An Abundance of Grace

 Judgment

    In Luke chapter 1 (the introduction to the story of Jesus’ birth) Zechariah the priest enters the temple to burn incense to the Lord. A few minutes later the angel Gabriel suddenly appears to him. He tells Zechariah that his wife, Elizabeth, will have a son, then reveals some details about the child: the name to give him (John, later known as the Baptist), the joy he’ll bring, and the effects of his ministry.

    Zechariah responds with doubt. “How can I be sure of this?” Like many of the people in the Old Testament who were confronted with an unexpected prophecy or command, he wants a sign to confirm the words. Unlike those Old Testament examples, Gabriel has no sympathy for his request. “And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens, because you did not believe my words, which will come true at their proper time.”

    I’ve always thought this was a bit harsh.

    Look how Moses argued with God at the burning bush. They had an extended conversation before the Lord’s anger finally burned (Exodus 3:1-4:14). Look how Gideon asked for a sign to confirm God’s leading. Not once, but twice. God patiently granted both signs (Judges 6:36-40). Why does Zechariah deserve such severe judgment? I’ve always kind of felt sorry for him, as if God was being unfair.

Justice

    But then I started looking at the context of Gabriel’s words. Zechariah is in the temple for the purpose of burning incense to the Lord. The sweet smoke rising to God symbolizes prayer. Outside, the people are praying, along with the other priests. Inside, Zechariah is praying. What is he praying for?

    One of the first things Gabriel tells him is, “Your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son.” Has Zechariah been praying for a child at this very moment? Standing in the temple. Burning the holy incense. Making a personal, heartfelt request to God. Then questioning the angel sent by the Lord to bring him the news that that prayer has been answered. Maybe he should have had a little more faith.

    Moses and Gideon were both approached in an unexpected time and place. Zechariah is actively seeking God’s intervention in his childless life. Not quite the same circumstances. Maybe God’s judgment is just after all.

Grace

    But maybe there’s also some grace in His response. Zechariah doesn’t specifically say, “Give me a sign.” However, his words, “How can I be sure of this?” are a typical biblical way of expressing that request. Is God, in His grace, giving Zechariah a sign, as He did for Moses and Gideon? Maybe. Maybe Zechariah’s forced silence is not just a judgment, but also the sign that he longs for in order to bolster his feeble faith.

    What if Gabriel had simply announced his news to Zechariah and then disappeared? Would Zechariah have believed? Would he have burst out of the temple, run to the people, sought out Elizabeth, and joyfully shared his vision with anyone who would listen? Maybe. Maybe not.

    Maybe he would have wandered slowly outdoors with a skeptical look on his face, taken his wife aside, hesitantly described what had happened, voiced his doubts, and waited anxiously to see if Gabriel’s words would be fulfilled. And maybe, even if Elizabeth did get pregnant, Zechariah would have toyed with the idea that it was just a coincidence.

    But with his inability to speak, all of his doubts vanish. It’s a powerful, tangible sign that something very real has happened. He hasn’t just imagined his encounter. It wasn’t wishful thinking. His paralyzed vocal cords testify to the solid certainty of the events.

    How often do I read God’s Word and half-consciously question His truth, His goodness, His grace? As with this story of Zechariah, I have a very human tendency to judge the Judge, to lean on my own understanding of what justice looks like. To deem God’s judgment unjust, harsh, inferior to my own sense of fair play.

    But when I do that, I’m not only elevating myself above His perfection, I’m also missing an opportunity to see His grace. Zechariah didn’t deserve to receive a reassuring sign that Gabriel’s words would be fulfilled. He’d just failed a major test of his faith. He’d stood before the holy God, in a part of the temple that only the sanctified and purified priests could enter, asking Him for a child. When the Lord clearly declared that his request would be fulfilled, what did Zechariah do? He refused to believe it.

    Priests could be struck dead for approaching the Lord in an unworthy manner. What could be more unworthy than the hypocrisy of voicing a prayer while hardening his heart against the possibility that God might actually provide what Zechariah so desperately wanted? He hadn’t earned the right to receive a sign confirming the prophecy.

    Yet there it was. In his own body. With him every moment of every day, reminding him of the certainty of God’s promise. A promise Zechariah had openly questioned.

    This is grace. This is the grace I need to see in every passage of the Bible. When I approach God’s Word with my own preconceived ideas of who He should be, how He should act, what He should say, all I see is harsh, undeserved judgment. But when instead I allow the Holy Spirit to open my eyes to His truth, I see an abundance of grace flowing from a compassionate and understanding God.

The Blessing of Beauty

 Beauty as therapy

    Sitting at my computer building an online jigsaw puzzle. Glancing out the window at the front yard. A sense of peace and contentment settles in my soul. I say a quick prayer of thanks to God for the beauty, both man-made and natural, in this world. When I’m struggling with stress and surrounded by suffering, beauty has a calming and uplifting effect.

    Music soothes the savage beast. A familiar saying based on William Congreve’s words, “Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.” Vivid images testifying to the power of this form of beauty. King Saul experienced this truth firsthand when David played his harp for him (1 Samuel 16:14-23).

    A thing of beauty is a joy forever. Another familiar saying, from the poem Endymion by John Keats. My favorite line: “In spite of all, some shape of beauty moves away the pall from our dark spirits.”

    I choose individual online jigsaw puzzles based on the beauty that strikes me as I scroll through the many options. When I started doing yard work several years ago, I was surprised to discover that I enjoyed it. Part of that pleasure comes from watching beauty spring from my fingertips as I pull ugly weeds or rake up dead leaves or trim a ragged bush.

    During my first depressive episode, creating beauty was life-saving. When the suicidal thoughts raged through my brain, drawing me ever closer to the edge of the cliff, I discovered that playing my flute, writing, or doing needlework infused my soul with a sense of calm and peace, pulling me gently back. Moving away the pall.

    Several years ago, researchers reported that people who make their beds when they get up in the morning are happier than those who don’t. I wonder if the act of making the room a little more beautiful lifts up their spirits.

    When the Sudoku craze started, psychologists questioned why so many Americans who weren’t typically attracted to recreational mathematics and logical thinking were suddenly taking up a hobby that involved analytical reasoning. And enjoying it. Studies soon revealed that successfully solving a puzzle activates the pleasure centers in the brain, triggering a sense of well-being. Puzzle-solving creates a kind of beauty where there was once disorder or imbalance or emptiness. We’re physically wired to find enjoyment and peace in creating that beauty.

Art and beauty

    So what happens to a nation that considers it a virtue to tarnish those things that were once used to beautify? When novels are written to expose the gritty side of life. When happy endings are seen as unrealistic and therefore unartistic. When discord is considered a more sophisticated form of music than harmony. When the most critically-acclaimed visual arts employ harsh lines and depressing colors.

    How will a person living in such a culture respond? Maybe by turning to more damaging forms of stimulation, such as drugs and pornography, in an effort to feed those pleasure-center brain cells that are starving from a lack of beauty. Maybe by obsessing about human beauty.

    Many years ago, I decided to stop reading most twentieth-century literature. Up to that time, I’d reasoned that if the critics praised it, I should check it out. But on the whole it’s depressing. I can get enough of that in real life. And I can find other sources of high-quality art without turning to those that I know will bring me down.

    Barry Manilow’s upbeat tunes were panned by the critics as less artistic than the edgy music of his time. But forty years later, I heard a reviewer on the radio comment that Manilow was a much more talented singer and songwriter than he had ever been given credit for in the past.

    It took the passage of time to appreciate the beauty that Manilow had created. It took stepping away from his contemporaries’ idea that good art would challenge our beliefs, wake us up to the problems around us, open our eyes to the difficulties in life. Is that the best use of art? Don’t we come face-to-face with the ugliest realities often enough without deliberately using our sources of man-made beauty for such a purpose?

Real beauty

    At the same time, the greatest examples of beauty don’t deny the fallen side of life. The beauty of nature includes lions who hunt helpless zebras and tear them to shreds when they catch them. The loveliest paintings need shadows to complement the light. A beautiful novel requires painful conflict.

    A crucial part of the most beautiful story of all, God’s provision for the salvation of His creation, was the brutal death of His Son. Real beauty doesn’t gloss over the pain and suffering. To be truly beautiful, art must be based on the realities found in a broken world. But to be uplifting, to stimulate the pleasure centers in our brains and soothe our souls, it must also provide harmony and hope. In Philippians 4:8, Paul advises us to think about the things that are true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy. Our Lord knows the benefits of reflecting on that which is beautiful.

    At this time of uncertainty and suffering and pain and grief, I give thanks to God for the beauty around me. His incredible Word. Sunsets and stars. Flowers and kittens. The internal beauty of people who reflect the image of God. A well-written novel. A pretty painting. A hymn that’s stood the test of time. And I give thanks for the opportunity to create a little bit of beauty of my own.

