our experience; we must evaluate our experience on the basis of what we know to be true of our God. For that reason we must never doubt in the dark what was clear in the light.
I realized that the vital question I had to answer in my valley was this: would I, here and and now, embrace what all along I have said I believe. You see, when you find yourself in a valley, you are forced either to embrace and cling to your beliefs and convictions, or to reject them entirely. So the valley truly becomes a place of decision, a place from which neutrality is banished. In the third place,
III. THE VALLEY IS A PLACE OF INTIMACY
In the beloved twenty-third Psalm, King David writes, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me" (Psalm 23:4).
Marge Barnhouse, the widow of the late Donald Grey Barnhouse, a famous pastor of Philadelphia's historic Tenth Presbyterian Church, has been a wonderful friend to our family for many years, and has called us a number of times throughout this ordeal, which makes what I'm about to tell you that much more precious to me. She wrote a biography of her husband after he died in which she relates an incident where he was preaching on this twenty-third Psalm. In the sermon he told a story about a woman who had a son by the name of John who had gone off to war during World War II. One day she was in her kitchen speaking to a friend about how much needed to be done around her farm. She said "When my son comes home he is going to fix that fence . . . when my son comes home he is going to fix that light that doesn't work right anymore . . . when my son comes home he is going to take me on a trip . . . when my son gets home, he . . . ." Suddenly there was a noise as the door swung open. The woman turned toward the door and exclaimed, "John, you!" Dr. Barnhouse asked, "Now, what made that woman switch from saying 'John, he,' to 'John, you'?
The obvious answer was that John had just walked in the door. With that in mind, listen to the words of David in Psalm 23: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for . . . " Do you see what comes next? It isn't, "for He is with me" as we might have expected, is it? No, it's "for You are with me . . . " A wonderful spiritual truth is reflected in that change from the third person pronoun to the first person: "He" becomes "you" when we walk through the valley. The valley becomes a place of intimacy. That is what validates our learning to treasure our valleys, not the darkness of them, but the intimacy of His presence with us in them.
I believe it was Bette Middler who popularized the song, "From a Distance." The song makes you feel all warm and gushy on the inside, until you analyze the words. Then you realize how inadequate the thought expressed in the song really is. For the lyrics say, "from a distance, from a distance, from a distance, God is watching you, from a distance." It would absolutely terrify me to believe that the best I can expect from my God as I'm going through this valley is that He is simply watching and observing from a distance. I need to know, without any uncertainty, that He's not only aware of the situation, but that His goodness, His mercy, His compassion, and the intimacy of his presence pervade every part of that experience.
That's what David teaches us about his experience in the valley. That has been our experience as Amy and I have been walking through this ordeal. We celebrate our tenth anniversary in 8 days [March 29]. We never expected to be dealing with a valley of this magnitude. Yet at the same time, neither of us ever expected the kind of intimacy with the Lord that we have embraced over the last 7 months, and never could have anticipated the way the Lord has intervened. The intimacy that I believe the Psalmist is talking about can be illustrated by our experience with our children. There are few nights when my children, and particularly my eight year old son, Michael, doesn't ask whomever is the last one to leave his room, "Would you please get in bed with me for just a little while and snuggle so we can talk." I'm sure you can imagine how absolutely precious it is to be able to climb into bed with our children and to snuggle together and hear the news about their day, their frustrations, their victories, their unanswered questions, and to hear them pray, and to see the smile spread across their faces as if to say, "It's OK now. In spite of everything that has taken place, right here, right now, I am safe. I am secure. Everything is fine."
That is the intimacy that we find as the Lord leads us through the valley. I know this is a homey way of stating it, but I have stated it this way to my wife and she has smiled, but I believe that the valley becomes an opportunity to snuggle with our covenant God. That is the intimacy that the valley brings. The fourth and final thing I would like you to see about the valley is this:
IV. THE VALLEY IS A PLACE FOR PRAISE
In II Chronicles 20:26 we read, "On the fourth day they assembled in the Valley of Beracah, where they praised the Lord. This is why it is called the Valley of Beracah to this day." Beracah in Hebrew means "praise." But that valley did not begin as a valley of praise, but as quite the opposite.
