Where is God when You Know Everything is Going to Change?

 July 17 was the closest I've ever (knowingly) been to death.

As someone raised in the church, I've thought a lot about the mortality of my body. I never shied away from the idea of death, and in a sense-- sometimes healthy, sometimes not-- I even found the idea a comfort. The removal of pain and suffering and uncertainty and hormones and sickness and worrying about food and social anxiety. Knowing my soul will one day be free of the weight of surviving feels like a relief. 

And if this was it, I was ready.

My life didn't flash before my eyes. I didn't think about my regrets or my choices or my dreams I wouldn't get to fulfil. I just thought about my body.

At this moment of urgent need, I felt thankful. 

Thankful that my uterus tried and my heart beat and my lungs breathed and my kidneys and liver and stomach and brain all knew what to do from the beginning. Now, sitting in the hospital, bleeding internally, I knew my body again kept me alive.

That night, I could have dismissed my pain. I'd already wasted money at the hospital a couple days before where my pain was written off because it was quiet. Because it was calm. Because I didn't advocate firmly enough.

Because I let them ignore the results staring out at them from the screen.

There's a weight to things when you know they are true. That night, I knew if I went to sleep off the pain and silence the fear, I wouldn't wake up the next morning. And for that knowing, I was proud of my body. 

When you know everything is going to change, life looks different. Thinking feels different. Better or worse, it doesn't matter, but there's an awareness that it will never be this moment again. You'll never be this version of you again. 

Grief tugs at our anchor to reality, to our foundation. 

We are alive every day. As obvious as that sounds, how often do we wake up, complete our routine, and go back to sleep without letting ourselves feel or think, because it's too scary or overwhelming? We numb ourselves with normalcy and to-do lists and "this really cool new thing I'm trying."

The waves rise, and we feel that anchor tug against us. We can no longer drift idly on the tides, careful only not to disturb the surface. Whether the thing we lose is given up or taken, if it's sudden or slow, when we grieve, that pretense is disturbed. Now we're fighting every second against the waves just to be. 

A lot of people stay here the rest of their lives. Fighting. Always fighting. Fighting to make it calm, fighting to put it back to normal, fighting to ignore it by focusing on other things. Fighting against the real problem.

I've found myself here the last few months. Fighting to go back to normal, to focus on other things.

But the grief isn't mine alone. 

It's my husband's. It's everyone's who has lost a child, who has lost a loved one, who has lost a dream or a job or a friendship or an opportunity or a freedom or an ability or a love that never was. 

We're all anchored. 

The question is, to what?

Anchored to reality, sure. But what truth holds you fast? What keeps you from drifting off or capsizing or being broken up by the waves?

What truth steadies you in the uncertainty and the fear and the pain and the loneliness and the darkness and the anxiety? Is there a truth tethering you to hope and peace and confidence?

I will tell you mine.

In that room, while I sat alone in the hospital bed, knowing my ruptured fallopian tube was still pumping blood into my stomach while the OR techs "took their time," knowing my husband was waiting without update in the other room, knowing what this surgery meant, knowing that tomorrow isn't promised, that 20 minutes from now isn't promised... the truth that anchored me is the same that has carried me through every storm, that transcends this world, anchored in He Who created it. 

The stories about God walking Israel through the Red Sea, about Jesus calming the storm, about the Holy Spirit appearing as a flame in new believers... maybe they feel far away from you. Maybe it all sounds metaphorical. Maybe some of it is.

But I can tell you that His comfort, His peace, His wisdom, His love, they are ever-present. 

I didn't feel scared that day. Not of losing my grasp on this life. Because I know this isn't the best there is. This world and everything you can do here can be amazing. God didn't create a world of nothing, but of life and life abundant. 

Still, it isn't the best there is.

I wanted to stay, and I was ready to go. I knew there was so much more ahead. So much more above. So much more to this moment than random chance. 

And so my soul was at peace.

Where is God in Grief?

Though I write this from the perspective of losing a loved one, I know there are many grieving now. A chronic condition. An unexpected firing. A loss of normalcy. A system, touted to protect the people, set against them. A society that responds to their cry of, "I do matter to you, don't I?" with a patronizing, "Doesn't everyone?"

Grief.

A topic I've shared ad nauseum. But you write what you know, and grief is a path I've walked and felt and been drastically altered by. Sometimes I feel like the person I was before, during, and throughout the many years since, is so incredibly different that if they all gathered in one room, they'd feel shy and uncomfortable and they'd grasp at small talk straws with little success at finding common ground.