Maybe It's Not a Command

 God’s commands

    “Do not be anxious about anything” (Philippians 4:6). How often have I been told by the evangelically correct that this is a command, just like “do not worship other gods,” “do not commit adultery,” “do not steal”? Many, many times.

    But it doesn’t sound like one to me. Commands are given in a stern voice with dire consequences for defying them. They’re surrounded by statements about the holiness of God, His perfection, and His complete goodness which is incapable of fellowship with sin and evil. They’re proclaimed from a mountain covered in fire and smoke. A mountain that mustn’t be touched by any animal or any person other than Moses, Aaron, and Joshua on penalty of death. Once a command has been broken, fellowship with God can only be restored through painful and humiliating repentance and sacrifice.

God’s compassion

    But as I read Philippians chapter 4, I’m immersed in God’s kindness and love and understanding. Right before He tells me not to be anxious, He comforts me with His presence in verse 5: “The Lord is near.”

    He follows His encouragement to refrain from worry with instructions on how to overcome my anxiety when it hits: “But in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” He’s offering me help and hope. Does He ever do that when He’s confronting me with my sin? No. In that case, He says to cut off my hand or gouge out my eye (Matthew 5:29-30). Take extreme measures. Nothing like that is suggested here.

    Verse 7 describes the blessing that will result from my increasing ability to trust Him: “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” When a command is broken, such peace is only promised after confession and repentance. But there’s no call to repentance here.

    In the well-known passage advising me not to worry found in Matthew chapter 6, Jesus’ words aren’t in the form of a rebuke for sin; they’re more like water and sunshine and fertilizer for my growing faith. He tells me that I’m more valuable than the birds of the air and the lilies of the field. He reminds me that my heavenly Father is gladly providing for my daily needs. His words are spoken with love and compassion. The Bible never treats immoral behavior this way. Sin is far too serious in God’s eyes.

    Peter encourages me to cast all my anxiety on God. He doesn’t advise me to do it because God will punish me if I don’t; he invites me to give my worries to Him because He cares so very much for me (1 Peter 5:7).

    Jesus comforts me in Luke 12:32, “Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom.” He addresses my fear, not with judgment, but as a Shepherd tenderly caring for His sheep. He tells me that my loving Father is pleased to graciously grant me riches beyond my wildest imagining.

The greatest God

    Sometimes I wonder if people reject the God of the Gospel because He sounds too good to be true. How could such a God exist? How could He love me so deeply when I defy Him and disappoint Him on a regular basis? I know I don’t deserve this. Could His grace really be so great, so rich, so free?

    But this is the only kind of god that I could ever worship without reservation, without disappointment, without that little voice inside telling me that He should be better than He is. He must be beyond all my expectations of the best possible god, or He isn’t God at all.

The greatest good

    I also question the idea of seeing Philippians 4:6 as a command because it just doesn’t make sense from a psychological point of view, and I have a feeling that God knows human psychology way better than all the wisest mortal counselors who have ever lived.

    When I was a child, I was a crier. Any little pain, physical or emotional, could bring me to tears. Following the philosophy of their generation, my parents often responded to my weeping by commanding me to quit doing it. The result? I sobbed even more loudly because I was hurt by their lack of understanding and empathy. In a similar way, my anxiety is never, ever reduced or resolved when someone tells me to just stop it.

    I suspect God understands this aspect of human psychology and knows how to deal with it in a way that will lead to the best results. When the evangelically correct command believers to simply cease being anxious, many respond with repression and denial. Hide the anxiety. Pretend it’s not there. Don’t let anyone see it (especially fellow Christians), or you’ll feel guilty and rejected. Others give up on their faith in this God who appears to have no compassion for their struggles.

    God’s way is always the better way. Commanding and expecting me to stop indulging in a particular sin is reasonable and right. Even though I’ll never be perfect in this life, the only way to make any progress in overcoming my evil choices is to recognize that they’re wrong and intentionally turn in the opposite direction. I can find the motivation and the strength to do this because I’ve experienced His forgiveness through Jesus’ sacrifice. That’s the best way to deal with the sin that separates me from the blessing of fellowship with Him.

    But anxiety is a different matter. Soothing my fears, offering realistic ways to work through them, reassuring me of His presence and His care, are far more effective than chastising me. In His love and grace, He provides the better way. The way that meets my deepest needs. The way that increases my faith and my love for Him. The way that draws me nearer to Him. That’s where He wants me to be.

Good Sports

 The background

    I’m excited. God answered a prayer that I wasn’t really even praying. I love it when He does that. He surprised me by providing a solution to a problem that I’d posed in an earlier article.

    As I wrote at that time, I’ve heard many stories of young people who are raised in prosperous Christian homes and who profess faith at an early age, but who are later blindsided by unexpected hardships and respond by turning away from God. My question was: How can parents in a land of plenty better prepare their children for the suffering that will inevitably occur? I didn’t have an answer. God did. I wasn’t even praying for an answer. But God led me to one anyway.

    Our world has been turned upside down since I published that post. It seems kind of irrelevant to ask that question now. With the coronavirus pandemic, no one is living in a bubble of protection anymore, where the pain and the fear can’t touch them. But shortly before COVID-19 invaded our lives, God used Cindy, a friend from church, to suggest a solution to the problem that I’d raised. I want to present it here as a follow-up to my earlier article, because I don’t like unanswered questions and I assume many of you feel the same way. In addition, Cindy’s idea can be applied to the challenge of helping kids to cope now.

An answer to my question

    Cindy went through a tough childhood. Divorced parents. A mother who didn’t want her. A father and stepmother who provided material necessities but no emotional support, no encouragement, no interest in Cindy as a real person.

    For Cindy, hearing the gospel was instantly and dramatically life-changing. She learned of God, the perfect Father, who loved her so intensely that He sacrificed His own Son to save her soul. She had never known a human being who would go one inch out of their way to show that they cared for her. But the God of the universe had spared no expense to demonstrate the depth of His compassion. She believed.

    Years later, Cindy is now a wife and mom. She and her husband both have college degrees and comfortable incomes. They live in a nice house in a nice suburb where their children are receiving a good education. They go to a nice suburban church with other people who live in similar circumstances.

    But to Cindy that’s a problem. How will her kids appreciate the enormity of God’s love if they’ve never known the pain and rejection that she grew up with from the day she was born? We had different questions, but one answer works for both. That answer: Sports. Cindy and her husband have a rule that their children will participate in sports.

The benefits

    Sports provide a safe, short-term exposure to suffering. Everyone loses at some point. Everyone fails sooner or later. With rare exceptions, everyone feels the pain of knowing that someone else is better than they are, that they will never be the fastest runner or the most accurate kicker or the highest jumper. To make it even worse, playing on a team involves struggling and hurting among people who don’t necessarily even care about you.

    When I was a child so many years ago, there was a push to make sports less competitive and more cooperative. It’s still going on. Why hasn’t it succeeded after all this time? I’d appreciate better cooperation in most areas of our lives (especially now), but Americans seem to know that competitive sports have an important role to play, too.

    Cooperation gives us a sense of control. If I’m involved in a cooperative enterprise, I get to help make the rules, choose the role I want to play, and determine what happens next. But suffering almost always demonstrates that I don’t have that kind of control.

    That’s why children need some areas, like sports, where they compete on someone else’s terms. Where unfair calls are made and sometimes luck beats out talent. Where the teams aren’t always equally matched but they have to play anyway. The most difficult moments in life hit us like that. We need to prepare our young ones to meet them.

    But we’re living in different times now. Now all of our kids are experiencing fear and loss in a way that this country hasn’t seen in many decades. They don’t need sports to teach them that life doesn’t always go the way they want it to. But they do need to find ways to process their emotions and responses. How can they do that?

    Through sports. Sports expose athletes to ups and downs, failures and successes, joys and sorrows. But at some point the game ends. Unlike the ongoing stresses in real life, sports provide an opportunity to learn how to deal with temporary pain. The players can then apply those lessons to the more difficult issues in their lives. Facing the minor trauma of striking out or missing a basket or dropping the football, and working through it, can give them the tools and the confidence to face the greater challenges that have come with the coronavirus.

    Sports can also be therapeutic. They can provide an acceptable outlet for aggression, releasing the unspoken fears and frustrations and anger inside. They can help young people to discover and develop their talents. They can allow kids to take pride in their contributions to the team.

    But how many sports are available right now? Many outlets have shut down. Some adults are hesitant about allowing their children to participate in activities where they could be exposed to COVID-19. Some young people are afraid of the potential risks involved. If sports aren’t an option, maybe similar benefits could be made available through a family or bubble-group game time.

    In addition, many of us are using this period of shut-down activities to do more reflecting. With a break from the pressure to be constantly on the go, we’re reconsidering our priorities and our use of time. Maybe some moms and dads will take this opportunity to rethink parenting styles. Maybe they’ll recognize the need to better prepare their children for the realities that the future holds through intentional exposure to short-term suffering. Maybe they’ll come up with a plan like Cindy’s and start looking for ways to get their kids involved in sports once the pandemic is under control.

