A Very Human Mary

Mary’s strengths

Mary was human. I know that. And yet my mental image of her verges on superhuman perfection.

Her faith was so much greater than mine. She was so quick to accept God’s will for her life. Her poem in Luke 1:46-56 reveals a depth of understanding of both God’s character and His Word that few teenage girls of her time or any other time have ever achieved. (My thanks to a wise mentor who recently pointed out to me the numerous Old Testament references in this song of praise. She knew her Scripture amazingly well.) At her age, I was just a baby Christian with a great deal to learn.

Mary must have gone through many challenging, puzzling, and painful experiences from Jesus’ conception to His resurrection, yet her faith remained strong. My sense of her personality from the first two chapters of Luke is that she genuinely wanted to please God and follow Him, even when she didn’t understand what was happening. She trusted Him. I’ve always had great admiration for her. But reading through Luke chapter 1 this time around, the main characteristic that strikes me is her humanity.

Gabriel’s visit

One day, the angel Gabriel appears to Mary, presumably as she’s simply going about her normal routine. She must be alone (which would make the situation more difficult) or the story would likely read a little differently. She’s “greatly troubled” by the angel’s greeting. Human. If she was the perfect saint that I want her to be, surely she would humbly and graciously accept his visit with a calm and peaceful heart. In awe, but not troubled.

Gabriel informs Mary that she has nothing to be afraid of and that she’s found favor with God. He tells her that she’s going to get pregnant. This is where her thoughts get stuck. Does she actually hear his next words, describing the incredible child that she’s going to bear? Her response is a confused, “How will this be, since I am a virgin?”

Her entire focus is on the physical logistics: How can a virgin have a baby? She’s probably also thinking about, and fearing, the social and legal repercussions of getting pregnant before being married. She seems to have missed the entire message about Who her Son will be. So human.

Even after Gabriel gives a brief explanation of how Mary’s pregnancy will occur, and reassures her with the words, “Nothing is impossible with God,” Mary seems to be thinking about the immediate, short-term issue, not the great and glorious future. She replies, “I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said.” As if she’s still thinking about the difficulties of her pregnancy, not the joy of the coming Messiah.

My focus

How often do I forget the wonder of God’s promises because I’m too focused on the pesky little details, and the possible shame and suffering, involved in getting there?

Do I think ahead to the miracle of seeing a friend come to salvation? Or do I lock up, hesitating about witnessing to her, because of my fear of looking foolish or being rejected? Do I approach a difficult subject with a family member at the Holy Spirit’s prompting, knowing that our relationship will be strengthened by working through our differences? Or does that seemingly irresistible desire to avoid conflict hold me back?

My Bible study leader is doing a brief series on 2 Thessalonians. Much of the book deals with the Second Coming of Christ. The teacher has warned us right from the start that we need to keep our eyes on the promise and the joy of His appearing, rather than getting bogged down in the details of the specific events. His question: At the end of my days, do I want to be known as one who made the best arguments on social media for a certain interpretation of the end times, one who shut down all the other voices screaming to be heard—or as one who lived a life of love and grace in anticipation of Jesus’ return?

My hope

But Mary also shows a very human ability to learn and grow and remember. Even better than that, she shows a greater-than-human ability to quickly turn her eyes from her own immediate and fearful situation to the far more worthy view of the eternal God and His work in human history. Luke makes it a point to let us know that not much time passes between Mary’s shock at Gabriel’s announcement and her proclamation of God’s wisdom and grace. She might have gotten stuck early on in her conversation with Gabriel, but she didn’t stay there very long.

This is where I find hope for myself and for people everywhere. As long as I can learn and grow and remember even in these difficult times, even when my country seems to be irretrievably wrapped up in venomous disputes over minor questions, I can change for the better, and maybe be a part of changing this world for the better.

Like Mary, I can shift my mind from self-concern and worrying about the little details to the great good news of who God is and how He is fulfilling His promises for this planet. Just as Mary accepted her challenging role in God’s plan, I can live out my life following Jesus’ example by loving my enemies and drawing others to Him regardless of the cost.

 

 

(Note: This post was edited by the author on February 10, 2026.) 

 

Easy

 The problem

Waking up in the morning, not exactly looking forward to the day. Trying to pump myself up.

What am I thinking? That never works. Turning instead to prayer. Expressing my physical and mental fatigue. Praying not just for a supernatural infusion of energy (which is what I really, really want), but for my back-up plan—perseverance and endurance and the ability to be content with whatever the Lord has for me today.

