Praising and Cursing

Thankfulness and bitterness

Jeremiah 20:13-14: “Sing to the Lord! Give praise to the Lord! ... Cursed be the day I was born!”

In just two verses, Jeremiah expresses the extremes of thankfulness and bitterness. Unlike the psalmists, he pours out the thankfulness first, then the bitterness.

Isn’t that backwards? Aren’t we supposed to work our way up from pain and doubt to singing and praise? Are we allowed to follow Jeremiah’s example?

Yes! That’s one of the reasons I’m so thankful to the God of the Bible.

He knows who we are. He knows how quickly we can plummet from praising Him to wanting to die. So He gives us the examples and the encouragement in His Word to express ourselves honestly (even when it means venting anger and self-pity) and to keep coming back to Him no matter how low we’ve fallen.

The Christian life is never a smooth and easy road from repentance and conversion to Christlikeness and glory, always walking in perfect faith, with no setbacks and no stumbling. We shouldn’t expect it to be. We shouldn’t expect it in ourselves or in other believers.

And yet, Christians seem to feel a certain pressure to believe that we can defeat our fears and doubts effortlessly, trust God completely in all circumstances, and shun sin every time. Doesn’t God promise us that He’ll enable us to do all that right from the start (1 Corinthians 10:13, 2 Corinthians 5:17, Ephesians 4:22-24)? And if we do slip up, all we have to do is repent and it will never happen again.

When I was participating in a small discussion group at a church several years ago, the pastor leading us defined repentance as a total 180-degree turn-around. Period. Permanent. Anything less isn’t true repentance.

I understand that that’s the literal meaning of the word. I know that God expects and enables me to continue becoming more like Jesus. But I look at real life and wonder if anyone has ever truly repented, if that pastor’s definition is accurate.

How often do my thoughts and behavior turn around completely, never to turn back again? How often does my genuine sorrow and regret for having fallen short of my Lord’s high standards result in never again disappointing Him in that same way? How often does my turning away from doubting His love and provision result in never again facing that same doubt? Not very often. We’re all slow learners.

Jesus seems to take the opposite view from that pastor when He says in Luke 17:3-4, “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him. If he sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times comes back to you and says, ‘I repent,’ forgive him.” Sounds like Jesus expects us to keep repeating our sins, even after truly repenting.

Reality

One of the strengths of Alcoholics Anonymous is the recognition that an alcoholic in recovery usually returns to his old habit at least one more time. Do they kick him out of the group at that point? Do they tell him that he never really repented of his drinking in the first place, since he’s doing it again?

No! They help him get back on his feet. After additional falls, and with the group’s support, he can eventually stop drinking. He can look back and tell you the number of years that he’s been sober. Initially, he could only give you the number of days he’d made it through before starting over at square one again.

The Bible is real. In Jeremiah chapter 20 we have a prophet, chosen and trusted by God to preach His word to the people, saying in one breath, “Praise the Lord!” and in the very next breath, “Cursed be the day I was born!” That’s an example I can follow.

Not because I want to. Not because I don’t really care about pleasing God. But because I’m human.

Jeremiah’s example

Verses 1 through 6 of this chapter describe how Pashhur the priest, “the chief officer in the temple of the Lord,” has Jeremiah beaten and placed in the stocks for the prophecies that he’d declared. As soon as he’s released, Jeremiah pronounces a scathing rebuke against Pashhur and a dire prophecy about Judah.

At this point, I’m filled with admiration. This guy’s got guts. He’s speaking God’s truth to one of the most powerful religious leaders in the country when he’s just been released from a painful and humiliating punishment for his earlier offensive prophecies. Don’t think I could do that.

This is a great man of God. I want to be just like him.

Until I read the next section (vs. 7-10). Depending on the translation, Jeremiah starts out by accusing God of deceiving, persuading, enticing, fooling, tricking, or forcing him to do what he’s been doing. The general sense is that God isn’t playing fair and Jeremiah feels used. How could the same man who stood up so bravely for his Lord suddenly turn on Him and question His very character?