Delight or Despair?

 God’s revelation

    Recently read through Psalm 119. All 176 verses. Normally, when I read it, I can relate to Sam Williamson’s initial thoughts in his blog post about this “dreaded psalm,” especially the “dull repetition.”

    But God has been changing my perspective on His Word and His commands in the last few months (as He changed Sam’s). Sometimes when I open my Bible in the morning, I have a sense of awe that this is the very Word of God! Not just another book. Not just a bunch of stories and sayings that I’ve heard a hundred times. Not just something fallible written by a variety of human authors expressing their own opinions.

    The actual Lord of the universe, He who created all that exists, is communicating with us in this book that I’m touching with my own hands and seeing with my own eyes. He’s revealing who He is and how we can have a relationship with Him. What kind of God would make such a privilege available to so many? He didn’t have to do it. But He gave us this amazing revelation because of the intensity of His love for us.

His answer to my prayer

    So when I came to Psalm 119, I was praying that this time I wouldn’t see it as a repetitive compilation of praises for a legalistic lifestyle or as a list of unrealistic expectations, like in the first few verses: “Blessed are they whose ways are blameless, who walk according to the law of the Lord. Blessed are they who keep his statutes and seek him with all their heart. They do nothing wrong; they walk in his ways. You have laid down precepts that are to be fully obeyed” (italics added). Somehow, that just doesn’t describe me. But, in answer to my prayer, here’s what I realized: I can and should delight in His law. Not just His love and His grace, but His law.

    He gives us that law as both a guide to the best possible life in this world of suffering and a revelation of His character.

    Does God say “You shall not commit adultery” (Exodus 20:14) to cruelly forbid us the excitement of multiple partners? No! He issues that command so that we can have the deeper pleasure and fulfillment of a good and lasting marriage. Marriage at its best gives a man and woman a hint of the joyful intimacy that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit experience among themselves through all eternity.

    Does God say “You shall not steal” (Exodus 20:15) to deny us the pleasure of owning something without the pain of paying for it? No! Stealing destroys trust. Our personal relationships are far stronger and more satisfying when we can trust each other. If my friend can’t depend on me to respect his private property, will he share with me the things that really matter? We can better understand and rejoice in the trustworthiness of God when we experience a less perfect form of it in our human relationships.

    Does God say “Remember the Sabbath” (Exodus 20:8) so that once a week we have to sit back in boredom and worry about all the things that we’re not getting done? No! He’s removing the burden of laboring seven days a week, He’s reminding us that everything we have ultimately comes from Him, and He’s providing time for us to draw nearer to His kind and loving presence without the distraction of a to-do list.

    Every command that God has given us has an equally good and valid reason behind it. It leads to a happier, more fulfilling life. It helps us to better understand and appreciate His character.

    It’s incredibly hard to obey His law because I’m so self-centered. I want what I want and I want it now. But it’s well worth the sacrifice to aim for Jesus’ high goal of being perfect (Matthew 5:48), even though I know I won’t reach it in this life. As I grow in my relationship with Him, He will develop within me a greater ability to love my neighbor as myself, to step back from that little voice inside that insists on having my own way, to understand that the fruit of obedience today is greater joy and peace and contentment tomorrow.

    Modern research supports the idea that following God’s law is good for us. Recent studies have shown that “deaths from despair” (suicide and deaths related to drug and alcohol abuse) are significantly less common among those who attend religious services on a regular basis than among those who don’t. These religious people experience better overall physical health and better psychological well-being. Whether they’re Christians or not, they’re the ones most likely to be attempting to obey God’s commands.

    Contrary to the promise of the 1960s that freeing ourselves from the restraints of traditional moral values would bring greater happiness, that “freedom” has led to a decrease in life expectancy, largely due to an increase in deaths from despair. Happiness has declined. Despair has grown.

My new prayer

    I’m nowhere near the point of approaching my Bible reading with eager anticipation every day, especially the Old Testament. Seeing God’s law as something negative and dread-full is too prevalent in our evangelical culture with its emphasis on grace. We’ve forgotten that the law was given to draw people nearer to Him. We see it as a harsh relic of the past. All that matters now is that God loves me. As a result, we’ve lost the sense of the beauty and joy and delight in His law that the writer expresses in Psalm 119:

    “I rejoice in following your statutes as one rejoices in great riches. . . I delight in your decrees.”

    “My soul is consumed with longing for your laws at all times.”

    “Your statutes are my delight.”

    “Direct me in the path of your commands, for there I find delight.”

    My new prayer is the same as the psalmist’s in verse 18: “Open my eyes that I may see wonderful things in your law” (italics added).

Today

 Breaking Down

    Today I feel weak and fragile. Unable to discern where God is leading me. Overwhelmed by the stresses of the hour that we’re living in. Longing for normal times.

    Today I should be writing, working in my yard, reaching out to friends in need. But today all I want to do is relax, zone out, recharge my batteries.

    Yesterday was bad. I fell apart. A friend made a comment about a conversation we had a couple of weeks ago. I had no memory of the details that she mentioned. Too worn out from overdoing the day before, I couldn’t handle the shock of hearing her describe a recent mutual experience that didn’t sound even vaguely familiar to me.

    My reported statement had involved one of her habits that affects my life and mildly annoys me. I’d decided years ago that I wouldn’t jeopardize our friendship by asking her to change her ways. I could live with her idiosyncrasy, even though it was a bit of an inconvenience for me.

    So the problem wasn’t just that I couldn’t remember something specific that I’d said to her. The problem was that I couldn’t even imagine making that comment. When she brought it up, I covered my confusion by suggesting that maybe she’d misunderstood me or hadn’t heard me clearly. She accepted that. To her, it was no big deal. But it threw me into a dark and fearful place where I seriously questioned whether I was losing my mind.

    For many years, I’ve struggled with medical issues that affect my brain. It’s mainly related to menopause, but side effects from an over-the-counter medication may have done additional damage. I have to be really careful about overdoing. Set boundaries and stick to them. Or pay the price in stages.

    First stage: broken body. Increased physical fatigue. Second: broken brain. The mental fog rolls in. Third, and most terrifying: broken emotions. Irrational fear. Hopelessness about my future. Obsessing over the negatives. Completely convinced that what I’m thinking is reasonable, understandable, normal. In my own mind (never out loud) I've labelled it “my insanity.” It doesn’t reach this point very often, but when it does, it scares me.

    Yesterday I was well into stage two when our conversation started. My weary brain took my friend’s statement, red-flagged this alarming new kind of forgetfulness, and ran with it deep into stage three. Do I have periods when I actually black out any memory of what’s happening, never to recall it again? Are there holes in my mind where I thought there was wholeness? Is this a sign of dementia creeping in? If so, what will tomorrow bring?

Coming back

    After so many yesterdays when the same emotional symptoms had occurred, I eventually recognized what was happening and went into response mode, using self-talk in an attempt to short-circuit the panic and the negative thoughts. (One important factor: even though my friend’s cancer has been in remission for several months, her chemo brain continues. It’s entirely possible that she misheard, misunderstood, or misremembered.)

    But the anxiety still haunted me. I couldn’t let go, couldn’t stop my imagination from fearing the worst. Praying: Lord, please help me to recall the conversation or to reason through the circumstances. Help me to somehow get a handle on what most likely occurred.

    God said no. Hours later, I was just as mystified as I had been when my friend brought up the subject. Instead, He provided a different answer. The Holy Spirit called to my mind other yesterdays when the insanity had clutched my brain with its fierce claws and sent me into a similar downward spiral. On every occasion, the cure was simple: time. Time passed. The symptoms went away. My perspective shifted back to normal. With this thought came peace.

Facing today

    Today the insanity is over. I’m puzzled by our conversation, not overwhelmed. But today I’m feeling weary from yesterday’s meltdown. I don’t want to work. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to reach out to others. I fear a repeat of yesterday if I do too much today.

    So what does God expect from me today? According to Jesus, my life is supposed to be one of sacrificial giving. Do I sacrifice my energy, my mind, my sanity by pushing myself to do more, to put others’ needs before my own? Do I plunge ahead, reciting the promise, “I can do everything through him who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:13)? He has refused me that strength many times in the past. Sometimes His will includes my weakness.

    Or do I give in to the urge to spend even more time than usual relaxing? Can I justify my inactivity by arguing that I might not accomplish a lot, but I will do a few things well, with a clear head and calm emotions? Will God judge me for my negligence, or is He sitting up in heaven shaking His head and sighing with compassion over my tendency to push myself too hard? Discerning His will, hearing His voice, is so much more difficult today than it is on my better days.

    Where do I go from here? Take one step at a time. Think and pray over today’s list of to-dos. Quiet my own imaginary voice in my head so that I can hear His instead. Put aside “should,” focus on “could.”

