the gospel and suffering

“I want to be clear…God does not identify with our pain because he lost his Son…we are able to identify with his pain through the loss of ours.”

 

Those are the words of my friend, spoken at the funeral of his toddler son. They are words that knock me down and rock my soul. Here is a man committed to focusing on the Father and the sacrifice of his Son, regardless of what his own painful circumstances might be.

 

Actually, that’s not true. It is more accurately said that here is a man who is committed to focusing on the Father and the sacrifice of his Son even more so because of his own painful circumstances. This father friend of mine and his treasured wife have been calling on those around them to proclaim the truth to them. They are begging to hear, to be reminded, to be given focus.  They want to identify with the pain of a perfect Father who willingly gave up his Son. They are looking for deeper connection with Christ.

 

For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ.            2 Corinthians 1:5

 

This is what we do when we suffer. This is what we do when we are blasted by extreme loss: we seek comfort in Christ. We allow our own suffering to draw us to him and identify with him. The gospel is even more beautiful when it is seen through the lens of suffering. Suffering gives shape and texture to the abstract.

 

God gave himself for our sin. This is a truth we can easily keep distant and somewhat out of focus in our daily lives. He willingly suffered loss and hurt and pain so that we might be with him. Our hearts ache in loss because we are created in his image. We ache when death comes because the Father aches when death comes.

 

Our tendency—our natural reaction—so often in these hurtful times is to blame God or be angry with him. But death and pain and loss are unnatural because they aren’t they way God intended this to be. Sin is where our anger should be directed; the sin of all of us. Sin has brought about death and none of us are exempt; all contribute, all are sinners.

 

And this is why we should hope in heartache and suffering. This is why we should, even in pain, press hard into the hope of resurrection. We should lean in to the offer of Christ to come and abide in him.

 

We’d prefer to make sense of the senseless; to find some thought, some action, some belief that would make us feel “okay” with the death and brokenness of this world. Tragedy strikes and the world clamors for answers. Everyone seems to try their hand at a catchy phrase or sentence that sums up the reasons why we need to accept it and move on. We often just want the pain to go away or the sorrow to be eased.

 

But the tension is right and real. Death is wrong, regardless of age or circumstance. It’s wrong and unnatural. And tragic loss like my friends have recently experienced is even more wrong. The Bible does not offer a solution that makes the sorrow go away. It does one better. The Bible promises comfort from God our Father, hope through Christ our Savior, and power from the Holy Spirit to make it through.

 

There is comfort and hope and power to make it through. There is an invitation to abide in the depths of God’s love and grace and have life in the midst of death and pain. There is Christ and we are called towards him.

 

I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead.  Philippians 3:10-11

 

grieving well

All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us. For the more we suffer for Christ, the more God will shower us with his comfort through Christ. Even when we are weighed down with troubles, it is for your comfort and salvation! For when we ourselves are comforted, we will certainly comfort you. Then you can patiently endure the same things we suffer. We are confident that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in the comfort God gives us.       2 Corinthians 1:3-7

 

 

I have delayed writing this morning for no other reason than it simply requires a great deal of emotional energy today. As I write I am grieving for two families. Families who are dear friends to my wife and I. Families who are both suffering the tragedy of loss today. Just a few short weeks ago both families were celebrating the expectancy of new life coming into their families. One family expecting their first, the other expecting their third. And in the span of three days, both have suffered loss at the hands of miscarriage.

 

There are no adequate words for this day, but if some could be said, these seem fitting: “I hate it when things like this happen. I do not like this world.” All too wise for her young years my eldest daughter proclaimed this sentiment through tears hot with anger and wet with grief far too large for her small heart.

 

This world is broken—as are all who live in it. And we suffer at the hands of tragedy and pain and loss. It’s not how it was meant to be. It’s simply how it is. Sin has wrought devastation and it breaks the heart to see people hurting with grief. They are suffering and we cannot make it right.

 

It is now that they need God’s comfort showered on them. This is the best we can offer them. Along with tears and hugs. Alongside an ear to listen and the meals brought to simplify the all too large and looming daily tasks. Above it all and through it all we call out for God’s comfort to come.

 

It is amazing how God is working even before the tragedy strikes. It shouldn’t be amazing—we know he is in control and knows all things. And yet it is. A God so magnificent and supreme invested in orchestrating the little things to bring comfort and assurance and wisdom in the midst of our tragedies.

 

Could it be considered coincidence that a sermon—planned weeks and weeks ago—could be on the topic of suffering the very day that a church body wrestles with these tragedies and seeks to understand how to love well and grieve with our beloved brothers and sisters? I suppose it could be—if we did not know the Father of mercy and source of all comfort.

 

How do we grieve well when others are hurting?

 

What does it look like to come along side without easy answers and trite explanations?

 

How do we love well for the long grief, not just the immediate sting of tragedy?

 

God is at work here. And in the midst of anger at brokenness and death we find comfort and assurance that he is able, whatever is needed. When we are sensing loss and hurting from our wounds, we have God who comforts. More than words, more than distractions to dull the pain, more than pushing it down so time can give us distance, this is what we hope in: a God who comforts the soul.

 

He will not crush the weakest reed or put out a flickering candle…

 

grieving this hell

The world is going to hell.