Jeremiah then complains about the life God has called him to. Because his message is one of violence and destruction, he’s ridiculed, mocked, insulted, and reproached. Including by his friends. And yet he can’t help proclaiming that message.

Verses 11-13 express his faith and hope and thankfulness. He knows that the Lord is with him and that justice will prevail in the end. He asks the Almighty God to avenge him for his undeserved suffering. He praises Him in his gratitude. Back to the good-guy, this-is-what-a-prophet-should-be personality.

Until he steps off the cliff and curses the day he was born. He continues along that line for the next four verses. The passage ends on a negative and depressing note.

What are we to think of this waffling prophet? His great courage in facing Pashhur. His bitter complaint as he questions God’s trustworthiness. His praise for the Lord’s faithfulness. His height of brief but intense thankfulness. His plunge into despair.

Should we try to be like him? Yes, when he’s at his best. But I’m not sure that that’s the right question to ask. I should be asking, “Am I like him?” Honestly, I’m more like him when he’s doubting and grumbling than when he’s speaking boldly to the one who has so much power over him.

But even in his complaining, Jeremiah sets a good example for me. He addresses his words to God as a sort of prayer. He doesn’t go to the people around him, badmouthing Pashhur and telling others how the Lord has disappointed him. He works through his confusion and bitterness and weariness in God’s presence. And those moments of strength and conviction follow. Even if they don’t last.

So I’m thankful for this book of Jeremiah. It’s a hard read. There’s so little in it that’s uplifting. Unlike the book of Isaiah, there are few promises of a glorious future. But there’s the example of a great prophet expressing exuberant thankfulness, only to fall into despair in the very next verse. I can relate to that.

And I’m thankful that at this time of year, nearly every year, I can honestly celebrate a day of Thanksgiving without immediately following that thought with cursing the day I was born.

 

  

Binding up the Wounded

Healing and binding up

According to Psalm 147:3, the Lord “heals the brokenhearted . . .”

That’s what I want. When my heart is broken, when I’m suffering from the pains of this life, I want to be healed. Instantly.

“. . . and binds up their wounds.”

But that’s not what usually happens. Most of the time, God begins the healing process by binding up my wounds. He cleanses the area, applies medication, and covers it to protect it from infection. But the cleansing and the medication can sting. The injury can still ache. And a complete recovery can take days or weeks or even months.

How thankful am I for that binding up? Am I on my knees in gratitude for the cleansing, the medication, and the protection? Or do I resent the sting, pick at the scab, and hold back my praise until I’m completely whole again?

The world tells me I don’t have to go through a long messy process to feel better. I can distract myself through mindless entertainment or busyness or shopping. I can dull the pain with physical pleasure or alcohol or drugs.

But that would be providing a bandaid and temporary painkiller where a more thorough treatment is needed. It would be letting the numbed and hidden wound fester and deepen, rather than healing it.

Next steps

After the doctor has done all he can to treat my illness or injury, my body goes to work to continue the process. In the same way, when I’m emotionally and spiritually bruised and broken and bleeding there are things I can do to contribute to my own recovery.

Trust God. Rest in His everlasting arms. (Deuteronomy 33:27)

Worship Him. Both privately and in my church.

Read the Bible, especially the books that soothe my soul.

Pray. Pour out my heavy heart to Him (Psalm 62:8). But also counteract my toxic self-centeredness by expressing my concern for others and my gratitude and praise to God.

Seek fellowship with my sisters and brothers in Christ for their support. And for their teaching and correction.

Confess and turn from my sin. Obey God’s commands.

He’s the One who enables me to do all this. Just as He created my body to be capable of fighting off infection and recovering from injuries, His Holy Spirit provides me with access to the desire and the wisdom and the self-control to foster my emotional and spiritual well-being.

How thankful am I for that desire and wisdom and self-control? How often do I fight it instead?

It can be so hard to trust Him. And to find time to worship and read and pray and seek out other Christians. It’s hard to overcome my pride enough to confess my sin. And to turn away from it and obey His commands. I want the blessing of wholeness without the effort that it takes to get there. Even when God offers me all I need to succeed.