    I should work on my profile for my blog. But I’m not thinking clearly enough to have any confidence in my own editing. I could pour out my feelings and frustrations in a new post. Maybe God can use this time of fatigue and uncertainty to minister to someone in need.

    I should do some yard work before it gets any hotter. If I skip it completely, I’ll get further behind. But I could just finish up the job I started a few days ago, without tackling a new one. Ten minutes later, I’m back in the house cooling off again. Thank You, Father, for understanding my needs and desires, for leading me to the things that I can do, for letting me experience a sense of accomplishment even when I feel so limited.

    I take my usual breaks for eating, napping, relaxing. In between I check my to-dos. I could write one email. Done. Not too tired yet. I could write another. Done. A little bit of energy remains. I could check out a new website. Done. Looking at my entire list is overwhelming. Focusing on one item at a time is doable.

    As today ends, I’m feeling whole again. God has restored my emotions, my brain, my body. At this point, I always hope and pray that the insanity will never return. But I know that if it does, I’ll have one more memory of one more time when God saw me through it and grew me just a little bit more. Because of yesterday and today, I will be stronger tomorrow.

Growing Stronger

 Stronger or more bitter?

    “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”*

    I hate that saying.

    Why? Don’t I know that God is working for our good in all things (Romans 8:28)? Our highest good is to become more like Him. Therefore, in all things, including those that hurt but don’t kill us, God will make us stronger, won’t He?

    But is it automatic? I suffer, therefore I grow? Not from what I’ve seen. God is always working for our good, but we often have to work with Him, in an attitude of humility and submission, in order to heal and produce fruit.

    A Christian man I used to know dreamed as a child of one day becoming a doctor. He did all he could to make that dream come true. He demonstrated innate curiosity about things both natural and mechanical. He maintained high grades throughout his years of schooling. He became involved in extracurricular activities, including volunteering in the local emergency room on Friday and Saturday nights. He developed interpersonal skills that would contribute to a good bedside manner. If he had been born ten years earlier, he probably would have been accepted into medical school and gone on to a successful career as a physician.

    But he completed his bachelor’s degree in the late 1970s. At that time, there was a growing attempt to get more women and minorities into medicine. Highly-qualified white males, including my friend, were being passed over in favor of less-qualified females and people of color. My friend’s applications to various med schools were denied. He switched tracks and became an engineer instead. It wasn’t his first choice, but he accepted it and served well in his back-up field. What didn’t kill him made him stronger.

    I met another Christian man about fifteen years ago. Same dream, same focus on the goal, same failure to be accepted into med school. Different result. This guy was angry and resentful over being passed up for a career that he knew he deserved. He found another path, but pursued it grudgingly, meeting only the minimal requirements and continuing to complain to those closest to him about his unfair treatment so many years before. What didn’t kill him made him bitter.

Stronger or more vulnerable?

    A different friend went through a difficult time as an unwanted child. Finding Christ freed her of many false beliefs about her value and her ability to be loved. As a Christian, with God’s grace and power and wisdom, she worked through her damaged emotions and self-image. What didn’t kill her eventually made her stronger.

    A second woman that I knew many years ago had also had a traumatic childhood in an unstable home. She became a Christian and experienced the peace and joy and love of Christ. But she bought into the evangelically-correct idea that she wasn’t broken inside anymore. That was the past. It was over. God had instantaneously, completely healed her when she believed.

    She was the secretary to an assistant pastor at my church. That pastor left. A new one was hired. When he interviewed for the position, his previous employers failed to reveal his history of sexual misconduct. He immediately recognized the weakness of his new secretary. He preyed on her. He manipulated her. He destroyed her marriage by initiating an affair with her. What didn’t kill her made her vulnerable.

    I’ve seen too many broken Christians who never really heal. Like the second man who was denied access to med school and the secretary who had the affair with her boss. With inadequate treatment, the wounds fester. What doesn’t kill them continues to eat away at them, regardless of the facade of health and strength that they wear for others to see.

Our current opportunity

    What will the outcome of the coronavirus pandemic be for believers in America? Will we follow in the footsteps of the first people mentioned in each of my pairs of examples and be strengthened? Will we accept God’s detours in our lives and allow Him to grow us, or will we become bitter? Will we work through the pain in order to find healing, or will we put on a happy face through it all, then fall prey to those who know how to exploit us?

    And what about our attitude to Christians who are struggling with the fallout from COVID-19? Will we allow them, and even encourage them, to take whatever time they need to work through their pain and doubts? Will we be there for them, to walk alongside them in the process? Or will we shame them if we don’t see a quick fix occurring?

True strength

    Maybe we need to change this faulty assumption about growing stronger to some searching questions, asked with the compassion that desires healing for the sufferer. How might God use this non-fatal experience to make you stronger? Can you see anything that He’s trying to teach you through it? What small steps can you begin taking right now? What could you work on changing in your attitude or behavior in order to gain the strength that’s available to you? Who can help you as you try to move forward? A wise and trusted friend? A patient pastor? A professional counselor?

    Ultimately, our strength comes from God. Only He can heal our brokenness and bind up our wounds. But we have a responsibility, too—to be honest with Him and with others, to face our hurts and anger and shortcomings head-on, to be open to His guidance in pursuing healing, to learn to be thankful rather than resentful when He prunes our damaged branches. As we do our part, in His love and patience and grace He will bring growth. What doesn’t kill us will make us stronger. But it isn’t automatic, as that saying that I hate so much implies.


*Adapted from Friedrich Nietzsche. What he actually wrote was, “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger” (italics added). Was he speaking only for himself, or did he believe that this principle applied to everyone, as our current version suggests?

That's Not Fair!

The suffering of two faithful servants

    “After all that Hezekiah had so faithfully done, Sennacherib king of Assyria came and invaded Judah” (2 Chronicles 32:1, italics added). Wait a minute. Isn’t this the Old Testament? Isn’t this one of those books where God repeatedly says that Israel’s and Judah’s ups and downs are directly connected to their degree of faith and obedience?

    How could God do this to Hezekiah? How could He follow Hezekiah’s faithfulness with a vicious attack? Doesn’t that go against everything the chronicler has been illustrating? Isn’t God being totally inconsistent with His teaching throughout the Old Testament?

    Why would God allow this?

    It reminds me of poor David (1 Samuel 16-31). Anointed as king while Saul is still reigning. Serving under him as both a musician and a warrior. Arousing Saul’s jealousy as David slays his tens of thousands, while Saul only slays his thousands. Spending years fleeing from Saul’s vengeful attempts to kill him.

    And yet David was a man after God’s own heart, while Saul defied God’s clear directions and lost His favor (1 Samuel 15). It’s not supposed to work this way. The good guy is supposed to be rewarded with an easy life, while the bad guy faces judgment.

    So why did God allow Saul to torment David, and Sennacherib to attack Hezekiah? It’s only a theory, but I have to wonder if there’s such a thing as preventive suffering. Even though David was more committed to God and followed Him more faithfully than any other Old Testament king, at one time he allowed his lust and his pride to drag him down into committing rape and murder (2 Samuel 11).

    He had his neighbor’s wife, Bathsheba, taken from her home and brought to him for sex. Could she have turned him down? Could she have resisted him? Could she have called out for help? Her life was in his hands, and they both knew it. As king, he had the power to do with her as he pleased, whether that meant sleeping with her or punishing her if she refused. He used her and he sent her home.

    And she got pregnant. Her husband, Uriah, was off at war, fighting Judah’s enemies, as David should have been. Uriah couldn’t possibly be the father of Bathsheba’s baby. David tried to cover his tracks by sending for her husband, but Uriah refused to enjoy the pleasures of home while the rest of the army was on the battlefield. Desperate to save his reputation for righteousness, David had Uriah killed and married his widow.

    I read these chapters in my Bible with pain and horror and anger. How could he do such a thing?

What if . . .

    And then I wonder, could it have been even worse? What if David had had an easier life? What if Saul had died and David had become king shortly after Samuel had anointed him? What if he’d never had to flee in terror from Saul’s jealousy and rage? What if he hadn’t spent years trusting God to fulfill His promise?

    Would his sin have been even worse?

    Would he have let his talents and his power and his popularity go to his head, raping women, murdering men, eventually turning completely away from the God that he’d worshipped in his youth? It’s possible. The Lord may have used David's suffering at the hands of Saul as preparation for the great temptations that he would face as his power multiplied.

    The same could be true of Hezekiah, whose reign prior to the attack by Sennacherib is described in 2 Chronicles 29 through 31. He purified the temple. He encouraged the people of Israel to return to the Lord and to celebrate the Passover in ways that hadn’t happened in years. He gave generously to the restoration of God’s design for worship. He did what was “good and right and faithful before the Lord his God. In everything that he undertook in the service of God’s temple and in obedience to the law and the commands, he sought his God and worked wholeheartedly. And so he prospered.”

