Wept

I’m sure by now you have heard of the events that have been unfolding in Japan. Severe devastation has completely shattered any sense of security for these people; thousands upon thousands of Japanese citizens have been declared dead and still more are categorized as missing.

I have to be honest with you. Though the devastation is immense and the affect on these people is so great, I have been having a hard time truly empathizing with these people. It’s not that I don’t care – I can’t imagine having to deal with catastrophe of this magnitude – I simply don’t feel connected in any way. I haven’t watched television since August and I don’t have the internet at my apartment, so I obtain my news from the Wall Street Journal at school or glance at CNN.com while I’m on campus every now and then. I initially heard the news through Facebook that morning. The damage to Japan seemed enormous, and the videos that were being streamed were surreal. Yet despite the conveniences of modern-day technology and the ability for Americans to watch the events in Japan unfold via their laptops; I still didn’t feel much empathy for this nation. I am sure at least a few other Americans are feeling the same as I am. ‘Since the earthquake and tsunami didn’t directly affect me, it’s not something that I need to really think about at the moment.’ It’s easy to digest horrific news like this as if it were unimportant or insignificant – something that just doesn’t need our attention. So many other people are already on the scene anyways; helping to supply water and food, and provide shelter. Besides, I’m half a world away; there isn’t much I can do.

But last night I realized something different.

I have been in Pueblo, CO for the last couple of days to visit my family over Spring Break. I spent Saturday with my brother – playing Frisbee golf, eating dinner, playing more Frisbee golf, and just talking. On Sunday, I went with my family to a local Vineyard church in Cañon City. I absolutely love this church and the people that form this body of believers. If I did not live in Boulder I would be deeply involved at the Vineyard.

A guest worship band was playing that morning. I soon found out that they were a family that has been serving as long-term missionaries in Japan. As they began to play, I noticed instantly how full of His love they were. They were unbelievably passionate (and talented as well – I could listen to their daughters sing for the rest of my life), and it was more than obvious that they didn’t stop at simply knowing the Lord and believing His teachings – they acted on it.

This family was in Japan when the earthquake occurred, and it was interesting to hear their perspective on the events that have been unfolding. They have experienced hundreds and hundreds of earthquakes during their time in Japan, but none compared to what occurred last week. A surreal photograph of a huge black wave engulfing a shoreline highway was projected onto the screen as they spoke. As I listened to them share their hearts for Japan and the people of the nation, I began to feel convicted that I didn’t feel the same way. Not that I necessarily needed to move to Japan (but who knows?), but that I didn’t feel the same pain and sorrow that this family felt.

I know that I tend to shut myself down when anything overly emotional happens. I think it’s more of a self-defense mechanism than anything. I don’t want to be hurt, so I prevent myself from feeling emotion in order to protect myself. I haven’t done this for about a year or so, but I wonder if I might be holding myself back concerning my emotions with Japan. I feel like I just don’t care, and I know that it’s a problem. Jesus empathized with nearly everyone he met. He feels our pain and grieves with us. Why can’t I be like that?

Later in the day one of my friends invited my brother and I to attend a prayer meeting at a local church that night. I had been looking for some things to do with a church, such as a night service or something similar, so I decided to go. We arrived a half hour early since our friends had worked on putting the meeting together and needed to be there a little early to help with set-up. I sat and listened to people engage in conversation with each other. Not much later, about thirty people had filled the seats, and we awaited the start of prayer. A minister from Wales began with an introduction, inviting us to pray and open our hearts for the people of Japan. We quietly watched a slide show depicting the aftermath of the earthquake and tsunami to assist us in focusing our hearts and minds on what we were about to pray for. As soon as the slide show was over, the minister said, “Let’s pray.”

The room erupted into a frenzy of noise. Members of the church began shouting at the top of their lungs in prayer. People began groaning and wailing aloud while others lay completely flat on the floor, their faces pressed against the carpet. Faces were streaming with tears and some spoke in tongues. It took me by surprise, quite honestly, and I wasn’t exactly sure how to handle it. The noise was so great that I couldn’t even hear myself think, let alone hear God’s voice. I had to get out.