It’s not likely to be an easy one. I need to deal with an issue that’s been weighing me down for a while. A little thing, but in this time of big things like coronavirus and political upheaval, this little thing could become the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

It’s my printer. My wildly popular model of printer. So popular, the ink cartridges sell out as soon as they arrive in the stores. A consequence of the pandemic’s stay-at-home orders and work-from-home opportunities.

I ran out of black ink a few months ago. Drove to the nearest office supply store, only to find an empty shelf where my cartridge should have been. The rest of the shelves were full. The sales clerk was the one who told me just how popular my printer is. They can’t even keep the ink in stock on their website. He suggested trying the competitor across the street or the ink-and-toner warehouse a mile away. I called both places before leaving the store. The competitor was out of the cartridge that I needed, but the warehouse had an off-brand version. By the time I got home the exhaustion was settling in.

Next I ran out of color ink. I had a gift card for an electronics store. Week after week I went to their website, typed in my brand of printer and searched the list of cartridges until I found the one I wanted—along with an out-of-stock notice. Finally, a new idea. I entered the exact model of my printer instead of just the brand name. A different list showed up. There was the cartridge I needed. In stock. I ordered it and received the delivery the next day. Mission accomplished, but only after putting more time into it than my weary body could afford.

Then my black ink started acting up again. Either it was already empty (it shouldn’t have been, but the ink had been soaking into the paper more than the name-brand versions did) or the jets were clogged. Yesterday I spent more time, more energy cleaning the nozzles twice, followed by a deep cleaning. It didn’t help. Why does life have to be so difficult? All I need is the ability to print. It shouldn’t be so complicated.

So here I am this morning, knowing I’m going to have to deal with the problem again. I’d looked for ink while shopping for some other items at a department store yesterday. Of course they didn’t have it. But the salesman gave me a tip. They restock while the store is closed at night. If I went to their website before they opened in the morning, I might get ahead of the in-person shoppers and find a shipment that had just arrived. I could order one to pick up later.

My prayer

Now I’m lying in bed, resenting the potential difficulties of the day. Praying for God’s help. Then the thought: I just want my life to be easier. Resisting the temptation to actually pray for such a thing. That’s not what good Christians ask for, is it? Shouldn’t I stick to my request for contentment and perseverance and endurance?

And yet, isn’t that thought reflected in nearly every prayer we offer up in Sunday school? One reason we ask for healing is our desire for an easier life free of pain and sorrow and doctors and healthcare expenses. One reason we ask for safe travel is our desire for an easier life free of all the repercussions of an accident or breakdown. One reason we ask for an end to the pandemic is our desire for an easier life free of the unpredictable shutdowns and shortages and illnesses and deaths.

Yes, our prayers are mainly based on a genuine concern for the suffering that we see all around us. But most of them reveal our longing for life to be easier. A longing based on our yearning for heaven, where the difficulties of living in a broken world will be wiped away forever.

I remember one of the leaders in a Bible study that I went to many years ago sharing the story of how she was running late for a meeting, so she prayed for a parking space close to the door of the building where the meeting was being held. She arrived at the address, sped through the parking lot, and found the only available space. Right next to the door. Maybe it’s okay to ask for life to be easier.

So I do it. I pray: Lord, please make my life easier today. It’s so complicated right now, and the older I get, the more these challenges drain my energy away.

Still feeling a little uncomfortable that I would actually make such a trivial, selfish request. But I’m supposed to be honest with Him, aren’t I? And, honestly, that’s what I’m craving right now. An easier life.

God’s response

I get out of bed. Check my phone. The battery is about thirty percent lower than it should be. It’s been months since it’s acted up like this. Not a good sign. Will I face the hassle of having to replace it soon? I get dressed, plug it into the portable charger, stick it in my pocket.

Head to the study to order the ink cartridge before the store opens in half an hour. Turn on the computer. Click on the internet browser button. Up comes the home screen, along with the message, “You are not connected to the internet.” So much for easy. Try a little troubleshooting. After twenty minutes of fooling around with the system, it’s working again.

Go to the department store website. Search for the printer cartridge. Out of stock. Lord, why aren’t You answering my prayer? Why does it have to be so difficult? You know how this struggle will impact my entire day. Why won’t You make my life easier? I’ll have to try again tomorrow. And maybe the next day. And the next. Meanwhile my printer is practically useless.

I’m about to give up and get some breakfast when an idea hits. Maybe other businesses work the same way as this one, receiving deliveries at night and entering the new merchandise into their system before the shoppers arrive. I go to an office supply store’s website. Search for the black ink cartridge. There it is! Place my order.

A few hours later, I get a text saying it’s available. I pick it up and install it. My printer is fully functional once again. But it wasn’t easy.