    Then came the invasion by Assyria. Some time after that, “Hezekiah’s heart was proud and he did not respond to the kindness shown him [by God, in healing him of a deadly disease]; therefore the Lord’s wrath was on him and on Judah and Jerusalem. Then Hezekiah repented of the pride of his heart” (2 Chronicles 32:25 and 26).

    What if Hezekiah hadn’t been forced to depend on God during Sennacherib’s siege? What if he hadn’t been humbled by his helplessness? What if he hadn’t experienced the prayerful support of the prophet Isaiah as they awaited God’s action in defeating the enemy? What if he hadn’t grown in his faith as a result of his suffering?

    Would his downfall have been even worse? Would the Lord’s wrath on him and his people have been even more devastating? Would the suffering have been greater without the invasion by Assyria than it was with it?

Strengthening for hard times

    I don’t like the verse that I quoted at the beginning of this post. I want to read here, as elsewhere in the Old Testament, that God rewarded Hezekiah’s faithfulness with peace and prosperity.

    But on the other hand, it can be reassuring to me when I’m going through hard times, as so many of us are today, to know that even His most faithful servants can face a vicious attack. To know that painful suffering can come even in the times of consistent obedience. Then I’m better able to resist the negative thoughts telling me that if I’d just prayed a little more, if I’d just had a little more faith, if I’d just spent more time reading His Word, these bad things wouldn’t be happening to me.

    “After all that Hezekiah had so faithfully done, Sennacherib king of Assyria came and invaded Judah.” Maybe some of the invasions in my life come, not as a result of sin and disobedience or a failure to discern and follow His will, but after all my faithfulness to God. Maybe they come to grow me and strengthen me, to prepare me to face temptations that would otherwise overpower me somewhere in the unknown future. Temptations that might lead to greater suffering for others as well as for myself. Maybe life is better with the painful, unwanted, undeserved attacks than it would be without them.

Freedom

The freedom of adults

    Thinking about freedom as the Fourth of July approaches. Wondering who has greater freedom, children or adults? Most kids would say grown-ups do. They can go wherever they want to, whenever they want to. They can spend their money any way they choose. They can stay up late and watch whatever TV shows and movies they like best. They can tell their children what to do and enforce obedience.

    Most adults would say we do. We can choose our careers and employers and spouses. We can decide which house to buy or which apartment to rent. We can move to any part of the country or the world. We can buy the clothes that we like and the car that fits our wants and needs. We can determine what and when and where to eat. We can vote.

    But those freedoms are far more limited than I ever thought they would be as I was growing up. Even if I’m able to get a college degree, I might not find a job in my field. The man I fall in love with might not love me back. I might not have the money to move where I want to or to buy the house or car that I’ve got my eye on. And do I really have that many options in voting?

The freedom of children

    What did Jesus mean when He said to become like little children? I’ve always heard that He meant to have a childlike trust in God. But maybe another way to look at it includes relishing the freedom that childhood brings.

    In some ways, children have more freedom than adults do. Kids are free to live in a house that someone else has provided. They don’t have to do the math to figure out whether they can afford it, or decide when it’s time to replace a worn-out appliance, or oversee the cooking and cleaning and yard work.

    Children are free to eat the food that someone else has purchased and prepared. They don’t have to make sure they have the ingredients and the pans and the dishes and the skills and the time and the money to put that meal on the table.

    Children don’t have to plan for their futures yet. They have a natural trust in the adults who care for them that frees them from anxiety and worry. They don’t have to go looking for love—it’s right there in their homes.

    The younger the child, the more freedom they enjoy in expressing their emotions. As we grow older, we learn more appropriate behavior, more self-control, more restraint. A baby cries vigorously when he’s hungry or wet or tired. If a three-year-old is equally dramatic, we call it a tantrum, an unacceptable form of expression.

    Children are free from the anxiety and stress of having to be the strong one in the family. When my friend’s marriage ended due to her husband’s adultery, she felt an intense pressure to be strong for their kids. She didn’t have the freedom to pour out her grief, her bitterness, her pain to the same degree that they did. She knew they needed to be able to vent all their emotions to her, including their anger and disappointment for any mistakes that she might have made in the marriage. But it wasn’t a two-way street.

Becoming a little child

    Can I become like a little child in God’s eyes in the sense of experiencing the freedoms of childhood? I have some responsibilities for meeting my own needs and ministering to others, but do I take on more burdens than He intends for me to bear?

    Just as adults provide the necessities for their children, God cares enough to meet my daily needs (Matthew 6). I have a part in making that happen, in the same sense that children often contribute to the household in whatever little ways they can. But I can be free from the anxiety of worrying about tomorrow.

    I don’t have to go looking for love, the way young adults search for a life-long romantic relationship. I’m free to rest in the joy of knowing the surpassing love of Christ. It’s with me wherever I go, whatever I do.

    I can express my emotions freely with God. This is a tough one. I began learning from a very early age when and where venting is inappropriate. But is it ever inappropriate with God? Evangelically-correct believers often say yes. The Israelites complained to Moses when they ran out of water on the way to the Promised Land. Their grumbling was described as testing the Lord (Exodus 17:1-7). Therefore we should never complain.

    But God knows our thoughts and our hearts. If I’m feeling secretly resentful about the conditions in my life, I can never hide that from Him, no matter how hard I try. I can pour it out freely to Him, as a child voices his disappointments and fears and anger and everything else to a trusted parent.

    If I’m truly abiding in Christ as I do this, I’ll learn and grow from the experience. My emotions themselves will mature. I’ll become less susceptible to disappointment and fear and unhappiness. But as long as I’m living in this body, I have the freedom to bring all my cares and feelings to Him. As Sam Williamson writes, “God rebukes Israel for grumbling to each other, but he actually gives us words in the Psalms to say those same thoughts to him.”

    I have the freedom to be weak. I don’t have to be the strong one who has all the answers, who makes all the right decisions, who takes charge in difficult situations. God can handle that. I have the responsibility to do my best to follow His leading, but He is so much stronger and wiser than I will ever be.

    I am a child in relation to God. As my parents cared for me when I was young and bore the weight that was too heavy for me, so my heavenly Father provides for me and frees me from the responsibilities that I can’t handle. I still have to carry the part of the load that belongs to me, but Jesus says that His yoke is easy and His burden is light (Matthew 11:30). My tendency is to magnify that burden with anxiety and self-importance, instead of resting in His assurance that the truth will set me free, and that in Him I can be free indeed (John 8:32, 36).

Sing Unto the Lord a New Song

Two songs, two styles

    Sang two songs back-to-back in virtual church on Sunday: “Great is Thy Faithfulness” and “10,000 Reasons (Bless the Lord).” “Great is Thy Faithfulness” is all about God. His faithfulness, His unchanging nature, His compassion, His eternal nature, His mercy, His provision, His love, His forgiveness, His peace, His presence, His cheer, His guidance, His strength, His hope, His blessings. This faithfulness is “unto me,” so the song has a personal application. But the main focus is on God, not on us.

    Then there’s “10,000 Reasons (Bless the Lord).” For the first three stanzas, I’m mainly singing about myself. I bless the Lord, I worship, I sing. There’s only one mention of God’s character—He’s holy. It’s not until the fourth stanza that we sing about any of His other attributes: His rich love, His slowness to anger, His kindness, His goodness. The words say more about me than about Him. Is this really worship?

    In “Changing Churches,” I wrote about the struggles seniors face today as the songs they know and love are being replaced and forgotten. I freely admit to my preference for the old hymns, but it’s not just an unfounded bias or my discomfort with change (which I also freely admit to). I have a real concern about what we’re communicating. Are we here to glorify God for all of who He is, or only for what He does for me? This issue becomes even more urgent in times of nationwide suffering, as with the devastation caused by the current pandemic.

    And yet, some of the Contemporary Christian Music (CCM) that we’ve used in church in recent years has had a powerful impact on me. Much as I’d sometimes like to, I can’t just rant about going back to the good old ways from the good old days. I’ve been forced to recognize that there is a time and a place and a purpose for most CCM, including “10,000 Reasons (Bless the Lord).”

    The book of Psalms is a compilation of songs and prayers that the Jewish people have used in worship for thousands of years. While many of them provide a more in-depth description of who God is and what He’s done (like “Great is Thy Faithfulness”), some of them simply voice the worshippers’ awe and joy as we praise Him, without providing details about His character (like “10,000 Reasons”). God chose to include both kinds in His authoritative Word. And all of them come from a deeply personal perspective, which is more common in CCM than in the old hymns.

The ministry of the hymns

    During my first depressive episode many years ago, the theology presented in the hymns was crucial to keeping me strong enough to resist the draw of suicide. I needed to know who this God is that I was depending on to see me through. I needed to know the richness and depth of His character. I needed to know that He transcends all my understanding and all my expectations. I needed to know that He has a greater purpose that goes far beyond my little life, even as He treasures and watches over that little life. Then I could know that He is big enough and powerful enough to handle something as dark and scary as suicidal depression.

