Fear and Trembling in the Postmodern World: Part Six - Sehnsucht

The ultimate deliverance from fear comes in a higher union.

It was not the doctrine of the Trinity that troubled me. It was not the bones of a billion years. It was not the pain in my muscles, the offense of predestination, or even the sexual ethic.

It was the silence.

The silence of God hit me with the force of an atom bomb. It drowned out every other sound. In the dark of the abyss, I cried out to my Creator. I cried to the God who gave me life.

Nothing. Silence.

The doubt that was planted in me years earlier sprung forth and coursed through my veins. It awakened every secret fear, and I wept bitterly. Oh, how I wept! My faith, so precious and yet so fragile! I felt as if it was slipping away, and I cried out to the Lord, “Grant me your Spirit!”

The God who remains silent in my deepest distress, when my faith itself is on the line. The God who remains silent in the face of injustice—who can look upon the Holocaust without saying a word. The God who spoke to the prophets of old, but has nothing to say to this present darkness, when the light of faith is going out in the West, and all that is left is silence.

Why should the silence have bothered me and not the suffering? Why could I accept the God who seems monstrous to others, but struggled to accept a God who is silent?

“God is not silent,” you say. Yes, of course. I said it to myself. He has revealed himself in scripture. He is with us here and now. But was he with me? How could he be if I doubted?

Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down!

That the mountains might quake at Your presence—

As fire kindles the brushwood, as fire causes water to boil—

To make Your name known to Your adversaries,

That the nations may tremble at Your presence!¹

How I longed for God! Even as the silence grew more deafening by the hour, I felt my desire growing. And I prayed in the words of the Psalmist,

As the deer pants for the water brooks,

So my soul pants for You, O God.

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God;

When shall I come and appear before God?

My tears have been my food day and night,

While they say to me all day long, ‘Where is your God?’²

I could not think why this silence should trouble me so when it did not trouble others. Why should this of all things cause me to doubt? Why did it threaten to shipwreck my faith…or did it?

I did not know what would happen. I wished to move on—to put it out of my mind. I loathed the struggle. I lived every day in fear and trembling.

“Why would God require faith?” I thought. “Why would he deny me this one thing: the only thing that is necessary?”

But had he denied me? Indeed, I noted the marks of faith within myself. I seemed to hang upon that faith like an elephant upon a thread, but it was there all the same. I clung to it and treasured it. I did not know if it would hold.

“And without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is and that He is a rewarder of those who seek Him.”³

How I sought that God every day! How I cried and groaned! For this was my Anfechtung, the testing of my faith. I had descended into the depths. I was nearing the foundations of stone, and I feared what I would find there: what would come from this Untergang. Would I rise to life or succumb to death?

I blamed myself for wandering from the straight path. I felt much like Dante when he awoke in the middle of that dark wood, not quite knowing how he had arrived there, but struck with terror all the same. I feared that God would never forgive me for doubting—that the seed of faith inside me would never grow into a tree in which the birds of the air could find a dwelling. I served God, but I doubted him. I doubted, yet I hated myself for doubting. I could not bear the silence. It was deafening to my ears.

Then I considered the path of my life. I meditated upon its meaning. What did I desire? What did I fear? This was when I realized that every fear I carried inside me was pointing me toward the ultimate reality in which I might find peace for my soul. I hoped that if I could experience that perfect love which has no equal, I would be free.

The Germans have a word for what I was experiencing: Sehnsucht. The closest translation is “longing” or even “blessed longing”. It is that feeling somewhere between pleasure and pain, but surpassing them both in equal measure. It is the pang of nostalgia we feel when contemplating the past and the fierce expectancy when contemplating the future. It is the desire for something this world cannot provide, but which is hinted at by certain things in this world. C.S. Lewis equated it with joy, which is somewhat odd, since the standard English speaker’s understanding of joy would have no room for grief…yet that is exactly what Lewis suggested joy involves.

I call it Joy, which is here a technical term and must be sharply distinguished both from Happiness and Pleasure. Joy (in my sense) has indeed one characteristic, and one only, in common with them; the fact that anyone who has experienced it will want it again. Apart from that, and considered only in its quality, it might almost equally well be called a particular kind of unhappiness or grief. But then it is a kind we want. I doubt whether anyone who has tasted it would ever, if both were in his power, exchange it for all the pleasures in the world. But then Joy is never in our power and pleasure often is.⁴

This joy of which Lewis speaks shares an intimate connection with the Sehnsucht of German Romanticism. From a young age, Lewis had been fascinated by the old Germanic and Scandinavian myths. He felt the pang of longing when listening to the flow of the Rhine and glories of the Schwarzwald portrayed in a Richard Wagner score. His imagination was captured by the adventures of Siegfried. He was also familiar with those twin lords of Weimar—Goethe and Schiller—and he built upon their theme of longing (Sehnsucht), interpreting it as a desire not for nature but heaven itself.

