(Be on the alert at all times...our theme for this week)
Please indulge me with a few random thoughts racing through my mind and a wee bit of history, as I pause my look at developing a theology of suffering...
Bay and I just returned from twelve days in the south…a little over a week in Alabama, where we did some speaking, along with a few days of quiet rest overlooking Orange Beach.
The remainder of our time was spent in Franklin, TN, where Bay was slated to speak at staff chapel for the Dave Ramsey Foundation, but because of a premature move into new facilities the event was cancelled at the last minute. So, we decided to tour a little Civil War history, right in the heart of this cute little Hallmark-suited community.
The Battle at Franklin is synonymous with Civil War carnage.
Just over 160 years ago, one 5-hour battle left over 6000 Confederate soldiers dead (along with 6 generals) and 2000–plus US troops. Other than Pearl Harbor and 9/11 have that many Americans perished in such a short period of attack.
It had to have been horrendous, as soldiers primarily fought under the darkness of a new-moon-night. The thick smoke left from cannons, fired onto the field from as far as a mile and a half away, hovered ghost-like in the air, while men engaged in hand-to-hand combat, up close and personal, over a mere two mile stretch of land.
Our first visit to the Carnton Plantation, which immediately became a hospital at 4:00 PM on November 30, 1864, sobered us.
(Carnton House, Franklin, TN)
Over 300 wounded men covered the floors of this 8-room home, with more men being tended outdoors. Still visible on the wood floors of the home of the McGavock family are the blood stains left in the places where doctors worked feverishly to tend the wounded. Apparently, as surgeons amputated arms and legs of soldiers, praying to spare their lives, the pile of limbs rose skyward, out the windows near where they worked, literally from ground to the second story windows. While our tour guide refuted this, other historical books speak otherwise.
(Confederate Cemetery at Carnton)
Regardless…the devastation defies imagination.
We wandered past the Carter house right downtown Franklin, where thousands of bullet holes, as well as, holes left by canon balls are still visible in outbuildings. Here the US Army took up headquarters, while the Carter family, along with the Lotz family (whose home still stands across the street), hid in the root cellar until the battle ended. The Carter son, Tod, fighting for the southern states (and hadn’t seen home in more than three years), led his men into battle “excited to be home.” Engaging in the fight in his own backyard, Tod took nine bullets, finally dying in the arms of his family.
But, there was one brief story shared by our tour guide, that has rattled around in my thoughts.
Prior to the Battle of Franklin, the same two groups of soldiers met in conflict at Spring Hill. After several hours of battle, it became clear that the skirmish would end in a stalemate, and after losing nearly 700 American soldiers (between the two armies), the generals called for a retreat.
The Confederate army, led by General John Bell Hood, steered his men toward another nearby plantation (Rippavilla) where they would rest for the evening and regroup for the oncoming battle at Nashville. General Hood was wakened in the night by one of his privates, alerting him to movement on the road not far off the plantation. He, however, dismissed the information, only to discover the next morning, that under cover of darkness, 20,000 US Troops silently slipped past them on to Franklin. Furious that General Schofield bested him, Hood determined to meet them there before they got as far as Nashville.
Think about this: 20,000 soldiers silently sneaked past an army of almost 30,000.
And, with that move, the certain defeat of the Confederate Army was sealed.
The US Army had plenty of time to set their defense before Hood could move his men North.
It’s why many historians call the Battle of Franklin “the Last Sigh of the Confederacy.”
*****
Why do I give you this little history lesson?
Because it dawned on me this week that little by little, under the guise of “darkness” when I'm not paying attention, idols like warring soldiers, march right past me in order to set up a place in my heart.
Counterfeit idols who want to win the war for who rules my soul.
Little wants that become big wants as I let them quietly pass by me.
These might even be “good” things, I’ve noticed…
For example, I set a goal this past year to be the healthiest version of me I possibly can be as I age…
…BUT, when my desire for achieving better health outweighs my desire for receiving more of the God-of-Good-Health, it sets itself up to take the throne of my heart from the Lord.
We all struggle with idols that war against us and do their best to slip by us.
We seek the healing more than the Healer.
We want the provision (& finances) more than the Provider…the peace and comforter more than the Giver of both.
We (me, again) want the results in ministry for the glory of God, even more than we want the Lord Himself in our lives.
Idols are subtle.
They are silent.
They sneak past us without us even seeing them.
And, when they do, they have plenty of time to set us up for a wretched battle.
But, like Gideon, before we can even think about the fight, the idols have to be identified and torn down with repentance.
Then slowly, consistently, and with a plan in place, we can win the war.
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