Viewing the World through God's Word

Category: Suffering (Page 3 of 4)

Walking with God through Pain and Suffering (4)

The ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus provocatively asked,  “Is [God] willing to prevent evil but not able?  Then he is impotent.  Is he able but not willing?  Then he is malevolent.  Is he both able and willing?  Whence then is evil?” (p. 85).

This is called “the argument against God from evil”.  It was often raised to disprove God’s existence.  Now a weaker claim is made:  “suffering is not proof but evidence that makes the existence of God less probable, although not impossible” (p. 89).  In any case, the problem of evil and suffering in the world drives many to question–and in some cases, outright reject–God’s existence.

Why does God allow evil?  Attempted answers are called “theodicies”.  One theodicy is “soul-making”.  “This view says that the evils of life can be justified if we recognize that the world was primarily created to be a place where people find God and grow spiritually into all they were designed to be” (p. 89).  This “answer” has two weaknesses.  One, many people with “bad souls” get little adversity while many with “good souls” get a lot.  Two, this view doesn’t explain why little children, infants or even animals suffer.

A second attempted answer is “the free will” theodicy.  Keller defines it: “God created us not to be robots or animals of instinct but free rational agents with the ability to choose and therefore to love.  But if God was able to make us choose the good freely, then he had to make us capable of also choosing evil.  So our free will can be abused and that is the reason for evil” (p. 90,91).  This theodicy also has weaknesses.  For one, it may explain evil that people do (moral evil) but doesn’t explain disasters and disease (natural evil).  For another, why couldn’t the all-powerful, sovereign God create humans capable of love but not such horrendous, suffering-causing evil?

Another (among many others) is the “punishment” theodicy.   It holds that because humanity rebelled against God in the beginning, all suffering is punishment for sin.  The randomness of suffering, however, makes this theodicy simplistic.

Theodicies such as these may help, but all fall short of satisfactorily explaining evil.  Keller writes, “It is very hard to insist that any of them show convincingly how God would be fully justified in permitting all the evil we see in the world . . .  Surely one of the messages [of the book of Job] . . .  is that it is both futile and inappropriate to assume that any human mind could comprehend all the reasons God might have for any instance of pain and sorrow, let alone for all evil” (p.95).

Therefore, instead of trying to explain why God allows suffering, Christians  recently have mounted a defense against the idea that the existence of evil doesn’t mean God must not exist.  Keller:  “If God has good reasons for allowing suffering and evil, then there is no contradiction between his existence and that of evil.  So in order for his case not to fail, the skeptic would have to reply that God could not possibly have any such reasons.  But it is very hard to prove that” (p. 97).  And since God is omniscient, why couldn’t he have good reasons to allow even the worst suffering, reasons we can’t think of?

In a world of complex and far-reaching cause-and-effect, human knowledge is too limited to trace out all reasons and causes for suffering.  Keller illustrates with “the butterfly effect”.  Scientists have learned that large systems—like weather—can be influenced by the tiniest changes.  “The classic example is the claim that a butterfly’s fluttering in China would be magnified through a ripple effect so as to determine the path of a hurricane in the South Pacific.”

What, Keller wonders, if every event in time had similar ripple effects.  If so, “ . . . . how . . . could any human being look at the tragic, seemingly ‘senseless’ death of a young person and have any idea of what the effects in history will be?” (p. 100,101).  We are simply not positioned to judge whether a particular evil is pointless and unnecessary.

The dynamic of all this intellectual reasoning fades in the face of what Keller calls the “visceral argument from evil.”  “Visceral” refers to deep inward feelings rather than the ideas of the intellect.  In his book, Night, Eli Weisel confesses how the fires of the furnaces in the Nazi death camp destroyed his faith in God.  “Never shall I forget those flames which consumed my faith forever . . . Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dusts” (p. 102).

Of course, not everyone who endures horrendous evil rejects God.  Keller argues that those who do reject God assume “that God, if he exists, has failed to do the right thing, that he has violated a moral standard”.  But, if God doesn’t exist, from where comes such strong moral feelings?

Some might claim those moral feelings are the genetic product of evolution.  Keller replies, “While that explanation may account for mere feelings, it can’t account for moral obligation.  What right have you to tell people they are obligated to stop certain behaviors if their feelings tell them those [behaviors] are right . . . ? (p. 104).

C.S. Lewis wrote, “In a word, unless we allow ultimate reality to be moral, we cannot morally condemn [something as evil]” (p. 105),  The moral God is the source of moral feeling and obligation!

In the throes of suffering we might shake our fist at the heavens and deny God’s existence.  But Keller concludes Chapter 4 this way:  “So abandoning belief in God doesn’t help with the problem of suffering at all and, as we will see, it removes many resources for facing it” (p. 107).

Each chapter in Walking with God through Pain and Suffering (https://www.amazon.com/Walking-God-through-Pain-Suffering/dp/1594634408/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1485462207&sr=1-1&keywords=walking+with+god+through+pain+and+suffering+by+timothy
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concludes with an appropriate “Life Story.  This one is “Mary’s.”

Throughout her young adult years, Mary suffered beating, sexual abuse, severe health problems, a schizophrenic child and financial ruin. Her words are an inspiring climax to a chapter about “the argument against God from evil” and offer a wise, humble response to evil . . .

“What I discovered about heartaches and problems, especially the ones that are way beyond what we can handle, is that maybe those are the problems [God] does permit precisely because we cannot handle them or the pain and anxiety they cause.  But He can.  I think He wants us to realize that trusting Him to handle these situations is actually a gift.  His gift of peace to us in the midst of the craziness.  Problems don’t disappear and life continues, but He replaces the sting of those heartaches with hope . . . ” (p. 108,109).

O God, to us who suffer so deeply that we sometimes doubt your existence and for whom the intellectual reasons don’t remove the visceral pain, give Mary’s realization that trusting You to handle the situation is actually Your gift of peace and hope.  We are not intellectual giants, Father.  We’re just Your hurting children who need Your gracious gift.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

 

 

 

Walking with God through Pain and Suffering (3)

The secular worldview “dominates the elite institutions of Western society, [but] it is largely ignored by actual sufferers.”

Thus Timothy Keller begins Chapter Three of his excellent book (https://www.amazon.com/Walking-God-through-Pain-Suffering/dp/1594634408/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1485184626&sr=8-1 keywords=walking+with+god+through+pain+and+suffering+by
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).