The experience is one of intense longing. It is distinguished from other longings by two things. In the first place, though the sense of want is acute and even painful, yet the mere wanting is felt to be somehow a delight. Other desires are felt as pleasures only if satisfaction is expected in the near future: hunger is pleasant only while we know (or believe) that we are soon going to eat. But this desire, even when there is no hope of possible satisfaction, continues to be prized, and even to be preferred to anything else in the world, by those who have once felt it. This hunger is better than any other fullness; this poverty better than all other wealth. And thus it comes about, that if the desire is long absent, it may itself be desired, and that new desiring becomes a new instance of the original desire, though the subject may not at once recognize the fact and thus cries out for his lost youth of soul at the very moment in which he is being rejuvenated.⁵

It was there at the foundation of stone that I came to understand the great longing that had followed me every day of my life. Often, it had lain dormant somewhere deep in the recesses of my soul, while my conscious mind concerned itself with more urgent matters…or what I thought were more urgent matters. There had been moments where it nearly broke free: bouts of anxiety and terrible loneliness. At times, I was almost hopeless as I saw the days passing by and felt myself as ancient as the earth on which I stood. But every so often, I had a glimpse of something divine, and I knew I could never be content with the kind of life for which so many of my peers settled.

What was troubling me was nothing less than a longing for the beatific vision. I felt keenly the pains of this world and how my own existence was impoverished in comparison with that first and most perfect existence of which Descartes spoke. Was the doubt I felt in response to the silence of God an act of rebellion against him or a desperate yearning for him? Even to ask this question caused me to tremble and fear.

“Whatever happens now, I know I will not be the same,” I thought. “It is all or nothing. This God cannot simply be a subject of academic study, though he is certainly that. He cannot simply be a stopgap for the present day. Either he is alpha and omega, the beginning and the end of all existence, or he is a myth not worth considering.” Of course, I feared the myth hypothesis, but the hope—the hope was just that. It was the reason I lived and breathed: because I hoped in the promises of scripture. I longed for the beatific vision.

I knew myself to be a worm and not a woman, but I had questions of God as well. Why did it have to be this way? Why did he hide himself? Was this my Mount Moriah? Was I to fear and tremble for the rest of my days? I could not look back in assurance from the mountain top, for I was not yet there. Indeed, I am still not there. I did not know if this testing would be for good or ill, but I knew I must endure it. I prayed that I would endure it. I felt I would endure anything to know that perfect love.

Moses once cried out to YHWH, “I pray You, show me Your glory!”⁶ The answer he received from God was not what one might expect.

And He said, ‘I Myself will make all My goodness pass before you, and will proclaim the name of the Lord before you; and I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show compassion on whom I will show compassion.’ But He said, ‘You cannot see My face, for no man can see Me and live!’⁷

What an odd reply this was! To look upon the glory of God, we are told, is fatal to human beings. Only the goodness we may see, and indeed we see it all around us. But YHWH refused to bend to Moses’ desire. He would not relinquish his sovereign right. “I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show compassion on whom I will show compassion.” Who is this strange God? If I gave my whole life to him, I could no sooner comprehend what has been from beginning to end. Yet for myself, I would try. I would make the descent in hope of resurrection, for I have felt the Sehnsucht of which Goethe’s lyric speaks.

Tell it only to the wise,

For the crows at once will jeer:

That which is alive I praise,

That which longs for death by fire.⁸

How I hoped to see myself in those words! How I desired to be truly alive, even if it meant dying to rise.

You have known the alien feeling

In the calm of candlelight;

Gloom-embrace will lie no more,

By the flickering shades obscured,

But are seized by new desire,

To a higher union lured.

Then no distance holds you fast;

Winged, enchanted, on you fly,

Light your longing, and at last,

Moth, you meet the flame and die.

Never prompted to that quest:

Die and dare rebirth!⁹

Many will be filled with longing, but only some will seek to fulfill it in the ultimate reality. Only some will spend their life in fear and trembling, pursuing the city that has foundations. Others will attempt to seize satisfaction in the here and now. They will search for it in wealth, power, sex, fitness, mindfulness—anything to fill the gaping hole. Even the love they feel toward their fellow human beings is a stopgap. It is just as Lewis said: “We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea.”¹⁰

Ah, but is that joy truly offered? The specter of death rises before us. It will bring an end to all we have built. What then is our purpose? Is there any hope in this life, or is it all meaningless? Was Nietzsche right? Are we simply doing the dance of death? Should we pursue dominion in the here and now? What would it matter? What does any of it matter? Dare I ask it? Yes, I will. Is God silent because…he is not there?

Where does one turn when these darkest of doubts rise to the surface? I say look to the cross. Look upon the lamb that was slain. If anyone would have the right to reveal ultimate reality, it would be one who descended and ascended. It would be one who walked through that valley of the shadow of death, and who requires nothing of us that he did not complete himself. Only one who came from heaven can reveal heaven to earth. Only through the incarnate Son of God can we look upon our Creator and truly know him.

