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Friday, December 14, 2018

O Little Town of Bethlehem

Spiritual warfare

   Jesus’ birth. Spiritual warfare. Has the battle between good and evil ever been seen more clearly on this planet than it is in the first chapters of Matthew and Luke? Satan tempts Joseph to break off his engagement to Mary (Matthew 1:18-19). It takes an act of Caesar to bring the couple to Bethlehem, the town where prophecy says the Messiah will be born (Micah 5:2, Luke 2:1-7). King Herod tries to trick the Magi into revealing Jesus’ whereabouts so that he can kill Him (Matthew 2:1-8). Through it all, God’s will wins out even in difficult circumstances.

    Sometimes I find myself questioning His Word when it says over and over again that God used an angel or a dream to tell someone exactly what they needed to know or do. (Five times in  Matthew chapters 1 and 2; three times in the first two chapters of  Luke.) Why would He rely so heavily on such an unusual means of communication?

    Maybe the intensity of the warfare required the use of rare weapons. Maybe the people involved needed clear and obvious directions from God in opposition to the wily lures of Satan. Maybe the uniqueness of the form of communication underscores the uniqueness of the times.


Human suffering
 

    As I’m reading the story, I rejoice every time evil is thwarted and good prevails. Then I reach the part where Herod orders the slaughter of all the boys in and near Bethlehem who are two years old and younger, in a desperate attempt to kill the King of the Jews. Jesus’ family escapes to Egypt, most likely using the gifts from the Magi to finance their trip (Matthew 2:11-14). In spite of the danger and the need for sudden flight, God provides for Jesus’ safety and for His family’s travel expenses.

    But what about the boys who were murdered after Jesus, Joseph, and Mary escaped? What about their parents’ terrible loss? Has evil won out at this point? Wouldn’t a good god have prevented this? The Bible doesn’t downplay the pain and grief. It describes weeping and great mourning (Matthew 2:17-18). The suffering produced is important enough to God that He included a prophecy about it in Jeremiah 31:15. But as we sing “O Little Town of Bethlehem” in church at Christmastime one year and the pastor comments on how very small Bethlehem was, I realize that the events also convey God’s mercy.


God's mercy


    Jesus wasn’t born in a booming city like Jerusalem, as might be expected of a king. Centuries earlier, God had announced His birthplace, including a comment on the small size of the town. The religious leaders knew that the Messiah would appear in Bethlehem. Wouldn’t you think that large numbers of Jews would flock there in the ensuing centuries, hoping to be among the first to see Him? Shouldn’t Bethlehem be a thriving metropolis by this point?

    But no. Jesus was born in the little town of Bethlehem. Some estimates put the number of boys murdered by Herod at less than ten. Had Jesus been born in a larger town or a big city, many more families would have suffered from Herod’s wrath.

    Of course Satan would wreak havoc on the place where the Christ was born. Because of the Fall, people everywhere are subject to his cruelty. But God in His mercy limited the pain and loss to the little town of Bethlehem. Somehow, through all the centuries following Micah’s prophecy, He discouraged people from moving there. He kept the town’s population, and thus the number of baby boys, small.

    It helps me to see this illustration of God’s protection. Too often, I think I’m living in a world in which Jesus was born in populous Jerusalem where Herod would destroy hundreds of baby boys to get to the one. Where God would seemingly stand by as Satan had a field day slaughtering innocent children.

    Too often, I forget the truth that I live in a world in which He was born in the little town of Bethlehem where God limited Satan’s influence and ability to inflict harm. Too often I see only the very real suffering, which the Bible never denies and never attempts to cover up, and close my eyes to God’s even greater mercy and provision.

    I don’t understand why God allows suffering on the scale of World War II. But this small picture of His hand actively interceding to minimize the pain in Jesus’ earliest years on earth gives me a glimpse of His wisdom and compassion, a wisdom and compassion that prevail not just in the little town of Bethlehem, but in the world as a whole.

Friday, November 30, 2018

Wounded by God

My wall

    Bad news. The diagnosis of a life-threatening illness in a precious young loved one. It hits me hard. It takes my breath away. It throws me into a spiritual tailspin. The main impact is feeling like the God that I’ve trusted for years has wounded me deeply.

    I know I need Him now more than ever, so I follow all my usual practices—worshiping, studying His Word, spending time in fellowship with other believers, praying, walking in obedience to Him. But suddenly there’s this wall between us. I throw it up quickly and I build it out of solid materials. I don’t really want it there, but I can’t help feeling incapable of taking any steps to remove it.

    Over time God patiently tears it down. At first, brick by brick. Through new songs in church that express exactly what I need to say and hear. Through deeper insights into His nature and character. Then, suddenly, after three long years, as I’m struggling spiritually with yet another undeserved catastrophe in the same young person’s life, through supernatural, peaceful acceptance that far transcends all my understanding (Philippians 4:7).


My resentment

    This peace comes out of nowhere and it envelops me on a level that I’ve never experienced before. It’s all God’s doing. It’s not denial or psyching myself up in an effort to ease the pain. The pain is still there, but so is the peace. And it lasts. Day after day after day.

    I’m marveling over this unexplainable, unexpected blessing a few weeks later. Praying, thanking God, praising Him for knocking the wall down flat. Then the words enter my mind uninvited, unintended, “Help me to forgive You.”

    Whoa.

    Wait.

    No.

    How could I ever think such a thing? (Is it too late to take it back, God? Can we just pretend You didn’t hear that?)

    Me forgive God? He who is without sin, without the capability of ever doing evil? He who is all good, all wise, all the time? He who is love (1 John 4:8 and 16)? He who sacrificed so much to save us from those filthy, stinking, rotten sins that make our lives so miserable? Me forgive Him? How backward is that?

    And yet that’s how it feels. Like the pain runs so deep that of course He must have done something terrible to me, something wrong, something evil, something that I have a right to either forgive or continue to hold against Him. The god I want to worship wouldn’t do this to me.

    It’s not like I’ve been shaking my fist at God these last three years. I know Him well enough to firmly believe that in all things He works for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28). He has touched my heart in some incredible ways since my rebirth. But the sense of being hurt by Someone that I’ve dedicated my life to has permeated my relationship with Him. He’s now bringing me face to face with the fact that I’m still harboring resentment against Him. The bizarre idea that I need to forgive Him.


My toxicity, God's grace

    A post on my favorite website, The Babylon Bee (featuring Christian satire), describes how, after reading some self-help psychology, God realizes that, for His own good, He should set more boundaries and cut ties with toxic influences, which of course means destroying the entire world.

    My response the first time I read it was the recognition that I need to love people with the love of God. I need to stop considering anyone toxic and unworthy of my love and friendship. I’m too quick to judge and too quick to walk away. That’s not what God desires from His people. He sets the standards and provides the example for me to follow.

    But in the midst of this gracious blessing of peace and contentment, glancing again at that headline reminds me of just how holy and perfect and pure God is. When I’d discovered the article, under the surface a little voice in my mind was arguing with the statement that human beings continually choose to rebel against Him. Surely that doesn’t include us Christians. Surely we’re not so bad that we could be considered toxic. Would He really have to destroy the whole world, or only those who refuse to believe in Him?

    Now, with this horrifying thought that I hold God in such low esteem that the restoration of our relationship actually requires my forgiving Him, I know that I am one of those toxic people. Ouch.

    The article reminds me that in my fallen, sinful condition, God’s love for me is pure grace, totally undeserved. That’s hard to believe in a culture that constantly bombards me with the message of my great worth. I’ve been a dedicated, growing Christian for all these years. Surely I’ve earned His respect and love.

    But no. Here I am, unable, even at my best, to offer Him anything but a toxic relationship. And here God is, not destroying me as in the Bee article, not cutting me off anytime I fail, but loving me, blessing me, walking with me, knocking down the wall between us. Forgiving me.