The December 2012 Newtown school shootings are a sad, but glaring, example of Keller’s point.  Every family who lost a child held a religious service.

Some atheists admit religion provides a needed sense of community in the face of horrific suffering.  But Keller counters, “Community among persons is forged only when there is something more important than one’s own interests to which all share a higher allegiance” (p. 66). Religious faith provides that “higher allegiance.”

“The Great Agnostic, Robert Green Ingersoll, standing at the graveside of a friend’s child, consoled, “They who stand with breaking hearts around this little grave, need have no fear.  The larger and noble faith in all that is, and is to be, tells us that death, even at its worst, is only perfect rest . . . The dead do not suffer” (p. 67).

Keller answers: “It makes little sense to point to a state in which we are stripped of all love and everything that gives meaning in life—and tell people they need not fear it” (p. 67).  So much for Ingersoll’s consolation!

Victor Frankl, a Jewish psychiatrist who survived Nazi death camps, saw how some of his fellow prisoners were able to endure the horror, while others couldn’t.  Frankl said the difference came down to “meaning.”  Keller comments: “to ‘live for meaning’ means not that you try to get something out of life but that life expects something from us.  In other words, you have meaning only when there is something in life more than your own personal freedom and happiness, something for which you are glad to sacrifice your happiness” (p. 70,71).

The only happiness secularism offers is here and now.  If we can’t find it here, we’ll never have it.

Secularism wasn’t king at America’s start.  We lived for God’s glory. Then, claims Andrew Delbanco in The Real American Dream:  A Meditation on Hope, 19th century Americans substituted the nation for God’s kingdom.  God became more remote and less majestic.  Later in the 20th century, instant gratification became “the hallmark of the good life” (p. 75,76).  Victor Frankl’s observation is profound:  “ . . . people who . . . have nothing to die for . . . therefore have nothing to live for when life takes away their freedom” (p. 77).  When personal happiness is our only meaning, “suffering can lead very quickly to suicide,” warned Frankl (p. 77).

We Christians realize human suffering came because the creatures turned away from the Creator.  So it was through suffering that Jesus Christ came to rescue us for himself.  “And now it is how we suffer,” explains Keller, “that comprises one of the main ways we become great and Christ-like, holy and happy, and a crucial way we show the world the love and glory of our Savior” (p. 77,78).

Of course, we do all we can, like the secularists, to care for sufferers and lessen suffering.  But this line from The Lord of the Rings, by J. R. R. Tolkien rings clearly true: “Always after a defeat and respite, [evil] takes another shape and grows again” (p. 80).  Suffering in this life will never be eradicated.

Secularism provides no solution.  It has no foundation for its views.  It offers no hope for everything we cherish about life.

Our only real hope lies in the words of the psalmist:  “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).

I’ve reached 73 faster than I could ever run.  Wheelchair-bound, I recall being a child, parenting our children, pastoring for four decades, beach-walking with Lois and so much more.  With grateful joy, but also profound sadness, I reminisce.  I’ll never do it again.  Today I suffer the pains of aging and illness.

The secularist says, “Be happy with what you’ve had.  Enjoy the memories.  Soon suffering will end in the ‘perfect rest’ of death.”  But my heart refuses to be satisfied with that.  It cries for something more.  Something grounded, not in a wish or a philosophy, but in this historical, incredible truth:  Christ came and suffered for my sins, so I might be restored to my Creator.  Then, on the third day, he rose bodily from the grave.  The perfect, acceptable sacrifice for my sins and the powerful, life-giving resurrection for my death.  “Because I live, you also will live” (John 14:19).

A hole in ground to “rest”–that’s the best secularism can offer.  The resurrected Christ offers life “immeasurably more than all we can ask or imagine” (Ephesians 3:20).

 

 

Walking with God through Pain and Suffering (1)

This blog title is also the title of an excellent book by Timothy Keller, founding pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian church in New York City.

(Another pastor blessed with baldness!)

I’ve just finished reading it and want to do a “book report” (interspersed with my devotional commentaries), both to solidify what I’m learning and hopefully help you. Perhaps my writing will make you thirsty to read Keller’s . . .

https://www.amazon.com/Walking-God-through-Pain-Suffering/dp/1594634408/ref=sr_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1484677680&sr=1-6&keywords=timothy+keller

In Chapter One Keller justifies his book:  “Nothing is more important than to learn how to maintain a life of purpose in the midst of painful adversity.”  In the Epilogue he does it again:  “If we know the biblical theology of suffering and have our hearts and minds engaged by it, then when grief, pain and loss come, we will not be surprised and can respond in the various ways laid out in Scripture.”

I’d rather stick my head in the sand and presume Jesus gives his people “heaven on earth.”  But that’s only for dumb birds.  Nobody escapes suffering.  ” . . . through many tribulations we must enter the kingdom of God” (Acts 14:22).  “Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange were happening to you” (1 Peter 4:12).

I remember hearing a well-known TV evangelist say, “God will keep me healthy; I’m just going to die of old age.”  Not only presumptuous, that statement is foolish.  Old-age body parts wear out, and we suffer.  There’s no escape, unless Jesus returns first.

Nevertheless, our Western culture (sometimes including Christianity) does a poor job explaining suffering and preparing us for it.  Keller quotes Dr. Paul Brand, a pioneering orthopedic surgeon in the treatment of leprosy:  “In the United States . . . I encountered a society that seeks to avoid pain at all costs.  Patients lived at a greater comfort level than any I had previously treated (elsewhere in the world), but they seemed far less equipped to handle suffering and far more traumatized by it” (p.16).

In our secular culture, this world is all there is.  Therefore, suffering has no meaningful place.  It’s an enemy that interrupts our pleasure-seeking. This contrasts with every other culture which views suffering as punishment or test or opportunity.

But our culture says suffering is senseless.  In the view of Richard Dawkins’ (evolutionary biologist), “the reason people struggle so mightily in the face of suffering is because they will not accept it never has any purpose.”  Richard Shweder (cultural anthropologist) writes, “The sufferer is a victim, under attack from natural forces devoid of intentionality.”

Thus, the sufferer is not responsible for how he responds.  Keller writes, “The older view of suffering was that the pain is a symptom of a conflict between a person’s internal and external world.  It meant the sufferer’s behavior and thinking may need to be changed, or some significant circumstance in the environment had to be changed, or both.  The focus was not on the painful and uncomfortable feeling—it was on what the feelings told you about your life, and what should be done about it” (p. 25).