Grief changes you. It hurts, and yet in some ways, it fills you. It guides you. It gives meaning to everything-- a song you sang together, a joke they made about a street sign, a food they loved. Suddenly everything leads back to them. Nothing is just itself anymore.

It's all accompanied by that gnawing feeling. The questions. The numbness. The echoing pain in the pit of your stomach.

It's hard to define. There are so many emotions tied together and plated as "grief".

Grief is fear. As a female raised in the Christian church, a lot of my time growing up was filled with dreams of marriage. There were approximately zero days in middle and high school in which I didn't have romantic feelings for someone. Then, grief. My sister's husband dies. The walls go up. I didn't know I was building them, and I didn't really even notice them until I met someone that started turning this hidden key, and I was terrified and pulling away, and I'm yelling at myself like don't you dare let someone in that could be ripped away from you. Please. Not that again.

Anything else.

Grief is recklessness. I rebel against my insides by antagonizing my outsides. I run until my chest feels like it's collapsing. I throw myself at adrenaline. I'd rather risk everything else. At least it'll just be physical pain and not this emotional/mental/spiritual barbed wire I find myself wrapped up in. Constant movement, constant noise, constant distraction. Get up from my desk one morning and quit my job. Anything. Look outward, focus on the surface. Compartmentalize the deep.

Grief is disappointment. A lot of the loss felt when grieving someone (or something) is this sense of disappointment. You've lost a part of your future that you were really looking forward to. Like you're left standing there, holding the remnants of your dreams in your hands thinking it'll never be enough, it'll never go back together. Everything's tainted. All your plans have a huge hole running through each of them. Now what?

Now what?

Grief is anxiety. It'll never be enough. How can I face this? Was this my fault? What if I did something different? What if I'd called them back? What if I spent one more day with them? How is this fair? Can I ever be normal again? What will that look like? Can I really be happy whatever that is? And what if this happens again? What do I do tomorrow? What do I do in ten years when they're still not here? How do I cancel their mail? Are all these other people okay? Did all these other people already forget? Should I bring it up? Am I the only one still hurting? What if...What if...What if? And all the answers take time.

Grief is loneliness. It's like being stuck down a well. No matter how many people surround you, you're trapped deep down inside yourself. There's darkness everywhere you look. You get little glimpses of friendly faces and their words echo down to you, but by the time it reaches you, it doesn't sound real anymore. All you see are the empty places left behind. It's isolating.

Grief is anger. We want to blame something and when we can't determine what that object should be, it can cause us to lose sight of reality. We hide in our anger, give ourselves over to it. It focuses the hurt elsewhere, keeps it outside. We make up stories in our head and push everyone away because maybe it was their fault, maybe it was mine. Hate can creep in. It can force the good from our lives in search of the root of the bad. Anger at who we lost, anger at those left behind, anger at our reaction to it, anger at other people's reactions to it. Anger is grief's mask, because anger is easier to look at than all these other things hiding behind it.

Much of the grieving process takes place in our subconscious. On the surface, I'd try to play strong and positive for my family and friends. I wanted to be a rock, an encouragement, a reminder of God when they were tempted to forget. I tried to reframe everything in my mind to be optimistic and happy, but my body still grieved.

Exhaustion.

Tears.

Bereavement brain.

Grief is physical. No matter how far you push grief from your mind, it will still show up in your body. Studies have shown that the brains of people experiencing grief have an increase in activity on nearly every neural network. Grief affects every system, from simple things like remembering something someone literally just said to you, to your digestion or posture or heart beat or speech.

There were times I couldn't speak without stopping to regroup and remember how to physically say a word. I'd make that face, like the person in the horror movie that abruptly stops talking, goes blank in the eyes, and falls over to reveal there's a knife in their back, and they just literally died mid-sentence. And that's really as confusing as it felt. Like abruptly my body would just forget how to do things.

And I never attributed it with grief. I spent a lot of time at the doctor's office the year following Jake's death trying to convince them I had some crazy brain tumor. I wanted it to be a crazy brain tumor. In a weird way it made me feel close to him, because I knew he'd find it fascinating and ironic because we always hyperbolically misdiagnosed everything as a brain tumor.

It wasn't a brain tumor. I was just really sad.

All of it adds up to this: grief is confusing. It's hard. It's a weight on your chest.

But it doesn't have to end there.

