I was struck by a funny thought on Sunday night. I logged it away as a blog idea and quickly forgot about it, but was reminded of it again today when I read this morning's lectionary gospel reading, which includes this verse:
John 14:27
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.
OK, so on the face of it, there's nothing particularly hilarious about this verse. It often comes to mind when I'm harried, troubled and/or tired. I desire peace. So.... what's so funny?
The thing I found so funny that night is the irony of the setting. The last verse of that same chapter has Jesus saying, "Come now; let us leave." Where is Jesus going? To the garden of Gethsemane. To do what? To be arrested, tried, beaten, whipped, mistreated, and then brutally executed. Jesus knows exactly where he's heading. And yet he instructs his disciples to not be afraid.
And he offers them his peace.
So Jesus is heading out to meet his death. But it's not like he was coming from Lake Placid, either! During his three years of ministry Jesus was relentlessly ridiculed, maligned, slandered, mistreated and hated by an awful lot of powerful people. He had to stay on the move just to avoid getting killed!
And yet Jesus tells us not to be afraid. And he offers us his peace.
OK, most of us are not at risk of being murdered, but we all know what it's like to be under pressure from family, friends, and sometimes strangers. Are we stressed by the pressures of ordinary life? Jesus knows about that too.
Jesus faced all we faced and more. His family thought he was insane. His friends just wanted to ride on his coat-tails to power. Crowds just wanted him to give them free meals. Sick people wanted him to heal them. He was a wanted man in every sense of the word — harried and pursued relentlessly. More so even than Hollywood actors and actresses.
And yet he offers us his peace.
Thus my surreal moment of hilarity. Jesus? Give me his peace? Offered peace like that, I might just prefer the alternatives! But Jesus was clear about it. So was the Apostle Paul. And Peter. And the author of Hebrews. If we opt for life with Jesus Christ, we'll indeed get his peace — and we'll also share in his sufferings. It's a package deal. I can't ask for his peace and decline his sufferings.
No wonder Jesus said his peace was not of the sort the world had to offer! And no wonder so few of us know the peace of Christ. We don't know the peace of Christ precisely because we're worried we might have to face the sufferings of Christ. But his peace is exactly revealed and made real when we willingly endure trials of all kinds.
But I preach to myself here as much as to anyone else. I frequently feel I lack the peace of Christ. Why? Why do we so often feel that we don't have peace when our lives are a whirlwind? I think it's because we mistake the peace Jesus offers with outer serenity.
Jesus never promised me outward serenity, but I guess I'm still in thrall to the notion that the good life includes (is defined by?) quiet afternoons in the sunshine with a good book. A brief review of the New Testament gospels and epistles reveals that neither Jesus nor Paul had any such life. Why do I want what they didn't seem to seek or have?
Do I want the peace Jesus offers? I think I do. But with Jesus as guide, I guess I need to let go of some notions about what it looks like to have it.
** Upon reflection (that is, after all, the title of my blog!) I think this blog deserves a bit of revision... but instead of fixing this one, I'll just throw up a few amendments in a new blog...)
Showing posts with label Suffering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Suffering. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Superior In Every Way: Part I (Suffering)
Isaiah 53:3
He was despised and rejected — a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief.
We turned our backs on him and looked the other way.
He was despised, and we did not care.
These are fitting words to ponder during the season of lent. The whole of chapter 53 is worth memorizing. But here I focus on the first phrase in the verse — acquainted with deepest grief.
I started this blog some months ago with the intent of getting some thoughts about Jesus down on "paper" — and yet I find I have not gotten far on that project yet. This entry is meant to begin the process of rectifying the situation!
My intent was, and is, to reflect on the superiority of Jesus Christ. In particular, I have been pondering for years about how he overcame in his life what we succumb to in our own lives.
What does it mean to say that Jesus was acquainted with grief?
My hunch is that, in essence, Jesus faced all the basic kinds of pain and suffering anyone ever faces. And triumphed over them all. My thesis is that we have a Lord who knows every kind of suffering and was familiar with all of our griefs. There is no kind of evil we face that he did not face too — and frequently under circumstances worse than our own.
Truth be told, I don't know that this is true. It's indelicate to say the words, but did Jesus endure sexual molestation as a child? Probably not. But I do hope to eventually wander the full landscape of suffering and reflect on how Jesus may (or may not have) endured it. Perhaps in the final analysis the core woundings involved in sex abuse are wounds he did receive, even if perhaps not by that route.