    Putting this theology to music added a dimension that’s missing in the spoken or written word alone. I was often so moved by the lyrics and the melody combined that I couldn’t sing for the lump in my throat. I grew in strength and in my relationship with God as a direct result of those hymns. Today, in the crisis triggered by the coronavirus outbreak, we need this kind of strengthening.

The ministry of CCM

    Yet at the same time, I was listening to the CCM of the day on Christian radio. It ministered to me in a different way. It wasn’t as heavy on theology, which is probably why we weren’t using it in church, but it expressed much of what I was struggling with and helped me to work through it. Another source of growth.

    Fast forward to more recent years. We first sang the CCM song “Jesus Draw Me Ever Nearer” shortly after I’d been blindsided by the situation that I described in “Wounded by God.” God seemed so far away. My greatest need was for Him to draw me nearer and nearer. I wasn’t getting there by my own efforts or through the usual Sunday morning worship. Suddenly, with these words, with this song, I had a much-needed breakthrough.

    The opening verse of “Jesus Draw Me Ever Nearer” created a vivid mental image of being lost and alone in the middle of nowhere during a torrential downpour. That’s how I was feeling when the pastor introduced it. That’s how many are feeling today. It reminded me that, even for a Christian, sometimes life is hard work. Sometimes we have to “labor through the storm,” and it’s okay for us to admit that. The evangelically correct tend to deny it.

    Like many of the psalms, this song is a prayer. It’s a means of pouring out our souls to God in pain and supplication. It confirms that my heart’s testing will continue right up to the moment that I die. It’s not a request for relief from the struggles, but a desire for His presence and my growth as they continue. The theology of suffering, the crying out in sorrow, the pleading for His help and guidance—all set to music that amplifies their message—met my need better than any of the words I’d been trying to come up with on my own.

    A few weeks later, we sang “Whom Shall I Fear (God of Angel Armies)” for the first time. It starts off with a calm and easy reflection on God as our Light and Sword and Shield, along with the question, “Whom shall I fear?,” repeated for emphasis.

    Then it bursts into the confident declaration that I’m surrounded on all sides by God’s presence and His armies of angels. The melody powerfully supports the message, communicating certainty and strength. At that point, at that time, I desperately needed to be reminded of that strength. Many people need that same reminder right now.

    In His wisdom and grace, God used these two CCM songs to comfort and sustain me in a special way. But even after all these years of thinking and praying through the issues in the “worship wars,” I still struggle with the conflict between the older hymns and the newer “praise and worship” songs. I struggle with that label, because praise and worship should be God-centered and God-focused, and so often the lyrics are more about me than they are about Him.

    Yet He can obviously use even our flawed attempts at glorifying Him through music. (Has any song sung in any church ever been perfect?) No matter how much I’m tempted to grumble and criticize on the outside, deep down inside I’m truly thankful for both hymns and CCM, and for the ways that they’ve both helped me to grow in Christ over the years. I pray that they would both continue to minister to worshipers around the world as we labor through the storms brought on by COVID-19.

Granting Grace

Admitting my ignorance

    Several months ago, a life-changing thought came to me: I don’t know it all. I can’t keep up with the enormous amount of information being produced every day, every hour, every minute. Therefore, I don’t have to have an opinion on every controversial issue, major and minor, that’s tearing our country apart. Living in a democracy, it’s important for me to learn enough to vote wisely and to speak up or take action when God leads me to do so. But I can’t have a well-informed, up-to-date, rock-solid knowledge of every single subject. My human mind is far too limited for that.

    That little thought was so liberating! As an American who has the right to vote, the right to speak freely, the right to protest against my own government, I’ve grown up in a world where I’ve felt pressured by others, and by myself, to know all the pros and cons in every situation so that I can make a fully informed choice.

    But I don’t have to do that. I can listen compassionately and with a biblical mindset to different viewpoints and, when appropriate, say, “I don’t know who’s right and who’s wrong. I can see the good and the bad on both sides.” The pressure is off.

    I’m thankful that that thought came when it did. I’ve had several months to apply it, to retrain my thinking, to refrain from making judgments in certain situations. To be comfortable with saying, “I don’t know.”

Facing issues raised by the pandemic

    Then came the coronavirus pandemic. How am I to live in this nation of “stay at home” supporters vs. “reopen the country” rebels? As usual I can see both sides. I don’t want my loved ones who are vulnerable to dying from COVID-19 to be recklessly exposed to it. Therefore, everyone should stay home.

    But that’s leading to increased poverty, increased scarcity, and increased hunger. It’s leading to an increase in mental health issues even among those who have never struggled with them before. It’s likely to lead to increased deaths from suicide and untreated medical issues. Therefore, everyone should be free to go where they please.

    Which side do I stand on? Neither one. Now more than ever I realize how little I am capable of knowing what’s best for all concerned. Our world hasn’t seen anything like this for more than a century. No one can look at past experience and state with certainty what will work and what will only make it worse.

    So what am I, as a Christian attempting to follow God’s ways, supposed to do?

Granting grace to others

    Grace is the key. As God offered grace to me by sending His Son to die for my sins, I can offer grace to others.

    Locally, I can treat those I encounter every day with dignity and respect. I can wear a mask and maintain a six-foot distance when I’m out in public. I can graciously listen as others express their fears and doubts and anger and opinions without having to inject my own point of view.

    I can reach out to friends via email, text, or phone. I can be mindful of those who are alone or who have been through a recent loss or trauma. I can pray for people I know who are having an especially difficult time with the current restrictions. As I walk through my neighborhood, I can greet others cheerfully, pausing and talking to the ones I know and the ones I don’t know yet, rather than hurrying home to attack the next item on my to-do list.

    On a larger scale, I can pray for God’s grace and peace and comfort for the millions affected by this pandemic. Those who are hospitalized by the coronavirus. Their caregivers. Those who have lost loved ones to COVID-19. The newly unemployed. Those suffering from addiction and other mental health issues. Those who are unable to leave a care center or prison as the illness runs rampant through the buildings. Those who are homebound with an abuser. Those who are seeking spiritual answers in their fear and uncertainty—that they would find the truth in Christ.

    But the most important lesson that I’ve learned from my earlier thought is that I can extend grace to those who have the fearful responsibility of making the decisions that will determine who lives and who dies. Whatever road we follow, whether it’s requiring everyone to continue staying at home or allowing everyone greater freedom, people will die as a direct result. I don’t have to agree with my leaders’ politics or personalities. I don’t have to support their campaigns or overlook their faults.

    But I can graciously obey the orders that apply to me, thanking God that I’m not the one who has to bear the terrible burden of giving those orders (Romans 13:1, Titus 3:1-2, Hebrews 13:17). If I feel led to question them, I can graciously contact those in leadership and present my concerns with humility and gentleness. When talking to others, I can graciously refuse to tear down those in positions of power who will have to live for the rest of their lives with the consequences of every decision that they make. I can graciously assume that they’re concerned about doing what’s best for the country, even when two different politicians present two completely opposite solutions for how to do that. By God’s grace I can pray for them to do what’s best, and trust Him to answer my prayers.

    Yes, I sometimes need to speak up or resist when wrong is being done and abuse is occurring. Yes, there is a time and a place to express my opinion about the issues facing my country. But maybe, just maybe, a better option right now is to admit how little I know about handling a pandemic and to extend grace to those around me and to the politicians who face a complicated and deadly situation, whose decisions will lead to the loss of lives no matter what they do, who bear a burden as heavy as any load that any leader has carried in many years.

Overwhelmed

Feeling overwhelmed

    Jeremiah’s emotional observation of Jerusalem after it had fallen to the Babylonians: “How deserted lies the city, once so full of people!” (Lamentations 1:1). My mind instantly lights up with vivid news images of the empty American streets as we attempt to slow the spread of the coronavirus.

    The only word I can think of to describe this time that we’re living in is “overwhelming.” The changes have some so quickly, so suddenly, and struck so deeply at every aspect of our lives. We don’t have time to process one change before another one comes along. Like being hit by an enormous wave before we’ve recovered from the effects of the last one. And we don’t know what the future holds once the worst of the pandemic passes. How many of those treacherous waves are roaring toward us in the unseen future?

    (The root of the word “overwhelm” is “over the helm.” The helm is the ship’s center of control, so “overwhelm” is a word picture of a massive wave striking in a way that endangers the very control of the ship. Feeling overwhelmed is like that.)

    I sit down to pray and I don’t know where to begin. I’m overwhelmed by the enormity of the needs and the pain. Lost jobs. Thousands of deaths. Hospitals filled and overfilled with critically ill patients. Shortages of medical equipment and protective gear. The increased risk of violence for vulnerable women and children who are now isolated at home with their abusers. Recovering addicts and those suffering from mental health issues cut off from their sources of support. Prisoners and many seniors unable to leave their close quarters where the virus can quickly spread. Sales of both alcohol and firearms skyrocketing. It’s overwhelming.