I like organization. I like timelines. I like knowing what to expect. And that is not grief. Grief changes. One day it's laughter, the next it's crying in the bathroom at a party almost a decade later over a memory mentioned in passing.

It changes, but in that change I saw so so clearly that God did not. His Word did not. His grace did not. His wisdom did not.

In grief, I saw the kindness and the goodness and provision of God. In that darkness, I saw His light. His steady, hopeful, peace-giving light. I felt His compassion. His friendship.

When I faltered, I felt His strength. I could see Him leading me, holding me up.

Grief is a blessing.
Grief is clarifying.
Grief is renewing.

He turned my eyes from my pain to His plans, His Gospel, His Son.

His suffering.

Imagine, the grief Jesus went through on the cross. The grief God went through when He gave up His Son. The grief we cause the Holy Spirit when we fill the hole in our hearts with the world instead of with His presence.

We do not serve a God unfamiliar with grief. Instead, He joined us in it. Willingly.

Where is God in grief? Right beside us.

June 27, 2015.

Four years and one week ago, my brother-in-law and I were standing around talking about my going to Israel for six weeks-- that he and my sister would come over to have breakfast the day I left, cutting short his planned camping trip the night before. A week later, I experienced grief for the first time. Before Jake's death, I hadn’t been close to anyone who'd passed away, only knowing that heartache vicariously through others. But he was my brother. I miss his friendship every day.

The months preceding his death, God was teaching me the phrase, “Lord willing.” Like, “Lord willing, we'll have lunch Thursday,” or “If the Lord wills it, I’ll text you when I get home.” And as I grew into the habit of prefacing my future plans with His sovereignty, He taught me that sometimes He isn’t willing. Sometimes, our plans differ from His and we’re faced with this seemingly unbeatable thing and we have no idea what to do, but we have to keep our eyes on Him (2 Chronicles 20:12).

Two weeks before he died, my sister and I were discussing a song on the radio about God’s mercy in teaching and blessing us through painful circumstances. We both admitted to feeling like we’d never really suffered, like our faith hadn’t been truly tested, shaken (Hebrews 12:28). That night I prayed that He would bring tests along that would cause my truest nature to be made known. Apparently of that the Lord was willing.

I hope to show you the preparation that God has given me for "various trials" (1 Peter 1:6) so often in the past, a cycle He repeated in this circumstance. Not until recently did I see this cycle so clearly: I pray for something, He prepares me for His answer, He provides-- both the trial and the ability to endure. 

This time as preparation, we were given two things. The first was extra time with my brother-in-law. I am inexpressibly thankful for this. He was in medical school and therefore very busy. I typically only saw him once a week for a half hour before church in which we’d discuss a thousand things in rapid succession. But, the month leading up to his death was his school break. My sister got to travel a bit with him. The Lord worked it out for he and I to ride to a church 45 minutes away together, despite all my other attempted plans. I’ll forever cherish those times and those final conversations we got to have. Truly the Lord gives good gifts to His children (Matthew 7:11).

Second, He prepared us with the study of 1 Peter 1. The Bible study he and I were going to that was 45 minutes away was one we, my sister included, attended regularly. That month, the teaching was about 1 Peter, the “if necessary,” of being “grieved by various trials.” A few weeks after his death, my parents both sent me that same chapter, having separately been led to it when searching for comfort, not knowing the Lord had been using it already to comfort me and my sister. He united us in awe of Him, in trust and hope. He intertwined His answers, knitting our hearts together (Colossians 2:2) that we might lean on one another, "bearing each other's burdens" (Galatians 6:2). 

These were both combined with the myriad of past lessons in patience and trust, hope in disappointment, and the effects of speech on attitude and outlook. Most importantly, the lessons about His past actions and the proof of His nature by years of daily, personal study of His Word.

However, I feel this grief manifesting itself even today in many of my decisions. Subconsciously, I’m expecting all my plans to fall through and everything to change, until the very moment that it comes to fruition. Or I’ll turn my back on potential relationships because of a fear of giving myself to someone and losing them. Or I’m unable to plan anything that takes place in more than a few months, because I am hesitant to think I have that long. Or...etc.

Still, I often find that I am jealous for those times closely succeeding his death. Despite the ache and the sorrow, He kept me constant, He held me steady, and He graciously reminded me of Himself, of His power and His love and His kindness and His wisdom. Who He is shone so brightly to me in that time. I felt everything deeply, yet carried it lightly, constantly offering it again to God.