Friday, November 16, 2018

The Matrix

The choice

    We’re preparing the family Thanksgiving dinner, four of us ranging in age from about thirty to sixty in the warm kitchen as the others mill around the house, when my niece brings up the subject of The Matrix. It’s a 1990s movie about Neo, an apparent twentieth-century man dissatisfied with life in general. He can’t put a finger on it, but something about the world doesn’t quite seem to fit. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s right.

    Neo’s entire environment, as he sees it, is actually an illusion. He’s living in a futuristic world where machines have taken over the planet. They’ve relegated humans to the status of batteries, providing power for the machines. To keep their captives’ brains occupied, they’ve created “the matrix,” a virtual reality so real that men and women, who are confined to small liquid-filled tubs, believe that they’re walking, talking, working, marrying, living, and dying in contemporary America.

    But a small band of renegades has somehow become free of the matrix and is on a mission to defeat the machines and liberate mankind. Anyone who shows an unusual perception of the incongruities of their lives is contacted by this group. After being presented with a brief explanation of the actual state of affairs, they’re given a choice of two pills. One will allow them to remain in the matrix with no memory of the encounter. The other will release them from their tub to join the fight against the machines. Neo takes the second pill.

    Here on Thanksgiving Day, my niece poses a question: Why would anyone choose to enter a world of suffering and fighting when they could simply continue to live in the unreal world of the matrix? The other two family members agree that they would also remain in their tubs. It seems so obvious to them.


The shock

    I’m stunned. I know the movie emphasizes the difficulty of making the transition from the matrix to the real world, but that’s because the victims have been living in virtual reality for so long. It’s a shock to them to discover that what they’ve always believed to be real isn’t.

    In contrast, we’re discussing the options from a distance. We can see both sides clearly: on the one hand living what appears to be a relatively comfortable life, but is actually an illusion to distract us from our slavery; on the other hand facing reality, as unpleasant as it may be, and fighting for the freedom of people everywhere. Isn’t that one of the things we’re so thankful for on this day—those who’ve fought so we could be free? Sitting in the theater watching the movie for the first time, I’d assumed that everyone in the audience was identifying with Neo and crowd, wanting to be just like them.

    I can be so naive.

    But this is America! Americans, of all people, thrive on freedom, on autonomy, on my right to make my choices about my life. We idolize, as few cultures do, those who free the oppressed. What’s happened to my country? Intelligent, successful Americans are standing here telling me that they would choose to live a meaningless life in slavery to the enemy, supporting an evil empire rather than fighting it, if that involved less suffering than the alternative. How many other Americans feel this way? And what does that mean for our future?

The reality

    In sharp contrast to my family, when a Christian friend and I first saw The Matrix, it triggered an ongoing conversation about the greatest realities in life. Which is the more real, the more permanent world—the physical one or the spiritual? As in the movie, we face a choice. We can deny the greater, spiritual reality and commit our lives to our own comfort and security (take the first pill), or we can serve God and others regardless of the cost (second pill). Which option does the Bible demand of us? Which will have the greatest impact, not just in this life, but for eternity?

    And yet here are three Christian relatives saying they would deny reality rather than face a life of suffering. No apologies, no regrets. To them, it seems like the most logical thing to do. If I’m a bit frightened about the future of our country based on this conversation, I’m even more frightened about the future of Christianity in America. By some standards, my relatives would be considered pretty good Christians. They serve in their evangelical churches, they give generously, they treat others with kindness and respect.

    Sure, they have their shortcomings, but don’t we all? The youngest haven’t followed biblical standards of sexual ethics. But how many Christians among their generation wait until marriage anymore? Does it really matter? And yes, they put a great deal of value and emphasis on money, youth, and appearance, but is that really so bad? How can they be witnesses to the world if they can’t relate to it?

    Is this living the Christian life? Serving self, serving desire, serving the need to belong. Avoiding suffering if at all possible. What did Jesus say? “Whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it” (Mark 8:35). We are called to give up the comfort of the matrix, the illusion that this world can satisfy all our desires and needs. To willingly, gladly, joyfully stand for what’s right when we have the opportunity, even it involves suffering.

    How many other good American Christians are choosing the comfort of the matrix over truth and sacrifice, even as they offer thanks for those who make the better choice? Is this the norm or is it the exception? Is it getting better or is it getting worse? What does that mean for our future?

Friday, November 2, 2018

Changing Churches

Suffering seniors

    Things I’ve seen and stories I’ve heard:

    ● Committed Christian baby boomers, the backbone of evangelical churches for decades, joining the ranks of the unchurched and the church-shoppers. Or switching to more liturgical churches, with their greater sense of reverence.

    ● A local evangelical church demanding that every activity must be intergenerational. Never mind that the older folks have long periods of lonely availability during the daytime and hesitate to drive after dark, while the younger ones work all day and can only participate on evenings and weekends. Seniors have been forbidden to gather without younger generations being present. Result: Older members have felt unwelcome and unheard, and have left.

    ● Men and women in their eighties and nineties sensing that their lives are no longer valued by the very churches that they’ve supported for years. That which was most precious and meaningful to them within those churches has been discarded, leaving them feeling like they’ve been discarded, too.

    I don’t think our worship leaders realize how much real suffering they’ve brought on our seniors with the radical changes that have occurred in the last twenty years or so. Based on the biblical model, they expect mature Christians to graciously accept the authority of the pastors and elders when decisions are made. Those who complain or criticize are seen as selfish, disobedient, and unwilling to follow the leading of the Holy Spirit.

    I think these leaders are honestly seeking to please God and are trying to do what they believe is best overall. But the pain is there and it’s often unrecognized. It’s not just a matter of stubborn resistance springing from rebellious hearts, although I’m sure that happens in some cases. For many, though, important theological issues are at stake.


God's expectations

    One assumption made by those who support more modern worship styles is that God doesn’t care how we worship Him. Style is irrelevant in His eyes. But if that’s true, why was He so specific about how the Israelites were to worship Him when He brought them out of bondage to Egypt? Part or all of the following chapters provide His specific instructions on worship: Exodus 25-30 and 39-40; Leviticus 1-8, 16, and 22-23; Numbers 15, 18, and 28-29; and Deuteronomy 12 and 16-17.

    Was the God of the Old Testament different from the God of the New Testament? No. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Psalm 102:27, James 1:17). How we worship matters. It matters to God. It should matter to us. One weakness in today’s evangelical churches is the lack of a theology of worship that is based on examples of worship in the Bible.


Our focus

    What is it about modern worship styles that mature Christians object to? One big issue is the focus on self, which naturally leads to less emphasis on God—who He is and the deeper reasons for worshiping Him. If I worship Him solely for what He does for me, as much Contemporary Christian Music seems to imply, what happens when He doesn’t live up to my expectations? I have nothing solid to stand on during the tough times. In contrast, many hymns of the past praised God’s unchanging character and nature, His working throughout the world and throughout history, His thoughts and ways that reach far higher than satisfying the needs in my little life.

    It’s been ten years or more since I heard a derogatory comment on National Public Radio about those “narcissistic evangelicals.” First I was startled and offended, then I was embarrassed and humbled by what I knew to be a somewhat accurate assessment. Roughly ten years before that, Christianity Today ran an article in which they stated that there were more songs starting with the letter “I” in the contemporary files used in evangelical worship services than with all the other letters of the alphabet put together. What happened to Jesus’ teaching that “if anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Matthew 16:24)?

    Many seniors struggle with this stress on self and lack of emphasis on God. At a time when they’re suffering multiple losses—family members and friends, mobility and independence, physical health—they have an increased need for a transcendent God who rules the universe and whose love and justice extend far beyond simply pleasing individual human beings.