Suffering is sometimes caused by “unjust economic and social conditions, bad public policies, broken family patterns, or simply villainous evil parties” (p. 26).  Our response is anger.  Current events, right?

C.S. Lewis wrote:  “For the wise men of old the cardinal problem had been how to conform the soul to reality, and the solution had been knowledge, self-discipline, and virtue . . . For [modernity] the problem is how to subdue reality to the wishes of men, the solution is technique” (p. 26).

Christianity holds a radically different view of suffering, even while other cultures contain half-truths of it.  For example, a fatalistic culture demands stoic endurance;  Christians are encouraged “to express their grief with cries and questions” (p. 28).  “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1; Matthew 27:46).

Karma-believers hold that the sufferer is being punished for past wrongs; Christians believe “suffering is often unjust and disproportionate.”  Job is the classic example and Jesus the supreme.

Moralists believe that suffering works off one’s sinful debt; Christians believe our sin-debt has been paid.  “ . . .  for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus” (Romans 3:23,24).  Therefore, suffering is not meritorious.

Christianity teaches that suffering has a purpose, “and, if faced rightly, it can drive us like a nail deep into the love of God and into more stability and spiritual power than you can imagine” (p. 30).

The key, then, is learning how to face suffering “rightly”.  This Keller (and I) will discuss in coming posts.  For now, let’s conclude Chapter One with these compelling words from Keller . . .

“While other worldviews led us to sit in the midst of life’s joys, foreseeing the coming sorrows, Christianity empowers its people to sit in the midst of this world’s sorrows, tasting the coming joy” (p. 31).

 

 

 

 

 

 

Retirement & Infirmity: Secondary Deaths

My body is dying.  Nerves from brain to legs are already dead, so I sit in a wheelchair.  Other members are in the dying process. Cause?  Aging, which leads to dying, which is God’s curse on our sin.  Primary Lateral Sclerosis is a specific cause.  Not terminal, but incurable and progressive.

A few days ago, that truth turned on like a light in a dark room.  For our devotions now, Lois and I are reading Walter Wangerin, Jr.’s book, Mourning into Dancing.  “Wangerin is widely recognized as one of the most gifted writers writing today on the issues of faith and spirituality” (Amazon).

Wangerin postulates that we experience many Secondary Deaths before we die absolutely.  Retirement, he writes, is one of those Secondary Deaths.  I think he’d agree disease or disability are two others.

When I read aloud what I’ll quote below, I struggled to continue.  I was weeping.  There I was on the page.

I’ve written quite often of my condition.  (Really?)  Not because I’m self-absorbed (I hope), but because, in this case, so we might better understand and help someone we love caught in this Secondary Death.  And so we might be better prepared for our own.

Here’s what I read from Mourning into Dancing . . .

The third time when we are most vulnerable to this Secondary Dying, the sense of futility at the end of things, comes when we enter what society calls “retirement.”  (I’ve been in it 2 1/2 years now.  Little, if anything, about it is “golden.”  Actually, I suspect “retirement” was concocted by an alien government to make us virtually useless and generally impotent.)  Worker after worker, however he might have looked forward to the freedom, is astonished by the sorrow that seizes his soul.  Sorrow?  Why, gloom and a bitterness too, which seem to have no cause.

Grandpa sits in a chair and stairs at the wall.  He’s healthy.  He’s sharp.  He’ s able.  He’s free!  And yet he is so sad.  Worse, when we try to help him he scolds us, as though we did something wrong.  But we love him!  He’s sad and he’s mad when he should be happy.  We do not understand the man.

Well, but his hands are empty.  And so is the self.  And so is the world, therefore.  All at once the man is not doing anything he considers genuinely important.

That which used to authenticate his being, and his being here, has been torn from him.  He has been sundered from his reason to be, his worth, his purpose, his name, his repute, his glory.  Can we stress enough the separation that is death to him?  He is like “Adam,” whose name means “soil”, who was sundered from the soil, the stuff of his work and identity.

Grandpa is not suddenly peculiar.  It doesn’t have to be Alzheimer’s Disease.  Don’t dismiss him as senile and cantankerous.  First seek causes not in his  mind but in his spirit:  he has died.  He is grieving.

Wangerin doesn’t sound very Christian, does he!  Doesn’t he have a timely Bible verse to hit Grandpa upside the head with?  Like, Paul:  ” . . . it is my eager expectation and hope that I will not at all be ashamed, but that with full courage now as always Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death.  For me to live is Christ and to die is gain . . . My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better” (Philippians 1:20, 21. 23b).  Wangerin will reach the good news of “The Drama of Redemption” in final chapters.  For now, he’s explaining why Grandpa is grieving.  And maybe help us understand and offer sensitive help to ones grieving over a Secondary Death like retirement.   If we or a loved one grieves over retirement (or chronic poor health), the Holy Spirit will enable us to grieve not as those who have no hope.  ” . . . we do not want you to . . .  grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13).

What “hope”?  Paul writes to Titus:  He refers to this time “while we wait for the blessed hope– the glorious appearing of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ . . . ” (Titus 2:13).   He , ” . . . by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body” (Philippians 3:21).  Using the broken-body-parts metaphor, at his coming Jesus will fix the brokenness and put the now-working parts back together.  But this will be no repair job.  No Gorilla Glue or Duct Tape.  This will be transformation.  No, it will be glorification of dying bodies into ones that will never die, age, sneeze, stumble, or have to be laid in the ground or cremated to dust.

This is how it will be when the dead are raised to life. When the body is buried, it is mortal; when raised, it will be immortal. When buried, it is ugly and weak; when raised, it will be beautiful and strong. When buried, it is a physical body; when raised, it will be a spiritual body. There is, of course, a physical body, so there has to be a spiritual body. For the scripture says, “The first man, Adam, was created a living being”; but the last Adam is the life-giving Spirit. It is not the spiritual that comes first, but the physical, and then the spiritual. The first Adam, made of earth, came from the earth; the second Adam came from heaven. Those who belong to the earth are like the one who was made of earth; those who are of heaven are like the one who came from heaven. Just as we wear the likeness of the man made of earth, so we will wear the likeness of the Man from heaven.