My faith was shaken but the Rock was steady. He anchored me with hope and joy.

I know that life can be overwhelming and that we face different things and feel different things in response to them. I do not pretend to be an expert by any means. But I know what the Lord has done for me (Psalm 66:8-16) and how He has taught me to react; I hope that you might be strengthened and encouraged to press on.

I had to remind myself over and over again-- through doubt or tears or numbness or anger or self-pity-- that my lot is secure; my portion steadfast (Psalm 16:5, etc.). My inheritance is “undefiled and unfading, kept in heaven for” me, as I, “by God’s power,” am “being guarded through faith” (1 Peter 1). My reward is immovable, for He has won it; indeed He has become it. He is the victory I need.

[Side note: Christianity isn't an undercover ploy of greed and pride that allows people to "believe" only enough to get them to Heaven when they die. Many church-goers function this way. Christianity is the teaching that, through His own suffering, Jesus has joined us in our suffering, giving it a hope and a purpose-- a God Who can both sympathize with human weakness and walk in divine power over sin and death. Eternal life is the continuation and deepening of fellowship with God, not some promise for gratification of the fleshly desires for admiration and selfish gain we pretended not to have while we served "others" on earth. He renews us in life by the power of the Spirit; He remakes us completely in death by the unveiled sight of His Son (2 Corinthians 3:18, 1 John 3:2).] 

There is always something about which to be grateful. He is always working. Over all things He is sovereign. "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose" (Romans 8:28). This isn't just a saying for a greeting card, this is a real, tested truth. Stop fearing your pain or your uncertainty; fear God. No suffering will meet you that has not been approved and reworked by a God of infinite understanding and kindness to make you better, to make you more like Jesus, "a man of sorrows, familiar with suffering" (Isaiah 53).

Remind yourself of this truth, even if it’s a moment by moment forgetting and recitation. Train yourself to perceive all things through the filter of the Word of God, the Truth of Jesus, and the Conviction of the Holy Spirit. You have to be willing and disciplined in each memory or new situation to speak it again.

To not get discouraged when you feel you’ve landed in the same place as you were before.

To not be a "hindrance" to yourself by "not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man" (Matthew 16:23).

To not doubt that God has your best interest in mind.

To not allow yourself to feel entitled to bitterness or despair.

There is always hope, there is always forgiveness, you just have to look up (John 3:14). 

So if you find yourself at this moment in the grasp of great pain, do not be dismayed; it is likely the Lord has been working often to prepare you. Look back, take inventory of the training in various aspects of Godliness He has provided you with, and plunge ahead with renewed courage and thanksgiving. He has not left you alone, He will not leave you vulnerable. Fix your eyes, for He is leading you in this battle as the Head of the charge. The Death Conqueror is your King, your Defender, your Guide. What have you to fear but forgetting to look to that King and trust His orders? 

Find reinforced cover by seeking out Christian brothers and sisters to fight alongside you, listening to the comfort of those before you, looking for those in need of comfort behind you (2 Corinthians 1:3-7). Kneel behind that common shield of faith and skillfully wield it as protection from the efforts of the enemy. Trust the sword of the Word of Truth to find its targets. Cling to both with the strength found in the arms of the Creator God; "entrust your soul to" Him for He is faithful, and "do not grow weary of doing good" (Galatians 6:9). 

Keep hope in the Risen Lamb, Who from His doomed journey of certain death, returned to His throne in the light of eternal power, inexhaustible purity, and conquering grace.

What about you?

Have you lost someone close to you? What do remember most from that time of grief? What helpsyou to cope?

"Judge not, lest ye be judged."

I admit, at times I struggle to grasp a loving God allowing seemingly unloving things. But I know that cannot make me think: how cruel, how unfair, how could He? For this same concept was answered in Romans 9 thousands of years ago. "Who are you, O man, to answer back to God? Will what is molded say to its Molder, 'Why have You made me like this?'" And I know that isn't much comfort to most because it doesn't offer any explanation except that God is in control and He does what is best, even if we don't understand how. But God doesn't need us to make excuses for Him. 

Telling the world the equivalents of "He didn't mean it!" and "He didn't do it!" does not bring them closer to God. It attempts to remove God's sovereignty in order to prove His love. Why can both not exist, the Judge and the Sacrifice? True, they seem contradictory, but would you remove the mystery of the complex nature of God in order to convince people to become Christians?

