"Instead
of a better life, we're offered a better hope of
intimacy with God - a relationship that carries us
through
and
not around pain and loss." (Peter Nelson,
Christianity Today, September
2005)
It Hurts
Life
would be much nicer without cuts, bruises, and
headaches. Broken limbs, burnt skin, aching teeth,
and blistered feet don't delight any of us.
There's no joy in injury. It hurts. But the
physical fails to compare with the social,
emotional, or spiritual. We experience the deepest
wounds in those areas.
When
our bed is awash with tears during the night; when
our stomachs knot tighter and tighter; when our
hearts feel ready to break with the agony of grief
or conflict - what can we do?
For
my head, I take a capsule and expect relief within
30 minutes. But for my spirit, what fast fix
exists?
The
broken marriage, the drug-dazed child, and the
down-sized workplace flay our hearts. When others
criticize or reject us, what fast-acting relief
can ease our pain? When we fail in a task, a
ministry, or a relationship, what instant balm
exists for our tenderized feelings?
In
a culture that avidly avoids pain, we gravitate
towards one-minute theology and microwaved
spirituality.
None
of us is eager to accept the assertion that "God
loves you and has a difficult plan for your life."
When Henri Nouwen wrote about the power of the
"wounded healer", surely he didn't mean that we
ought embrace being perpetually or repeatedly
wounded. Who'd sign up for that? Our
woundedness belongs to our past, not our present -
surely.
Yet
historically, suffering has been the doorway to
meaningful ministry. It's the paradox of the
gospel that life comes from death, that purpose
arises from pain, and meaning from misery. Larry
Crabb (The Pressure's Off) rebukes the
crass happiness syndrome of modern evangelicalism
by writing: "I have no strategies in mind to give
you a better marriage, better kids, a more
complete recovery from sexual abuse, or quicker
healing after your divorce.... Nor, I believe,
does God."
Crabb's
conclusions don't fit the "successful" faith I
want.
Can't
the gospel liberate me from all my
blindness, captivity, and pain? Does God not
desire my immediate healing and happiness? Is
there no simple formula by which I can discard my
past baggage, erase my past mistakes, and quickly
repair my brokenness? I can accept a cross,
provided the resurrection comes quickly.
It
hurts. Yes. But there's hope. St. John of the
Cross described it as "the dark night of the
soul." It's first stage is desolation. It's last
stage is consolation. Inbetween, God holds our
hand, purifies our heart, and prepares us for
eternity.
The
Apostle John, describing Christ in the Revelation,
most typically identifies Him as "the Lamb that
was slain." Perhaps our pain will produce a
special affinity and intimacy with Him for
eternity, as we cling to Him amidst our sorrow.
Our deepest spiritual formation occurs not as we
flee our distress, but as we face
Him.
In HOPE
-
David
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