Into the Fire

Although I am not “profound” in the substance of what I say or do and often write, because the Holy Spirit lives in me and breathes the holiness of Life into me, I have the capability to be.

When I was in college (briefly), the one thing you could count on when you got together with other college students is the assumption that the serious conversations and discussions taking place would be considered “profound”, no matter how whacked they were. There’s something about college students. Maybe it’s the influence of academia. Intensive learning, study, discovery, formulation of astute opinions—many of which will dissolve into so many embarrassing memories by the time the mid-thirties roll around.

Too much talking can be annoying. Too much thinking can be counterproductive. Too much action can be compulsive. Throughout the process of decision making, we yearn to strike a workable balance in our emotional, physical, and spiritual conduct. When all three are working in harmony with our Lord, we tend to experience the profound.

We could debate what is truly profound, but it would be pointless because from the simplest observation to the most complex experience, most of us would differ in our personal registries of profound encounters. The easiest way for me to capture a “definition” of the profound is to say: When the physical and emotional meet and intersect with the spiritual, and the spiritual prevails, it is profound. And when the spiritual intercepts the physical and emotional and prevails, it is profound.

When you read something, the writing of someone you know or someone you will never know, and you notice how the words fairly dance on the page—the writing talent of the author splashing like color across a canvas—are you caught up in their beauty? Do they take you to a place you want to go? Do they seduce you into unforeseen evil, clever and cunning, and ultimately shocking? Do those words reveal mysteries or create unknown universes or craft character traits so concisely you see yourself more clearly or wish you didn’t? More importantly, do they resonate the voice of the Creator, the one who endows the talent to put them on the page? Do they speak of His splendor either subtly or boldly? Can they be profound without Him? Meaningful, perhaps, without Him for His touch can be upon the writer, but . . . profound?

Words on a page . . . Sometimes they just show off the talent. Like a pulsating beacon. Screaming silently of skills given but not acknowledging the Giver of such an incredible gift. Spreading influence or opinion or emotion or intrigue . . . but not profundity. Not without Him.

You can labor and craft and sorrow and rejoice to put the words on a page, but without the Master’s touch, that’s all they’ll ever be: words on a page. Those words on a page might gather wealth or fame or fans or followers. They might summon attention from important people or common folk or make impressions on the masses. The intellectuals will ruminate; the scholars will long to teach it; the average reader will discover an amazing treasure. The power of story and/or research written effectively, even glamorously, demonstrating the author’s talent to the doting readers . . . It’s possible to accomplish with the talent or the big break or the right people.

But when God is involved, the story never stops when “The End” appears on the last page. It sings on in the hearts of the readers with selected thoughts, particular characters, unintended revelations. The experience becomes profound.

Father, I know what I write is far less lovely than some, maybe more illustrative than others, but more than anything I want the underlying message to be profound because if it is, then I know you’ve touched it, and if you’ve touched it, then someone will feel your heart in some capacity, and they will be drawn to you, and that’s all that really matters to me. Help me to write with your divine touch on the words. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.