A slow process

Isaiah speaks of binding up the brokenhearted (61:1), not of immediate wholeness. And he’s talking about Jesus (Luke 4:16-21). I always think of Jesus’ earthly ministry as one of instant, miraculous physical healings. No binding up. Just a few words and touches, and everything is fine again. That’s what usually happened.

But maybe that physical healing was just the binding up of wounds, not a complete cure. Maybe the real healing was spiritual, a slower process occurring over time.

Jesus’ miracles were signs intended as a witness to help people see that He’s the Son of God. The miracles performed by the early Christians were given to support their message. Since that time, instant cures have become rarer. The slow process is much more common now. How thankful am I for that slow process?

I can look back and see how God has grown me through gradual healing, and praise Him after the fact. But do I thank Him as it’s occurring, knowing that the testing of my faith develops perseverance, so that I will become mature and complete, not lacking anything (James 1:2-4)? Am I ever thankful for a process that will lead to my not lacking anything at all? Why not?

Brokenness and binding up

Sometimes our brokenness is a direct result of our sin. Psalm 51 was written by David after the prophet Nathan confronted him with seducing Bathsheba and having her husband, Uriah, killed (2 Samuel 12). David says that a broken spirit (in this case, broken by the conviction of sin) is a sacrifice to God. Sacrificing hurts. Facing our brokenness and offering it to God hurts.

Amazingly, though, even after we’ve committed loathsome acts of pride and greed and lust in the presence of our holy God, He binds up our brokenness when we simply repent. And that binding up, that forgiveness, comes quickly. David says to Nathan, “I have sinned against the Lord.” Immediately, Nathan replies, “The Lord has taken away your sin.”

But it’s only a binding up, not a complete cure. David suffers the consequences of his rebellion when the child that he and Bathsheba conceived dies several days later.

God uses our brokenness over sin, including the physical results, to draw us back to Him. How thankful am I for that brokenness? Without it, I’d continue on my merry way, ignoring and defying Him. I’d reach the end of my life having missed the greatest blessings that come from walking with Him in increasing intimacy.

Dear God of grace and mercy, help me to be more thankful for Your hand in my life, knowing that Your binding up of my wounds is the best means of obtaining the deepest kind of healing. Even though the treatment often stings. Even though the pain lingers for a while. And even though it’s just the beginning of my cure.

 

 

Is it Faith or is it Greed?

Supernatural healing

God does one miraculous thing for me, and I’m thankful for a while. For days. Maybe a couple of weeks. But at some point, I put that in the past and look to the future. So what are You going to do for me next, God?

Is this faith or is it greed?

I’ve written before about how a medical issue affects my reaction to stress. When I’m feeling the strain of a new challenge in my life, my physical weariness increases. A little more, and the mental fog thickens. Pile additional trauma on top of that, and my emotions go haywire until they reach a point that I refer to tongue-in-cheek as my “insanity.”

Over the last four years, so much stress has built up for me (as it has for many Americans) that I’ve been getting to that painful emotional stage far more often than in the past. It takes longer to die down than it used to. Sometimes it feels relentless.

So I make a commitment at the beginning of 2022 to be extra diligent about taking care of myself in hopes of restoring what I’d lost. By the end of the year I can see a definite improvement. I’m about halfway back to normal.

Of course my efforts are accompanied by frequent prayers. Requests for strength and health. Thanksgiving for the energy that I do have (as limited as it is), for signs of gradual improvement, and for the ways God’s been drawing me nearer to Himself through it all. But for months He says no to a sudden, supernatural healing.

Until He says yes.

I read a brief comment in Tim Keller’s Walking With God Through Pain and Suffering. It strikes a chord deep inside. And suddenly, unexpectedly, out of nowhere, the emotional “insanity” ends. Just like that. It never comes back, in spite of my circumstances.

I’m stunned. I’m thrilled. I’m more thankful than words can describe.