What I mean, friends, is that what is made of flesh and blood cannot share in God’s Kingdom, and what is mortal cannot possess immortality. Listen to this secret truth: we shall not all die, but when the last trumpet sounds, we shall all be changed in an instant, as quickly as the blinking of an eye. For when the trumpet sounds, the dead will be raised, never to die again, and we shall all be changed. For what is mortal must be changed into what is immortal; what will die must be changed into what cannot die. So when this takes place, and the mortal has been changed into the immortal, then the scripture will come true: “Death is destroyed; victory is complete!” “Where, Death, is your victory? Where, Death, is your power to hurt?” Death gets its power to hurt from sin, and sin gets its power from the Law. But thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ! (1 Corinthians 15:42-57, GNT)

 I’m grateful for Secondary Death insight, though I don’t regard it with delight to say the least.  Grumbling escapes my mouth; discouragement darkens my heart.  But by God’s mercy in his Son, I have a hope, a future, when every Secondary Death, and even Absolute Death, will die—and I will live!  (Anybody interested in a used wheelchair?  Available soon.)

 

 

 

 

“I Hate Ants!”

O PreacherOur younger daughter posted this on Facebook today.  It’s well worth reading.  I’ll comment after . . .

Please Don’t Give Me a Christian Answer

Please Don’t Give Me a Christian Answer

June 30, 2016

“Jesus wept.” John 11:35 (NIV)

LYSA TERKEURST

I love Jesus. I love God. I love His Truth. I love people.

But I don’t love packaged Christian answers. Those that tie everything up in a nice neat bow. And make life a little too tidy.

Because there just isn’t anything tidy about some things that happen in our broken world. The senseless acts of violence we hear about continually in the news are awful and sad and so incredibly evil.

And God help me if I think I’m going to make things better by thinking up a clever Christian saying to add to all the dialogue. God certainly doesn’t need people like me — with limited perspectives, limited understanding and limited depth — trying to make sense of things that don’t make sense.

Is there a place for God’s truth in all this? Absolutely. But we must, must, must let God direct us. In His time. In His way. In His love.

And when things are awful we should just say, “This is awful.” When things don’t make sense, we can’t shy away from just saying, “This doesn’t make sense.” Because there is a difference between a wrong word at the wrong time and a right word at the right time.

When my sister died a horribly tragic death, it was because a doctor prescribed some medication no child should ever be given. And it set off a chain of events that eventually found my family standing over a pink rose-draped casket.

Weeping.

Hurting.

Needing time to wrestle with grief and anger and loss.

And it infuriated my raw soul when people tried to sweep up the shattered pieces of our life by saying things like, “Well, God just needed another angel in heaven.” It took the shards of my grief and twisted them even more deeply into my already broken heart.

I understand why they said things like this … they wanted to say something. To make it better. Their compassion compelled them to come close.

And I wanted them there. And then I didn’t.

Everything was a contradiction. I could be crying hysterically one minute and laughing the next. And then I’d feel so awful for daring to laugh that I wanted to cuss. And then sing a praise song. I wanted to shake my fist at God and then read His Scriptures for hours.

There’s just nothing tidy about all that.

But the thing I know now that I wish I knew then is that even Jesus understood what it was like to feel deeply human emotions like grief and heartache. We see this in John 11:32-35 when Jesus receives the news that his dear friend Lazarus has died, “When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother [Lazarus] would not have died.’ When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. ‘Where have you laid him?’ he asked. ‘Come and see, Lord,’ they replied. Jesus wept.”

Yes, Jesus wept and mourned with His loved ones in that devastatingly heartbreaking moment. And the fact that He can identify with my pain is so comforting to me.

You want to know the best thing someone said to me in the middle of my grief?

I was standing in the midst of all the tears falling down on black dresses and black suits on that grey funeral day. My heels were sinking into the grass. I was staring down at an ant pile. The ants were running like mad around a footprint that had squashed their home.

I was wondering if I stood in that pile and let them sting me a million times if maybe that pain would distract me from my soul pain. At least I knew how to soothe physical pain.

Suddenly, this little pigtailed girl skipped by me and exclaimed, “I hate ants.”

And that was hands-down the best thing anyone said that day.

Because she just entered in right where I was. Noticed where I was focused in that moment and just said something basic. Normal. Obvious.

Yes, there is a place for a solid Christian answer from well-intentioned friends. Absolutely. But then there’s also a place to weep with a hurting friend from the depths of your soul.

God help us to know the difference.

Dear Lord, thank You for being there in my darkest time. I know You are real and You are the only one who can bring comfort to seemingly impossible situations. Please help me speak Your truth to those around me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

– See more at: http://proverbs31.org/devotions/devo/please-dont-give-me-a-christian-answer/#sthash.rxElH0QU.dpuf

* * *
When someone’s mourning, we want to comfort.  Our heart outraces our brain, and too often we say something foolishly unbiblical like, “God needed another angel.”  We, of course, should comfort.  Of all people, we believers loved by God through Jesus should be the most prepared.  Usually, we think we should speak the most astute Bible verse to quickly start the healing process and somehow make sense of the suffering.  (If we’re pastors we feel especially pressured to speak the timely, golden word!)
Usually we mimic, as Lysa notes above, a packaged Christian answer that sounds to the hurter’s heart like, well, a packaged Christian answer, one size fits all.   More times that not, though, even if the packaged Christian answer is Scripture, it falls on a dazed mind and wounded heart.
When I’m struggling with my illness, Romans 8:28.29 comes to mind . . .
“And we know that for those who love God
all things work together for good,
for those who are called according to his purpose.
For those who he foreknew he also predestined
to be conformed to the image of his Son,
in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers.”
In those moments, what’s meant to make sense of suffering rings hollow.  The Scripture is true, but it’s not what I need at that moment.  I need someone to embrace me close and help carry my burden.  I need someone to agree that this isn’t fair, that it makes no sense, and that we’re in this together.
And, if an ant pile lurks under foot, say, “I hate ants!”  And, if no ants are available, “I don’t understand either.”  That’s when we need lovers, not theologians.

Devising a Diminishing Life

P.AllanA bit of overkill that title, huh?  Diminishing life?  I took it from Walter Wangerin’s book, Letters from the Land of Cancer.  Though my health condition is far easier to bear than his,  “diminishing” fits me too.