For today, however, I begin with something simpler: the loss of loved ones. Simpler? Yes. Easy? Far from it.
My mother passed away when I was 24 years old, just a month after I got married. Losing a mother when you are "relatively" young is not something I'd wish upon anyone. I shudder to think of losing her when I was 14. Worse still at the age of 4.
Some time ago I became intrigued by the silence in the matter of Jesus' father Joseph. The last we hear of Joseph is that Joseph and Mary took Jesus to the temple when Jesus was eleven years old. After that? Silence.
Where scriptures are silent we must of course trod with care — but it has always seemed rather obvious to me that Joseph must have died some time after that. Perhaps he died while Jesus was quite young. Perhaps much later. But I think it is safe to assume that Joseph passed away some time prior to the beginning of Jesus' ministry. In my thoughts below I'm going to assume this was the case, though it is granted that we presumably can never be sure of it.
Losing a parent is a great and terrible loss. I still mourn that my natural mother never had the chance to see my children grow up. I grieve that here on Earth my children will never meet my mother. But I had no choice in the matter. Cancer took my mother, and I had no power to stop it.
Not so for Jesus. Jesus had a choice. When his father Joseph died, Jesus could have raised him from the dead. Supposing there was a period of illness involved — Jesus could have healed him at any time. Jesus could, in fact, have prevented the onset of illness. He knew it was coming.
But he didn't do any of these things. Why?
Well... I don't know. But my suspicion is this: Jesus came to live among us, and to share in our suffering. Watching a loved one die is one of the worst agonies we as humans ever face. If Jesus had bypassed this dark valley, he would not have not been familiar with our sorrows or grief. He'd have been a bit more of a celestial tourist than a fellow sojourner if he'd taken a pass on this experience.
So Jesus knew what it's like to lose a parent. In fact, he endured what I endured... and more. I had to watch my mother die. He had to let his father die. I had no options in the matter. He did.
Superior in every way.
He was despised and rejected — a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief.
We turned our backs on him and looked the other way.
He was despised, and we did not care.
These are fitting words to ponder during the season of lent. The whole of chapter 53 is worth memorizing. But here I focus on the first phrase in the verse — acquainted with deepest grief.
I started this blog some months ago with the intent of getting some thoughts about Jesus down on "paper" — and yet I find I have not gotten far on that project yet. This entry is meant to begin the process of rectifying the situation!
My intent was, and is, to reflect on the superiority of Jesus Christ. In particular, I have been pondering for years about how he overcame in his life what we succumb to in our own lives.
What does it mean to say that Jesus was acquainted with grief?
My hunch is that, in essence, Jesus faced all the basic kinds of pain and suffering anyone ever faces. And triumphed over them all. My thesis is that we have a Lord who knows every kind of suffering and was familiar with all of our griefs. There is no kind of evil we face that he did not face too — and frequently under circumstances worse than our own.
Truth be told, I don't know that this is true. It's indelicate to say the words, but did Jesus endure sexual molestation as a child? Probably not. But I do hope to eventually wander the full landscape of suffering and reflect on how Jesus may (or may not have) endured it. Perhaps in the final analysis the core woundings involved in sex abuse are wounds he did receive, even if perhaps not by that route.
For today, however, I begin with something simpler: the loss of loved ones. Simpler? Yes. Easy? Far from it.
My mother passed away when I was 24 years old, just a month after I got married. Losing a mother when you are "relatively" young is not something I'd wish upon anyone. I shudder to think of losing her when I was 14. Worse still at the age of 4.
Some time ago I became intrigued by the silence in the matter of Jesus' father Joseph. The last we hear of Joseph is that Joseph and Mary took Jesus to the temple when Jesus was eleven years old. After that? Silence.
Where scriptures are silent we must of course trod with care — but it has always seemed rather obvious to me that Joseph must have died some time after that. Perhaps he died while Jesus was quite young. Perhaps much later. But I think it is safe to assume that Joseph passed away some time prior to the beginning of Jesus' ministry. In my thoughts below I'm going to assume this was the case, though it is granted that we presumably can never be sure of it.
