*I’ve been wondering how exactly I’d like this blog to unfold. Among the group of people who’ve told me they’d follow my stories, there’s a wide variety of ages, backgrounds, and belief systems. I wouldn’t normally write to all of you the same way… but I’ve decided the most worthwhile choice is to be sincere, and write like I would to a close friend. If that’s not currently your association with me, I invite you to stick with this. I hope what results is a deeper relationship with you.
We will not forget what our man Jonathan Walton taught us in New York City. But even though I can repeat the things he told us, I’m sure that I don’t yet know their full meanings.
“We are not working for the victory, but out of the victory of the cross.”
This saying of his was meant to help us understand that, in the face of seemingly undefeatable injustices, there is a power greater than ours – One that could set the world right, One that did set the world right. The burden of fixing this very very troubled world is lifted from our shoulders, and placed onto God’s. Death will die, it has already been defeated. What more could we ever do?
But of course right now, injustices continue to steal, kill, and destroy – and 1 John 3:16-18 explains that it’s not an option for us to sit back and let ‘somebody else’ address it. (If not you, then who? If not loving and serving your neighbor, then what are you doing with your life?)
My question: How on earth are you supposed to completely pour yourself into something, fight as hard as you can, devote yourself to a cause, yet rest in the fact that success does not depend on you or your efforts? How do you not, on the one hand, get completely overwhelmed with the issues… or on the other, just disengage from the issues?
Any answer I could give myself now would only come from a book or lecture. But this upcoming year, I hope to learn about these things – suffering and injustice and our place in working against them – firsthand. And I think I’m learning some things this fall that will prepare me to learn those lessons… because I can’t give anything unless I’ve first received. I don’t have anything worthwhile to say to those I encounter who are suffering unless I know: What does God say to me in my suffering?
“Emmanuel – in your suffering, I am with you.”
I was sitting on the couch with Jeena and Gloria, explaining how discouraged I felt. I had been watching someone close to me go through a very long, difficult time. As time went by, nothing seemed to help. No prayer, no encouragement, no problem-solving… it all fell short. And time went on, and they still suffered. And because they suffered, I suffered.
On that couch, they prayed for me, and for that person. (And it was beautiful.) Afterwards, Gloria said to me, “As I was sitting there, I asked God how I should pray for you. And He told me He knows that it’s really, really hard to be praying for someone for so long, and not see them healed.”
I was struck. I truthfully didn’t hear whatever else she said (sorry, Glo), as I let those words sink in.
I’d actually thought that my discouragement was a sign I didn’t trust God with the situation. That I needed to stop doubting things would be ok, and just muster up a little more hope. That my attitude was disappointing to Him, when He’d already said a million times that He’s strong and He loves us and we don’t need to be afraid.
But the idea that God approaches me, not with condemnation about how impatient or faithless I’ve been, but with an “I understand. I know how you feel. This is freaking hard,” sounds too good. I normally expect Him to wait at the finish line; instead, He says He’ll come find me, wait with me, encourage me, and walk with me through my confusion. And that’s exactly what He plans to do every. single. time.
Usually I don’t believe that He might actually look at me with compassion. That how I feel could matter to Him.
But He is compassion. He hurts when you hurt. He will not leave you to go through your sorrow alone.
God says to us in our suffering, “I am with you.”
Emmanuel.
“Please, won’t you give me something that can cure my mother?” Up till then, [Digory] had been looking at the Lion’s great feet and the huge claws on them; now in his despair, he looked up at his face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) great shining tears stood in the Lion’s eyes. They were such big, bright tears compared to Digory’s own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his mother than he was, himself.”
– from The Magician’s Nephew
