Job 7:1-21


            Few people have ever suffered such agonizing loss as the Old Testament character of Job.  He literally lost everything but his life.  All his kids were killed, and he was so racked with physical pain and ill health that even his closest friends barely recognized him.  Yet the most severe suffering of all came from the grinding silence of God about the whole affair.  Job felt the spiritual pain of a seemingly distant God:  “Why have you made me your mark?  Why have I become a burden to you?”
             Indeed, when one is in the throes of grief, and God does not respond, the suffering seems pathetically senseless.  As I write this, another spate of shootings have this week rocked American towns in the West and Mid-West.  Where is God in all this?  As families grieve and communities reel in shock, how can the loss of life and safety square with a God who is Sovereign over all creation?
             It’s the silence that often hurts so badly.  Groans, laments, and anguish seem to fly up and away with no easy answers and no immediate relief.  Yet, God hears.  God sees.  And God knows.  We have a big picture perspective of the book of Job.  We know the end of the story.  We even know why Job suffered, even when he himself never knew.  But even with such an understanding, there is still a large mystery to the ways and the silence of God.
             It is a great temptation for many Christians to give neatly wrapped answers to life’s most difficult realities.  But the book of Job does not allow for it.  What we have is a man who never understood all that happened in his life, yet held onto his integrity and his faith in the God he never fully understood.  After all, if we understood all there is to understand about God, he would not be God at all.
             Invisible God, you are not only unseen physically, but many times spiritually and emotionally unseen, as well.  Open the eyes of my heart so that I might catch but a glimpse of your working.  Even though I am but a child and know so little, yet I trust in your steadfast love even in the most difficult experiences of life.  Amen.

John 15:18-25

            Jesus suffered as a man on this earth.  He was persecuted.  He was hated.  He was killed.  Although we readily recognize these facts as believers, somehow we still seem surprised when we follow Jesus that there are people who downright dislike us.  Jesus clearly said, “If they persecuted me, they will also persecute you.”  Emotional, psychological, verbal, and even physical abuse can and does occur against God’s people who seek to walk in the ways of Jesus.  There was a time in the first few centuries of the church that becoming a martyr for one’s faith was welcomed as living into the imitation of Jesus Christ.  Even many modern day martyrs for Jesus around the globe have counted it a privilege to suffer as Jesus did.
 
            This all sounds quite strange to Westerners who tend toward the notion that if we do everything with excellence and effectiveness that there will be no reason to be persecuted or to suffer.  But the reality is that Jesus promised that in following him, there will be those who seethe with hatred toward us.  We are not above our Master.  If he suffered, we will, as well.
 
            Thomas a Kempis, writing over five-hundred years ago to clergy students, captured the essence of Jesus when he said:  “Sometimes it is to our advantage to endure misfortunes and adversities, for they make us enter into our inner selves and acknowledge that we are in a place of exile and that we ought not to rely on anything in this world.  And sometimes it is good for us to suffer contradictions and know that there are those who think ill and badly of us, even though we do our best and act with every good intention.  Such occasions are aids in keeping us humble and shield us from pride.  When people ridicule and belittle us, we should turn to God, who sees our innermost thoughts, and seek his judgment.”
            Almighty God, thank you for sending your Son, the Lord Jesus, on my behalf.  Just as he suffered for me, I willingly suffer for him, since his infinite grace has delivered me from sin, death, and hell.  I only ask to be found faithful at the end of the age when he returns to judge the living and the dead.  Amen.

2 Samuel 10:1-5

            King David was at the pinnacle of his rule.  All Israel and Judah were under his gracious authority.  David acted as a godly sovereign when he sought to use his power to show kindness and grace to those in his kingdom, even those who were related to his former enemy, Saul.  But when David kept up his gracious ways and sent a delegation to the Ammonites in order to bring compassion to a grieving nation, they not only spurned the kindness but attributed evil intent to it.
 
            One of the hard lessons of life is that showing God’s grace and mercy to others does not necessarily mean that they will receive it and give love in return.  In fact, there are some who refuse grace and give back only scorn and despise.  Yet, even the Lord Jesus experienced this like no other before or after him.  Christ endured all the foulness and degradation of a cruel cross because there were people who refused to see that he was extending to them God’s grace.
 