I’ve posted more than a half-dozen “Personal” blogs (see “Categories” bottom right),  most of them sharing my faith-struggles over Primary Lateral Sclerosis.  That’s a chronic, incurable neurological disease that weakens legs and arms and inflicts an assortment of other symptoms.  Far worse is Wangerin’s.  After finding a lump and undergoing a series of tests, he heard his doctor’s blunt report:  “This kind of cancer doesn’t go away.  It will kill you.  Sooner or later, this will be the cause of your death.”  Since that diagnosis in 2006, Wangerin has continued to write, teach, and preach, all the while on a roller coaster of “treatment”.

I’ve read two-thirds of his book.  Compelling.  Fascinating.  Challenging.  And I’ve found this we have in common:  “a diminishing life.” More about that in a moment.

I wish I had this book forty years ago.  It might have changed the life-outlook of a thirty-two year-old.  Every young pastor should read it.  It will better equip him to serve his aging and ill “sheep”.

Now:  halfway through Letters I came upon these thought-provoking statements . . .

” . . . perhaps fifteen years ago, I mentioned an odd ache to my father, who was then in his seventies.  Mine was just a passing comment.  But he responded with an old man’s wisdom and a complete lack of sympathy.  He said, ‘Get used to it.’  These pains come.  Sure enough, they stay.

It’s the staying that takes the getting-used-to.

“I mean:  until now I’ve met most diseases with the assumption that I would get better.

“Now, however a different kind of mentality is required.  I will never again be able to draw a full two-lungs worth of air.  I will ever puff at a flight of stairs.  This body will nevermore be what it has been .

“We’re not really talking about aging itself, the plain passage of the years.  We are talking about the breaking down of bodies, which begins earlier or later, depending on each person’s various experiences and constitutions.  We’re talking about another way to live, about devising new methods for confronting old Time and physical degeneration.

“In fact, it presents an irony.  When we are young we strive forward, peering toward and planning for the better things to come.  But we base the presumptions of our forward-peering-planning on the experiences of our past, such as getting sick and getting better every time
. . .

“Now I have fetched up on the shores of those ‘forward’ years.  Here there is only a strip of beach before the sea, only a limited distance into which to peer, for which to plan . . . .

“One gets sick and then does not get better again.  A fellow finds himself boxed in:  fewer future years, fewer promises to be drawn from all those many former years.

“Nevertheless, this thing is fresh and new, this devising methods for living the diminishing life.  It can (it probably has to be) as creative a passage as any writer ever wrote.  And that grants it the possibility of depth, gravitas and fulfillments and joy.

“Well, there are those who, their lives tightening around them, act as if it were prison walls closing in, intensifying their more unhappy qualities.  Whereas once they might have been able to control their natural angers, anger becomes the strongest response–and can finally be nothing but a failing device, a lion devouring all the remaining years.

“Get used to it.

“I don’t have the hang of that yet . . .

My project, then.  To get good and old.  Spiritually to approach my losses with the same craft and talent and devotion which I bring to the writing of a novel, a poem, a sermon.”

The first eight paragraphs above are hard to swallow.  I’ll never be able to run with my grandchildren again.  My body is breaking down.  Only a strip of beach before the sea.  Apart from a miracle, no getting better for this sickness.

But then these enlivening sentences:  “Nevertheless, this thing is fresh and new, this devising methods for living the diminishing life.  It can (it probably has to be) as creative a passage as any writer ever wrote.  And that grants it the possibility of depth, gravitas (seriousness) and fulfillments and joy.”

My last chapter?  Only God knows.  But it is “fresh and new, this devising methods for living the diminishing life.”  Besides, Jesus is still calling, “Follow me.”  I just have to be patient with myself as I limp behind.  I can’t “preach the Word” behind the pulpit anymore.  Now it’s preaching by blogging (and reaching more people!)  Everything takes more time.  But, ” . . . no one has seen a God besides you, who acts for those who wait for him” (Isaiah 64:4).  The “all things” are fewer, but Christ still strengthens me (Philippians 4:13).  And, to top it all . . .

“Though [my] outer nature is wasting away,
[my] inner self is being renewed day by day.
For this light and momentary affliction is preparing for [me]
an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison,
as [I] look not to the things that are seen
but to the things that are unseen.
For the things that are seen are transient,
but the things that are unseen are eternal.”
(2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

Product Details

(Walter Wangerin, Jr., Letters from the Land of Cancer, p. 136-139).  This book is available from Amazon for $10 in either hardcover or Kindle.  http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_24?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=letters+from+the+land+of+cancer&sprefix=Letters+from+the+Land+of%2Caps%2C559

 

 

Guilty & Trapped

P.AllanI’m reading Walter Wangerin’s book, Letters from the Land of Cancer, published 2010.  He’s still battling lung cancer (from 2005), and this book is a remarkable read.  Here’s a passage that pertains to my point in this post . . .

“We don’t talk of cancer’s ‘cure.’  Surely we don’t have that right, given what continues in my body.  But even if all signs of it vanish, this easier condition remains a ‘remission’ of the disease.  It’s a wise distinction.  My sister-in-law—she of the double-mastectomy, five years in remission—still bewares the specter hovering above her.  This isn’t morbidity.  It is evidence of the weight of her surgical and recuperative experience past.  It is her proper recognition of the statistical facts, that having had cancer once makes the possibility of her having cancer again very high” (p. 124).

How does one live with that “specter hovering above”?  How does one live with 11 years of cancer tests and treatments, and the “side effects”?

I have my own disease—primary lateral sclerosis.  It’s progressive, but not fatal.  It weakens me and pains me, but won’t kill me.  So how can I whine when one of my favorite authors and his sister-in-law suffer so?  Even when I realize their hardship doesn’t relieve mine an iota, I still feel guilty.  (And you, kind reader, must be weary of my whining or at least my talking about my troubles.  By the way, there are more than 100 of you readers a day, with a dozen countries represented and about half of the U.S. states.  Thank you from a guilty-for-complaining blogger! You should be glad my load is relatively light!)

Besides feeling guilty for getting down when others endure so much worse, I’m also feeling trapped.  No, not my old, sick body.  Well, yes, by that.  But what I feel trapped by is Jesus.  Here’s the story . . .