Look back to verse 10, where the scene is set. King Jehoshaphat is pleading with God because of an imminent threat from some ancient enemies. He prays, "O Lord, God of our fathers . . . here are men from Ammon, Moab and Mount Seir, whose territory you would not allow Israel to invade when they came from Egypt; so they turned away from them and did not destroy them. See how they are repaying us by coming to drive us out of the possession you gave us as an inheritance. O our God, will you not judge them? For we have no power to face this vast army that is attacking us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon you." Do you sense Jehoshaphat's hopelessness and despair? "We are powerless," he says. "Look at the enemy that is arrayed against us. Our situation is hopeless. Destruction is inevitable."
But watch what God does in that valley (verse 20): "Early in the morning they left for the Desert of Tekoa. As they set out, Jehoshaphat stood and said, 'Listen to me, Judah and people of Jerusalem! Have faith in the Lord your God and you will be upheld; have faith in His prophets and you will be successful.' After consulting the people, Jehoshaphat appointed men to sing to the Lord and to praise him for the splendor of his holiness as they went out at the head of the army, saying 'Give thanks to the Lord, for his love endures forever.'" That praise, and the faith it reflects, change their circumstances: "As they began to sing and praise, the Lord set ambushes against the men of Ammon and Moab and Mount Seir who were invading Judah, and they were defeated. The men of Ammon and Moab rose up against the men from Mount Seir to destroy and annihilate them. After they finished slaughtering the men from Seir, they helped to destroy one another. When the men of Judah came to the place that overlooks the desert and looked toward the vast army, they saw only dead bodies lying on the ground; no one had escaped." The passage goes on to say that there was so much plunder it took three days to collect it. Is it any wonder, as verse 26 tells us, that "on the fourth day they assembled in the Valley of Beracah where they praised the Lord." That valley of hopelessness and despair became the valley of praise.
And I believe with all certainty that because the valleys through which God leads his people are places of vision, intimacy and decision, they can also become places of praise for us. That is unmistakably certain. And I believe clearly that this is the case, because in chapter 3 of his gospel, Luke uses the same imagery. He quotes from Isaiah chapter 40, where the prophet prophesies the ministry of John the Baptist and the coming of our Redeemer: "A voice of one calling in the desert, 'Prepare the way for the Lord; make straight paths for him. Every valley shall be filled in, every mountain and hill made low. The crooked roads shall become straight, the rough ways smooth. And all mankind will see God's salvation.'" That prophecy guarantees that your valley, as well as my valley, will inevitably become a place of vision, a place of decision, a place of intimacy and a place of praise, because the Lord who came, conquered sin and death and hell, is even now applying the resulting redemption to every valley in the life of every believer. That is absolutely great cause for praise. I do want to thank you for praying for my wife, for my family, for our church, for Amy's parents. I do not know how God is going to answer our prayers. I know that He will heal her . . . or . . . He will do something even more excellent, for His glory and for our good. I don't know what that more excellent thing might be, or what it might cost. But I do know that He is a good God, and that whatever He does, it will bring glory to Him.
Let us pray: Father, I thank You that Your goodness is never diminished. It is never mixed with ulterior motives. It is never distracted. It is unfailing, unmitigated goodness, and we thank You that as a covenant God you have promised to deal with Your people by that same goodness. We rest in that certainty, knowing that You will do well and You will do right. And, Father, I take one more opportunity to plead with you on Amy's behalf. I pray that you would heal her, and that you would restore her fully to health. And more than that, I pray that You would enable us always to be satisfied and to be delighted with Your will. We pray these things in the name of the One who gave His life for us and who even now intercedes on our behalf, even Jesus. Amen
Preached in the Chapel of Reformed Theological Seminary, Jackson, MS, March 21, 1996 by Rev. Edward A. Hartman, Pastor, First Presbyterian Church, Kosciusko, MS