But I’m cautious. I’m not sure how long it will last. I play the usual mind game of “Don’t show any signs of doubt, or He might take it away again.” As if it all depends on my imperfect faith, not His perfect grace.

Prayers of thanksgiving replace my prayers of agony. Months go by and the healing continues to be confirmed. My mood drops lower than normal and my anxiety climbs higher than normal when I’m caught up in some new trauma, but I don’t crash into those depths of fear and confusion that have been with me so often during these last few years.

The next step

As time passes, I go from frequent praise throughout the day to expressing my gratitude a couple of times a week. And then I get used to this new state of affairs, and I start thinking about the present and the future.

I’m still stuck in the second phase of my stress reaction. Each morning the mental fog rolls in earlier and thicker than it did in the past, reducing my ability to do what most people my age would consider normal everyday activities.

I make that natural human transition from wonder and joy over God’s supernatural healing to discontent over the suffering that remains. My thoughts turn from “Thank You, thank You, thank You” to “Please, please, please.”

I want to believe that I’m demonstrating great faith in a great God. But maybe it’s just my greedy heart saying, “Give me more and more and more.”

At what point should a sense of contentment take over? At what point should I accept my current physical status as God’s will, rather than continuing to ask for better health? When I was younger, the answer seemed to be, “Of course I should keep asking.” I had responsibilities that required strength and energy.

Aging and praying

But as aging takes its toll, most of us develop chronic health conditions. Is it faith, or is it a love for the things of this world, that goes to God and asks for supernatural healing from the natural deterioration of our bodies?

I once knew a man whose wife developed early onset Alzheimer’s disease when she was in her fifties. One day he asked a group of us to pray for God to cure her. My automatic reaction was a sense of disbelief.

Can we, should we, expect to be relieved of the ravages of aging? Was my friend demonstrating greater faith than mine by making this request? I don’t know.

I did pray a few times, but each prayer was deeply drenched in “Your will be done.” If her healing depended solely on my faith that God would do as I asked, then it wouldn’t happen. She lived fifteen years or so after her diagnosis. Her mind continued to deteriorate. She’s now home with Jesus.

Maybe the Lord could put an end to all these questions if He would just do like He did with Paul whenever we ask for healing that isn’t within His will. Paul pleaded with Him three times for relief from a thorn in the flesh that was tormenting him. Nothing happened.

Then one day Jesus said to him, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:7-9). No instant cure. A call to greater dependence on Jesus’ grace and power instead.

Sometimes the answer to my prayer is obviously either yes or no. Sometimes I get some sense of His will, a sort of internal leading. But it would make life so much easier if I could just hear His voice speaking to me as He spoke to Paul. Then I would know His will for sure. Then I could face my challenges with contentment.

That would be the contentment of knowledge, though, rather than the contentment of faith.

As I circle back to the question of my motive for asking for additional healing, I know I want to be living in gratitude, not greed. And I know that faith is the key to it all.

Am I asking with faith that God understands my needs and my heart, and that He’ll do what’s best for me and for those whose lives I touch, whether that means suffering or relief? Do I have enough faith to be content with His decision? Is my faith strong enough to live a life of thanksgiving even if He says no to my next request? That’s the kind of faith I want to have.

 

 

A Blended Family

Mixed marriages

The annual Thanksgiving Eve service at my church will be starting soon. I’m volunteering in the Children’s Department. Most of the kids are attending the service with their parents, but the pastor wanted to offer birth-to-fifth-grade child-care for those who prefer it.

As a retired teacher, I miss being around these young ones. I don’t even know most of the children in my own church. That’s why I’m here. To get a dose of kid-time and maybe build some new relationships (as well as lending a helping hand, of course).

The first two people walk up to the sign-in desk. White mother. Asian child, nine years old, named Molly. The last name sounds Chinese. Cool. A mixed marriage. In these days of racial division and strife, mixed marriages remind me that peace can prevail, at least within one family.

The next group arrives. White mother. Eight-year-old African-American girl named Connie. Two-year-old blond girl named Cherry. Another interracial family. This is what the church should be. A place where people with different skin colors can have intimate relationships.

