I have never read East of Eden by John Steinbeck.
It was recommended to me by a friend who once told me it was her favorite book and it has held its place quite firmly on my bookshelf--yearning to be read, but the time has not yet come.
I have never read East of Eden, but I know that the word "timshel" is quite important in that story. In Hebrew the word "timshel" means "thou mayest".
What beautiful sentiment.
If you have had a conversation with me of any substance you will know that Mumford and Sons is one of my absolute favorite bands. Their lyrics resonate within me unlike any other band (yes I said "any") I have ever heard. (I could probably write epically long expositions on what moves me in each and the following week it would change for me. There is just so much depth in their songs.) While I lover every song I have heard from them there is something about the song Timshel--based on the usage of that word in Steinbeck's novel--that always resonates with me.
Earlier this week I was listening to a sermon from Renovatus Church on resurrection. Jonathan Martin--another name that often pops up in lengthy conversations with me--was opening his heart completely to his congregation about how difficult it is to truly die to oneself. How we struggle to hold on. "If given the option," Martin says, "I will always choose resuscitation over resurrection."
To die to oneself is difficult to truly believe that there is life in death is unbelievable and yet that truth is one of the core beliefs of Christianity. As I was listening to Martin speak and utterly pour his heart out I knew that I was right there with him. There are so many parts of myself that I keep back from God. I cling to them pridefully. I am the first to admit that I am a broken mess, but even that brokenness is a source of pride for me.
When the sermon ended I sat in stunned silence for a moment. Allowing the weight of what I had just heard wash over me. It was a message I needed, and once I was comfortable with the silence I turned on my Avett Brothers pandora station. As the music began I felt that ever familiar leap of joy in my heart that the opening chords to every Mumford and Sons song inspires within me.
This particular song was one that I had clung to quite desperately only a few years before when the intense darkness of life (and my most solid belief in the presence of a Devil) had over taken the spirit of two beautiful friends--causing them to take their own lives.
And as the song--Timshel--repeated those lines "You are not alone in this." I felt a strange amount of camaraderie with the world. Not just Christians or Whovians or Mumford and Sons lovers, but the entire world.
We all struggle with that darkness.
We all struggle to let go and allow ourselves to truly come alive.
We allow ourselves to hold ourselves back from the beauty that has been given to us.
I don't really have a point to this blog post. I have no wise words. I'm not smart enough to offer counsel because I am still trying to figure it out myself, but I can promise you, reader, that you are not alone in whatever struggle is imprisoning you right now.
I can promise you that in the darkest of moments God is still there...even if we do not seek him. Even if we do not believe.
(To paraphrase C.S. Lewis if a prisoner wrote the word darkness on the wall of his cell swearing that the sun did not exist would that cause the sun to stop shining?)
I can just leave you with that hope and know that in the reading of this my heart prays for your heart.
And asks you to pray for mine as well.
"As brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand."
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