Once in a while I stumble on a word or unusual combination of words that is intriguing. They evoke a feeling that I can't quite put my finger on. Something so compelling - as if there's some long-forgotten memory attached. Ancient path is one such turn of phrase for me. It comes from a book written by Jeremiah the prophet, whom I like to think of as a distant relative on my husband's side. It's couched in a chapter containing dire warnings of battle and coming defeat in the city of Jerusalem. It's like this little beacon in the middle of the tumult.
“Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls. (6:16)
Soul-rest must have been hard to come by in this context. Everything was literally and figuratively falling apart around their ears and here's this invitation to find rest. And while it's usually not a good idea to look at scripture prescriptively, this might be an exception. This little excerpt is almost formulaic. It could be turned into an if/then equation. If you stand at the crossroads and look and ask for the ancient paths and ask where the good way is and walk in it, then you will find rest for your souls. Like a promise. Good old cousin Jeremiah - count on him to point out the promises.
Maybe this little gem is especially precious because we find ourselves in a world that seems like it's
going to hell in a handbasket most days. I mean, all you have to do is turn on the news - there is unrest everywhere. Natural and man-made disasters. Equally destructive. Unsettling, unnerving. Sometimes devastation comes to our town - our street - our house - our heart. Rest is illusive. Panic rises like floodwaters, burns like wildfires, rips like gunfire. How do we escape this turmoil? Where can we turn?
Jeremiah would say to stand still and take a look around. While there are some things we cannot control, we do have choices. And, though it goes against the grain for some of us, asking for directions is wise. Ask for directions to the ancient path... the good way. Ancient in Hebrew is olam and it means everlasting, antique, perpetual, eternal. Path in Hebrew is derek and it means way, journey, conduct, strength. So maybe when things are going off the rails, we need to look for something bigger, stronger, proven - something good, something for now and for tomorrow as well. And just maybe it's not something but Someone we turn to. I really think this is why people automatically turn to prayer and flock to churches in times of great struggle. September 11, 2001 was a Tuesday. On Wednesday, churches all over the country opened their doors and welcomed in those who needed a place to go. A place to ask directions. A place rooted in antiquity. A place of ancient memory. A place for a healthy dose of solace.
Then comes the hard part... where the rubber meets the road if you will - pardon the lame travel pun. Walk in it. Ever know anyone who asks for directions and then heads off a different way? Yeah. Me neither. Argues with Google maps? Nope. Not over here. Just look away. You'd think walking the good path would be easy - a no-brainer. You'd think someone who was in a crisis would run toward the good. But sadly, no. Not all the time. In fact, the very people in war-torn Jerusalem to whom this offer of soul-rest came, dug down to the depths of their stubborn hearts and said, "We will not walk in it." That may be one of the saddest sentences in scripture. Here's hope... here's a future... here's a good way... no thank you. And, if you know your Jewish history, Jerusalem fell. More than once.
But, if you know your ancient history, that was not the end of the story. In fact, it is still unfolding. And herein lies the good news, though we will never be immune to struggles: every juncture, every crossroads, offers an opportunity to stop, look, ask and walk in a different path. A good path. An ancient path. And there is hope for soul-rest now and forevermore. O God, let me walk well today. Let us walk well today. Selah.
Author's note: I think Robert Frost may have a few thoughts on ancient paths.
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
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