    I don’t expect our churches to turn back the clock as far as worship styles are concerned. Every era, every generation, has its flaws and shortcomings, including those found in the ways Americans worshiped in the past. While I pray that we’ll find a better balance in communicating both the intimacy and the transcendence of God, this is primarily a plea for mercy and compassion and healing after the pain inflicted on our seniors for the last two or three decades. A plea for a greater understanding of that pain and its origins, and for attempts to be made to treat our seniors with greater love and respect.

Friday, October 19, 2018

Pour Out Your Hearts

Pour out your hearts

    “Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge” (Psalm 62:8). Many years ago, during my first depressive episode, the middle part of this verse (pour out your hearts to him) became very special to me. I’d lived with tremendous inner turmoil for several months, feeling guilty, considering myself a bad Christian because of the anxiety, despair, anger, lack of energy, hopelessness, and other symptoms that make up clinical depression.

    From what I’d gathered in the five years since receiving Christ, a good Christian, a real Christian, didn’t experience this kind of emotional pain. It went completely against the fruit of the Spirit. If I wasn’t bearing such fruit, something was terribly wrong with me as a believer. The only reasonable response would be guilt and shame. God would be extremely unhappy with me if I didn’t overcome this weakness through confession and prayer (and maybe just trying harder and harder).*

    Then I read the Psalms with new eyes, and God ministered to my needy soul, comforting me through the words of David. “Pour out your hearts to him.” Was I really allowed to do that? Was it really okay to tell Him how much I was hurting, not as a confession of sin, but simply as an expression of my deep pain? He drew me so much nearer to Himself as He reassured me, over and over again, that it was not only okay, but encouraged by many Bible passages.

    In the years since then, I still feel like I run into a wall of denial most of the time when another Christian is going through a difficult experience. I rarely hear an admission of how much it hurts to lose a loved one. I rarely see tears of anguish and grief and sorrow. No. We must be stronger than that. We cannot admit to the “weakness” of actually feeling torn apart by genuine mourning.

    C. S. Lewis initially had his book, A Grief Observed, published under a pseudonym. Would it have been acceptable for one of the greatest Christian thinkers of the twentieth century to reveal the depth of his wounds and doubts? Apparently he and his publisher didn’t think so. I’m not sure much has changed in the decades since then.


Trust in Him

    Reading this verse again recently, the first few words jumped out at me: “Trust in him at all times.” I was struck by the idea that we’re supposed to both trust in Him and pour out our hearts to Him. One does not negate the other. Pouring out our hearts in anguish, despair, fear, anger—and honesty—as we wrestle with the sorrows of everyday life is not contradictory to trusting in Him at all times. We’re told to do both. Even in the same verse.

    Meditating on it further the next day, the Lord opened my eyes a little wider. We’re told to both trust in Him and pour out our hearts to Him. Maybe they’re not just compatible with each other, as I’d gathered yesterday; maybe they must go together.

    In human relationships, we don’t open up in complete honesty with someone unless there is great trust. But we don’t know whether we can trust someone until we see how they respond to our honesty. Pouring out our hearts increases with trust and trust increases with pouring out our hearts. They always go together. And in this process, intimacy grows. There can be no intimacy unless there is both trusting and pouring out our hearts. Then the friendship becomes a refuge, a place of safety, as in the last part of the verse.


God is our refuge

    The same principle holds in our relationship with God. We will not open up in complete honesty with Him unless there is great trust (faith) in Him. On the other hand, our trust in Him grows as we express our emotions more honestly and openly. As with people, there can be no intimacy with God unless there is both trusting and pouring out our hearts. And when we do both, we experience the truth of the last part of the verse—God is our refuge. We see more clearly how He protects and nourishes us.

    Maybe evangelically-correct Christianity has it backwards. Maybe our hesitation about pouring out all our deepest feelings to God springs from a lack of faith, rather than an abundance of faith. Maybe those who never pour out their hearts to Him, with the mistaken idea that this demonstrates the strength of their faith, are actually unwilling to trust Him with the honest expression of their deepest needs due to the weakness of their faith.

*For a great article combating this point of view, see mentalhealthgracealliance.org/christian-mental-health-and-mental-illness/2018/8/2/6-reasons-why-depression-and-anxiety-is-not-weak-faith-or-sin

Friday, October 5, 2018

Forbidden Fruit

Suffering through temptation

    “Because he himself [Jesus] suffered when he was tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted” (Hebrews 2:18). Temptation is a form of suffering. Even Jesus, even God the Son, experienced temptation as suffering. He didn’t just breeze through it like a piece of cake and walk away unscathed. He suffered when He was tempted.

    Temptation is perhaps the only form of suffering that we’re guaranteed to face almost constantly in this life. There are likely to be times when I’m free from any medical conditions. There are likely to be times when my loved ones are healthy and happy. There are likely to be times when I’m financially secure. Those of us in more prosperous countries tend to have reprieves from many forms of suffering for much of our lives. But not temptation. It hangs in there. Day in and day out.

    This is my typical thought process when temptation is gnawing at me:

    That sounds like fun. Maybe I’ll do it again. It won’t hurt anyone.

    No, no, no. It’s wrong. It does cause harm. It’s not God’s best for me or for others. God has a good reason for everything that He forbids.

    But it feels so good. I enjoy it so much. It’s so hard to resist.

    No. God’s gotten me through this before. I can fight it with His strength. Help me, Lord.

    Maybe just a baby step in that direction. I don’t have to go all the way to where I’m actually sinning. Just enjoy the pleasure of getting closer and closer. Then back out.

    This is too hard, God! I want it too much! Why aren’t You helping me more? Why do You make it so attractive and then say no, don’t do that?

    Maybe just another little baby step. . . .

    Generally, if it gets this far, I end up giving in. I’ve suffered through the struggle of wanting to resist and trying to resist, but also wanting the pleasure. The internal wrestling is tearing me apart. Better to give in and end the suffering than to continue to fight.


Blaming God

    One day I recognize a harmful tendency—to reach the point in my mental skirmish where I resent God. He makes the rules. He created me to find pleasure in something that He forbids me from doing. Then He sets that pleasure right in front of my face and dares me to turn away from it.

    Like Eve in the Garden of Eden. The forbidden fruit was “good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom” (Genesis 3:6). Why did God have to go and make it that way? Couldn’t He have created something bad for us, ugly, and with no power beyond ordinary food—and then forbidden it? This is all His fault. He could have prevented Eve’s suffering, and mine, if He would have designed a slightly different world.


Remembering that God is on my side

    But recently the truth hit me: God is not my enemy. Why has it taken me so many years to realize this? Can I really be that stupid about such a basic thing after decades of following Him? I guess so.

    God wants only what’s best for me. He gives me His commandments so that I can have the most fulfilling life (Deuteronomy 30:15-16). He sends His Holy Spirit to live in me, to guide and strengthen me (Romans 8:13-14). He never tempts me (James 1:13). Every time I’m tempted He provides a way out (1 Corinthians 10:13). He has made available everything I need for life and godliness (2 Peter 1:3). How can I get so angry with Him when I’m suffering from temptation? He wants to see me succeed in resisting it.

    So how do I do that? If I knew how to do it every time without fail, I could make millions selling the secret. Unfortunately, I don’t. But I’ve learned a couple of things about prayer that have been helpful.

    Jesus taught His disciples to pray, “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil” (Matthew 6:13, RSV). Years ago, in a study of Kay Arthur’s book Lord, Teach Me to Pray in 28 Days, I was given a pattern to follow based on this verse. First, “Lead us not into temptation.” The suggestion was to name a particular sin and pray for God’s protection from temptation in that area. Then, “Deliver us from evil.” Pray that if I am tempted by this sin, He will provide the strength to resist it.