Confusion

We’re meeting in the gym so the children can have some play time before we start more structured activities. With a bouncy ball and plenty of space, the kids spontaneously begin a game, making up the rules as they go along. The older children adapt to the limited skills of the younger ones when their turns come up. I smile at the close connection between Connie and Cherry, as they talk and laugh and hug each other, even in the middle of the game.

Eventually, Molly looks at them with a puzzled expression, seeing their special relationship. She asks how they know each other. “We’re sisters!” they both exclaim with pride and joy (and another hug).

“But. . . but. . .,” Molly stammers, glancing back and forth at the two of them, then looking around as if it should be obvious to everyone that they couldn’t possibly have the same parents. No response from anyone else. A close scrutiny of their name tags, then a triumphant expression. “But you have different last names!”

All three girls look puzzled now. Connie and Cherry honestly don’t understand what the problem is. I hesitate for a minute, allowing the girls a chance to sort it out among themselves. But they remain silent, so I ask, “You have the same mother but different fathers, right?” They nod. The game begins again.

Heaven and the first Thanksgiving

I love this living illustration of the holiday we’ll be celebrating tomorrow. As we chow down on our turkey and stuffing and sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie, the most basic reason for our rejoicing tends to get lost—the coming together of two different races, with two very different sets of life experiences, to share a meal in peace and harmony.

My thoughts also turn to heaven. I smile as I realize that in the next world no one will see two girls who look so different on the outside and wonder how they could possibly belong to the same family. It will be more like those two girls themselves—unable to understand why anyone would question their relationship.

The blood of all the races and ethnic groups will be blended together in one Father and His children. We’ll be so intimately united that we’ll understand each other perfectly and love each other perfectly. Nothing as superficial as skin color, and nothing as deep as vastly different life experiences, will ever separate us again.

And yet we’ll each retain our own unique identity. When Jesus was confronted with the question of life after death, His response was that God is the God of the living, not the dead, specifically naming Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Matthew 22:32). He implied that the three of them are still living their own individual yet transformed lives in another realm.

Revelation 7:9 says, “After this I looked and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb.” It sounds like there will still be some distinguishable differences among members of different nations, tribes, peoples, and languages even in heaven. I’m not sure exactly what that will look like, but the Bible is full of hints that we’ll each retain our own unique identity there, in perfect harmony with a wide variety of equally unique brothers and sisters.

We don’t handle our differences very well in this life. I need to remember to pray more often, “Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven,” in regard to race relations in my country. But sometimes, such as when I look at these two families within my church or when I see children of mixed ethnic and racial backgrounds playing together happily, I get a glimpse of the life to come, with its perfect blend of unity and diversity. The same glimpse that was clearly visible on that first Thanksgiving.

 

 

Thankful Like Paul

 Paul’s example

“I thank my God through Jesus Christ for all of you” (Romans 1:8).

“I always thank God for you” (1 Corinthians 1:4).

“I have not stopped giving thanks for you” (Ephesians 1:16).

“I thank my God every time I remember you” (Philippians 1:3).

“We always thank God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, when we pray for you” (Colossians 1:3).

“We always thank God for all of you” (1 Thessalonians 1:2).

“We ought always to thank God for you” (2 Thessalonians 1:3).

Here’s how I want to interpret these verses in the letters Paul wrote to various churches: “I thank God for those of you who are saved and growing and displaying His fruit in your lives.” Sometimes the context seems to imply that idea. Sometimes Paul goes on to include the reason that he’s grateful for a particular group. That reason usually applies only to Christians who are doing the right thing.

In many Bible studies of individual New Testament epistles, I’ve been told that the author is writing to believers alone. Everything in the book must be understood accordingly. Maybe I’m right in wanting to think that Paul is only addressing those who are saved when he says that he’s thankful for them.

But then I see those words “all” and “always.” I don’t like it, and I don’t have much hope that I can live up to it, but the implication seems to be that Paul thanked God for every person in every church all the time. Not just the believers. Not just those who were learning and growing. Not just those who were being good Christians at the moment. And I should do the same thing.

