What I Know Not From Experience

Journal Entry. Twilight of October 11th. 

I stood in a place where darkness and light dwelt together. There was no sound, no color, only light. The moment seemed to rob my senses of all that they knew, while at the same time taking in what of this was new, both what to me was known and what to me remained unknown. There was nothing behind, above, nor beneath, only what lay before me in the distance: light.

Not light that one sees, but light that one knows.

I knew what light was. I knew that it illuminated, and that when it was too bright, I could do nothing but close my eyes. But this was a light I had never experienced. So brilliant, burning brightly, and yet I found peace in looking upon it, in basking in it. I could not understand how a light so bright could be so restful to behold. It was a brightness I could look at and touch and experience, not as I had ever known it before, but in a manner I had never known at all. And here I was, experiencing it.

I moved forward without moving. I knew how to move myself forward, and what it was to move forward, yet here I knew that I was moving forward without doing so. Nothing of what I knew seemed to belong in this place. The darkness around me was not fearsome, but simply there, even as the light was there. A faint mist seemed to complement the light. I had nowhere to go to the left nor to the right, but was moved forward in one direction, toward the only end.

At that moment, I felt like an ant standing at the entrance of a great and immense cathedral. The end seemed so far away, and yet I could touch it. I moved forward slowly, drawn toward it. I was alone, and none was with me. This I knew, and yet I sought no hand to hold. Neither did I think of my loved ones, nor of my brethren. The longing for all that I knew was absent, as though such things had ceased to have any bearing upon me. It was not that I had forgotten them, but that they did not matter now. All that I knew seemed to have fallen away, and yet I was not troubled by its absence. I knew only that I was here, and that I was moving forward.

Then this thought entered my mind: I am with myself. And with it came the trouble. Is it truly possible that my sins should be gone from me? No offense ever committed? No indecent thought ever entertained? No wicked deed ever done? Ever? Is such a thing possible?

What I knew from experience was that it was impossible. How could a burden so familiar to me, which I had carried daily, now be nowhere with me? How could that which had so long been present be absent? This was contrary to all that I had known of myself. From the knowledge of my mind, I knew that my sins had been washed in the blood of the Lamb. This I knew. I had believed it, and had confessed it to be true. But I had never experienced the reality of being entirely without sin, ever. I had known the forgiveness of my sins, but never this—this reality of carrying no sin, knowing no sin, having none of that familiar stench with me. I knew what it was to have my sins forgiven. But to find myself without them, to know their absence as I had so long known their presence, was something altogether beyond my experience; like being wounded yet seeing no wound. 

What shall I see when I reach the end?

I have spoken much of the glories of heaven, and have often encouraged the brethren to endure unto that promised rest. Yet now I was made to consider that I had spoken of things I had never known by experience. I had believed them. This I knew. But the experience of them I had never had. The nearer I was to where I had first stood, the more my thoughts turned unto the things I knew: the brethren, the ministry, the teaching, the watching over others, the caring, the labor. These were things I had experienced. They belonged unto the life I had lived, and my thoughts were of them.

But as I moved farther from where I had begun, and nearer unto the end of this new place, I was overcome by something altogether unknown to me. My own self seemed to fade, together with my thoughts, while an experience I had never known began to overshadow me. It was not of myself, nor anything I had ever found with what I know. I had known about God, and had spoken much about Him, but I had never experienced Him. I had spoken of the peace of God, but had never lived in it. I had spoken of the love of God, but had never been embraced by it. My senses knew nothing of the things I have spoken so much about. Everything had been in my mind. I had believed these things to be true, but had never known them by experience.

And then a fresh wind of thoughts came upon me. God was altogether different from what I had thought of Him. His peace was far beyond what I had yearned for, and His love far beyond what I had believed of it.