    This strategy was an eye-opener for me. The idea was to present these requests during my regular prayer time each day, rather than waiting until the temptation was overwhelming me. I hadn’t ever thought of that. I never prayed until I was deep into the struggle with temptation, and then it was usually too late.

    God is good. He answered my prayers in a more powerful way than I had thought was possible. Unfortunately, over time, I drifted away from this habit. I’m trying to get back into it again.

    The other prayer that’s helped me is to remember His promise to provide a way out. Sometimes, early in the temptation process I can turn my mind to this promise and ask that I would find that way out. Maybe all I need to do is get up and move to another room in the house. Or call a friend. Or change activities. There will always be a way out.

    I don’t know how to resist temptation every single time, every single day. But this I know: God is on my side. His power to protect me is greater than I can imagine. He’s given me resources for taking advantage of that power. The fruit that I crave is forbidden for a reason. And He can use even my temptations and failures for His good purposes (Romans 8:28).

Friday, September 21, 2018

Power in Weakness

Thinking about power

    Power. That word’s been jumping out at me every time I open my Bible lately. Paul wants to know the power of Christ’s resurrection (Philippians 3:10). What does that mean? I realize it took God’s power to raise Jesus from the dead, but how does that translate into my average, everyday life?

    God’s power is often displayed against Israel’s physical enemies in the Old Testament (Exodus 15:16, 2 Chronicles 20:6 and 32:7, Psalm 20:6-8). Doesn’t really fit with my American lifestyle. Not too many physical enemies for me to fight today.

    The New Testament refers to the power of God and of the Holy Spirit (Acts 1:8, Romans 1:16 and 20, 1 Corinthians 2:4 and 6:14), but it also emphasizes the importance of meekness and kindness and gentleness (Matthew 5:5 and 11:28-29, Galatians 5:22-23). What does meek, kind, gentle power look like?

    Paul advises the Thessalonians to “make it your ambition to lead a quite life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands” (1 Thessalonians 4:11). Doesn’t take much power to do that, does it? (And does it really require any ambition? To my American mind, it sounds more like something those lacking ambition would do.)

    The evangelically correct love William Carey’s slogan, “Expect great things from God; attempt great things for God.” Aren’t we all supposed to be out there doing great things, as opposed to leading the quite life that Paul recommends? Isn’t that where the power comes in?

Paul's prayer for power

    As all this is simmering in my brain, I come across Colossians chapter one. Paul says that he and Timothy have been praying that his readers will be “strengthened with all power according to [God’s] glorious might so that . . .” (verse 11). I want Paul to say, “so that you can perform miracles, move mountains, and do awe-inspiring deeds in his name.” That’s the kind of power I want to experience. Power to travel around the world, burning the candle at both ends, healing the sick, adopting the homeless, preaching the good news, leading thousands to Christ.

    But instead Paul says he prays for this enormous power “so that you may have great endurance and patience.” What??? What does power have to do with patience? I recently heard a pastor interpret Proverbs 16:32, “Better a patient man than a warrior,” as meaning that patience is better than power. As if the two can’t go together. Patience is passive, while power is active, right?


    In contrast, Paul prays for God’s power to strengthen his readers by providing endurance and patience. Maybe God’s power is not just helpful but actually necessary for me to develop the endurance and patience that I so desperately need when life goes sour. At first glance, I don’t like this kind of power. I want the power that generates a sweet life, not just the ability to tolerate a bitter one.


God's power in ordinary Christians

    And yet there is deep comfort in knowing that God will use “all power according to his glorious might” (that’s a lot of power!) for something as simple but difficult as developing endurance and patience. The reality is that most of us are never likely to perform the signs and wonders that Jesus and the apostles did to confirm the source of their message. God calls some few to serve as evangelists to large crowds, to preach in megachurches, to write bestsellers on how to live the Christian life.

    But for every big-name, well-recognized follower of Christ in a powerful position there are thousands of ordinary, everyday Christians living quiet lives, minding their own business, working with their hands, doing the not-to-be-despised “small things” of Zechariah 4:10. They are just as important to God’s plan for the salvation of souls as those who are judged by human standards to be accomplishing great things. God can be working as mightily in them as in those who the world sees as exercising enormous power.

    Maybe this is a concrete example of how His power can be made perfect in my weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). I’m bombarded daily by the media with the reminder that many Americans are lacking the patience and endurance that it takes to listen to an opposing point of view. What a witness it could be to our neighbors if we, as Christians, prayed with Paul for God’s power to be manifested in us through the internal resources of endurance and patience, rather than assuming that the only way they’ll see His power is in great external works.

Friday, September 7, 2018

Make Believe

Real people

    Recently watched I Can Only Imagine with a friend who’s very particular about the movies she sees. Must be high quality. No lame faith-based films with predictable dialog and two-dimensional characters. We both agreed that this one was as well made as any Hollywood movie. Authentic characters. Realistic storyline. Good acting. Definitely not preachy.

    My initial response was one of optimism. Hurray! Christian movie-makers are finally getting it. They’re growing up. They’re telling real stories about real people. Those shallow movies with the B actors and the cardboard characters are becoming a thing of the past. We’re moving on.

    A few hours later came the crash of realizing another painful possibility. Maybe our movies aren’t real because we’re not real. Maybe our movies portray make-believe lives because we’re living and promoting make-believe lives. Why do I hear so many Christians raving about the latest shallow faith-based film? Maybe these believers simply don’t know any better. Maybe they’re championing the same kind of life as they’re living. The kind of life they’ve been taught to live. The evangelically-correct life.

Unreal expectations

    In a women’s group twenty-some years ago, one of the moms asked us to pray for her daughter, Violet, an extremely shy kindergartener at a local Christian school. Violet was occasionally wetting her pants in class, and nothing the adults had recommended had resolved the issue. Thus the request for prayer.

    I could immediately identify with this young girl. When I was the same age, in the same situation, my shyness was so inhibiting that I couldn’t work up the courage to draw attention to myself by standing up and walking the few steps to the bathroom. I thought I could “hold it” until school got out, but I didn’t always succeed.

    I was trying to decide how to share my experience with the women’s group when the mom continued, “She knows her position in Christ,” as if that should resolve the entire problem. I was too stunned to speak, but all the other women nodded their heads wisely, indicating their agreement that a five-year-old who knew her position in Christ should be able to conquer every challenge in her life.

    What more could the adults around her offer her? Psychologically-based solutions? Understanding of her inner turmoil? As in many Christian movies, in this real-life situation God was the only answer. If we have enough faith, God will fix the problem without our having to think or to do any hard work. I was overwhelmed by the absurdity of the women’s responses, but I had no hope that I could convince my friends to look at the problem from Violet’s point of view. I was obviously the anomaly in the group.


Real forgiveness

    Near the end of the Imagine movie, the Christian main character angrily says to his father, who abused him the entire time he was growing up and is now repenting, “Am I supposed to just forgive you?” Real. Authentic. Honest. Expressing his heart, not just tossing off the expected Christian response.

    From a few rows behind me, I heard another audience member give an emphatic, “Yes.” No grasp of how we humans actually work.

    Yes, God wants us to forgive as He forgave us (Colossians 3:13). But the truth is that such consistent, ongoing abuse can take years to heal and to forgive. We are not God. We are broken and fallen. Our minds and souls are warped by the wounds inflicted on us in childhood. God doesn’t often heal those wounds instantaneously.

    What happens if I buy into the evangelically-correct assumption that simply saying the words, “I forgive you,” fixes everything? How does this affect me when I’m hurting? Such denial leads to continuing stress and stumbling, blocking growth, blocking intimacy with God and others, and potentially ending in blaming and rejecting Him when it doesn’t work.

