Looking Back: Ebb Tides of the Spirit

From March 1935

There is an ebb-and-flow in the spiritual life.

When it is at the ebb, one is oppressed by a sense of the futility of all one’s striving. Vision fails. The Kingdom of Heaven shrinks to the dimensions of the Church; and to the eye of the wearied mind, the Church appears only as a place surrounded by four walls in which are held meetings, meetings, meetings. God seems remote; and, in consequence, one’s personal life becomes too insignificant in one’s eyes to be worth bothering about.

The immediate cause of such a mood may be sheer physical weariness, the cumulative strain of the winter’s work. One may cast a longing glance toward the irresponsible freedom of the pagan life. But even that way of escape is denied. The happy pagan must be one who is in full health and vigour, of body and mind. “Let us eat and drink” is an invitation of mall attraction to one who has no appetite.

What distresses one most, however, is the ebb, not of physical, but of spiritual, vitality.  The mood, at its worst, is one of utter self-distrust.

Strange, that in his weakest moments man reveals the unique distinction of his humanity. He alone among the creatures of the earth knows these agonies of misgiving. No animal “whines about its sins.” The cow or the horse has no shame for ideals unfulfilled. On man alone such black depression of the soul can fall.

Nor, in God’s providence, is such a mood without its gracious purpose. It brings a deep humility; and humility is the door through which the Spirit of god will again enter our hearts and lives with its health-giving, strength-giving power. When we have reached the end of self, the tide is on the turn. The strength that has failed us was our own poor strength; a greater is ready for our aid.

                             ….whoever is walking in the dark,

                             Without a ray of light,

                             Let him have confidence in the Eternal

                              And lean upon his God.

It has been the experience of thousands that God’s presence became most real to them in the dark hour. They did not find Him; He found them. He finds us, not once only, but whenever the darkness has hidden Him from our sight. It may be that the darkness is sent to make us realise our need of Him and recognise His coming.

Especially when we meditate, as so many will be doing through the days of Lent, upon the sufferings and death of Christ, do we understand that “not by might nor by power” does man achieve. It is, too, when we draw near the Cross that we know that however insignificant we may have become in our own eyes we are – amazingly – precious in the sight of God. The wonder of it fills our heart anew; and, forgetful of ourselves and our despondent mood, we turn back to life with our whole outlook changed.

It is not only in the flood-tides of the spirit, our moments of vision and buoyant zeal, that God is with us. He is with us at the ebb-tide too, drawing us closer to Himself, meeting us and recreating us in the very depths of our being.

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