And if you do, have you really convinced them to be Christians at all? Would it not rather be a continuation of man-centered thoughts, bowing them at the feet of an idol we've constructed as we're blown about by every wave and wind of teaching (Ephesians 4:14).

"But who would ever turn to a God that allows tragedy when He has the power to stop it?" But the Holy Spirit is promised. It is He Who renews our minds, so that we see clearly that pain is not a wrongdoing of God against poor, pitied man. Rather, as our Creator, He has the responsibility to reshape us, His malfunctioning creation, into working condition, and that is not without pain.

It is a mercy that He has allowed us to continue after our first glitch, our first sin, so we might turn to Him for repair. But instead of awe at the grace of it, we sit in our indignation, pouting and exclaiming that we were "born this way" and everyone should "love our flaws" (Read: expecting people to think you're wonderful when you act selfish and prideful. No. Hold yourself to the same standards you hold others to.).

The scary thing is, many apply this same principle to God. "If [He] doesn't accept me at my worst, then [He] doesn't deserve me at my best." And we ever-so-culturally-relevant Christians repackage that into church-acceptable vernacular, but we're spewing the same garbage. We say things like: Jesus ate with sinners and God is love and "judge not lest ye be judged." All true. But we leave out the context, the consequences of that love.

Most who use this as their message just want their audience to think, "Wow, how open-minded this lone diamond of a Christian is." We fight for "God's" reputation in an effort to bolster ours, and in so doing, we damage His and cover up truth.

By claiming God didn't mean all that "wrath stuff" in the Old Testament, or saying He doesn't have the final say over everything that happens, we side with unbelievers against the actions and goodness of God. We believe that those things are unfair, unjust.

We discredit Him, trying to release Him from the blame we place on His actions. "Sure God commanded Israel to kill people, but... it's different now. Look at Jesus instead!" But we can't properly look at Jesus until we linger in the actions of God in the Old Testament.

Why did He seem to change? What happened between Malachi and Matthew? Did God take a cosmic nap and get less grumpy?

We are told in the Bible that God doesn't change. His nature is constant; His actions are consistent with that nature. And we certainly didn't change. Mankind didn't suddenly become more lovable.

What changed is the focus of God's wrath.

When Jesus came to earth, He lived a perfect life. He was born into human nature yet held fast to holiness and purity, to His Father. And in the end, He became the object of God's wrath.

Did God not mean to give His perfect Son over to torture, rejection, abandonment, crucifixion, and then, eventually (finally) death? Did God have control over this terrible, wonderful thing?

We wouldn't dare say differently. There are too many verses where Jesus Himself declares it to be true.

Maybe we have an easier time believing it because it benefits us. 

God is love, Jesus did eat with sinners, and He even did say "judge not lest ye be judged." But we cannot ignore what followed.

First, Jesus ate with "sinners" not because they were sinners, but because they recognized their sin, the consequences of that sin, and the spectacular relief of Jesus saying, "Your sins are forgiven." He met with sinners, but He didn't let them leave as sinners. With a, "Go and sin no more," He commanded them to change their entire manner of life, means of income, living situations. He called them to do radically difficult, painful, costly things in His Name, motivating and empowering them with His mercy and kindness and later gifting them with the Holy Spirit as Guide.

Let's not forget Jesus ate with Pharisees, too, and He spent most of that time pronouncing really harsh judgments against them for their pride and greed and false worship.

In summation: Jesus didn't eat with sinners because He approved of their sin but because they recognized Christ as the remedy for it. 

Second, there's more to a verse than meets the public's eye. After Jesus tells them, "Judge not," He tells a parable about first removing the log that is in your eye. People like this quote, too, and leave off the last bit of that sentence, in which you then do remove the "speck that is in your brother's eye." Why is this left out? Because it's "offensive". But... how? Honestly? How is someone removing sawdust from your eye harmful, rude? Is it not helpful? And what sweet relief when it is gone!

Many Christians have been led to believe that you show love by withholding judgement. Here Jesus tells us to hold up our judgements to ourselves first, then to others. And it's not that I'm not allowed to hold someone accountable for lying because I have also lied in my lifetime. I can hold them accountable while allowing them to hold me accountable. 

Withholding judgement doesn't actually do any good, it just means you both walk around with crap in your eyes, and no one is willing to do anything about it because it will hurt for a few seconds. Don't confuse that temporary pain with unkindness or a lack of love.

