Embodied: KJ Ramsey's Monthly Newsletter
Embodied.
Releasing Spiritual Angst When You Fear God is Distant
“The good news about seasons,” he said with utmost confidence, “is they always change.
It’s a line so simple that we could have easily missed its truth. But sometimes words of comfort take like good medicine, meeting a need in the moment. Because our friend saw our ache, the words penetrated our pain.
Sight somehow takes ordinary words and carries them into the soul with a power past definition.
And sometimes words echo through the years, penetrating pains past the original, becoming a talisman of the trust we want to extend, so that several years past their utterance, the words carry more meaning today than our friend could have known.
Our season is changing, and not just from Fall to Winter. This week my husband and I drove 2,178 miles from Montana to our new life in North Carolina. (And, man, it was an interesting, lengthy trip. If you follow me on Instagram, you probably saw the insanity of our numerous trailer issues.) This move is a seasonal shift we have longed for, sometimes doubted would happen, and desperately need.
My husband Ryan is the new Associate Pastor at CityChurch Charlotte, where he will be overseeing assimilation, small groups, and pastoral care, as well as teaching and preaching regularly. Beautifully, I already have a good friend at our new church, and it’s our pastor’s wife! Niki Hardy and I became friends through my writing group, hope*writers, and it has been incredible to discern our call to CityChurch with peace of mind and heart already knowing Niki and her husband Al’s character.
Seasons change.
I imagine many of you may also be longing to turn the calendar pages of your season from dark to light.
We often feel a hollow in our souls in the aftermath of loss, disappointment, or abuse. When we experience vastly difficult circumstances, it is natural for our spiritual rhythms to feel like distant memories. In our ache we wonder when God will return with joy.
If words could sink into your soul, like the words of our friend, penetrating your pain and carrying meaning for years to come, I’d like these words to permeate every strand of tissue that makes up your being:
God is still near to you.
In our longing for light, we often feel weighty spiritual angst. The obscurity of waiting, the distance we feel from God, and the anger that wells within as we wonder if he will ever give what we feel we need can make us languish with quiet self-loathing. We wonder if we’ve done something wrong to keep God and good things far off.
But what if seasons of obscurity, when we cannot trace the hand of God within our souls nor our circumstances, are actually part of the natural pattern of God’s work?
I wonder what freedom you might feel if you could lay down the burden of figuring out what God is doing in your darkness.
Let Go of Angst
If you are united to Christ by faith, you are always connected to God’s presence. He is never far from you. Never. The presence of God does not change like the green leaves shifting from brown to bare.
If you fear God is distant, if your eyes see only clouds where you used to glimpse traces of his face, be comforted that he has not left you. It is your perception of his nearness that has changed. And if you read that as a sentence of judgment, I’d like you to consider it as an invitation to relief.
Instead of grasping your hands into fists to turn at either God or yourself for your shift in perception of his nearness, perhaps you could try accepting two concurrent truths:
God is still with you.
You are allowed to be human.
Friend, if you are longing for dark to turn to light, if you ache for your season to change and fear it never will, feel the angst of your longing—but let it not be angst that God is far away. Circumstances affect us and our perception of God’s presence. This is a reality of living in broken bodies in a broken world. But God is nearer than we generally allow ourselves to remember. You and I are prone to forget, and that is ok. You and I struggle with the chasm between perception and reality, and God knows. At the same time, this remains true: you and I are connected to the Love that never leaves.
In the dark of longing and lament, Love is forming you in ways you could never know in the light, in ways you could never experience in the brightness of bible studies.
God is still near you.
A Simple Exercise to Release Spiritual Angst
It can be difficult to know how to step into the space between two truths that feel opposed. God is still with you, and you are allowed to be human (full of doubt, feeling he is far). Here’s one small exercise to help you step into the middle space. Spiritual angst over God’s perceived distance can keep us in a perpetual state of anxiety or apathy. If God is actually still near you, you do not need to stay in a place of angst. You simply don’t. Here is a short exercise to release spiritual angst:
Sit in a comfortable spot and take a few deep, slow breaths.
When you feel moderately calm, clench your fists. Let your fingernails dig into your palms. Hold your fists tight for ten to fifteen seconds.
Feel the tightness, the constriction? This is angst—uncomfortable, even painful. Notice how much energy it takes to hold your hands this way?
Next, you will slowly open your hands: one finger at a time, name something you are concerned about or feeling. Ten things, ten feelings, ten tensions to unfurl.
Your hands are open, your concerns and feelings are laid bare before yourself and God. Pray: “Lord, all of my concerns and feelings are in your hands. I release them to you.”
And then shake your hands out! Seriously. Shake them! If you aren’t too embarrassed, shake them hard! Let the worries and hard feelings release into the air. God holds them. You don’t have to.
Now open your hands back up. They are empty and free. Thank God for holding your fears and feelings and for holding your faltering hands up in prayer even when you feel weary and even if you don’t feel any of these words are true.
This is a small exercise you can use throughout your week when you need a physical expression of the truth that God holds you and is near. And practices like these work to promote healing even on a neurological level. Release the angst that he may not be there, friend. He is more near than you know.
Writing Updates
There is a lot happening behind the scenes with my book, and I can't wait to give you a proper update as soon as I can! For now, here is one fun tidbit. The working title of the book is: God Isn't Teaching You a Lesson: And Other Good News About Suffering
New Articles:
"Tasting Death Together" in Fathom Magazine: in which I confess to sometimes wanting to die.
"The Painful Part of Wholeness" with Catalyst Leader: in which I give practical steps to embrace the pain in your life as a place God draws near to you.
Advent Resources
This collection of short Advent readings has been my yearly companion for about 12 years. While there have been a few years I didn't pick it up, most years it guides me into the quiet and longing of Advent. I love how the wide collection of writers sinks me into the history of the church with writers from the early church to the present and how the writing helps me see the thrust of Advent as about more than my personal, private need for liberation. I hope it stirs your soul as much as it does mine. Get a copy here at your favorite bookseller.
I know people have strong feelings about Christmas music. I can only stand most of it in tiny doses. (Judge me if you want.) Advent is about the coming of Jesus into the darkness of oppression, not necessarily about frolicking in the snow, as fun as that is. I generally like my music like I like most things: moody and slow. This album from Bifrost Arts is a beautiful complement to the yearning of Advent. I've also been loving the Songs of Common Prayer album from Greg LaFollete that released last month. (And, ok, yes, there is a place for lighthearted music in my life too. Here's something I can't stop dancing to, which is not at all Advent related.)
Thanks for being the kind of person who values depth and creating space for joy. It's an honor to share words and space with you, even in the small form of an email.
In the fellowship of the God who came to us as a human baby (how amazing is that?),
KJ
kjramsey.com
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