Jesus has told a gathered crowd, “‘Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood, abides in me and I in him’ . . . When many of his disciples (those in the crowd, not the 12) heard it, they said, ‘This is a hard saying; who can listen to it?’ . . . ”  After this many of his disciples turned back and no longer walked with him.  So Jesus said to the Twelve, ‘Do you want to go away as well?'” (John 6:56,60,66,67).

The trap is set.  Hear it in Peter’s answer:  “Lord, to whom shall we go?  You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed and come to know that you are the Holy One of God” (John 6:68,69).  Jesus’ hard words sound like cannibalism.  The Twelve doesn’t understand them any better than the others do.  But they’re trapped between a rock and a hard place—and know it.  If Pew Research polled the Twelve, “Do you like Jesus’ hard words?”, I expect 100% would say no.  They don’t want to munch on Jesus’ ankle bone.  But it’s either that or lose eternal life, because the one with hard words speaks eternal words.  (I know Jesus wasn’t promoting a cult of cannibalism!)

I fancy Peter does a quick calculation.  “Let’s see, no cannibalism (maybe MacDonald’s) with death (not a critique of MacDonald’s) or a cup of blood and eternal life?  We’ll take life and (gulp) a small blood, please.”  What else could he do?  A brief, bloody meal was a small price for eternal life.

Trapped.  That’s how I feel.

Look, you can say I’ve got PLS because we all live under death’s curse.  I just happened to pull the PLS card.  Or, you can say, Satan sent this.  He’s the evil one who wants to feast on your faith (just a light meal much of the time).  But, God is sovereign, even over Satan.  (Job shows, Satan’s  on the Lord’s short leash).  Being sovereign, God is ultimately responsible..  “I form the light and create darkness.  I make well-being and create calamity.  I am the LORD, who does all these things” (Isaiah 45:7). 

Therefore, still praying for healing, I find myself surrendered:  “Lord, this appears to be the hard path you’ve chosen for me.  Even so, where could I go?  You have the words of eternal life.”

It’s a trap I ignorantly walked into.  (I can’t say he didn’t warn me about tribulations on the way to the kingdom–Acts 14:22.)  It would not be my first choice.  But now that I’m here, I know the deal.  There is suffering—and ultimately death.  Yet even in the suffering there are blessings, the foretastes of eternal life.  But when the chosen path here ends, comes the great gift Jesus trapped me for—the fullness of eternal life, which is seeing him face-to-face forever.

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God-Sleep

O PreacherFeel like God’s asleep?  Psalm 44 records a time when Israel actually prayed this . . .

“Awake!  Why are you sleeping, O Lord?” (44:33a).

Sacrilegious?  Offensive?  Does the Lord reject such from-the-heart, frustrated prayers?  Apparently not, since he included this in his Word.

We can’t be sure what national calamity evoked this prayer—perhaps one of the captivities the nation suffered at the hand of foreign enemies.  Whatever it was, the nation didn’t understand the disaster.  She had been faithful to the Lord.  This wasn’t punishment for sin or even discipline for correction.  Whatever the case, here’s the prayer . . .

We remember the Lord’s past power for his people.

We have heard with our ears, O God; our fathers have told us what you did in their days, in days long ago.  With your hand you drove out the nations and planted our fathers; you crushed the peoples and made our fathers flourish.  It was not by their sword that they won the land, nor did their arm bring them victory; it was your right hand, your arm, and the light of your face, for you loved them.  You are my King and my God, who decrees victories for Jacob.  Through you we push back our enemies; through your name we trample our foes.  I do not trust in my bow, my sword does not bring me victory;  but you give us victory over our enemies, you put our adversaries to shame.  In God we make our boast all day long, and we will praise your name forever. Selah (44:1-8).

When I read Scripture, I’m confronted with deliverance from Egypt, opening of the Red Sea, manna in the wilderness, little David sling-shotting Goliath to death and Jesus rising from the dead.  Those are the works of our God!  We celebrate them in song and praise him in worship.

But now we’re stricken and shamed.

But now you have rejected and humbled us; you no longer go out with our armies.  You made us retreat before the enemy, and our adversaries have plundered us.  You gave us up to be devoured like sheep and have scattered us among the nations.  You sold your people for a pittance, gaining nothing from their sale.  You have made us a reproach to our neighbors, the scorn and derision of those around us.  You have made us a byword among the nations; the peoples shake their heads at us.  My disgrace is before me all day long, and my face is covered with shame  at the taunts of those who reproach and revile me, because of the enemy, who is bent on revenge (44:9-16).

Who can read the Old Testament and not be taken aback at the anguish of God’s people?  In the days of the judges ” . . . the hand of Midian overpowered Israel, and because of Midian the people of Israel made for themselves the dens that are in the mountains . . . ” (Judges 6:2).  And in the New Testament we’re transfixed by the cruel, unjust crucifixion of Jesus at the hands of his self-righteous enemies.  In fact, the crucifixion leaps from the all too familiar words of the last half of the text above.

From the Scriptures I remember the Lord’s powerful past works.  Then I think of my pain and the suffering of so many of God’s people all over the world.  And I find myself with the psalmist asking . . .

Why, O Lord, do you sleep?

All this happened to us, though we had not forgotten you or been false to your covenant.  Our hearts had not turned back; our feet had not strayed from your path.  But you crushed us and made us a haunt for jackals and covered us over with deep darkness.  If we had forgotten the name of our God or spread out our hands to a foreign god,  would not God have discovered it, since he knows the secrets of the heart?  Yet for your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered. Awake, O Lord! Why do you sleep? Rouse yourself! Do not reject us forever.  Why do you hide your face and forget our misery and oppression?  We are brought down to the dust; our bodies cling to the ground.  Rise up and help us; redeem us because of your unfailing love (44:17-26).

The people aren’t claiming perfection; they’re protesting that they’ve been true to the Lord’s covenant.  They’ve walked in the direction of obedience and offered the prescribed sacrifices for their disobedience.  So, why?  “Why do you sleep?  Why do you hide your face and forget our misery and oppression?  Wake up, O Lord!”

We know he doesn’t sleep.  “Indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep” (Psalm 121:4).  But, oh, those terrible times when it seems as if he is!  And, with the old Israel, we ask the “why?”

For the Lord’s sake.

There in the bold-face font in the text above is the not-so-satisfying answer:  it’s for the Lord’s sake.  The apostle Paul quoted these words in Romans 8:36.  I see the sense of it all there.  Paul is an apostle.  He suffers to advance the gospel for the Lord’s sake.

