Worship in the Dark - Ted Haddock
"Where can I go to flee from Your presence? If I make my bed in the depths, You are there..." Psalm 139:7-8Psalm 139 has been for me one of those immovable objects, an anchor and a call to worship no matter where I am, no matter what's happening around me. But in recent years some of the places I've seen and touched and smelled and transactions I've witnessed have put David's lyrics and my own faith to a pretty rigorous test.
I think of places like the Anarchy Building in Phnom Penh, a dilapidated structure where sweaty, shirtless pimps offer 13-year-old Kunthy for sale. The brothel keepers who forced her into prostitution, threaten and assault Kunthy and other girls trapped in this hellhole. And then there is, of course, the unrestrained abuse by paying customers.
If I go to the far side of the world?Then there's Venus, the Zambian widow who watched her son die from starvation, not because of famine or sickness or a lack of food in the community, but because an aggressive strongman stole her property and the family's only means of income, leaving Venus and her children destitute in the dark, dirt-floored cave of their home.
Even there?I also met Madesh, trapped with his wife and kids in a brick kiln-violently forced into slavery with no hope of escape. The owner beat them if they slowed from their 1,000 brick per day quota in the searing afternoon heat. Madesh's deepest fear wasn't the physical pain, verbal abuse or beatings, but that his young son would grow up to be like his daddy-a slave.
How is this darkness as light to You?I want to believe the psalmist but, frankly, have to ask where God is in the sludge, the despair, the blinding pain of these places? This is not some hypothetical question on a theological exam. I've actually driven, walked, crawled into these places and looked these sisters and brothers in the eye to hear their stories. What's worse is that these accounts are not isolated cases. Experts estimate that 27 million people are physically enslaved today and nearly 2 million children are trapped in the global sex trade. In East Africa, thousands of widows and orphans are stripped of their property, and the litany of abuses goes on.
There have been those saints who dared to step into these dark places, many of them artists, writers, singers and musicians. And in the testing of their faith that led them to places of brokenness, they came out the other side with a new kind of song-songs like Psalm 40, Rich Mullins' "Bound to Come Some Trouble" and Sara Groves' "I Saw What I Saw." It's songs like these that gently remind me that I didn't arrive in these places of darkness on my own. I did not get there first, neither did Rich Mullins or King David. God was already there, and He led them there-led me there.
Throughout Scripture, Yahweh fixes His affections on the poor and oppressed, the rejected, harassed and helpless. Psalm 72 assures, "He will have compassion on the poor and needy, and the lives of the needy He will save. He will rescue their life form oppression and violence and their blood will be precious in His sight."
Then I wonder, what of this horrible mess of darkness and abuse would He not understand? Like Venus, the Father of all Creation watched his Son suffer a slow and unjust death. Like Madesh who aches for his family's safety and freedom, the eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth to strengthen His children. Like young Kunthy, Jesus Himself suffered the indignity of being sold for a price to ruthless men-at a relatively small sum.
I think God leads us to the darkest places for two gracious reasons: to give us a closer look at His heart, and like the child helping her dad wash the car, He gives us the dignity to participate in His redemptive work already in progress. Simply put, He leads us there to worship in the dark. If our whole lives are meant for worship, then what better place than right beside Him, learning from Him in the broken places?
For the past six years I've had the privilege of stepping into these dark places with International Justice Mission and without fail have found Jesus already there, on the move. Since 1997 IJM has provided a vehicle for the church to seek justice and rescue the oppressed.
IJM investigators found Kunthy imprisoned in the brothel and worked with local authorities to secure her release. Today, her traffickers are in jail, and Kunthy continues to heal in a loving aftercare home.
When IJM attorneys restored Venus' property, she told us, "Hunger is now a foreign word in my family." Venus teaches other women in her community of legal provisions that protect their children and property.
Likewise, local authorities working with IJM raided the kiln where Madesh and his family were brutalized rescuing them and 16 other slaves. Today, Madesh operates his own brick business employing several from his community. After a leisurely lunch I watched Madesh teach his son how to wash his hands. And I remember,
even there Your hand will guide me.I recently listened to a young man about my age-a former slave turned IJM intern-practice his English reading Isaiah 42, a passage he chose for its personal significance.
"I, the LORD, have called you in righteousness; I will take hold of your hand. I will keep you and make you ... to open the eyes of the blind, to free the captives from prison and to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness."
Suddenly, the poetry was no longer a metaphor for my personal struggles or spiritual growth. This is a very direct statement telling us what the living God is actually doing and offering us the unparalleled thrill of joining Him.
Engage your church with the work of justice. Learn more at ijm.org. Ted Haddock directs IJM photography and artist engagement.
