Unburying the Dead

When I was a child, one of our common activities was playing cards. Television being what it was—three fuzzy channels and me as the designated antenna holder (A little to your left. Now up—up! Little more. Twist it forward. Not THAT forward! There! That’s perfect! Hold . . .it . . .right . . . THERE!), made playing cards a lot more rewarding. One day, Mom taught me s new game and, in the process, a new phrase which has stayed with me all these years.

I don’t remember the game itself except that it seemed complicated and I wasn’t very good at it. And, also, it involved a discard pile. I remember this tidbit because at some point during the game I became frustrated because I had thrown a card away a few rounds prior that I desperately needed right then. I remember I went searching for that card in the discard pile until my mother stopped me with a look. And this line:

Leave it be, David; you can’t unbury the dead.

The look on her face, combined with those words and her delivery, kind of brought mem up short. Being as young as I was, I hadn’t the depth of mind to do more than sort of vaguely understand there was more implied in that comment than a mere observation about a game of cards. I didn’t understand it, but I realized this was one of those something else moments that seemed to happen to me now and then. The episode has stayed with me ever since.

I think about it most often when I have just come out of a bout of depression over my own personal faults, real or perceived. I am prone to reliving the past and brooding over the mistakes and failures and embarrassments that, in one form or another, are a part of everyone’s life. I struggle sometimes to allow myself to be set free indeed by the Truth. I think it’s because I’m still trying to unbury the dead.

Steven Curtis Chapman recorded a song early in his career that I still think is one of his finest. It certainly speaks to me, especially when I am in unburying mode. There’s a line in the chorus that is so full of poignancy it has at times brought tears to my eyes.

Remember your chains, He sings, and remember your chains . . . are gone.

That’s so hard to do isn’t it? To remember to live free, after so many years enslaved by the chains of sin. To remember that the old man of sin is dead and gone, buried by the power of grace (Romans 6:6). To remember that we are alive in Christ (vs. 8). We keep wanting to dig through our own personal discard pile and pull him back out, but he’s gone, used up, useless.

Just for today, claim the promise of a new life that Christ gives. Live in the glory of His freedom. Leave everything you’ve discarded in the discard pile and remember your chains are gone. That’s what I’m going to do.