My struggle

Who am I actually grateful for in my local church? The leaders who teach the lessons that touch me in a meaningful way (even when it hurts). Those who are doing their best to follow Jesus—who treat others with kindness and respect, who have strong healthy marriages, who minister to those in need. The good people with the good hearts. I can be truly thankful for them.

I can even be somewhat thankful for those who aren’t yet Christians but are seeking the truth. There’s a certain excitement in hoping and praying that they’ll accept Jesus’ offer of salvation, and in being a part of that process.

But I struggle to be grateful for the majority of the people in my church. I have an especially hard time with those who claim to be Christians and yet who live such unChristlike lives that I have to question whether they actually believe the gospel. I try to be careful not to make myself the judge of who is and who is not saved. I try to remember that God alone knows the hearts of men. Therefore, not many people fall into this category in my mind. Do I have to be thankful for them anyway? It sounds like I do.

Next on my hard-to-be-thankful-for list are the ones whose salvation I don’t question, but who have certain quirks that go against all the Bible’s teachings and who show no signs of overcoming those quirks even after thirty years or more of new life. The ones outsiders call hypocrites and use as an excuse for rejecting the gospel.

The husbands and wives who bicker over every trivial issue, who’ve forgotten their vow to cherish each other, who are eager to blame and accuse rather than understanding and forgiving. Do I have to be thankful for these people? It sounds like it.

The gossip. The one who complains to me about something a mutual friend said or did, rather than forgiving that friend. Do I have to be grateful for the gossips in my church? I think so.

The man who experiences God’s provision when life is hard and “learns” that God will always take care of his needs, but goes right back to worrying intensely about his finances the next time his income drops off a bit. No change. No growth. Do I have to be thankful for this guy? Yes.

The elderly woman who condescendingly wonders what a twenty-something with purple hair and multiple tattoos and piercings is doing in our Sunday school class. I can be grateful for the younger one. I know something of her past and how much she’s wrestled with life’s challenges. Church should be the best place for her, among believers who can demonstrate God’s love and help her find healing. But am I thankful for that old lady, as Paul would have been? Not yet. I need to learn how to do that.

Why be thankful?

Part of my problem is that I feel like I have to have a specific reason to be grateful for a particular person. Maybe he’s a good Bible teacher. Maybe she always seems to call me just when I need someone to talk to. In all those verses cited above, Paul’s words of thanksgiving are often followed by “because. . . .” But in 1 Corinthians 1:4, he’s thankful for them “because of his grace given to you in Christ Jesus.” Not because of who they are. Not because of what they’ve done. But because of who God is.

How can I be grateful for the irritable spouses, the gossips, the ones of little faith, the critics? Shouldn’t I try to show them the error of their ways? Wouldn’t my attempts at correction imply that I’m not yet thankful for them, but if they’d just shape up, then I would be?

I’ve been mulling over this question for several weeks. How do I thank God for others without simply glossing over the habitual sin in their lives? I’ve been struggling in my attempts to offer honest prayers of thanksgiving for all of the people in my church. I’ve been laying my heart bare before God, asking for His mercy and guidance so that I can develop an attitude that would be more pleasing to Him.

And He’s begun to answer that prayer. He led me to the conclusion that I have at least two reasons to thank Him for each individual person in my church: that person bears the image of God, and God loves him more dearly than I can ever imagine. How could I not be thankful for God’s image walking around right in front of my eyes? How could I refuse to give thanks for someone God loves so deeply?

 I can understand this idea in theory, but it’s hard to put it into practice, as Paul did. How could Paul always be thankful for all of the people in any given church? Maybe he could do it because God had loved him and reached out to him even when he was viciously attacking Jesus’ followers. Maybe his heart was so filled with gratitude after his experience on the road to Damascus that he could be thankful even for the most difficult people within each church.

Maybe if I was more deeply grateful for God’s grace and His revelation of Himself and His sacrifice in making His salvation available to all, I would be thankful like Paul for every person in my church all the time.