Wiping Tears

I’ve always thought the passage in Revelation about there being no more death or mourning or crying in heaven was beautiful. It certainly describes a reality I want to experience.

But only recently was I truly struck by the part God will play in my healing—my transition from pain to paradise, from a world where I cry to a world where I don’t. God, the Bible says, “will wipe every tear from their eyes.”

Wow. That is so intimate.

Think about it—how many people in the world have actually reached over to your face as you wept, touched your cheek with their fingers, and wiped the tears from your eyes?

Not exactly on the level of a friendly side hug.

I get chills thinking about God doing that for me.

Tragic Canvas, Beautiful Art

I don’t know if everyone is this way, but it seems as a preacher I have a theme that I come back to again and again. Something I always feel at home talking about. Something that touches my heart and I guess will always touch my heart. Something that, every time I preach or teach about it, makes me feel as if I’m swimming and have just entered the current—like I’m swept along by a power much, much greater than myself.

Anyway, this thing (for me) is God’s presence in suffering—the reality that sometimes, as hard as it is to accept, the greatest blessings of our life are the tragedies. 

And I don’t know if I’ve ever seen that truth as beautifully or powerfully communicated as it is in this short feature.

Enjoy.

“The perfect ones are the ones that get thrown away.” —Most insightful thing I’ve heard in a month.

The Bad News About Good News

While reading the first few verses Psalm 40 recently, I noticed something noteworthy. I’m guessing this passage is usually seen as positive. And it is, certainly, but there’s a catch.

There’s more to this Psalm than what you might see at first glance. See for yourself:

“I waited patiently for the LORD;
he turned to me and heard my cry.

He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
and gave me a firm place to stand.

He put a new song in my mouth,
a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear
and put their trust in the LORD.”

Perky enough. But here’s what I noticed: every positive is preceded—even enabled—by a negative.

For instance, notice what happened before the Lord turned to David and heard his cry: he “waited.” In other words, he cried out to God and nothing happened. Or at least nothing seemed to be happening. In fact, David doesn’t just say he “waited,” he says he “waited patiently.”

Patiently!

Patience is only demonstrated over time. Usually lots of time. For who knows how long, David’s petition was met by silence. His faith was tested by waiting. And waiting is tough.

Then David talks about how God lifted him “out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire.” That’s great, but let’s not ignore the implications here. To be rescued from a pit means to have been in a pit.

And that’s no fun.

I see his “new song” stanza the same way—evidently there was an old song that wasn’t so triumphant.

Here’s the thing: life is tough. Yes, there are great stories of victory. But whether it’s a story of rescue, or healing, or even resurrection, there is, of necessity, a flip-side truth.

The rescue followed abduction.

The healing followed a painful sickness.

The resurrection didn’t happen until someone died.

I won’t pretend to understand God’s wisdom, but it seems He works through both positive and negative. There are no highlights without shadows. No mountains without valleys. No resolution without tension.

I wish prosperity gospel preachers acknowledged this.

The Bible certainly does.

Accusation and Praise

Preached last night on Lamentations. Heavy stuff.

Chapter 3 is especially heartbreaking—a post-destruction-of-Jerusalem resident bemoans the punishment God brought through the Babylonians:

Even when I call out or cry for help,
he shuts out my prayer.

He has barred my way with blocks of stone;
he has made my paths crooked.

Like a bear lying in wait,
like a lion in hiding,

he dragged me from the path and mangled me
and left me without help.

And it continues—line after line of heartache and accusation, pointing a trembling finger at a God who seems bent on the author’s misery and destruction.

But then come verses 22-23:

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.

I’m sorry…what?

In a startling change of direction, the same writer who just a moment ago was shaking his fist at God is now extolling His love, mercy, and faithfulness.

I love this juxtaposition.

To me, this pairing communicates both the complexity of a multidimensional God and the divergent emotions inevitable in a real relationship with Him.

Israel has failed their Father. After rejecting His will for generations they’ve been punished by God and are coming to terms with the misery of judgment and the life-without-God they’ve chosen.

But even in the midst of all this, they remember God’s love. They may not feel it, but they know it’s there. And knowing this about their Father brings comfort. It brings hope.

In verses 1-21, it’s as if toddler Israel aggressively questions her Father’s discipline in a tantrum of emotion. But beginning in verse 22, an older, humbler Israel begins to see and appreciate her Father’s wisdom and love in a whole new way.

Only the Father who doesn’t love doesn’t discipline.

Why Asking Why Is Okay

Suffering makes Christians want to ask God why.

And I think that’s okay.

You’ll hear from some that doubt and questioning are not things of which God is fond. I am not one of those people.

The main reason for that? Scripture. Check out Psalm 10: “Why, O LORD, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?”

Here’s my question: does asking “why?” during suffering demonstrate a lack of faith?

Consider this: if faith is confidence that God is who He says He is and will do what He says He will do…then it seems asking “why?” may stem from the presence of faith. By asking why, we’re essentially saying, “God, if you are who you say you are and will do what you’ve promised to do—and I believe that you are and that you will—then why would you do this?? I’m confused!”

As someone pointed out to me once, you can’t be mad at someone who doesn’t exist.