And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we saw His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth…No one has seen God at any time; the only begotten God who is in the bosom of the Father, He has explained Him.¹¹

In a twist no writer could have imagined, the glory of God is revealed most perfectly in the cross of Jesus Christ. Only in that darkest of hours was the joy of the ages accomplished. Therefore, the author of Hebrews declares, “…let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”¹²

Yes, as Christ knelt in the garden of Gethsemane and made his prayer of lament to the Father, he was staring into an abyss of terror: the deepest darkness ever known to man. “My soul is deeply grieved to the point of death,” he told his disciples.¹³ Once before, he had said to them, “But I have a baptism to undergo, and how distressed I am until it is accomplished!”¹⁴ This was the Untergang of the Son of God in which he was called upon to drink the cup of wrath that had been assigned to others. He, the only innocent person in history, was called upon to be tortured and killed, receiving the full punishment due for sin. There had been a substitute for Isaac, but there would be no substitute for the Son of God.

The greatest Anfechtung he faced in that hour! How he must have longed for deliverance! He was, after all, a man. No common man, yes, but a man nonetheless. And so he cried out, “Abba! Father! All things are possible for You; remove this cup from Me,” as any of us would. But then he said something few of us would dare. Nietzsche’s lion had proclaimed the end of “thou shalt” and the beginning of “I will”, but in that moment, the one who had more right than any other to proclaim his own prerogative said, “…yet not what I will, but what You will.”¹⁵ He sought a greater joy, and like Abraham, he hoped in the resurrection from the dead.

And what of the disciples who saw him experience that suffering? The darkness of that day threatened to be the end of them. Their faith, which once seemed so strong, disappeared. They abandoned him one by one, save for John. Only John stood at the foot of the cross. What horror he must have endured! Peter had denied the Lord three times, but for all his faithfulness, John was forced to witness the greatest darkness in history.

Even as Christ died that day, the faith of the disciples seemed to die. The next time we find them, they are not in the garden awaiting the prophesied resurrection. They are hiding together, afraid of sharing in their master’s fate. Even Peter, who had so boldly declared, “Even if I have to die with You, I will not deny You,”¹⁶ was not prepared to face his own going under. The shallowness of the disciples’ faith had been exposed by this trial. Though they had spent all their time around Christ, they did not truly know him at all.

Then they were exposed to something higher than reason: they saw the resurrected Christ face to face, and their faith was restored. They were no longer playing at religion. They saw that even as they would share in the sufferings of Christ, they would share in his resurrection. As the Apostle Paul wrote, “For if we have become united with Him in the likeness of His death, certainly we shall also be in the likeness of His resurrection…”¹⁷ For God is not silent at all. In these last days, he has spoken through his Son.

There is only one thing unchanging. There is only one balm for the soul. I seek the higher love of God. I seek the death of death. Only in Christ can my longing be fulfilled. “For just as the lightning comes from the east and flashes even to the west, so will the coming of the Son of Man be.”¹⁸

But what about you, my friend? Do you know that of which I speak? Have you too walked in the depths?

Here you take your stand in the valley of the shadow of death, the wilderness of the soul, the graveyard of faith. What you thought you knew has been belied. What you built lies in rubble, and here amid the charred remains, you seek some solace: a last bit of hope among the dry bones. You have felt the Sehnsucht.

You fear this moment, but your fear is not that of the weak. You fear what it would mean to be truly alive: that the truth itself will be your undoing. With a voiceless cry, you cast your lament to the heavens. You make your final stand in the valley of the shadow of death. This is your Untergang.

Nothing. Silence.

The only sound is the wind scattering dust, overthrowing all in its path. You know not where it comes from, nor where it is going. It has forced you along, through triumph and tragedy, and now it has brought you here.

Perhaps you shed a tear. Perhaps you utter a prayer. The seed which was planted in you is all that is left. Would you throw it away, or would you endure the Anfechtung?

And you call out to the sky and say, “Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down! Oh, that you would grant me what I seek!” Only God knows how long you wait.

Then suddenly, all is changed. The lightning strikes. You can never be the same.

The sky alight, the great storehouses open. This is the Blitz. It is the end and the beginning. For this is not a dead place. This is holy ground. And there you are, flat on your back, confronted with the ultimate reality. You are overwhelmed and despair of yourself.

Then rising, you are swept up in the torrent. For a moment, you see what was and what will be. You know you are called by His name. At least, you are captivated by this maddening thing, and all else fades away. A consoling force, a consuming fire: YHWH.

Soli Deo Gloria.

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1. Isaiah 64:1-2. The New American Standard Bible. Updated edition. The Lockman Foundation, 1995. (All biblical quotations are from this source.)

2. Psalm 42:1-3

3. Hebrews 11:6

4. Lewis, C.S. Surprised by Joy: The Shape of my Early Life. San Francisco: Harper One, 2017. 19.

5. Lewis, C.S. The Pilgrim’s Regress. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2014. 234.

6. Exodus 33:18

7. Exodus 33:19-20

8. Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von. “Blessed Longing”. The Essential Goethe. Ed. Matthew Bell. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007. 39.

9. Ibid

10. Lewis, C.S. The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses. 2001 paperback edition. New York: Harper Collins, 1980. 26.

11. John 1:14, 18

12. Hebrews 12:1b-2

13. Mark 14:34

14. Luke 12:50

15. Mark 14:36

16. Matthew 26:35

17. Romans 6:5

18. Matthew 24:27