            In those times when we, at best, scratch our heads, and, at worst, weep uncontrollably over having our genuine love paid back with harsh scorn, it is a good reminder that we are imitating the life of our precious Lord Jesus who knows exactly what shame is and what a profound lack of mercy can do.  It is in such seasons or events in life that we understand that perfect peace will not be found in this life, and we more fully attach ourselves to Jesus and find genuine grace and the solidarity of faith and love.
            Loving God, I give you thanks for sending your Son, the Lord Jesus.  He is the pioneer of my faith.  Just as he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at your right hand, so help me to live into the grace you offer through Christ’s redemptive events so that I might remain strong through all the unmerciful acts of this world.  Amen.

Holy Week

 
 
            In the middle of the most important and significant week in the Church Calendar, my initial thought was to post some glowing account of an uplifting story; maybe something witty and inspiring; certainly something prescient and encouragingly insightful.  But it only took me a short time of thought to realize that the real message of Holy Week is sad, messy, and tragic.  In other words, this week is filled with reminders and remembrances of great suffering, pain, and agony.
 
            Ah, suffering.  It is a topic we Westerners like to avoid like the plague.  After all, it hurts!  Don’t remind us of the stubbornness and ignorance of others which causes discomfort (see, we like to use words that don’t seem so, well, painful).  Suffering is one of those things that we think we can circumvent.  It goes something like this:  if I do everything well, without screwing up, and don’t make anyone upset or angry, and do an excellent job at all I do, then I won’t suffer.  The problem, however, is that this kind of thinking not only doesn’t work; it isn’t even biblical.
 
            The bald fact of Holy Week is that Jesus Christ lived a completely holy life; he did everything perfectly well and right; he handled each situation and every person exactly the way it should be done; and, it got him violently tortured and killed.  It is the great irony of Christianity that through suffering and death there is life and victory.
 
            It wasn’t just Jesus.  God’s people from Old Testament times through the New Testament and into the present day have always experienced suffering as a central part of their piety and devotion.  Much as we may like, we cannot wriggle out of the very straightforward talk of the relationship between believers and suffering.  “Now if we are God’s children, then we are heirs – heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may share in his glory” (Romans 8:17).  The glorious life of bliss cannot and will not come apart from first suffering; there must be suffering before glory.  Then, there is that pesky verse tucked away in the book of Philippians that many would like to forget:  “For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe on him, but also to suffer for him” (Philippians 1:29).  So much for thinking that forgiveness of sins means a pass on trials and tribulations.  If that weren’t enough, we get a Dragnet-just-the-facts-ma’am kind of statement from Paul to Timothy: “Everyone who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted” (2 Timothy 3:12).
 
            Maybe our culture is just so stinking hedonistic that we have trouble to no end trying to make sense of why these kinds of verses are in the Bible, let alone embrace them as the norm for Christians.  The medieval mystics of the Church understood well the connection between suffering and faith.  For them, just the opposite was true: they could not imagine a Christian life without hardship, difficulty, and persecution.  Thomas a Kempis, a sort of pastor to pastors, wrote in the 15th century these words:
 
“Sometimes it is to our advantage to endure misfortunes and adversities, for they make us enter into our inner selves and acknowledge that we are in a place of exile and that we ought not to rely on anything in this world.  And sometimes it is good for us to suffer contradictions and know that there are those who think ill and badly of us, even though we do our best and act with every good intention….  When men ridicule and belittle us, we should turn to God, who sees our innermost thoughts, and seek His judgment….  It is when a man of good will is distressed, or tempted, or afflicted with evil that he best understands the overwhelming need he has for God, without whom he can do nothing….  It is in such times of trial that he realizes that perfect security and full peace are not to be found in this world.”
 
            Spending time and energy praying, crying out to God, searching the Scriptures, and forsaking the perquisites of this world are much more worthy endeavors than running from every conflict and hardship that looks like it is coming our way in order to avoid the suffering that might result.
 

 

            Holy Week’s message is certainly one of deliverance.  But that salvation has a price, and Jesus went to the greatest lengths possible to pay it.  We, as his people, do not get a pass on suffering; it is part and parcel of knowing Jesus Christ and him crucified.  Let us not run away from the cross, but run headlong to it, humbling ourselves before a God who is acquainted with grief and sorrow.