1 Corinthians 5 does put a condition on this judgement. Paul says, "What have I to do with judging outsiders? Is it not those inside the church whom you are to judge? God judges those outside. 'Purge the evil person from among you.'" (P.S. When he says "purge," he is not calling for their murder, but their removal from the local church with hope for their return. As in, do not call them Christians while they intentionally reject the teachings of Christ, just as most practitioners of Islam reject "Radical" Islam as true Islam.)

So, it is our job, as Christians, to hold other Christians accountable. It is to be with the purpose of repentance and reconciliation, in the event of which we are then to "affirm our love for [them] so that [they] will not be overwhelmed with excessive sorrow" (2 Corinthians 2:7).

It is also our job to speak truth to those who are outside the church. To "judge" motivated by compassion, fear for the state of their souls because what God says is true. His Kingdom is real. It is eternal. His judgement is right, good, and just.

Every speech we read in Acts by one of the disciples leads in with the reality of the human condition. It isn't until the audience-- "cut to the heart"-- asks "What can we do?" (Acts 2) that they tell them of the forgiveness and freedom found by repenting and following Christ.

Maybe these Judge-Not Christians think they are saying, "You're wrong, but I'm not going to turn my back on you. I am going to tell you of the hope that is found in Christ."

I pray that's what they are saying.

But I have seen too many church leaders speak only of love, to the point of becoming not only tolerant of sin in the church, but, in the air of culture, applauding it. Like "Wow, we're so real," and then they're sitting around admiring everyone's willingness to share their sin. Then, if not careful, making light of their sin. Then doing nothing to change it, finding excuse and comfort in solidarity. This is why Galatians 6:1 is written.

Many look around at their churches and think, "Wow, so many fake Christians," not realizing they are the ones who make it that way-- disciples not of Jesus but of an easier imitation of the call of Christ, one that requires little more than Sunday attendance and a few hand-raising renditions of shallow songs. We make them feel better about themselves by telling them how loved they are, how blessed they are, how God answers prayer.

But what of the topics that make us squirm a little and avert our eyes so no one catches us looking guilty? Or talking about the commands of God, the sacrifices of worldly pleasure and attitude and worries, that He asks of us?

It is dangerous when we don't care enough about our congregation to notice, let alone to say, "Hey, I know you're struggling. I want to see you do the right thing. I want to help you, because I know it's difficult." If we don't preach the life of a true follower of Christ, why subject themselves to a charade of piety every Sunday?

This is why so many people stop going to church, why so many think Christianity is a hypocritical farce.  Not because we don't "love" enough, but because we aren't loving correctly. When we water the Gospel down, we offer the same "love" found in the world, but with extra stipulations and an air of self-righteousness. It's not sustainable. And it isn't truth. God's love is unconditional, and it is also life-changing. It demands everything from us, and it is worth it all.

Love people with the love of God, not with the love of the world. Only one will last. 

It comes down to this:

If someone is outside the church and makes no claim to follow Christ, it is your responsibility to speak truth in love with gentleness and respect and to inform him of the Gospel of the finished work of Christ. But we can't get angry at someone or mock them or cut someone off for not upholding the commands of a God they either don't believe in or couldn't care less about. Do we really think that we would choose to do any differently? If so, we are the ones who need a reminder of the Gospel, that we were once "dead in our trespasses and sins" (Ephesians 2:1) until Jesus literally had to die and come back to life in order for us to have the ability to follow Christ. We do not have the power to obey on our own, only through the Holy Spirit. Unbelievers do not have the power nor the motivation to obey a God they do not love.

However, if someone is sitting in the pew next to you, week after week, claiming to be a Christian, it is your responsibility to speak truth in love with gentleness and respect, to hold them accountable to the Word of God, to point them to the Gospel of the finished work of Christ, to "forgive and comfort them, so that they will not be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow." Where opinion differs or understanding wavers, defer to the Bible, the truth that has been passed down for thousands of years without shifting its message for shifty human perception. It is your duty-- as a fellow Christian, to the Church, and to God Himself-- to hold that believer accountable to the knowledge and commands of God.

Honoring Christ in Comfort

"All who desire to live a Godly life will be persecuted."

These words mark many sermons, trying to stir American Christians to action, to "radical" obedience. Yet, I fear we take these words and make them our measuring rod. Instead of desiring to live Godly, we "desire" to suffer.

I have a Voice of the Martyrs poster hanging in my room and as I was reading and praying, I looked at it. "We worship in church. Thousands of our persecuted brothers and sisters worship in prison." Ouch. What am I doing, laying here in my comfortable bed, with my stomach full of food? 