Dirty

 Staying clean

Two truths that I’m seeing during this coronavirus pandemic:

1. I can never be completely clean. (Or at least not for long.)

2. That just might be a good thing.

I get up in the morning, go to the bathroom, wash my hands. Get dressed, put on my shoes. My hands are obviously dirty again. Better wash them a second time.

Just making my way to the kitchen and preparing breakfast requires contacting many surfaces that could be harboring germs. Do I have to wash or use sanitizer every time I touch something? A year ago, when the experts were talking about flattening the curve, that seemed to be the implication. But my skin would shrivel and crack if I tried to stay completely clean all the time.

Spiritually, can I ever be one hundred percent clean? As in the physical realm, not for long, if at all. My spirit is always being exposed to the world, the flesh, and the devil. The dirt rubs off on me even if it doesn’t make me sick.

It reminds me of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet in John 13:1-11. He describes those who believe in Him as already having had a bath. All they need after that is to have their feet cleaned. But aren’t their arms and legs and faces dirty, too? And He only washed their feet once. Don’t we need it more often than that? I find it encouraging that He addresses both the necessity and the limits of our need for cleansing.

I try to make it a practice to confess and repent when I know I’ve sinned, but I can go to one of two extremes. I can get so hung up on my dirtiness and my need to seek out and confess every little detail of every little sin that I miss God’s calling to forget my self and reach out to others. And I miss the opportunity to turn my thoughts to His grace and power and love and glory in selfless worship.

Or I can call to mind the Bible verses that tell me how He’s forgiven and forgotten all my sin for all time, and ignore the ones that remind me of my need to confess and repent. In Jesus’ analogy, I’ve had my bath. Because I’m covered by the Son’s blood, the Father always sees me as clean. Isn’t that enough? No. Sometimes I need to have my feet washed. Not for my salvation, but to keep my relationship with God as intimate as it can be. I need to go to Him in humble repentance and acknowledge my sin. I need to stay as clean as I can.

Building immunity

But some dirt will still cling to me most of the time. Because of that, God in His wisdom created a world in which everything works together to sustain life as we know it. Including death. Including germs.

Limited exposure to germs builds immunity. Vaccines are made from the viruses that they protect us against. A few years after antibacterial hand soaps became popular, many doctors discouraged their regular use by healthy people. They argued that we need some bacteria in our lives to maintain a robust immune response.

I once read a magazine article about the polio epidemic of the mid-twentieth century. The doctor who wrote it said that the reason polio suddenly became a problem was because parents were keeping their children too clean. Anyone under two years old who’s exposed to polio develops a natural immunity. Older children and adults are more prone to contracting the disease once they come into contact with it. As American homes became more and more sanitized, no natural exposure was occurring before the age of two. The result was lower immunity and greater suffering.

What about in the spiritual world? Do I need exposure to temptation? Can I benefit from the dirt that rubs off on me from the world, the flesh, and the devil? My natural tendency is to say “No! Temptation is bad. I need to avoid or prevent as much exposure as possible.” Stay in my bubble. Hang out with Christian friends. Read books by Christian authors. Listen to Christian music. Watch Christian videos.

But if I’m honest with myself, I realize that each time I resist a little temptation I grow stronger,  more capable of resisting a bigger temptation. Sooner or later that big temptation will come. Will I be ready to resist it if I haven’t faced and defeated those little temptations? I also grow closer to God every time I rely on His Holy Spirit for the strength to overcome.

Jesus’ example

Did Jesus Himself experience this type of growth? The Bible says that He was made perfect through suffering (Hebrews 2:10), that His suffering included facing temptation (Hebrews 2:18), and that He learned obedience from what He suffered (Hebrews 5:8). I have a hard time wrapping my mind around this whole idea of Jesus—God—learning and growing, especially by means of the evils of temptation and suffering. I don’t hear a lot of teaching about this experience of His. But it’s a powerful example of how God brings good (strength) out of evil (temptation).

If Jesus could learn and grow as He was tempted, maybe it’s best for me to get out of my Christian comfort zone and allow myself to be exposed to the dirt of the world. How can I mature in my faith if I never face the challenges out there? (And how can I be a witness to those who need to hear the Good News if I stay huddled in my own little corner?)

Of course there has to be a balance. I have to follow the teaching of Scripture and the leading of the Holy Spirit to find that balance. I need to be out in the world getting my feet dirty and building my immunity, but I don’t need to take a mud bath.

Alone

 Pandemic-induced aloneness

    My friend Kyle died in September. An aggressive brain tumor took his life just three months after his first symptom. One day he was feeling fine, going about his business as usual. The next day he was thrashing about on the sidewalk, convulsing uncontrollably as a violent seizure swept through his head.

