Thank you so much for the kind words. I greatly appreciate it, especially because I think that trying to bring a touch of humanity to our struggles in faith and relate that to others is part of what God made me to do.
I know all the passages about counting our sufferings as joy and how we should rejoice at any kind of pain we endure for the Lord, but I must confess that I'm not quite there. I greatly admire the people who are, but I can't hide anything from God, and He knows I'm not there yet, nor do I know if I will ever be in this life.
When I hear testimonies about miracles, I'm always glad for God's power and love -- but my heart has a hard time relating to those who have received miracles I see so many others not getting. I heard a sermon last year about someone's cancerous tumor miraculously disappearing and stunning all the doctors, which is wonderful -- but all the people I know with cancer this past year were met with either grotesque surgeries that sounded just as bad or almost worse than the illness itself -- or death. And the families who don't get a miracle are always the ones my heart wants to reach out to the most.
Hearing so much about how we are to rejoice and be glad in all that we suffer for God, as a kid and preteen, I had this image of Jesus happily skipping to the cross, singing and dancing with joy the whole way, because He would be so happy that God had asked Him to suffer and die for His purpose. But as I grew older and started to read the entire Bible for myself as a teen, the account of the crucifixion struck me much differently than the cliched, sanitized perspectives I'd been given as a child.
Jesus wasn't singing and dancing on His way to the cross. While He never failed to show signs of love, compassion, and forgiveness, Christian author Philip Yancey points out that Jesus reacted to His suffering in very much the same way we humans do -- with sorrow and anguish. Jesus wasn't telling God how joyful He was to be able to suffer and die at Gethsemane -- He was asking that it would be taken from Him, or that God would find another way.
And when God gave Him a very hard answer -- No -- He accepted it. But His suffering brought Him to the point of not singing songs of rejoicing or declaring how joyous it was, but rather, He cried out in an anguish we will never fully understand, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken Me?"
Something that also amazes me more than anything else is that when Jesus finally arrived at Lazurus's grave, He didn't leap for joy. He didn't tell the people how they should be happy because Lazarus was in heaven, free from pain and sorrow, as I was told at the funeral for my loved one.
Rather, Jesus wept. He didn't just cry for his beloved friend -- He WEPT. I've read accounts claiming that Jesus was crying more over sin and our broken world than about Lazarus's death, but regardless, this was another example of Jesus reacting to pain and suffering in very much the same way we would. Not with gladness or joy, but with a broken heart.
And the astonishing thing is, Jesus not only knew heaven better than anyone and could certainly find joy in knowing his friend would eventually wind up there, but He also knew exactly what He was going to do -- reverse the very action of death right in front of the eyes of the people. He knew that in just a few minutes, He would bring Lazarus back to them. But yet, He didn't scold the people for not rejoicing or declaring that Lazarus was in better place -- rather, He wept.
When I can't rejoice over my suffering like I am told to do, for the good or for the bad, I tell God instead that I am thankful for a Savior who understands our anguish and responded with the same very real feelings we have, and more than we can ever know.
I know all the passages about counting our sufferings as joy and how we should rejoice at any kind of pain we endure for the Lord, but I must confess that I'm not quite there. I greatly admire the people who are, but I can't hide anything from God, and He knows I'm not there yet, nor do I know if I will ever be in this life.
When I hear testimonies about miracles, I'm always glad for God's power and love -- but my heart has a hard time relating to those who have received miracles I see so many others not getting. I heard a sermon last year about someone's cancerous tumor miraculously disappearing and stunning all the doctors, which is wonderful -- but all the people I know with cancer this past year were met with either grotesque surgeries that sounded just as bad or almost worse than the illness itself -- or death. And the families who don't get a miracle are always the ones my heart wants to reach out to the most.
Hearing so much about how we are to rejoice and be glad in all that we suffer for God, as a kid and preteen, I had this image of Jesus happily skipping to the cross, singing and dancing with joy the whole way, because He would be so happy that God had asked Him to suffer and die for His purpose. But as I grew older and started to read the entire Bible for myself as a teen, the account of the crucifixion struck me much differently than the cliched, sanitized perspectives I'd been given as a child.
Jesus wasn't singing and dancing on His way to the cross. While He never failed to show signs of love, compassion, and forgiveness, Christian author Philip Yancey points out that Jesus reacted to His suffering in very much the same way we humans do -- with sorrow and anguish. Jesus wasn't telling God how joyful He was to be able to suffer and die at Gethsemane -- He was asking that it would be taken from Him, or that God would find another way.
And when God gave Him a very hard answer -- No -- He accepted it. But His suffering brought Him to the point of not singing songs of rejoicing or declaring how joyous it was, but rather, He cried out in an anguish we will never fully understand, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken Me?"
Something that also amazes me more than anything else is that when Jesus finally arrived at Lazurus's grave, He didn't leap for joy. He didn't tell the people how they should be happy because Lazarus was in heaven, free from pain and sorrow, as I was told at the funeral for my loved one.
Rather, Jesus wept. He didn't just cry for his beloved friend -- He WEPT. I've read accounts claiming that Jesus was crying more over sin and our broken world than about Lazarus's death, but regardless, this was another example of Jesus reacting to pain and suffering in very much the same way we would. Not with gladness or joy, but with a broken heart.
And the astonishing thing is, Jesus not only knew heaven better than anyone and could certainly find joy in knowing his friend would eventually wind up there, but He also knew exactly what He was going to do -- reverse the very action of death right in front of the eyes of the people. He knew that in just a few minutes, He would bring Lazarus back to them. But yet, He didn't scold the people for not rejoicing or declaring that Lazarus was in better place -- rather, He wept.
When I can't rejoice over my suffering like I am told to do, for the good or for the bad, I tell God instead that I am thankful for a Savior who understands our anguish and responded with the same very real feelings we have, and more than we can ever know.
Also, why did God allow them to kill Stephen, but save Peter? Why did God spring Peter from prison once, then later allow him to be crucified?
Did Jesus revive Lazarus for Lazarus' sake? Paul said, basically, "If it was just for my sake I would so be out of here! I'd be gone so fast I would leave scorch marks on the clouds. But for your sakes it's probably a good thing if I stick around for a while." Roughly paraphrased.
My concern is not what if God does not heal me. I would be concerned if God DID heal me from some terminal illness. My question would be, what does God want me to do? He must have a reason for keeping me around longer. What am I supposed to be doing before I can finally go home?
-
2
- Show all