But I’m no apostle, just an ordinary guy.  In what way can my being stricken be for the Lord’s sake?  I don’t know.  And even though Israel prayed these words in Psalm 44, I doubt they fully understood either.  At best, in “for your sake”, they expressed their faith in their Lord without understanding.

And so the psalm ends with deliverance.  The people end by begging to be redeemed “because of your unfailing love.”  This is precisely what Paul professes . . .

As it is written: “For your sake we face death all day long;
we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.”
No, in all these things we are more than conquerors
through him who loved us. 
For I am convinced that neither death nor life,
neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future,
nor any powers,  neither height nor depth,
nor anything else in all creation,
will be able to separate us
from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
(Romans 8:36-39)

We may face death all day long.  We may be thought of as nothing but animals.  We may not understand how our hardships can be for the Lord’s sake.  But his Word claims they are.  And we are called to boldly trust our Lord from whose love nothing can ever separate us.

Jesus and Disciples at Sea in a Storm

Remember?  In his time he woke up and stilled the storm!

Sometimes Almost Atheist

P.AllanSince I’ve been diagnosed with Primary Lateral Sclerosis, the devil has been craving my faith (1 Peter 5:8,9).  Days have dawned when I’ve doubted God.  Doubted his goodness.  Doubted his love.  Doubted even his existence.  (Thankfully, that’s rare.)

I’m confessing this hoping that it helps someone who shares my struggles.

Where Is God When It Hurts? Philip Yancey asked in his book by that title.  Indeed.  Suppose I could see and hear the totality of earth’s suffering.  Africa’s starving children.  Young girl sex slaves.  Soldiers shipped home in caskets to weeping parents.  Middle East and now Europe terrorist victims, as well, of course, here at home.  Children born without arms or legs.  What would I think?  How would I feel?  Next to most, my disability is an annoying squeak.  Yet, real.  So I admit:  every so often a day dawns when I’m almost an atheist.

I’ve diagnosed the process.  It starts with discouragement:  another day to suffer pain and sickness and limitations.  Then comes the “why?”.  (Although I know God’s answers are in his Word, I don’t like them.)  I get tired of pushing myself.  Romans 8:28 seems empty because I can see no good from any of this.  Why doesn’t he at least partly answer all the prayers prayed for my healing?  Then I wonder if my view of God as loving, good, powerful, merciful and kind is correct.  Which ultimately leads to the haunting question:  Is God there at all?

Mercifully, something in me (of course, it’s the comforting Holy Spirit), pulls me back from the chasm before I fully fall.  He teaches me (yet again) that this suffering is a faith-test.  Perhaps it’s devil-designed.  But our Lord holds the evil one short-leashed; he can wreak only so much havoc, prowl only so close, feast on my faith only so long.  It’s then the Spirit awakens a closed-down corner of my mind, and I remember:  this is our Lord’s faith-test intended to tone up my faith muscle more.   His discipline is painful.  Surely it will soon bear the fruit of holiness.  (Though, in the thick of the fight, it’s not holiness I long for; it’s deliverance.)

Today, I’m chastened.  ” . . . without faith it is impossible to please [God] * (Hebrews 11:6a).   At first, I find that odd.  I’m suffering and my concern is to please God?   He’s my Father!  Certainly when I’m in pain he should please me by soothing my hurt!  But if the catechism is correct (“Man’s chief end is to glorify God . . . “),  glorifying him should be my chief end even in suffering.  I should fear turning his smile into a frown.  Which reminds me of verse four of William Cowper’s “God Moves In a Mysterious Way” . . .

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

Then I read the reason for faith’s necessity in the rest of Hebrews 11:6 . . .

And without faith it is impossible to please God,
because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists
and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.

Believe that he “exists”!  Literally the original Greek reads:  “anyone who comes to him must believe that he is”.  He simply is.  And he is all that he is, supremely revealed in Christ.  But that’s my battle today, isn’t it, believing that he is.  Two realities persuade me.

One, the universe.

If naturalism is correct, this universe is all there is.  Nothing (and no one) exists outside it.  Therefore, a world that screams “design” everywhere has no Designer.  And I’m left to drown in the murky soup of evolution.  I quickly find it impossible.  The design of the macrocosm and microcosm world must have a Designer.  I remember walking the beach, coming across a sandcastle.  Never once did I think, “Isn’t it amazing what sand and water and wind can create?”  Always I intuitively knew somebody made the sandcastle.  Simple, but convincing for me.

But what of the cruel weight of all the world’s wrong?  Should that disprove that God is?  And here I’m indebted to C.S. Lewis . . .

My argument against God
was that the universe seemed so cruel and unjust.
But how had I got this idea of just and unjust?
A man does not call a line crooked
unless he has some idea of a straight line.
What was I comparing this universe with when I
called it unjust?
(Mere Christianity)

The only answer:  the straight-line justice of God.

Two, Jesus’ resurrection.

It confirmed everything Jesus said and did.  If no resurrection?  Jesus is a lunatic or liar.  That’s why Paul wrote . . .

If there is no resurrection of the dead,
then not even Christ has been raised.
(1 Corinthians 15:13)

In one of his books and often in other writings, Chuck Colson noted how hard it had been for a few Watergate break-in leaders to keep their secret.  In fact, they couldn’t.  And here were 12 apostles, all of whom presumably could have been spared martyrdom had they recanted.  But they refused.  They couldn’t change their story, even under penalty of death.  They knew what they had seen.  And they had seen the crucified Christ now risen.

How could I possibly turn away from so powerful a witness?  What those men wrote about the Son of God the Father must be true.  My “light and momentary troubles” (2 Corinthians 4:17) cannot possibly dismiss their weighty and continuing witness.

God not only is ” . . .he rewards those who earnestly seek him.”    Instead of angrily running from him (by denying his very existence), I  must receive a merciful  promise (a reward of his choosing).  By it, he gently pulls me toward himself.

But I do find “earnestly seeking” God who has sent (or at least allowed) suffering at first disagreeable.  I’m like a puppy called back to the guy who kicked him.  This, of course, is part of the faith fight.  Do I trust his promise?  And am I able to earnestly seek him and not healing?  That’s a thorny question.  But his promise, empowered by the Spirit, pulls me.

