The following comes from the Onward & Upward series and was written by Walt. This story takes place at Mt. St. Helens, Washington.

Rise up, O Lord, and go to your resting place,

you and the ark of your might.

Let your priests be clothed with righteousness,

and let your faithful shout for joy.

Psalm 132: 8-9

Rise up, O Lord! It is a cry for God to act that is rooted in the sacred memory of God acting during the Exodus. The Psalmist recalls the time when the people carried the Ark of the Covenant as God led them across the wilderness. In later years, the Temple housed this golden relic in the holy of holies, a place that was so sacred that only the high priest could enter but once a year.

It remained there until it was ‘lost’ to history; when the Babylonians destroyed the Temple in 586 BCE and carted off all the sacred objects found within. The Ark of the Covenant is noticeably absent from the meticulous list of “holy-booty.” It would take centuries before Indiana Jones rediscovered it in the Hollywood classic, Raiders of the Lost Ark. Movie aside, it is probable that we will never know for certain the final resting place or the fate of the original Ark of the Covenant. It is gone.

Rise up, O Lord! Ark or no Ark, it is a cry for help that goes up time and time again when hardship and despair arrive uninvited. Humanity cries out for divine help when forces beyond our control threaten life itself. No doubt, desperate cries were lifted up on the morning of May 18, 1980.

At precisely 8:32 a.m., Pacific Standard Time, Mount St. Helens erupted. The destruction that followed was massive and pervasive. Without metaphorical exaggeration, destruction flowed down the mountain, and the sky was dark with a thick plume of ash. In all, fifty-seven people died; 250 homes, 47 bridges, 15 miles of railways, and 185 miles of highway were destroyed (source: Wikipedia). Mt. St. Helens was itself changed by the eruption; a massive avalanche reduced the mountain’s summit from 9,677 ft to 8,363 ft, leaving a mile-wide horseshoe-shaped crater in the center.

As devastating as this historical event was – and there is no question of the magnitude of its horror – struggle comes in a variety of sizes. Although there may not be an ash plume or pyroclastic flow involved, in a matter of seconds our lives can forever change. Destruction can as easily befall us on the highway as it can in a doctor’s office when a diagnosis is pronounced. When things erupt, we can find ourselves in the uninvited place of loss and grief. We find our faith itself is in the fallout zone.

Justifiable anger is appropriate against simplistic theologies that seek to quickly explain away evil and put ‘the best spin on things.’ Worse are those who have the spiritual arrogance to suggest that God is testing us with atrocities or giving us as ‘much as we can handle.' God works in everything to bring about good (that is the hope of resurrection, after all) but to suggest a causational relationship between God and the bad things that happen is cruel.

But what can be said? What words can we faithfully offer in times of devastation, when lava flows and ash falls upon us? Over the years, I have found that patent formulas don’t work. There is no magical spell or a mother’s kiss that ‘makes it all better.’ Like the simplistic theologies that offer no real comfort, trite phrases like, “it is all for a reason” or “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle,” lack integrity. Instead of trying to patch things up and make sense of it all, throughout the book of Psalms, the faithful simply cries out. They cry out to God.

Rise up, O God! Help! Aaaaaghhhh! @!#$@#! The faithful lift their voices to heaven, even as they can’t begin to understand the why of God’s ‘inaction,’ or the mechanics of how this is happening, or where God is in the midst of it all. It doesn’t matter if the cry comes from a place of confidence or desperation. Uttered in the context of the relationship that we have with God, whatever that relationship looks like, it remains faithful.

Here is the sound of genuine faith-speech with all the honest emotions of anger, fear, frustration, and uncertainty attached. It ultimately trusts in the relationship that God established with us in the very moment when all seems gone. It is also messy and lacks the polish of well-formed and systematic thought. Still, it is the theology of the heart, forged in the crucible of struggle, and it rises to the very heart of God.

Driving up the winding road to the Johnson Ridge Observatory, we could still see the trees on mountainsides that were pushed over by the blast. Over thirty-five years later, the trees are still aligned perfectly in the direction of the eruption. Void of any leaves or needles, the graying wooden stalks bear witness to the moment when the creation itself cried out.

Living God,

our lives cry out to you.

In the midst of hardships,

difficulties,

and sorrows we come to you.

We want answers

to the nagging questions

that haunt us.

Be present

as we both discover uneasy truths

and dwell in the place of simply not-knowing.

Rise up and bring us the peace

that passes understanding

so that we might rest in you.

Through the Resurrected Body of Christ, amen.

If you enjoyed today’s devotional, why not check out the series. For more information and to subscribe (click here).