Changes

If you're one of my regular readers, you’ve probably noticed some changes that I’ve made on my website recently. I want to highlight a few of them here.

I’ve started a new feature at the top of my sidebar, called “Quote of the Week by Ann.” Each week I’ll be posting a different quote from one of my articles. You can click on the quote to read the entire article.

To save a little space, I shortened my list of articles on other sites to include only the three most recent ones. I’ll edit the list as new ones are published. Be sure to check back regularly for updates.

I thought it might be helpful to give you a brief summary of all of my articles on those sites, so you can find the ones that interest you the most. The link to that list is on my sidebar under “Pages.”

I’ll be switching to posting once a month, rather than every three weeks.

Let me know what you think of these changes. Thanks for reading! You’re in my prayers.

Ann

A Man of Sorrows

 God’s pain

“Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows” (Isaiah 53:4 RSV).

Jesus Himself, the God of the universe, He who has the power and sovereignty to do as He pleases, has chosen to take on not just our sins (which, of course, is far more important and emphasized far more strongly in this chapter), but all of our suffering. Our pain. Our sorrow. Our grief. He hurts when we hurt. Sometimes, when I’m struggling to get through a difficult day, this is the part of Jesus’ death and resurrection that strengthens me the most.

The pagan gods who were worshipped in Old Testament times made demands on human beings without caring about the people themselves. Kill your precious sacrifices, including your own babies. Cut yourselves with knives. Prostitute yourselves to each other. Then maybe I’ll do something for you in return, like providing food and shelter and giving you children. Maybe.

The Greek gods used men and women to feed their own egos. They occasionally developed some affection for a particular person, but they were mainly self-centered, with little concern for the well-being of the Greeks below them. They struck out in human-like pettiness when people didn’t give them enough attention or when they were arguing among themselves.

Many reject the God of the Bible because they think He’s exactly like those other gods. Distant. Shallow. Egotistical. Only interested in making us pay for offending Him. Just read the Old Testament with its emphasis on sin and sacrifice and judgment.

But that same Old Testament also describes a God who cares deeply for the oppressed, who demands justice for the poor and disenfranchised. Sacrifices must be made, not to satisfy His spiteful nature, but to bring about an intimate relationship between One who is dazzlingly pure and spotless, and we who are saturated with thick layers of stinking filth.

That little word “surely” at the beginning of the verse above emphasizes the certainty of God’s action. Some translations use the phrase “in fact.” There’s no doubt, no question about His behavior here. He definitely, absolutely, positively takes on our pain.

It’s also stated in the past tense, even though this passage was written by a prophet predicting the future. His bearing and carrying are guaranteed.

I can’t do this for other people. I can listen and sympathize and offer to help. I can carry someone else’s physical load. I can hurt for them to some extent. But I can’t take on their emotional pain in the same way that God offers to do for us. By His own choice. Out of His deep and unending love.

That doesn’t mean that my grief simply evaporates. And I’m not sure that I’d want it to. I try to imagine losing a dearly treasured loved one. Going to God. Asking Him to bear the total weight of my grief. And then feeling nothing. No pain, no sorrow.

It seems like that would break the bond between me and my lost loved one too quickly. It would cheapen our relationship. I need some measure of grief to work through before reaching the peace of letting go and moving on. Can it be love if there’s no sorrow when the loving ends?

And if God simply took my pain away, I’d miss out on the fellowship of our bearing it together. Through that fellowship, my relationship with Him grows stronger and more intimate.

Harry’s pain

I’m thinking about this whole process as I’m praying for Harry. This guy I used to know, but haven’t talked to for several years, recently lost his 21-year-old son. I heard about it when a mutual friend stumbled across a GoFundMe page raising money for the funeral.

Wondering what could have happened to cause the death of one so young, I google the son’s name, with the idea that if it was the result of an accident, there might have been some news coverage of the tragedy. All I find is a mug shot. An ugly, sneering face scarred by a brief life filled with anger and rebellion.

A very different picture unintentionally pops into my head: the happy, eager, hopeful face of a preschooler. The cheerful little boy who had grown up to be this wretched young man.

My heart goes out to Harry. I can’t imagine the pain he must be feeling. The brief entry on the GoFundMe page tells one heartwarming story from his son’s childhood. That’s all. The implication: No one could come up with any other positive remarks to say about him. I can’t find the words to extend my sympathy in such a situation. I decide not to leave a comment. But I pray.

What I want most for Harry is some kind of relief from the terrible weight of his grief and sorrow. I want him to know God’s presence and some measure of His peace even in his suffering. But during the few times that I’d talked to him, he was in open rebellion against God, proudly atheistic, disdainful of any who believed in such fairy tales. Can I ask God to bear the burden of one who’s defying Him? Or does He reserve that blessing only for those who know Him?

Of course I pray first for Harry’s salvation, even though it seems so unlikely. Wouldn’t the tragic early death of a prodigal son who never returned to his father lead to far greater anger and rebellion against any God who might exist? But I still pray. I’ve known other people who I was sure would never come to Him, yet who somehow eventually did.

The next part of my prayer is a question: Will You bear the griefs of someone who doesn’t know You? I suspect that this situation is similar to that of salvation. God loves those who hate or ignore Him, who betray Him or scoff at Him. He loves them enough to provide the costly sacrifice that can save them. But He doesn’t force Himself on anyone. I must accept His free gift before it can apply to me.

Maybe the same thing happens with bearing our burdens. It’s not that this blessing is unavailable. It’s that the unbeliever refuses to accept it. But I still pray for relief for Harry. God’s grace, by its very nature, is always reaching out to those who defy Him.

When the pain hits, when life is tough, I try to return to the wonder of my God. One who loved this world so much that He sacrificed His precious, perfect Son, then raised Him from the dead, in order to make it possible for us to have an intimate relationship with Him. One who freely and compassionately meets my deepest needs for forgiveness and for someone to bear my griefs and carry my sorrows. Sometimes they’re just too heavy for me to manage on my own.