What’s my reward, I wonder.  At the very least (how can I possibly say that), the reward is more of himself.  Both in this age and in the eternal age to come.  There’s more though, more blessings than I can count, for he will be indebted to no one.  But it’s him I must earnestly seek.  In prayer.  In his Word.  In worshipful music.  In the fellowship of his people.  Him.  The kingdom of this King is worth joyfully selling everything to gain (Matthew 13:44).  He is worth losing even my health to have.

Perhaps my confession is shocking.  (Just remember, God’s grace has always held me.  He’s always brought me back to where I end this blog.)  If you understand—if you can even say, “Amen.  I’ve been there”—

then I hope you’ll join me in listening (even singing) the song above. 

I make the invitation praying that, through it,
we might enjoy a taste of his reward in our faith-fight .
Until the Day dawns when faith-fighting will be no more.

The State Can’t Stop the Church

P.Allan“The days of gospel persecution in the United States no longer just hang on the distant horizon; they are already here, at least for some. It’s beginning with the bakers, florists, and photographers. Before long, the consensus may be that faithful biblical exposition is ‘hate speech’ (John Piper, Desiring God Ministries, Think It Not Strange).  Fear mongering?   Hardly.  The signs are here.  And for some, the substance has started.

But Acts 12 gives us Jesus-followers confidence and informs believers and unbelievers alike that the State can never stop the church.

King Herod’s Persecution (12:1-5)

Herod Agrippa (10 B.C. – 44 A.D.) ruled Palestine for Rome.  He was said to be “a pious observer of Jewish practices and a ruthless suppressor of minorities when they became disruptive”  (William J. Larkin, Jr., A Commentary on the Book of Acts).  For reasons we’re not told he began to persecute the church.  James,

John’s brother, he had killed.  Peter he had arrested, perhaps to meet the same fate.

It was about this time that King Herod arrested some who belonged to the church, intending to persecute them. He had James, the brother of John, put to death with the sword.  When he saw that this pleased the Jews, he proceeded to seize Peter also. This happened during the Feast of Unleavened Bread.  After arresting him, he put him in prison, handing him over to be guarded by four squads of four soldiers each. Herod intended to bring him out for public trial after the Passover.  So Peter was kept in prison, but the church was earnestly praying to God for him.

How could the Christians withstand the king who represented the Roman Empire?  Their only weapon was prayer.  Author Luke tells us “the church was earnestly praying to God for him”.  The Greek word, ektenos, implies they were praying fervently and continually.  James’ death was a blow to the believers; they didn’t want Peter to be martyred too.

At this moment, as I wrote in “Think It Not Strange” (https://theoldpreacher.com/think-it-not-strange/), we have brothers and sisters in Christ somewhere in the world suffering persecution.  Lois and I include them in our daily prayer time together.  Although we don’t know their names or even exactly where they are, the Lord does.  I believe not only does the Lord use our prayers for them; praying like this prepares us for the time persecution hits closer to home.

Peter’s Angelic Rescue (12:6-19)

For the sake of space I’ll tell this part of the story . . . Between two soldiers, bound with two chains, on the eve of his trial, Peter was sleeping in prison.  Was it the Lord giving his beloved rest on such a night?  Suddenly a radiant angel appeared.  He poked Peter awake.  “Hurry, get up!”  As Peter did, his chains fell off.  “Get dressed! Follow me!”  Peter thought he was dreaming.  They walked past Guard Station #1, then #2.  As they approached the outside gate, it opened by itself.  One block away the angel disappeared.  Suddenly it dawned on him that this was real. 

He headed for John’s (also called Mark) mother Mary’s house where he knew a prayer meeting was being held for him.  A knock on the outer door brought a servant girl, Rhoda.  Hoping to get inside without being seen, he called out.  Rhoda recognized his voice and, instead of opening the door, was so happy she ran back inside and announced, “It’s Peter!”  They thought she was crazy.  So, with Peter standing nervously outside still knocking, the prayer meeting turned into a dispute.  “It’s Peter!”  “You”re crazy!”  “No, really; I know his voice.”  You have too much wine with dinner?”  “I’m telling you, it’s Peter!”  “You’re dreaming!”  Finally, some wise soul suggested they open the door.  Presto!  There stood Peter.  After explaining his rescue, he set off for the church safe house.

In the morning, as you can imagine, a bit of a brouhaha broke out at the city jail.  King Herod was, well let’s just say, not pleased.  Furious, he ordered a search, but no Peter anywhere.  Then he interrogated the guards who had nothing to say.  Herod had no one left to kill, so the guards suffered his wrath.

Why did the Lord rescue Peter and allow James be put to the sword?  In Acts 26:16,17 Paul explained his conversion.  The Lord appeared to him and told him I am “delivering you from your people and from the Gentiles—to whom I am sending you . . . ”  Implication:  the Lord’s hand protects his servants so they can fulfill their calling.  Presumably, when they finally do, the Lord calls them home.  James had done his job.  Peter had more work to do.

From “ground level”, though, the State seems to have won.  Just ten years after Jesus’ resurrection, one of the twelve apostles has been beheaded.  Despite Peter’s escape, Herod seems obsessed with mutilating the church one member at a time.  However . . .

King Herod’s Death (12:20-23)

One day conducting ordinary kingly business . . .

Herod, wearing his royal robes, sat on his throne and delivered a public address to the people.  They shouted, “This is the voice of a god, not of a man.”  Immediately, because Herod did not give praise to God, an angel of the Lord struck him down, and he was eaten by worms and died.

Church members may be persecuted and suffer real loss.  We may even be martyred.  (Only the Lord knows what awaits us in days of growing gospel persecution.)  But death is the corridor to Jesus.  And eventually, the persecutors become worm food.

The Multiplied Spread of God’s Word (12:24,25).

But the word of God continued to increase and spread.  When Barnabas and Saul had finished their mission, they returned from Jerusalem, taking with them John, also called Mark.  When Barnabas and Saul had finished their mission, they returned from Jerusalem, taking with them John, also called Mark.

Focus on the first sentence.  James has gone to Jesus.  The king got eaten by worms and died a drawn out, painful, humiliating death.  “But”—I love that word in these battles!  “But the word of God continued to increase and spread.”  

Be encouraged.  Be informed.  Regardless of what persecution may come, the State can’t stop the Church of Jesus Christ!

Celebrate that with the video above.  The music style may not be your kind, but the song is ours to sing because of our Lord!

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