After wrestling with myself for a moment, I stood up and walked out of the room. I wanted a place where I could be with God, and this room, full of overly charismatic performers, was not the place to find Him. I sat alone in the hall, my back against the wall as thoughts raced through my head. I could still hear the wailings and shouts of the small congregation in the room down the hall as I tried to focus my attention on the Lord.  I kept asking Him to show me where He was, and to guide me there. I didn’t feel His presence at all in that stuffy and overcrowded room. I could hear His voice in the hall, but I couldn’t feel His presence. My thoughts bounced erratically from thoughts of Japan to thoughts of what was currently occurring and how I was reacting. I eventually decided to walk the length of the church building, seeking out a quiet place where I could be with God.

As I walked, simply being with God, my heart began to quiet down. I eventually noticed that the room down the hall had become quiet as well. I walked down the hall, curious to see what was going on. One man stood at the front of the room, praying aloud to God. The rest of the people were in their chairs or sitting, their voices small and quiet, echoing the prayers of the man at the front of the room.

“I’m here,” I could hear Him say as I stepped through the door of the room.

I sat next to my brother, his head bowed. The room still held an undercurrent of prayer as people spoke. Members of the church began standing up and shouting as they led others in prayer. Others shouted back in agreement. Emotions were getting high, and I could feel waves of the Spirit flash over me. I was in the right place. The room erupted again in groans for the helpless and broken. People walked around the room, taking turns leading the thirty in prayer. The room quieted again as a girl walked to the front of the room and sat down at a tattered and worn upright piano.

All I wanted was to be with God that night. I wanted to be in His presence more than anything. I had been praying that He would break my heart for the people in Japan – that He would give me a taste of His heart and the depth of His love for these people and for me. I prayed that He would show me how I could be a part of His love. I had been praying and repeating these things to Him since I had walked into the hall. All I wanted was to be with Jesus. Wherever He was is where I wanted to be.

The girl’s fingers flicked over the faux ivory keys.

I wanted Him more than anything. I wanted to feel it.

The room resounded with the impact of the first chord. Music soared throughout the room as the progression of a song was played, each chord full and impacting. I could feel my heart shuddering within my chest and my adrenaline begin to flow. The music drowned out the spoken words of the people in the room and surrounded me, beautiful and full. I swam in a sea of melodies, my head bowed and my and eyes closed. I wanted Him more than anything.

And then she sang.

Lyrics of an old familiar song filled our ears. The people began to sing along, hands lifted and hearts open.

Hungry I come to you for I know You satisfy.

I am weary but I know Your love does not run dry.

So I wait for you. So I wait for you.

I was wrecked. He was here and He was real. I slid to my knees and allowed myself to be lost in Him. I wanted to give everything and feel His heart.

            I’m falling on my knees.

            offering all of me.

            Jesus, You’re all this heart is living for.

And I wept.

I held one hand over my face as tears flowed and drenched my body. I was being torn apart and restored anew, all at once. My heart shuddered and stood still and my body felt weak yet strong. I could think of nothing but Him. I was in His presence, and it was beautiful. I could feel my body shake from the tears I was shedding, both for myself and for those half a world away. I could feel it. I could feel their sorrow, their agony, their loneliness and their fear. I could feel it. I knew it was only a fraction of a fraction of a taste of what He felt, but He gave me a taste. I wanted nothing but to stay exactly where I was in that room, alone with my Father. Everything else had melted away. The strings of the piano resonated deep within my soul, and I knew without a doubt that I had encountered God. My body was broken, torn apart, fed to the waves and completely restored that night. I was shattered and made new. I was frail and I was strong. I was nothing and He was everything. It is amazing to be in the presence of God. Nothing compares.

I prayed that I would meet my Father that night. And regardless of the fact that distractions, performers, and unnecessary religion surrounded me, God still met me in the midst of it all.