Jordan Feliz is one of my favorite artists because he does a wonderful job of tackling tough issues and circumstances while uplifting the people struggling through them. In “Never Too Far Gone,” Feliz gives hope to those who feel far away from God, who have done wrong, who have hurt others, who have hurt themselves, and reminds them that there’s no place they can be physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually that God does not have covered in His loving presence.
The message of this song describes how, even when we run away from God, it takes only one step in the right direction to be back in His loving embrace. It takes only one action to be forgiven, only one action to be found, to be caught.
People all over the world are currently lost or in the process of losing themselves. Some may be stumbling around in the dark already, dazed, confused, blind, in despair and unable or unwilling to call out for someone to turn on the lights. Some are sprinting at a breakneck speed away from the light because it stung their eyes, and they think they will find comfort in the darkness.
There are two images I get from the lyrics in Feliz’s song. The first is kind of like a chase scene in a horror/slasher movie. If you’ve ever seen one, you know that the protagonist is sprinting as fast as possible away from the killer, who often appears to be casually walking, but never seems to lose him. No matter how fast the protagonist runs, nor how cleverly he disguises his path, the killer is always there.
In a way, that’s kind of what running from God is like. No matter how far or fast you run, God’s always right behind you waiting for you to slow down and give in, to recognize that it’s not a killer who’s after you, rather, in a parody of a horror/slasher situation, it’s a friend and guide who wants to help you escape from death.
I imagine that it might feel scary or daunting in some ways to those who only see the bright light of God from the darkness, who have never experienced the warmth and love that His light provides. And I personally think we don’t give enough credence to the fact that God can be scary to people who don’t know Him—Christianity can be scary to people who don’t truly know it, who have only ever seen it from the outside, or maybe just experienced the worst parts of believers and the church.
The second image/scenario I envision involves a large room filled with swirling darkness. The darkness ebbs and flows and changes constantly, seeking to block people in the room from seeing the light shining from the exit. The darkness is disorienting and confusing, causing those within to stumble and wander, losing all sense of direction. Even if they manage to spot the light, the suffocating darkness moves to cover it up, leaving them without a clue which way to go. But the God of light does not need to stay at the doorway; when someone calls out from the darkness, He goes to them, cutting a swath through the darkness with His light, picks them up, and carries them to the exit.
I don’t have to imagine reality for this scenario; I’ve been through things just like it. I’ve tried to walk myself out of the darkness of emotional and mental health struggles. I’ve tried to walk myself out of the suffocating room wherein I feel trapped. I’ve tried to combat my sin and temptation on my own. But it was only when I called out to God that He carried me free of those things.
In Sunday School this week, we touched on a related topic as we discussed grief and other hard-hitting emotions: the idea that Jesus, that God, has felt everything we could feel. And that’s true. We can attribute this experience of Jesus to His suffering and death on the cross. In those moments of His death, He felt every last bit of every sin. Before yesterday morning, I had never really given thought to the idea that Jesus had felt the same shame, guilt, failure, etc. that I’ve felt, that you’ve felt, that we’ve all felt. Not just that He has felt shame, guilt, failure,
Whenever I thought about Jesus being able to relate to me, I always dwelled on things in general; I never made the emotional, relational connection specific to me. But when He died on that cross, He felt all the bad, the things that God doesn’t, can’t, shouldn’t feel. A perfect God can feel no shame or guilt, but He did. He suffered under the weight of guilt for us. He suffered the load of shame for us. He suffered the pain of failure for us.
And He did not just generically feel those things. He felt the exact shame I feel whenever I give into lust or anger. He felt the guilt of each time I sinned and knew I was doing it. He felt the weight of every failure I have committed. Why? So He could chase us down, seek us out, pick us up, and show us with the scars on His hands, His feet, His side, and His head that we are not too far gone to be rescued.