    How does it affect my ability to minister to those who are struggling to forgive someone who has deeply wounded them? I see them as failures who just need to get with the program and everything will be okay, instead of recognizing them as hurting people who need time to process their emotions and responses.

    Many years ago, when I was leading a group in my church for overcoming anxiety and depression, we watched a video featuring a reputable Christian psychologist. (If I could remember his name or the title of the video, I would cite them here, but that info is long gone from my brain.) He told the story of a couple that he had recently counseled. I might not have all the details right, but the gist of the situation was something like this:

    The parents were traveling with their six children when they were involved in an accident caused by a grossly negligent driver. Two of their children were killed. The couple immediately “forgave” the driver. Local media picked up on the story and marveled at the strength of their faith. Within a few years, though, two of the surviving children committed suicide as teenagers. In their now undeniable sorrow, the parents went to the Christian psychologist for help.

    It turned out that they were still mourning the deaths of their first two children. They thought all they had to do was say, “I forgive you,” and trust God to make it all okay. They were painfully, tragically wrong. They had never faced their anger, doubts, and grief. They were living in the make-believe world of most faith-based movies, thinking they were being good biblical Christians. The parents appeared to be coping, but the life of denial was too much for the two teens who committed suicide. It was only after the remaining family members dealt with their trauma and turmoil that they found true peace and the ability to truly forgive.

    It took work. It took time. It took courage. But God eventually brought healing when they stopped denying the pain.

    Maybe Christian movie-making won’t change substantially until Christian thinking changes substantially. Maybe we get the movies we want—those that reflect the way we live our shallow lives. Or maybe I Can Only Imagine is an indication that attitudes are changing, that we’re becoming more real, that even evangelically-correct Christians are recognizing the need to be more authentic. I can only pray.

Friday, August 24, 2018

Study Break

Burnt out

    We need to talk, God. I really need You to understand something. Life is tough and I’m getting kind of tired of it. Year after year after year You’ve sent me one challenge on top of another.

    Medical conditions that slow me down and disrupt my career. I’ve seen You lead me to the right diagnosis and treatment so many times, sometimes (usually) through incredible “coincidences,” but now I’m stuck again with too little energy to pursue a normal life, and no solution in sight.

    Watching a loved one suffer physically and economically, and feeling helpless. Wishing I had the resources to help him out a bit.

    The financial challenges that I’m facing. You’ve closed countless doors without opening any new ones. Yes, I remember as a newbie Christian my great respect for believers whose faith in Your provision remained firm even as they sat down to eat the last food in the cupboard. I know how much I longed to have that kind of faith. But somehow I thought the growth could come through walking with You day by day, studying Your Word and spending time in prayer and fellowship, without having to actually experience the lack of resources.


My request

    So here’s the deal. I’m feeling burnt out on this whole learning-by-suffering issue. I need some relief. I’m sure You remember my student days and how those precious study breaks were so essential to my success. Coming home after a long day in high school. Thinking I’d better hit the books or I’d never be ready for the next class. But the brain just wouldn’t cooperate. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t concentrate. I needed time off from the schoolwork, time to refresh my mind. Then I would learn the lesson even better.

    That’s how I’m feeling now. Like I need time off from this constant emotional stress, this school where suffering is the only teacher. Do You think You could relieve me of one of these burdens—my health issues, my loved one’s illness, my financial concerns? Think of it as a study break. I’d be so much stronger, so much more ready to face the challenges if I could just take a breather for a little while.

    Even Jesus, Your perfect Son, felt this necessity. In Matthew chapter 14, John the Baptist was killed by Herod. “When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place” (verse 13). He needed time to get away, time to process His grief without additional burdens.

    Yes, I know the break You gave Him didn’t last long. The crowd followed Him and He had compassion on them, healing their sick and feeding more than five thousand people with only five loaves of bread and two fish (verses 13 through 21). The point is that He faced a very real human need and took steps to meet it. Won’t You let me take those same steps and withdraw just for a little while, just for a time of refreshment? Won’t You relieve me of some of the pains and sorrows and stresses of my daily life for a few weeks or months or maybe even a couple of years?


God's unexpected response

    A few days later . . .

    Okay, God. I know I opened this post with “we” need to talk. But I didn’t really expect it to be a two-way conversation. I expected to end it with that last question. I was just feeling the need to vent and thought maybe my readers could relate and find comfort in knowing that others are going through the same things they are. But You surprised me by answering my prayer for a study break in unexpected ways.

    First there was the burden of trying to straighten out mistakes made by my health insurance company. It involved a doctor that I see for regular treatments. Somehow, whoever processed a few of the claims had wrongly denied coverage. Then when I tried to get it corrected, they fouled up several of the other claims with the same doctor.

    It was such a mess. It looked like my only option would be to file a written appeal with the insurance company, detailing the many different mistakes made in my Explanation of Benefits (EOB). But I had no faith in their ability to get it right this time, so I was planning on also contacting the state agency that oversees health insurance. So many hours to spend correcting someone else’s errors when You know how limited my time and energy are.

    I stopped by the billing department at the doctor’s office with a copy of my EOB to explain all the details of all the mistakes made on the many claims. Their response was a shock and a blessed relief. The office had decided to just let it go. I had paid my required share. They would not be receiving any money from the insurance company anyway. They preferred to have an accurate EOB for their files, but I’ve been a regular patient for several years and have always paid my bills on time. They wanted to save me the trouble of pursuing it. The weight was lifted. I thanked You all the way home.

    The very next day I had a follow-up appointment with another doctor regarding an injury that I’d sustained several weeks ago. At previous appointments, I’d found him difficult to communicate with. I was dreading this meeting enough to ask friends to pray that I would handle it in a godly way. I dragged my feet in the door, praying that it would go well.

    And then an amazing thing happened. Instead of the doctor, his physician’s assistant met with me. Communication was smooth and clear and helpful. He patiently answered my questions and volunteered additional information. I walked out of the office smiling and thanking You for sparing me the anticipated pain of trying to understand what was happening to my body while facing a doctor who had never yet explained it well. It wasn’t until several hours later, while I was once again praising You for this unexpected answer to my prayer, that two little words suddenly popped into my mind: study break.

    It wasn’t the great big, long-lasting time off from suffering that I’d hoped and prayed for. But it was a reassurance that You hear me, You understand me, and You answer my prayers. Maybe, as with Jesus, You knew all I really needed was a brief break. Maybe You can see me through even without the extended one I was seeking. Maybe You provided this short respite to help me focus on having compassion on others and to encourage me to place what little I have in Your hands so that You can multiply it.

Friday, August 10, 2018

Strengthening the Weak

The weak, the sick, and the injured

   Still reading Ezekiel. This time chapter 34. Again, seeing God’s heart for those who are hurting. He’s speaking to the shepherds of Israel. (Not literal shepherds, but the leaders of His human flock.) “You have not strengthened the weak or healed the sick or bound up the injured. You have not brought back the strays or searched for the lost. . . . So they were scattered because there was no shepherd, and when they were scattered they became food for all the wild animals” (verses 4 and 5).

    Several years ago a brother in Christ made the sad but accurate observation, “Whenever someone from church is going through a tough time, they just disappear.” The Sunday school class member who struggled to remain free of the nonChristian faith of her childhood, especially when her sister was healed of incurable cancer and her family gave all the credit to their faith. The newly widowed thirty-something with four young children. The couple filing for divorce. The weak, the sick, the injured. Were they strengthened or healed or bound up by the church? Apparently not. When trouble came, they left.


    Ezekiel isn’t speaking here about those outside the flock, about bringing in new sheep. Evangelical Christians have a real heart for those who haven’t heard the Gospel. There are effective ministries all over the globe serving the weak, the sick, and the injured who are without Christ. This is one of the greatest strengths of evangelical Christianity.