I had known love in my mind, but not in experience. I knew the love of the senses and of the understanding, but not a love beyond the bounds of my poor comprehension. A love that encompassed all. Pure. Without malice. A love I had never comprehended to its fullest reality. A love that reckoned not offenses done, nor called to mind sins committed, but poured itself forth in torrents. The immensity of it! I knew that no man could stand against an immeasurable and raging river and not be swept away by its waters. Yet here I stood in the midst of this same torrent, but of love. It rushed around me and through me, and I yielded myself unto it, yet knew no fear, no harm, only peace. This was love—not merely something to be known in the mind, but a reality in which I now found myself. I was encompassed by it, borne up in it, and rested in its embrace. I could neither measure its greatness nor comprehend its fulness, yet I knew I was safe within it. Oh, what a love this was! I had read of it, believed it, and spoken of it; but now I was no longer merely speaking of love. I was experiencing it, and my whole being rested in the wonder of it. I had been, from what I only knew, astonished by the drop of water upon my finger, never understanding the depths and immensity of the ocean from which it had been drawn.

Then I knew—and I was astonished. God had revealed His glory in His Word, and yet how little had my mind apprehended of what He had revealed! It had been there all along, upon every page, the truth of Him standing before me as though written in bold letters, and yet I had read it without comprehending the glory that lay before me. I had searched the Scriptures, pondered their words, and wearied my mind over them; but now I was made sensible of how little I had understood. I had read of His glory. I had spoken of His glory. I had believed what was written of His glory. But to know the glory itself—to be brought into the experience of what I had so long read and believed—this I had never known.

Oh, how little I knew! I had thought I knew, and indeed I knew in part; but now that part seemed so exceedingly small that I could scarcely reckon it knowledge at all. All that I had understood in my thoughts was but a little portion of what had been there before me in His Word. I had known in part, but had never known the glorious experience of it.

What we think and believe to be true is not necessarily what we have known by experience. I had believed the truth of these things, and could speak of them with confidence; yet the experience of them was another matter altogether. To know of a thing in the mind, and to be brought into the experience of its reality, are not one and the same.

Hence God has poured forth His encouragements unto us, even today, to endure, to believe, to hold fast, to finish the race, to be faithful to the end, and not to let go. For the glory that awaits us far surpasses all that we are called to endure in its behalf. God has revealed His glory in His Word, but our fallen minds cannot comprehend its greatness. The promises are here; the experience of their fulness awaits us there. We stand between the promise and its fulfilment, upon a road that leads either backward unto our miserable Egypt, or onward unto the promised rest.

How foolish for the revived to wish to die again! How foolish for those who have been called forth from their tombs to desire to return unto them! How foolish for those who have been loosed and let go to wrap themselves once more in their grave clothes! How foolish indeed for those who have tasted the savor and sustenance of good food to turn again unto their own vomit. Having been made alive, let us not desire death. Having been called forth, let us not return unto the tomb. Having been loosed, let us not bind ourselves again. And having tasted that the Lord is gracious, let us not turn back unto the corruption from which His mercy has delivered us.

Christ awaits us there, and with Him the crowns laid up for those who have believed. This present life, however full of real spiritual experience, is but a pebble at the foot of a mountain, an inkling of the final measure of what God has promised. The glory is greater than our present understanding, the rest is worth more than all our present sufferings, and the great pleasure of Christ towards His faithful servant is worth our short and little labor.

Therefore we must believe, that we may endure. We must look forward to tomorrow's rest, to make meaning of today's troubles. The promises shall be fulfilled, and what we now believe, we shall then know by experience. The peace, the love, the glory of which we have read and believed shall at last be ours to know in their fulness. Our promised end determines how our present journey must be understood. We do not persevere merely for endurance's sake, we persevere towards the person of Jesus, who is Christ. The glory we know now in part, we shall one day experience as reality in His presence, in eternity.

Our knowledge is incomplete and our ability to speak what God has revealed is incomplete. But what is perfect will someday appear, and what isn't perfect will then disappear. Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.
1 Corinthians 13:9,10,12