Grieving losses

    “How deserted lies the city, once so full of people!” The barren streets of Jerusalem symbolized the loss of Israel’s most precious community. Not just the location of many of their homes, but of God’s temple. The holiest place in the world. The place where the Lord would meet with His people, accept their sacrifices, forgive their sins. Where they would celebrate with joy in remembrance of all that He had done for them in the past. Where they would find hope for their future.

    Just as our desolate streets symbolize our losses. Our loss of income and prosperity. Our loss of social interaction. Our loss of direction. Even emptiness can be overwhelming.

    After Jerusalem was destroyed, the people were carried off to Babylon in captivity. Thus the vacant streets. They mourned and wailed as they went, and continued after they arrived. “By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion [Jerusalem]” (Psalm 137:1). The book of Lamentations is Jeremiah’s expression of his overwhelming grief for himself and his people.

    We need to grieve as he did. We need to lament our losses, not just as individuals concerned about self, but as members of our families and of our local and national communities. We need to weep over our deserted streets.

Finding hope

    But with all its heavy heartbreak, Lamentations also contains the verses that inspired the comforting hymn, “Great is Thy Faithfulness.” Who would have thought that one of the most depressing books in the Bible would voice some of the most encouraging words of hope?

    “I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness” (3:19-23). Jeremiah uses the present tense to describe his remembering and his downcast soul. The bitterness and the gall don’t end when he calls to mind his reason for hope.

    In the same way, even though our streets are empty, even though we continually remember the afflictions, even though our souls remain downcast, we can call to mind our reason for hope. We can adjust our perspective to see, as Jeremiah did, that it is because of God’s great love for us that we are not completely consumed. That our Lord’s compassions never fail. That they are new every morning. That His faithfulness is great.

    It reminds me of Habakkuk 3:7-8: “Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.”

    I could understand Habakkuk saying, “Though all these things are happening, yet my faith will not be shaken,” or, “yet I will maintain my hope in the future.” But “I will rejoice in the Lord”? “I will be joyful in God my Savior”? That’s so much harder. So much more unrealistic.

    And yet there it is. Joy in a time of destitution. Rejoicing even though his entire world has fallen apart.

    This is the hope that we have in Jesus. Hope that we can grow into that maturity that has learned how to rejoice in the Lord (not in the circumstances), how to be joyful in God my Savior (not in other people).

    Sometimes I have that joy. Even in these days of feeling overwhelmed by the uncertainty of it all. Sometimes I can experience the reality that the joy of the Lord is my strength (Nehemiah 8:10, written soon after the exiles had returned to their desolate land).

    But at other times I rest in the comfort of knowing that Jesus, “for the joy set before him endured the cross” (Hebrews 12:2). Sometimes the best I can do is endure, knowing that the joy is still before me, that it will come at some future point. And that’s okay, too.

    As an American, I seem to believe that at any given moment I’m either happy or sad, life is either good or bad. That’s how we tend to view the world. But the reality, demonstrated over and over again in the Bible, is that life isn’t always that simple. Jeremiah, Habakkuk, and Nehemiah all got this. They all mourned, they all wept, they all struggled to understand how the Lord could allow the suffering that they witnessed and experienced. And yet they expressed their faith in a loving God and their joy in their Savior, even in the full awareness of the pain of their circumstances and the grief in their souls.

Jesus Was Heard

God hears my prayers

    “During the days of Jesus’ life on earth, he offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears to the one who could save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission” (Hebrews 5:7). Jesus, God the Son, poured out His heart to His Father in the Garden of Gethsemane, begging to be spared the torture of bearing our sins on the cross. Not just once, but three times (Matthew 26:36-44). And He was heard by the one who could save Him from death.

    Doesn’t that imply that He was saved from that death? Anytime someone tells me that God heard their prayer, they always mean that He did what they asked Him to do.

    “My son was suffering from a life-threatening illness, but God heard my prayer and healed him.”

    “I didn’t know how I was going to pay my rent, but God heard my prayer and provided the money that I needed.”

    “I really wanted that job that I applied for. God heard my prayer. I got the offer yesterday.”

    Have you ever heard anyone say, “I prayed for God to save my friend’s life. He heard my prayer and said no”? I haven’t.

    That’s why I need this passage from Hebrews. “The one who could save him from death” heard Jesus and denied His request. If God could be so intent on doing what’s absolutely best and right even in the face of desperate pleas from His own Son, maybe I can trust Him to hear me and love me and hurt for me—and still do what’s best and right in every situation. Even when the answer is no.

    God has turned down so many of my appeals for help and healing in the last several years. It can be discouraging. I find myself waiting for the next shoe to drop, hesitating before asking for His intervention, expecting Him to deny every request. That’s my natural response.

    But reading that Jesus was heard restores my weary soul. Sometimes just being heard is a great blessing in itself. Sometimes having someone who listens ministers to me more than having someone who fixes all my problems. Being heard, even without receiving any answers, brings its own strength.

    Jesus was heard. I will be heard. That can be enough.

Even when I fail

    Then I move on to the next statement in the Hebrews passage, “because of his reverent submission.” Uh-oh. Does that mean that I have to be just as reverentially submissive as Jesus was, or God won’t listen to me? That could rule out a lot of answers to my prayers.

    I do my best to accept that He knows better than I do and that He loves me even more than I can imagine. But it will never be possible for me to exhibit the same reverent submission that Jesus displayed. Does that mean that God will close His ears to me? I’ve always had this fear, partly based on this verse, that if I don’t pray just right, God won’t listen to me.

    But now it hits me. Anytime I’m facing the impossible, I have to rely on His grace alone. Jesus had to be perfect in all that He did, including the way He dealt with His coming death, in order to provide an acceptable sacrifice for our sins. Anything less, and there would have been no resurrection. The privilege of bringing my needs to God is based on Jesus’ perfection, His reverent submission, not mine. Even when I’m at my worst, in His grace God will hear me.

And provides the best answers

    It doesn’t seem as obvious to me, but God also answered Jesus’ Gethsemane prayer on Easter Sunday. The gist of His request was that the Father would do whatever needed to be done to provide for our salvation. That’s exactly what He did. It involved an agonizing sacrifice on Jesus’ part, which He had asked to be spared from. But the ultimate result was exactly what Jesus wanted most. The resurrection proved that His sacrifice was exactly what was necessary to accomplish God’s purpose.

    With the toughest prayers that I send up to heaven, I’m usually aware of needing to ask for God’s will, not mine, to be done. (I don’t always remember to attach that thought to my simpler prayers.) But when He says no to my specific request, do I see the less obvious—that He has said yes to a greater good, the good of doing His will to accomplish His purposes?

    I don’t want to sugarcoat the pain here. I don’t want to tell a child that his father died because God needed him in heaven or because life on earth really is better without him, as I’ve heard some Christians say. That’s not the God of the Bible.

    As I try to wrap my mind around the issue of good and evil and suffering, my best understanding is that it was incredibly precious to God to create beings who could freely choose to worship Him or to deny Him. He knew the only way to do that would be to open the door to evil. But He also knew that the good to be accomplished would be far greater than all the evil Satan could muster.

    When bad times come into our lives, God doesn’t just sit up in heaven watching lazily, saying, “No big deal. I’ll make something good happen to balance it out.” No. He feels the grief at least as much as I do. And the anger. He is not indifferent to evil and hardship.

    But He overcomes that evil with good. For every pain and every sorrow, God offers Himself to His children, as Jesus offered Himself on the cross. He comes to us with tenderness and mercy, with kindness and love. He binds up our wounds and cradles us in His everlasting arms. This is the good that comes from, and far outweighs, the suffering.

    In the process, He restores and transforms our lives, as He restored and transformed His Son’s life on that first Easter Sunday. Because we live in a fallen world, a greater good is accomplished as a result of affliction than we could ever experience without it. If we’re praying, as Jesus did, “Not my will but yours,” that prayer will be answered abundantly more than all we could ask or think. The pain will be real. We will fall on our faces and cry out in agony, as Jesus did. But in God’s timing we will be lifted even higher as a result of the ordeal, just as Jesus was.

Weird Faith

Lower expectations

    I’ve noticed a certain weirdness about my faith lately. It seems like the more it grows, the less I expect from God. Is this what growth is really supposed to look like?

    On the one hand, the better I know God, the more I recognize that He owes me absolutely nothing. He is God. He is perfect in all His ways. By comparison, I’m a speck of dust. Yes, He proclaims and demonstrates His intense love for this speck of dust. But compared to Him in all His greatness and glory, I am not worth even noticing.

    My puny life expectancy is invisible next to His eternal existence. My meager attempts at loving are pitiful when seen beside His sacrificial giving for those who will never deserve it. My great intelligence is as an ameba’s compared to His infinite wisdom.