    Where we tend to fail is within the flock. Believers in the younger generations seem to recognize this shortcoming better than their elders. That may be one reason why they’re leaving the church in such large numbers. I hope and pray that instead of leaving, they’ll be a part of the solution. When younger pastors speak at my church, they address this issue with broken hearts.


    It’s encouraging to see that some changes are occurring, because Ezekiel tells us what happens when we neglect our own weak and sick and injured. They scatter and become food for all the wild animals. As my brother observed, physically, they leave. Spiritually, they become prey for other worldviews and belief systems.


    Just what do these weak and sick and injured look like? And how do we strengthen, heal, and bind them up? The first question is easier to answer than the second. Weak, sick, and injured Christians have substance abuse problems. Their marriages are falling apart. They’re mentally ill. They’re engaging in sexual immorality. They’re struggling with doubts and fears. They’re addicted to pornography. The list goes on.


Strengthening, healing, and binding up

    It’s true that the church is expected to hold its members to a high standard of ethical conduct. When Paul hears of a case of blatant sexual sin in Corinth, he tells the church to “Expel the wicked man from among you” (1 Corinthians 5:13). Some of the forms of suffering mentioned above involve immoral actions. It sounds like we should just kick out anyone who’s engaging in them. Maybe it’s for the best when they leave of their own accord.


    But 1 Corinthians 5:13 isn’t the end of the story. Paul may be referring to this same situation when he later writes, “The punishment inflicted on him by the majority is sufficient for him. Now instead, you ought to forgive and comfort him, so that he will not be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow. I urge you, therefore, to reaffirm your love for him” (2 Corinthians 2:6-8). He also advises the Galatians, “Brothers, if someone is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him gently” (Galatians 6:1).


    If someone is flagrantly defying God, as the man in the first letter to the Corinthians was proudly doing, it’s appropriate to call him to repentance. But when he’s hurting from the burden of his sin, we need to forgive him, comfort him, and reaffirm our love for him in order to restore him. Can I do that with someone who’s just been released from prison? Can I do that with the pastor who was caught in an adulterous affair? Can I do that with the young woman who is back at church after two weeks in a psychiatric hospital on suicide watch? I don’t always know when to admonish and when to offer support, but according to the Bible what I do must be done in love and with the goal of restoring a fellow believer’s relationship with God. That process just might start with a kind and gentle relationship with me.


    I still remember how much my heart was touched the first time I read, “A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out” (Isaiah 42:3; applied to Jesus in Matthew 12:20). How many Christians who are struggling with substance abuse, failed marriages, sexual immorality, mental illness, or other forms of suffering are more like bruised reeds in need of support than defiant sinners in need of discipline? How often do we break those reeds and snuff out those wicks rather than strengthening the weak, healing the sick, binding up the injured, bringing back the strays, and searching for the lost of our own flock?

Friday, July 27, 2018

Realistic But Hopeful

Realism and hope

    Be realistic but hopeful. That was the oncologist’s advice when my friend was diagnosed with stage IV cancer. On the realistic side, it didn’t look good. The tumors were spreading and growing rapidly. On the hopeful side, forty percent of patients responded well to chemotherapy. My friend was under fifty years old and in good health apart from the cancer. And he had the hope that comes with being a Christian.

    I wondered: could I, should I, apply this philosophy to everyday life? I have this tendency to go to extremes. Being realistic to the point of seeing no hope. Or being hopeful to the point of forgetting that in real life bad things can happen. Being realistic but hopeful might help ground me in the center.


    Realistic—life can hurt. People die. Disasters strike. If I’m not realistic, I get blind-sided by the unexpected. I need some realism to be emotionally and financially prepared for the future and to reach out to the hurting people God has placed in my life. If I deny that pain exists, I won’t be much help to them.


    Hopeful—life can be good. Love comes. Healing occurs. Above all, God is in control. He promises to bring good even out of the most evil circumstances (Romans 8:28).


The test

    But the ultimate test of any philosophical perspective is whether it’s biblical. How does “realistic but hopeful” stand up to God’s Truth? The words were spoken by a secular doctor in a secular setting. Should I live my life in light of his teaching? Or does it in any way contradict the Bible?


    I think of Matthew 6:25-33, one of the favorite passages of prosperity preachers and of the evangelically correct who deny that Christians will ever hurt. Beginning in chapter 5, Jesus has been teaching His followers a radical new view concerning how to live everyday life. It’s not about legalistically following rules; it’s about the heart. If the heart is right, the obedience will follow. In 6:25, He starts assuring His listeners that God cares deeply for them, as demonstrated by His provision for their basic necessities.


    The prosperity preachers summarize this passage as: “God will always meet all your physical needs.” Jesus says in verse 33, “But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things [food, drink, clothing] will be given to you as well.”


    I once heard a pastor in a reputable evangelical church state from the pulpit, “This is God’s promise that no Christian will ever go hungry or naked.” My first thought was to question whether this guy had ever read Second Corinthians where Paul, who wrote several of the books in the New Testament, shares his experiences with hunger and nakedness (2 Corinthians 11:27). If I accepted the pastor’s interpretation, then either Paul wasn’t a Christian or God broke His promise. This statement had to be wrong.


    So how am I supposed to interpret verse 33? If I isolate it from its context and take it completely literally, I’d have to agree with the pastor. But Jesus isn’t teaching here about fulfilling every one of our physical requirements under all circumstances. The overall message of the passage is something like this: “Don’t be hung up on yourself and your own needs to the point of anxious worry. Keep your focus on God. He loves you so much that He’s taking care of you moment by moment and day by day. Trust Him.”


    Verse 33 is the hope-filled climax. But the passage also has its realistic elements. Verses 28 through 30 describe both the beauty of the lilies of the field and their pitifully brief lifespan. Death happens. Jesus is even more blunt in verse 34: “Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Hopeful in 33; realistic in 34.


    In John 16:33, He conveys a similar message: “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” Realistic—we cannot escape the troubles of this world. They’re guaranteed. You will have trouble. Hopeful—Jesus has overcome the world. Nothing can beat that.


The reality of sin and the hope of the gospel

    When I became a Christian as a teenager, I had very little background in the Bible. I began reading through the Old Testament not knowing how each story would end. David was one of my favorite people. He stood up to Goliath when the armies of Israel were quaking in fear (1 Samuel 17). He never retaliated against the murderous rage of King Saul even though he had opportunities to do so (1 Samuel 24 and 26). This is the stuff idols are made of. I was heartbroken when King David defied God first by having sex with another man’s wife, then by having that man murdered to cover up his sin (2 Samuel 11). This isn’t how idols behave.


    As I grew in my walk with Christ, I began to see God’s wisdom in freely admitting in His Word that even His most steadfast followers are fallen human beings. “You shall not make for yourself an idol” (Exodus 20:4). No idols. Not even His chosen instruments.


    Here, as in the gospel message itself, I find support for a realistic but hopeful attitude. Realistic—every person who’s ever walked this earth, with the exception of the Man who was God, has been a sinner, incapable of living a perfect life. Hopeful—God reaches out to those sinners throughout the Bible to save them and to begin the process of growing them into His likeness.


    Thank You, Father, for using even the words from a secular source to teach and strengthen and grow me. Thank You for the wisdom, spoken by this doctor and confirmed by Your Word, that helps keep me centered when I’m struggling with the extremes of unrealistic hope or hopeless realism. And thank You that, in Christ, the hope always far outweighs the painful realities of life.

Friday, July 13, 2018

Challenge Me

Winning against all odds

     I do a short exercise routine in the morning. When I’ve finished, to cool down and catch my breath, I play a game of double-decker solitaire. It starts with twenty-one cards laid out on the table face up, with some of them overlapping. All the rest, all eighty-three, are in the deck, which I turn over one at a time. In a good game I play lots of cards on the layout, and the stack that I’ve turned over from the deck remains small. But in a difficult game that stack builds up. I can get a pretty good idea of my odds of winning based on its depth.

