One of the most memorable stops on my tour of Israel in 2009 was the Dead Sea. Due to the incredibly high salt concentration, vacationers are able to sit on top of the water, posing for photos and marveling at their new-found buoyancy. People come from all over the world to slather on the mineral- rich mud found there, hoping for renewed youth or healing from a variety of skin ailments.
Though amazing to behold, the Dead Sea is just that—dead. Its composition and its climate are harsh, allowing little to no plant or animal life to survive there. Also, the Dead Sea is shrinking (and sinking) pretty rapidly. The Jordan River is its main tributary, and over the years, fresh water inflow has been mostly diverted elsewhere. Year-round sunshine and dry air accelerate evaporation. According to a November 7, 2019 article in The Times of Israel, “Israel’s Regional Development Ministry reports that since 1976, the Dead Sea’s surface area has almost halved and its elevation has dropped more than 40 meters (130 feet)—from 390 meters (1,280 feet) below sea level to minus 434 meters (minus 1,425 feet) today.”
A complicated plan for “saving” the Dead Sea has been debated, rejected, reworked, and/or shelved for the past 17 years. Politics, finances, and tensions have produced a loop of inactivity.
This situation has been brought to mind as I find myself in a season of stagnation. I’m much like the Dead Sea in that the channels that had normally fed and sustained me seem to have been rerouted. With little fresh inflow, I’m aware of a shriveling effect that leaves a sense of depletion.
I’ve been in earnest prayer. I dutifully read my Bible and seek wisdom from people I trust. Yet the answers are not quick in coming, and I still long for clarity of vision. At times I’ve been tempted to simply sit on the surface and declare a vacation from the painful work of learning the way out of stagnation.
Unlike the Dead Sea, I have no advantage in growing salty and crusty. No tourists will come to bask in the sun shining on me. So, I need diligence in overcoming obstacles to securing new sources of fresh water. And I need not only a strong inlet but also a channel for outflow.
I recognize that my thirst in this long dry spell will be quenched as God moves, stirring His people to give life-sustaining drinks of water. And pouring out, even when I feel that I have very little water to give, is vitally important. The same is true for all of us.
The Lord is faithful, and He will fill me once again. My desire, though, is not just to be filled but to be overflowing, spilling out onto others who need refreshing. I’ve often shared my favorite verse on this theme, Romans 15:13: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit” (NIV).
Whether you find yourself in a place of stagnation or are near someone else who does, I encourage you to consider the importance of community. Giving and receiving words of encouragement and praying for one another are important responsibilities for us in the family of God. Be aware that isolation will accelerate evaporation.
I will close with a beautiful challenge from Hebrews 10:23-25: “Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near” (ESV).