    I’ve spent my life immersed in a culture that tells me how very valuable I am. I’ve been successful in nearly everything I’ve tried. Self-esteem? No problem. Just the opposite. Pride has always been my greatest spiritual challenge. So it’s taken me many years to begin to grasp how insignificant I am compared to God. If I truly see Him as He is, how can I expect to make any demands on Him at all?

    On the other hand, all my forty-plus years as a Christian I’ve been told that great faith means trusting God to grant our requests for financial help, for physical healing, for any other real needs that we have in this life. Believers understandably enjoy telling stories about the big prayers they’ve prayed and how God went beyond their expectations and provided even more.

    That’s what a mature Christians does, isn’t it? As your faith grows, God will do more and more miraculous things in your life, right?

    Based on that understanding, many believers face a serious crisis when their child dies, or they experience financial ruin through no fault of their own, or a loved one lives with chronic pain year after year. Their faith crumbles. They want to scream at God and demand an answer to the Why that we all face.

    But as I grow, knowing the Why becomes less important than knowing the Who.

    As a result, I find myself lowering my expectations of God, as far as material blessings are concerned. I still bring all my cares to Him, trusting that He has the power to grant them. At the same time, I’m learning to accept that He knows best, even when I don’t understand His decisions. I’m trying to live, in my thoughts and my prayers and my emotions, as if this is really true.

Believe and receive

    But I always thought greater faith meant higher expectations. Aren’t we supposed to pray in the belief that whatever we ask for will be given to us? If we don’t believe that strongly enough, isn’t that supposed to reduce the possibility that God will grant our requests (Matthew 9:22 and 29, 17:20, 21:21)? Am I sabotaging all my prayers if I lower my expectations?

    Of course God has no obligation to respond if I don’t really believe in Him, but there’s a problem with this kind of thinking. In the context of the Bible as a whole, we’re supposed to pray in the belief that whatever we ask for will be given to us IF it’s His will. If I expect God to answer my prayers based primarily on the amount of faith that I have, rather than on His wisdom and purpose, then I’m placing my trust in my own faith, not in His character.

    But what about Philippians 4:13, “I can do everything through him who gives me strength”? Doesn’t that mean that the more I grow and the more I depend on His strength, the more I’ll be able to accomplish? Shouldn’t I have greater expectations for material success based on this verse? That’s what I hear from many Christians around me.

Contentment

    It’s true that, in His grace, God gives immeasurably more than all that we can ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20). But I have to read this verse from Philippians in the context of the one before it: “I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.”

    Paul isn’t writing about successful achievements when he speaks of doing “everything;” he’s referring very specifically to coping with whatever circumstances come his way. And not just coping, as in putting up with it until something better comes along, but being genuinely content. Even when the bad things happen. Even when God says no to prayers for relief. It’s okay to generalize this statement to cover more than just contentment, but in its context, it’s referring to spiritual growth, not material accomplishments.

    So what should I expect from this God that I worship? More blessings, more answered prayers, more comfort in this life? I know that He will graciously provide those things as He wills. But is that what I want the most?  

    Maybe the shift in my thinking isn’t so much lowering my expectations as it is gaining a different perspective. Valuing Him for who He is, rather than for what He will do for me. Trusting in the spiritual blessings more than the physical ones. Growing in that Pauline contentment that comes with knowing that He loves me more dearly than words can express, and that He will act consistently with His good character and His perfect purposes even if that means greater suffering for myself and for those I love.

    Suffering is temporary. His love and His purposes are eternal.

What Was Paul Thinking?

High expectations

    What was Paul thinking when he wrote in Romans 15:29, “I know that when I come to you, I will come in the full measure of the blessing of Christ” (italics added)? He was in Greece,  preparing to return to Jerusalem with an offering for the poor among the believers there. After that, he expected to travel to Spain, stopping at Rome on the way (Romans 15:23-26).

    He never made it to Spain.

    He went to Rome as a prisoner.

    What was Paul thinking as he envisioned himself heading for Rome in the full measure of the blessing of Christ? Did he have any idea that he’d be going there in chains? Or did he see himself sailing across the Mediterranean with a group of fellow believers, maybe stopping along the way to support the churches that he had planted on earlier trips?

    God granted Paul many visions, beginning with the confrontation on the road to Damascus in Acts 9. He had much more certainty about what lay ahead for him than the rest of us usually do. And yet he still had to walk by faith, just like us.

The reality

    His trip from Greece to Rome by way of Jerusalem is described in Acts 20 through 28. In Miletus, he told the elders from Ephesus that he didn’t know exactly what would happen to him in Jerusalem, but he’d been warned by the Holy Spirit that prison and hardships awaited him. He had written his letter to the Romans not too long before that. Was he still expecting to get to Rome in the full measure of the blessing of Christ? Or did the anticipation of hardships throw a bit of cold water on his expectations?

    Prior to saying a tearful farewell, Paul informed the elders that he would never see them again in this life. In Tyre, the disciples urged him through the Holy Spirit not to go on to Jerusalem. In Caesarea, the prophet Agabus warned him that he would be bound by the Jews and turned over to the Gentiles in Jerusalem. As a result, the Christians around him begged him not to continue on his way. He responded that he was willing not only to be arrested, but to die for Jesus in Jerusalem.

    Was he as confused as I am at this point? He was compelled by the Spirit to go to Jerusalem, and yet the Spirit used the disciples to urge him not to do it. If he died in Jerusalem, he wouldn’t be going to Rome. But he was so sure of that happening. Was he trying to sort all this out in his own mind, or was he simply trusting God to bring order out of the apparent chaos?

    From my perspective, the chaos just kept getting worse. About a week after setting foot in Jerusalem, Paul was seized by the Jews and imprisoned by the Romans, as Agabus had prophesied. When the commander found out that he was a Roman citizen, Paul was released and ordered to testify before the Sanhedrin. That led to another upheaval, so he was returned to the Roman barracks.

    A group of Jews made a vow to kill him. When Paul and his captors got wind of their plot, he was transferred to Caesarea for his own protection. Over the next few years, he appeared in court before Governor Felix, his successor Festus, and King Agrippa. Felix intentionally dragged out the process, hoping Paul would offer him a bribe. Was any of this what Paul had in mind when he said that he knew that he would travel to Rome in the full measure of the blessing of Christ?

    The chief priests and scribes pressured Festus to move Paul back to Jerusalem. They were preparing an ambush to murder him on the way. Festus wanted to do them a favor, so he was considering their suggestion. But first he sought Paul’s opinion on the idea. Paul said he should be tried by the Romans, not the Jews. He demanded to take his case directly to Caesar instead.

    What was he thinking as he made this spontaneous request? Was he annoyed by all the delays and changes in plans? Did he cry out in impatience and frustration, as some commentators suggest? Or did he have one of those aha! moments, prompted by the Holy Spirit, when it all suddenly came together in his mind?

    He knew he was going to Rome one way or another. A return to Jerusalem would have put his life at risk. He was willing to die for Jesus in Jerusalem, but he knew he was going to Rome.

    Maybe the path ahead suddenly became clear to Paul as Festus questioned him. Maybe he realized that God’s plan all along had been for a group of soldiers to escort him to Rome. I can imagine the lightbulb turning on in his head as he saw an apparent snag in his plans (his extended imprisonment) turn into an opportunity, and boldly appealed to Caesar. King Agrippa declared that if Paul hadn’t demanded an audience with Caesar, he could have been set free. Instead, he was finally on his way to his goal—Rome.

    But it didn’t get any easier. His ship was caught in a life-threatening storm. After two weeks of danger and uncertainty, the passengers and crew were shipwrecked on a sandbar near an island. The soldiers prepared to kill all of the prisoners so that they couldn’t escape, but a centurion prevented them from doing so. Everyone made it to the island safely, where Paul was bitten by a poisonous snake. Was he wondering what more could go wrong at this point, as I would have been?

    The situation finally began to turn around a bit, though. The snakebite didn’t do him any harm, and after a few months they found a ship to take them to Rome without further incident.

Expectations fulfilled

    What was Paul thinking when he arrived there in chains? Did he still believe that he was living in the full measure of the blessing of Christ as he sat under house arrest with a Roman guard posted 24/7?

    He answers this question beautifully and joyfully in his letter to the Ephesians, which was written at this time. One of the first things he says is, “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ” (verse 1:3, italics added).

    Approximately four years had passed since he’d written his letter to the Romans. Was he thinking back to the words that he’d used at that time, remembering his confidence that he would come in the full measure of the blessing of Christ, and praising God as he saw his expectations fulfilled?

    Paul went through many difficult times and much opposition to develop a more mature faith and a more powerful witness to the world. But it’s clear that it was well worth it, as I hear the joy and peace in his words to the Ephesians. Joy and peace that transcended his suffering as he lived in the full measure of the blessing of Christ despite his circumstances.