If every moment of our lives isn't riddled with discomfort and sorrow, are we disobeying God?

The Law of God is "good, pleasing, and perfect," and it calls us to live lives of respect, to "outdo one another in showing honor," and to "consider others more important than ourselves." First of all, wow. Second, if we are truly to do all of that, it's nice for the people that come into contact with us. And that leads to favor with them, believer or not.

Most Christians agree that Jesus was obedient always, and yet, for a time, He had "favor with God and man" (Luke 2:52). The same is said of the apostles in the book of Acts. Favor therefore cannot be sinful on its own.

Nothing can set itself up as my idol. My un-denied self creates it, sets something in the seat only God is worthy of taking. And that is sinful. It is only by seeking comfort that comfort becomes sin; seeking suffering should be rejected on the same grounds. Why?

Because seeking anything but Christ is idolatry.

And so it is that I do not believe people in hostile countries, fraught by constant life or death decisions, are, by that fact alone, more holy or acceptable than any true believer with relative religious freedom.

At one time, Jesus lived a life that earned Him favor with man. That same way of life later caused them to crucify Him. 

He "humbled Himself and became obedient to death-- even death on a cross," BUT He also "fell on his face and prayed, saying, “Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me. Yet not as I will but Yours be done."

Jesus didn't seek suffering. He sought God. And that led to suffering. If it had pleased God, He would have let the cup pass from Him.

And that... that is the idea I wish to convey. For many of us, the cross we "pick up" is not, at every moment, arduous, so we feel we have to create our own suffering by being rude, unsympathetic, obstinate then claiming people's (reasonable) offense as persecution. No. Please, no.

The important thing is picking up our cross, deferring to His plans for us. In all things, it's the looking to Christ and following Him that pleases God. The covenant is Christ. The glory is God's.

It is His decision whether suffering or favor best exemplifies His glory in each moment. And praise Christ, He strengthens us in both, for He is the "secret to being content in all circumstances" (Philippians 4:12). So, rather than questioning where He has you right now, "give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you."

"Test yourselves to see if you are in the faith."

"Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them."

When God's Timing Confuses You

"...Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me."

I'm not sure I have much to say-- at least maybe not directly pertaining to Israel and the time we've had here-- but I think I do have much to say (truly... be warned about the length of this post) about the TIMING of being here and the God Who wisely and sovereignly orchestrated it. 

As most of you know, my brother-in-law was called Home a month and 5 days ago, and Olivia and I left a little over a week after that. I've mulled over this decision many times, wondering if this was right, if it really was the best decision, and the nights where I feel the most grief I think maybe not. But it's a very good thing that my feelings don't dictate truth. They don't always even indicate it. God dictates truth. So while I often feel maybe it would be nice to be home, I know that this was the will of God for me to be here, because it happened and God is sovereign. Nothing I do can happen unless He says it can happen-- just as in Job 1:6-12, God tells Satan to ask Him to test Job, and then He gives the permission for it to happen. If God has power even over the actions of His enemy, why would we think any differently about His sovereignty over us, His people?

Here now, in my room in Israel, I'm thinking over the past few weeks so far. They've been filled with exploring, organizing, CD-making, book-selling, and falafel. We've had little opportunity (well, there's people everywhere, so I don't know if I can really say this) to share the Gospel, but we have been aiding in this ministry's sharing of the Gospel.

Unfortunately, with the lack of speaking the Gospel to others, I think I have also fallen out of the habit of speaking it to myself. I can't lie, my heart lately has felt burdened and tired, like maybe this faith in me is not true after all or maybe my initial joy and peace really was (as I feared people thinking) just me not accepting the facts that someone I love very very dearly and looked up to so much would no longer be available for conversation, advice, Bible-interpretation, brotherly love and friendship, laughs, or, more importantly, partnership for my sister. However, (!!!) he instead has attained the goal for which he was running-- the salvation of his soul.

Those of us still here, though now for a little while are grieved by this and other various trials, which test the genuineness of our faith in order to bring praise, glory, and honor to God at the revelation of Jesus Christ, rejoice in the future hope of our own departure to be with Christ (1 Peter 1, Philippians 1:23).

In this time and the many times to follow, may I never forget the atoning blood that flowed out of even deeper pain, but equal sovereignty-- this blood that redeemed my life, that bought Jacob his innocent verdict and a warm welcome as he stood before our Creator and Judge. What a comfort to know that the Lord has as much wisdom and care in the plans for each part of our lives as He did in planning His eternal redemption through His Son. May I never forget His goodness and worth! There is deep pain in the night, but joy, true joy, comes in the LORD, not just in the morning!