Losing a parent is a great and terrible loss. I still mourn that my natural mother never had the chance to see my children grow up. I grieve that here on Earth my children will never meet my mother. But I had no choice in the matter. Cancer took my mother, and I had no power to stop it.
Not so for Jesus. Jesus had a choice. When his father Joseph died, Jesus could have raised him from the dead. Supposing there was a period of illness involved — Jesus could have healed him at any time. Jesus could, in fact, have prevented the onset of illness. He knew it was coming.
But he didn't do any of these things. Why?
Well... I don't know. But my suspicion is this: Jesus came to live among us, and to share in our suffering. Watching a loved one die is one of the worst agonies we as humans ever face. If Jesus had bypassed this dark valley, he would not have not been familiar with our sorrows or grief. He'd have been a bit more of a celestial tourist than a fellow sojourner if he'd taken a pass on this experience.
So Jesus knew what it's like to lose a parent. In fact, he endured what I endured... and more. I had to watch my mother die. He had to let his father die. I had no options in the matter. He did.
Superior in every way.
Friday, December 18, 2009
God, I Needed You Last Night, But I Wasn't There.
Agnostics suppose that God might not be anywhere, and atheists assure us that God is definitely nowhere. We who are theists, in contrast, know that God is everywhere.
Yet even staunch theists are tempted, when calamity strikes, to wonder where God went.
He is there. With us. He never left.
The real question is not whether God is with us during those times, because he is.
But are we with him?
If at any time we are not with God, then it will most certainly seem as if he is not with us. (No surprise, then, that so many of us feel that life is a rather lonely journey... but that thought for another day and a different blog!) How blessed are we, however, if even in our darkest moments we remain with him.
There are two great lies we must contend with whenever we suffer. In times of sorrow, Satan would have us believe that we are suffering both (a) alone and (b) for no good purpose. These two lies are disarmed and dismantled, however, if we suffer with the God whom we trust. We might never know here on Earth why God allows us to experience various sorrows, but if we know God is present and can trust him with those mysteries, the pain we endure is robbed of its power.
I recently forced my young son Luke to undergo an H1N1 flu vaccination. I held him in my lap tightly for the entire process, but Luke seemed simultaneously to lose both trust in me and the ability to hear my words of encouragement as soon as the long, sharp needle came into view. The more he focused on the needle, the less he was able to interact with me in any meaningful way. I think it would be fair to say that in some sense Luke faced his fears alone, and the experience for him was utterly terrifying. I was there the whole time, but I doubt it felt that way to Luke.
In fact, Luke has a history of asthma. For him, a case of the swine flu could mean hospitalization — or even death. Many years from now Luke will certainly be thankful for the many vaccinations he received along the way, but he's too young today to understand the science of innoculations. No amount of explanation was going to help Luke accept that flu shot with serenity. Facing a terrifying experience, Luke didn't need explanations. What he needed was trust.
We smile at how children behave when the doctor's needle comes out. But let us be honest with ourselves. Do we accept those needles God sends our way without a struggle? Not often. Do we look for explanations? Or do we ask God for more trust? Exactly.
Trust, however, is the silver bullet. Explanations are for those who doubt. As we learn to trust our God who is with us, we begin to discover that those unpleasant shots in the arm are preparing us for a better future. Luke had only the present doctor's visit in mind, but we, his parents, were taking a longer view. Likewise we humans all too often have only this present life in mind, but God too is taking the longer view.
All these fine words don't make suffering fun, of course, but if we believe them, we can, as the Apostle Paul notes, "not grieve like people who have no hope." (1 Thessalonians 4:13)
Hebrews 12:5-12
...And have you forgotten the encouraging words God spoke to you as his children? He said,
“My child, don’t make light of the Lord’s discipline,
and don’t give up when he corrects you.
For the Lord disciplines those he loves,
and he punishes each one he accepts as his child.”
As you endure this divine discipline, remember that God is treating you as his own children. Who ever heard of a child who is never disciplined by its father? If God doesn’t discipline you as he does all of his children, it means that you are illegitimate and are not really his children at all. Since we respected our earthly fathers who disciplined us, shouldn’t we submit even more to the discipline of the Father of our spirits, and live forever?
For our earthly fathers disciplined us for a few years, doing the best they knew how. But God’s discipline is always good for us, so that we might share in his holiness. No discipline is enjoyable while it is happening—it’s painful! But afterward there will be a peaceful harvest of right living for those who are trained in this way.