    The paramedics rushed him to the hospital. Alone. He had brain surgery. Alone. He spent three weeks in the hospital and rehab center recovering. Alone.

    At a time in his life when all he longed for was the presence of his wife of forty years and other loved ones, Kyle was more isolated than he’d ever been before. He was suffering with pain and seizures that the medications reduced but didn’t entirely control. With the shock of learning that he would not survive this cancer. With the helplessness of watching his family and friends struggle through the sorrow that he was causing them. Alone.

    Due to the coronavirus pandemic, he had no visitors, no comfort or touch from the people he valued most. When he was moved to the rehab center, his son-in-law delivered a cell phone to be placed by his bedside. Every morning Kyle’s wife dialed his number, then left the connection open for the remainder of the day. As friends and family members came and went from his home, he could hear their voices, join in their conversations and prayers, feel like a part of the group.

    But it wasn’t the same. He needed people. He needed people with him, beside him, looking into his eyes, touching his hand. Instead, he was alone.

Is God all we need?

    Kyle was one of the most mature Christians I’ve ever met. Even with working full-time for a local business, teaching college and Sunday school classes, reading a wide variety of books, and spending time with his family, he still made regular appointments with other Christian men to sit down with a cup of coffee and talk. He and his friend would share whatever was going on in their lives—the good and the bad, the mundane and the profound, the spiritual questions and insights.

    And then, suddenly, this man who intentionally gave so much time to others was alone. And lonely. He drew great comfort from knowing that the Lord was with him. But since he made it a practice to be honest with God and with people, Kyle occasionally voiced his frustration and his loneliness. Was that okay, or was he failing one of the final tests of his mortal life? Did he really need people, or should he be so content with God’s presence that he never knew the definition of the word lonely?

    “Jesus is all I need.” I hear that message in songs, in church, in Bible studies, in my own head when I’m feeling lonesome or rejected. In one sense, it’s true. Jesus is all we need for our salvation and our relationship with God. No one else can save me. No one else can provide a way into His presence day after day.

    But what about my psychological needs? Some believers openly declare that Jesus is all we need when it comes to loneliness or anxiety or depression or any other type of emotional suffering. They would proclaim that Kyle was falling short of God’s expectations when he expressed a need for human companionship. Jesus was right there with him. What more could he ask for?

    It sounds so spiritual to say that I should be happy, content, filled with the joy of the Spirit even if I’m separated from my loved ones. Even if I’m stranded on a desert island with no human interaction. But is that really God’s plan?

Adam’s need, our need

    I remember the first time a Bible teacher drew my attention to the implications of Genesis 2:18 so many years ago. I had recently found relief from my first depressive episode through an antidepressant. My view of emotions had changed drastically during that experience. I was trying to reconcile real life with the theology I’d heard so often—Jesus was all I needed, even in the emotional realm. I mustn’t be dependent on mere humans when God was there to supply all my needs through Himself alone.

    Then I heard this lesson from Genesis. The Lord God created the heavens and the earth, the sea and the sky, all the plants and all the animals, and, finally, Adam. Each day, for six days, God worked on His creation. And each day He saw that it was good. But after creating Adam, the Lord declared, “It is not good for the man to be alone.” There was one thing, and one thing only that was not good in all of His perfect creation. That one thing was Adam’s aloneness.

    God could have created an Adam who would be perfectly well off with His presence alone. Happy. Content. Filled with the fruit of the Spirit. Without any need for other people. But God didn’t. He chose to create an Adam who needed an Eve. Even before the Fall, Adam had a need that couldn’t be fulfilled without human companionship. How much more do we truly need others?

    Kyle was only one of many, many people hit by the terrible loneliness brought on by the pandemic. Around the time of his passing, the national news spotlighted a group of seniors who had been denied in-person visitors at their care center for months. They were sitting outdoors in their wheelchairs holding signs saying, “I’d rather die of COVID than loneliness.” They were willing to risk their very lives in exchange for a few moments with a loved one.

    I don’t know the best way to handle this coronavirus crisis. It’s painful to see so many dying. It’s equally painful to see the suffering triggered by shutdowns and isolation. But this I do know: We need people. The need is real. Loneliness is not a lack of faith or a sign of spiritual immaturity. God designed us this way even before the Fall.

    So it’s okay to feel it. It’s okay to admit it. And it’s okay to seek relief from it—to seek out and enjoy the fellowship of other human beings (as safely as we can), rather than insisting that God is all I need.

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.

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?

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.