    At first I think that the best games are the ones where I win easily. Everything falls into place. Turn over a card, play it on the layout, turn over the next one. If the stack builds up to more than five or six cards, that’s bad. But lately I’ve noticed something unexpected. I’ve had several games where I was sure I would lose. Twenty or thirty or more cards are in that stack, and there’s just no way that I’ll ever be able to use them all and win the game.


    And then it happens. I turn over just the right card. Six, seven, eight more cards can be played. Turn over another. Put that one in place, too. The layout’s changed enough to allow me to use the next eight, ten, twelve cards in the stack. Turn over a few more, play a dozen more. Suddenly, the game is winnable. Against all hope, it reaches the point where I know I will succeed.


Finding pleasure in the struggle

    Two observations. First, it feels so good to win when I think the situation is hopeless. Better than when I pull it off with no trouble. I don’t particularly like this lesson. I’d rather have a life where everything is easy, I always come out on top, and it’s deeply satisfying. Isn’t that the ideal?


    Instead, I find that the easy wins are less fulfilling and less memorable. I guess that’s the way it works in real life, too. When something takes little effort, I value it less and forget it sooner. Maybe that’s one reason why God allows so much suffering. If I didn’t suffer, if all of life was a snap, I’d actually get less enjoyment out of it. It sounds so backwards.


    This analogy brings me one step closer to being able to understand James’s advice to “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds” (James 1:2). I’ve always wrestled with this verse. Joy in trials? But I’ve just found a little happiness in the small struggle to win a game of solitaire against all odds. There is delight, there is satisfaction, there is pleasure in overcoming. Without the trial of a difficult setup in the game, I wouldn’t experience the joy.


Dealing with doubts

    Second observation: As I’m turning the cards over, I’m automatically weighing my chances of winning. Sometimes I get to a point where I’m absolutely certain I can’t possibly succeed. A few key cards are buried deep in the stack. I’ll never be able to work my way back down to them. It would take a miracle. And then the miracle occurs. I manage to play enough cards to get to those most important ones. The impossible is gradually transformed into the maybe and then into the yes!


    How often does this reflect my attitude toward God’s hand in my life? How often, in the midst of suffering, do I look at all the obstacles in the way and assume that the solution that I’m longing for is impossible? That the prayer that I’m praying will never be answered the way I want it to be? That God can’t turn around an obviously losing hand and bring me out with a win? Too often.


    When things have gone badly for so long, when suffering has been piled on suffering, when I can’t imagine even one more thing going wrong but then it does, what happens to my faith and hope? I weigh the potential outcomes in the balance and I know that God can’t, or won’t, make it any better. It’s impossible.


    I need this analogy of the cards. I need this reminder that when everything looks hopeless from my perspective, with God there is still hope. If it can happen in a simple, meaningless, unimportant game of cards, it can happen with the God of creation, the God of salvation, the God who is love (1 John 4:8 and 16). Every time I win an “impossible” game, I thank Him for the pleasure of overcoming in a seemingly hopeless situation. For the taste of the even greater joys ahead as I anticipate His surprising me with an unexpected solution to my insurmountable problems. And for challenging me.

Friday, June 29, 2018

Jesus Wept

Denying the pain

    In my last post I mentioned examples from the Old Testament showing that there were times when it was good and right and healthy for men of God to express their deepest pain and grief. But now we’re living in New Testament times. Now we have the Holy Spirit within. Surely now we should be so overpowered by His presence that we won’t ever feel anything except His love and joy and hope and peace. Surely no one in the New Testament ever grieved or groaned.

    This is a common evangelically-correct attitude. If any Christian feels any emotional pain, something’s wrong and you’d better get it straightened out with God. You mustn’t let it show. And so we don’t show it, and the destructive silence goes on. The Babylon Bee, a Christian satire website, ran a parody of this situation in an article titled, “Report: Every Single Person At Church Doing ‘Fine’.”


    Please don’t misunderstand me as saying that Christians have no more hope or joy or peace than the world around us. I would have been dead by suicide years ago if we didn’t have the blessing of the fruit of the Spirit.


Paul's example

    The problem is that evangelically-correct Christians tend to deny that life hurts sometimes and that it’s okay to admit it. It’s not just okay; it’s biblical. But is it New Testament biblical? Did those who had the Holy Spirit within ever reveal feelings of emotional distress? Yes. Paul writes, “I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart” (Romans 9:2). And “When we came into Macedonia, this body of ours had no rest, but we were harassed at every turn—conflicts on the outside, fears within” (2 Corinthians 7:5).

    He also expresses great joy and peace in his letters. Somehow the two can exist together, as in 2 Corinthians 4:8, “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.” The Bible never denies the pain of this life. But that’s not the end of the story.


    (I love the idea that Paul, the author of a large part of the New Testament, could describe himself as perplexed. Paul, the great theologian, could be perplexed! When I read this, I don’t feel nearly as bad about the many times when I grapple with my own perplexity over what God is doing in my life and in this hurting world.)


Jesus' example

    And then there’s Jesus. Surely if anyone was ever perfect in his experience and expression of human emotions, it was Jesus. After the death of His good friend Lazarus, “Jesus wept. Then the Jews said, ‘See how he loved him!’” (John 11:35-36). In case there was any doubt about the cause of His weeping, God’s Word makes it clear—Jesus wept because He loved Lazarus and now Lazarus is gone. The people who were there could see that it was His heartbreak that led to His tears.

    At Gethsemane shortly before His crucifixion, Jesus was “sorrowful and troubled” (Matthew 26:37), “deeply distressed and troubled” (Mark 14:33), “in anguish” (Luke 22:44). “His sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground” (Luke 22:44). He was in so much turmoil that “an angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him” (Luke 22:43). He told His disciples, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death” (Matthew 26:38, Mark 14:34).


    Jesus could have hidden all this from them; they were asleep most of the time that He was wrestling with His future. Maybe He revealed it because He wanted us to know that the Son of God could experience deep emotional pain and still be without sin. Surely He understands my need to express my hurts.


Modern examples


    And yet here’s what I’ve heard from other believers, all of them leaders in different churches:

    “Pray for my daughter who’s on a short-term mission trip in a Muslim-majority country. I know it’s dangerous and she could be killed for her faith, but I can deal with that.” Making it clear from his manner that he has no clue regarding the intense sorrow of losing a child.


    “Your loved one is in heaven now. There’s no need to grieve.” No need to weep as Jesus wept.


    “My wife just died after fifty years of marriage. But I know God has someone else for me.” Looking around within weeks of his loss. Married again within a year or two. If he hasn’t faced his grief, how will that affect his second marriage?


New Testament grieving


    What does the New Testament say? Never grieve at all? Pretend it doesn’t hurt? If you’re feeling any sense of loss, it means you aren’t trusting God? No.
 
    “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted” (Matthew 5:4). Mourning is a direct result of loving, and loving is the hallmark of a Christian (John 13:35). God reaches out to those who mourn with His comfort. When we deny our need to grieve, we forfeit this blessing from God.

    “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn” (Romans 12:15). Do we as believers take this teaching seriously enough? Do we allow our hurting brothers and sisters to mourn? Do we join them in their grief? Jesus does.


    The evangelically correct will cite 1 Thessalonians 4:13 to support the idea that we shouldn’t mourn at all: “Brothers, we do not want you . . . to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope.” But Paul is simply distinguishing between the grief of a Christian (which he encourages in Romans 12:15) and that of everyone else. He’s reminding his readers that, even in the death of a believer, there is hope. We mourn for the loss of the relationship with a brother or sister in Christ. It hurts to be separated from them. But that separation is temporary.We have a hope that “the rest of men” don’t share.
   