So take a new grip with your tired hands and strengthen your weak knees. Mark out a straight path for your feet so that those who are weak and lame will not fall but become strong.
Those last words from that passage in Hebrews may seem a bit odd and almost unrelated to the preceding text, but consider this: perhaps if Luke had endured his shot with serenity, other children waiting in line would been a bit more brave as they themselves approached the awaiting doctor.
The way we endure suffering reveals to a watching world something about the character of the God we serve and whether he can be trusted.
Hebrews 12:1-3
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.
Amen!
Yet even staunch theists are tempted, when calamity strikes, to wonder where God went.
He is there. With us. He never left.
The real question is not whether God is with us during those times, because he is.
But are we with him?
If at any time we are not with God, then it will most certainly seem as if he is not with us. (No surprise, then, that so many of us feel that life is a rather lonely journey... but that thought for another day and a different blog!) How blessed are we, however, if even in our darkest moments we remain with him.
There are two great lies we must contend with whenever we suffer. In times of sorrow, Satan would have us believe that we are suffering both (a) alone and (b) for no good purpose. These two lies are disarmed and dismantled, however, if we suffer with the God whom we trust. We might never know here on Earth why God allows us to experience various sorrows, but if we know God is present and can trust him with those mysteries, the pain we endure is robbed of its power.
I recently forced my young son Luke to undergo an H1N1 flu vaccination. I held him in my lap tightly for the entire process, but Luke seemed simultaneously to lose both trust in me and the ability to hear my words of encouragement as soon as the long, sharp needle came into view. The more he focused on the needle, the less he was able to interact with me in any meaningful way. I think it would be fair to say that in some sense Luke faced his fears alone, and the experience for him was utterly terrifying. I was there the whole time, but I doubt it felt that way to Luke.
In fact, Luke has a history of asthma. For him, a case of the swine flu could mean hospitalization — or even death. Many years from now Luke will certainly be thankful for the many vaccinations he received along the way, but he's too young today to understand the science of innoculations. No amount of explanation was going to help Luke accept that flu shot with serenity. Facing a terrifying experience, Luke didn't need explanations. What he needed was trust.
We smile at how children behave when the doctor's needle comes out. But let us be honest with ourselves. Do we accept those needles God sends our way without a struggle? Not often. Do we look for explanations? Or do we ask God for more trust? Exactly.
Trust, however, is the silver bullet. Explanations are for those who doubt. As we learn to trust our God who is with us, we begin to discover that those unpleasant shots in the arm are preparing us for a better future. Luke had only the present doctor's visit in mind, but we, his parents, were taking a longer view. Likewise we humans all too often have only this present life in mind, but God too is taking the longer view.
All these fine words don't make suffering fun, of course, but if we believe them, we can, as the Apostle Paul notes, "not grieve like people who have no hope." (1 Thessalonians 4:13)
Hebrews 12:5-12
...And have you forgotten the encouraging words God spoke to you as his children? He said,
“My child, don’t make light of the Lord’s discipline,
and don’t give up when he corrects you.
For the Lord disciplines those he loves,
and he punishes each one he accepts as his child.”
As you endure this divine discipline, remember that God is treating you as his own children. Who ever heard of a child who is never disciplined by its father? If God doesn’t discipline you as he does all of his children, it means that you are illegitimate and are not really his children at all. Since we respected our earthly fathers who disciplined us, shouldn’t we submit even more to the discipline of the Father of our spirits, and live forever?
For our earthly fathers disciplined us for a few years, doing the best they knew how. But God’s discipline is always good for us, so that we might share in his holiness. No discipline is enjoyable while it is happening—it’s painful! But afterward there will be a peaceful harvest of right living for those who are trained in this way.
So take a new grip with your tired hands and strengthen your weak knees. Mark out a straight path for your feet so that those who are weak and lame will not fall but become strong.
Those last words from that passage in Hebrews may seem a bit odd and almost unrelated to the preceding text, but consider this: perhaps if Luke had endured his shot with serenity, other children waiting in line would been a bit more brave as they themselves approached the awaiting doctor.
The way we endure suffering reveals to a watching world something about the character of the God we serve and whether he can be trusted.
Hebrews 12:1-3
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.
Amen!
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