I was talking (well...typing) with my sister the other day and talking about how wise God is and how foolish we are, thinking so often that Jake's death disrupted our plans for our future, when they were just that: our plans. God's plans remain firmly in place, and have since the beginning of time. We think now the future is so uncertain... but how silly! for when did we ever know our future? We know as much now as we did before, it's just that the plans of our heart had different circumstances to work with at the time. These have been God's plans from the beginning, and they are good. May our faith be found genuine, our trust be found in Christ! By grace alone can we continue to stand, despite our weaknesses!

I feel much more acquainted with this weakness lately. Acquainted much more closely than I'd like to be, but I think that is a great lesson from this. My weakness, my utter helplessness without His power and grace and joy and peace. I forget Philippians 4 says that while I'm making my prayer and supplication in everything, I am to do so with thanksgiving! "Thanksgiving?" you may ask. "For what?" For Isaiah 55:8-9. For Philippians 2:13. For Ephesians 1:13-14. For Genesis 1:1. For John 19:30. For everything God is, does, says, wills. There is, in fact, nothing that we shouldn't thank God for! All things He works together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28).

Just the good and happy things? No. I don't see that anywhere in the Bible. I see "all things", which, I'm sure, if you look in the Greek, at the cultural context, each of the cross-references, they will all come to one conclusion: ALL things. Everything. Happy and heart-wrenching alike. Do you doubt this?

Sometimes my actions confirm that I doubt. When I doubt, I'm doubting not only the Holy Bible, but also the Holy God Who wrote it. Job 2:10: "Shall we receive good from God, and shall we not receive adversity?" Job 1:21: "The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the Name of the Lord."

The Holy Spirit confirms that this doubt is sin. In those times, I must seek His face and heart and will. I must repent and submit and rejoice, thanking Him that as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are His ways and thoughts higher than mine (Isaiah 55:8-9) and that, because He is perfect in wisdom and power, He doesn't allow my (short-sighted) plans to happen. 

Is that always a natural reaction? Heck no. Does that make it any less required? Also, no. "Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God-- through Jesus Christ our Lord!" (Romans 7:24).

So... while I am still in mourning, I am being taught to be constant in rejoicing and content in Christ. When Jake was born, Who ordained it? When Jake met and married my sister and became a part of my family, Who brought it together? When Jake died, Who ordered it to be so? God. He is always on the throne in Heaven; may He be always on the throne in my heart, soul, mind and strength.

Oh how I've been learning the dissatisfaction of this world and the value of Christ! Though I've been feeling home-sick, wanting to be with my family, my sister, my friends, my church...even more than that He's creating in me a Home-sickness that is centered around His Heaven, my true Home, His presence forever! He has made Psalm 73:25 my cry.

Though perhaps I do not feel as close to my Creator, my Sustainer, my Salvation, my Comforter, my Joy, and my Strength as I would like, I know His character, I know His Word, and I know that both of those confirm that He is here, He is working, He is healing, and He is sanctifying. This process is often painful but still pleasant, because we know the end result: 1 John 3:2-3, which tells us we shall be made like Him for we shall see Him as He is. So, the end result? Glorification. Total conformation to the image of the Son. No more sin. No more desire to sin. Christ. To die is great gain!

"He can do all things, and no purpose of His can be stopped. He is our God. And because He is our God, even when we don't have our questions answered, even when we don't know the purpose, we can have hope and we can have rest and we can even have joy, because He is Who He is and we belong to Him. At the heart of it is knowing Who God is and knowing Who is God. He is God and because He is God, that is enough." -Stephen Rummage

My mind knows truth, and I must remind myself of these Truths, to "take captive every thought to make it obedient to Him" so that my faulty flesh will follow my corrected thoughts (2 Corinthians 10:5). Please pray that I would not allow my feelings to dictate what I believe, but that truth would dictate my feelings!

God is wise. He is moving. He will not yield His glory to another.
He is sovereign over salvation. He will not yield His glory to another.
His plans are right, good, exciting.
He's perfect, atoning, alive.
He is Messiah, His Word incorruptible, His body unable to be contained in the grave.
His Kingdom advancing. His Gospel proclaiming. His plans succeeding.
He will not yield His glory to another.

“Worthy is the Lamb Who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!...Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen."

Amen. MARANATHA.