I don’t mean that judgmentally or angrily. In truth, it makes me so sad. Today I am grieving the hellish world we live in. And I’m grieving the reality of how much I don’t want to learn any of it.

When did I become so content with my head in the sand? When did I decide that ignorance really is bliss? It’s not. And I am ashamed at how long I’ve ignored some of the tragedies of the world simply because they don’t invade my little piece of it.

Maybe I’ve ignored or hidden from some of this because it’s so paralyzing to consider how I could help. Maybe not knowing what to do with all the information is just discouraging so I don’t seek to know what’s really going on. Maybe it just hurts too much to know the truth of the horror that others suffer.

The world has already become hell for so many and it is breaking my heart.

• 50 million people in our world are dying from HIV/AIDS.
• Everyday nearly 16,000 children die from hunger.
• 10 million children are forced to be sex slaves.
• 3 million people will die this year from malaria.
• 38% of the world’s population is malnourished.
• 6,500 Africans die from preventable, treatable diseases.
• One country alone has seen 30,000 women disappear, stolen into human trafficking, and no one has done anything. *

 

Had enough yet? I have. I feel broken for all the brokenness. I am hurting and aching for those whose lives are marred by these atrocities God never intended. So much human suffering.

As I consider some of these facts of tragedy today one thought came to my mind: Do I know any orphans?! Do I even know any widows?!

The reason I thought of this is because most of these atrocities involve orphans and widows. And because of what James says:

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.               James 1:27

 

I need to do something. But what? I need to help these people or my wealth and privilege is just disgusting. But how do I help?

In Exodus 3 God is confronting Moses with the suffering of the people and God makes this amazing statement about how he is hearing the cries of his people and he is concerned with their suffering.

 

The Lord said, “I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering.          Exodus 3:7

 

Maybe this is where it starts. A willingness to hear the cries of the suffering. A willingness to get to know some orphans, to find some widows in need. Maybe it starts with a commitment not to put my head back in the sand.

I’m just in the learning stage, trying to get my mind around how the world is abusing it’s orphans and widows. Its not like I haven’t known, like I thought the world was just a happy place. But when you really start opening yourself up to the way humans destroy humans it is hard not to just shut down, to turn your head. Not because I don’t care, but because I do care. It is a painful aching kind of learning. But like my Father I want to hear the cries. I want to be concerned with the suffering enough to do something.

If you wish to learn with me here are some good places to start:

The sex café – an article about the sex slave trade in Moldova

Children’s Hope Chest – I’m new to this organization and still learning, but they seem to be going whole-heartedly after the orphans and widows to give them life.

5 for 50 – Loving the 50 million dying of HIV/AIDS

Stop the Traffik – A great organization fighting human trafficking

Be forewarned, looking into this further will break your heart. It is so painful and horrific. But it is time we stop burying our heads and be the people of Jesus. It’s time to stop the hell on earth.

*these statistics come from Children’s Hope Chest

the sorrow of Jesus

As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace—but now it is hidden from your eyes.          Luke 19:41-42

 

Some years ago Brennan Manning spoke at Seattle Pacific University. In the opening remarks of this teaching he reflected on what he referred to as the sorrow of Jesus. The idea was that when Jesus looks at us He is sorrowful. His grief comes from our willingness to live with far less of life than Jesus intends. Our settling for a broken existence instead of an abundant life.

Brennan’s words:

The sorrow of Jesus lies in our fear of Him, our fear of life, our fear of death, our fear of ourselves. The sorrow of Jesus lies in our self-absorption, our preoccupation with our own plans, pursuits, projects. In the clenching of our minds in a cramp, like somehow all this thinking made us self-sufficient.

 

He goes on to quote Richard Foster who wrote,

Today the heart of Jesus is an open wound of love. He aches over our distant from Him and our preoccupation with our own lives. He mourns that we don’t draw near to Him. He grieves that we’ve forgotten Him. He weeps over our obsession with much-ness and many-ness. He longs for our presence.

 

What brings Jesus sorrow when he looks at our lives?

Is it our hesitation to approach him after we have sinned or failed? The shame or unhealthy guilt we allow ourselves to live with? Our interest in stuff that far outweighs our interest in Him? Maybe it’s because of our preoccupation with self-sufficiency?

Our fear of the unknown? Our fear of tomorrow? Our fear at anything?

It’s so important for us to remember that the sadness of Jesus doesn’t come from His disappointment in us or His longing that we were “better” than we are. It comes from the longing He has for our presence, and His ability to see what life could be, what it should be for us.

So often when Jesus looks at us he sees what would bring us peace, and weeps that we don’t see it, that we don’t take what he is offering.

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.            John 10:10

 

Whatever holds us back from the full life, the peace that Jesus has for us brings him sorrow. The hope of Jesus followers does not simply lie in the someday and the “when we get to heaven,” but it lies in today; in everyday. Jesus is sorrowful when we sit on our hands, living squalid lives that lack hope and peace and assume that life starts someday, but not today. When we wait for his return or our passing and assume that life starts then. Jesus is sorrowful when we trade life for existence, relationship for products, or love for entertainment.

Jesus cries out to us all today, “If only you had known what would bring you peace…”

And the answer is Him. Only Him.