Friday, June 15, 2018

With Broken Heart and Bitter Grief

A reason to groan

    I’ve been reading through Ezekiel lately. It’s a tough book. Full of fire and brimstone. Little hope. Little cheer. Best to digest it in small chunks to keep it from being too depressing.

    Chapter 21. God’s word comes to Ezekiel, declaring disaster for Jerusalem. Judgment is coming. The sword of the Lord will cut off both the righteous and the wicked (verse 3). It will be brutal. Many will suffer. And it will be perfectly just. So shouldn’t Ezekiel simply accept it? Shouldn’t he respond with, “Your will be done. Blessed be the name of the Lord”?

    The evangelically correct would declare that Ezekiel should keep a stiff upper lip and accept God’s pronouncement as fully deserved. But what does God say? “Therefore groan, son of man! Groan before them with broken heart and bitter grief” (Ezekiel 21:6). No stoic acceptance of the tragedy to come.

    I love this God who can take the necessary and right steps to correct and punish His people and yet feel the pain of their suffering. Like a loving Father. I was reading Jeremiah, the weeping prophet, a few weeks ago. God chose him to convey His message of judgment. In the book of Lamentations, Jeremiah expresses his deep pain and anguish over God’s actions. I’m not sure that the evangelically correct would choose such a man. They’d want someone who would relate to God’s righteous will, rather than to the people’s suffering.


Compassion for sinners

   Kind of like the attitude of many American Christians today toward those in our culture who choose to defy God in their lifestyles. Homosexuals, transgendered, drug addicts. Let them suffer. They deserve it. Have no compassion. Bring on the judgment.

    The people in Jeremiah’s day were blatantly rebelling against God, too. God declared His judgment. Jeremiah wept. Maybe God chose Jeremiah because he best expressed His heart. Maybe God Himself was feeling that same deep pain and anguish even for those who defiled His name. Maybe we as Christians need to give up our desire for judgment, and groan with broken heart and bitter grief for those who are suffering even as they reject God’s teaching.


Job's example

    I struggle in church when we sing, “Blessed be Your Name” with smiling faces. “You give and take away. . . . Blessed be Your name.” It’s not the words, which are scriptural, that bother me. It’s the evangelically-correct attitude. Smile as if there’s no pain in the taking away. Smile as if God doesn’t expect me to feel any sense of loss. Smile in denial of the broken heart and bitter grief. No groaning allowed.

    Where do these words come from? Job 1:21. Job has just lost everything at once, including his seven children. Do you think he was smiling and carefree as he uttered them? Far from it. He “rent his robe, and shaved his head, and fell upon the ground” (v. 20, RSV). He was hurting deeply and expressing it freely, even as he worshipped God (same verse). In case there’s any doubt about his emotional state, he spends chapter 3 cursing the day he was born and asking why we have to suffer. He ends it by saying, “I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil” (3:26).

    Is this the proper attitude of a follower of the God of the Bible? What does God say? At the beginning of the book He describes Job as His servant, blameless and upright (1:8). In the end He tells Job’s friends, “My servant Job will pray for you, and I will accept his prayer and not deal with you according to your folly. You have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has” (42:8).

    Of course we shouldn’t remain stuck in our brokenness and grief. At some point we’ll need to move on, to accept God’s comfort and healing, to experience His grace in seeing us through and bringing a smile back to our faces, to comfort others as He has comforted us (2 Corinthians 1:3-4). But first, when the pain is raw, when it would be dishonest to pretend otherwise, we need to follow God’s instructions to Ezekiel and groan with broken heart and bitter grief.

Friday, June 1, 2018

I Am Suffering

Recognizing suffering

    We were sitting in a room at the church—a classroom by day, a meeting room for our Anxiety and Depression Support Group on Wednesday nights. As the leader, I started off with a few welcoming remarks, checked in with each member to see how their week had gone, then introduced the next topic for discussion. When I used the phrase “people suffering from anxiety and depression,” rather than “anxious and depressed people,” I saw a sudden light go on in Gloria’s eyes. She couldn’t hold it back.

    “I am suffering. I am suffering from depression.”


    Her condition had gone on long enough and was serious enough for her to be seeking help in my group. But in all that time no one around her—not her family, not her friends, not her church—had recognized the obvious: she was suffering. She was hurting. She was living every day with the deep pain that clinical depression brings. And yet she had not been permitted or encouraged to see herself in that light. Others would describe her as being self-pitying, lazy, disobedient, out of touch with God.


Recognizing depression


    What is clinical depression? Many among the evangelically correct would say that it’s a character defect or a spiritual disorder. If you just get right with God, if you confess your sins, if you spend more time in Bible study and prayer, if you obey God’s Word, if you develop the fruit of the Spirit, you’ll never be depressed. You will live every day in the joy of the Spirit. Despite your circumstances, nothing will get you down.

    At one time, I’d agreed with that point of view. When I became a Christian, I thought all I was doing was getting a ticket to heaven. Life would go on pretty much as it had up to that point. I’d go to school, hang out with friends, learn to drive, go off to college, and basically live a typical American life, with the added bonus that when I died someday, I’d get to go to heaven.


    I had a lot to learn about this thing called the Holy Spirit. About how He’d come to live in me and start changing everything from the inside out. First the desire to read the Bible. Then a new interest in going to church.


    The biggest difference, though, was the joy and peace within. It wasn’t perfect, and it certainly wasn’t there one hundred percent of the time. But I found that I had a new ability to cope a little better with the stresses and challenges of teenage life without the usual teenage overreactions. I was happier than I’d ever been before.


    Looking back a few years later, I realized that this was all God’s doing. It was a natural result of having the Holy Spirit inside me. Wasn’t it only logical to assume that every believer would have the same experience? How could any Christian ever get depressed?

 
    Then my own depression hit. One result was a deeper understanding of the biology of our moods and emotions. So what is clinical depression? It’s a chemical imbalance in the brain that can be triggered by genetic predisposition, childhood trauma, stress, drug or alcohol abuse, loss, medical conditions including hormone changes and side effects of medications, and/or spiritual factors.


    Regardless of the trigger, once the brain chemistry changes, many of us require specialized treatment for the biological condition in order to return to normal functioning. As with any medical condition, God often says no to prayers for supernatural healing, like He did with Paul, the author of much of the New Testament. God’s power is made perfect in our weakness (2 Corinthians 12:7-9).


    And once the brain chemistry changes, it releases a cascade of physical and emotional symptoms involving painful suffering. Hopelessness. A mood that drops several times lower than what a normal brain is capable of experiencing. (See pages 25 to 27 of Why Do Christians Shoot Their Wounded? by Dr. Dwight L. Carlson.) Guilt. Unrealistic expectations. Fatigue. Difficulty concentrating. Despair. Suicidal thoughts. Loneliness. Negative thinking. Anxiety. Loss of the capacity to sense God’s presence and love. Helplessness. Apathy. Even the ability to move at a normal pace can be hindered.


Accepting the treatment


    The suffering is real. Spiritual practices can help a person to cope better, as they did for me. If the symptoms are mild enough, they might even pull the patient out of it. But in a more serious case, often some kind of medical treatment for this medical problem becomes necessary. Many evangelically-correct Christians refuse to accept this fact. Many evangelically-correct Christians refuse to describe Gloria as actually suffering.

    The situation is slowly changing, though. More and more evangelicals are speaking out about the realities of depression and suicide in the Christian family. But in those circles where the old evangelical correctness prevails, the suffering continues unrecognized, unacknowledged, and untreated.


11/13/18 - I recently discovered this webpage with a more biblical view of anxiety and depression.