A Meditation on Suffering

Over the past two weeks, we've been inundated with opinions on how our president has cared for Gold Star families. Rarely have we had a word spoken concerning how these sorts of conversations are supposed to go. Why? Because no one really knows. That's what makes these conversations so hard. We're great at critiquing those who try to care but so rarely offer care ourselves, and when we do, it often sucks.

I know.

In the past week, I inadvertently found myself caring for a Gold Star wife. Her husband died years ago, yet the pain still felt fresh. It always feels fresh. Most Gold Star families lose loved ones in the blink of an eye. It's hard to believe that someone can be here one moment and gone the next. No gradual surrender to a terminal illness. No heartfelt goodbyes.

What did I say to this Gold Star wife? Well, I cried with her a bit. I asked her about her husband. I spent most of my time asking her about the present--the good, the bad, the ugly. We talked about hope and love. And while I think it went well, I really don't know. Is there such a thing as a good conversation in these moments?

Here are some of the typical responses I see to suffering:

1) Avoid it at all costs. We don't visit the dying friend or comfort the persistently ill loved one. We avoid hospitals, funeral parlors, cemeteries, and disturbing thoughts that remind us of suffering. Alcohol and television both become wonderful aids in this quest to construct a wall between us and the real world. We just hope there's enough in the bottle and the Netflix queue for the next night.

2) Don't talk about it. If we're suffering, we cloak ourselves in privacy and forced cheer. We don't want to impose on others, after all. If others are suffering, we politely respect their privacy and only speak of their ordeals in hushed tones and vague terms. We don't want to pry, after all. Everyone can suffer on their own terms without feeling exposed...or loved.

3) Slap a happy face on it. We see this a lot in contemporary evangelicalism. Romans 8:28 and hollow cliches about "victory in Jesus" stand ready like an enclosed fire extinguisher. When the suffering comes, all we need to do is break the glass. God will make it better. God has a purpose. You believe these things, right? Then you shouldn't suffer. If you're suffering, then we should call your faith into question.

4) We morbidly dwell upon it. It's as if we go the graveside and never leave. Sometimes trauma locks into a semi-permanent state of grief that will likely require counseling. At some point, we treat others' suffering as our own opportunity for cathartic release. We squeeze the sponge of their grief a bit tighter, hoping for bit more of a release. Often, they don't have any tears left to expend.

Now you expect me to give you the list of four things you can do for sufferers, right?

Wrong. Again, it's a messy process and those who critique others for their responses have often never seriously reflected on their own responses.

Yet, here are a few of my comforts.

1) Suffering is not contrary to God's plan. God still rules over our suffering. That means that it is not accidental or unforeseen. He intends for us to walk that valley, but not alone. He draws near to us and accompanies us.

2) Suffering drives the greatest truths deeper into our hearts. Our confessions are mere abstractions without the refining fire of suffering. It is one thing to say "Jesus cares for the needy." It is quite another to say "I am needy, and Jesus is caring for me." In my experiences, our tears reflect the brokenness of this world--and the truths that will bind it back together.

3) God did not spare His own Son. Jesus suffered. In fact, Jesus suffered worse than any of us will ever know or experience. He was betrayed, abandoned, condemned, and tortured. He bore the hellish wrath and judgment of God. He drank from a cup that we will never have to taste. And He did it willingly. He bore the worst suffering imaginable, not to spare us of our own suffering, but to atone for our sin. In so doing, He gave meaning to our suffering and hope to our grief.

These comforts inform my constant care for sufferers. I grieve with them as they grieve and hope with them as they hope. When their suffering comes out in scream of silence, I grieve and hope for them and stay silent with them. And in all these things, I lift them before the God of grace, who alone has the power and love to care for the broken and bind their wounds.

Reflections at Oh Dark Thirty

"I'm getting too old for this," I thought as if I was Danny Glover rather than a man simply in his mid-thirties. Around me, dozens of kids in their twenties galloped through the dark as if such a routine was normal and natural. I felt my creaking joints slowly hum to life like an old computer.

The past month was not kind to me. Between moving my family cross-country, selling a house, buying a house, and a thousand goodbyes, I was left with no time for exercise or adequate sleep. Just lots of fast food and mentally-demanding, physically-debilitating planning.

I woke up at 0400 to make the drive from my in-laws to join in mandatory PT with other newcomers to JBLM at 0515. No shower. No coffee. Only podcasts and hymns on Pandora to fuel my early morning foray into the active duty side of the Army.

As I ran in that mass formation of young soldiers through the dark, I began to hear a cadence being called by the NCO running to our left. No soldier fell behind. We sped up at times and almost fell on each other at other points, but we ran together. Amidst the flurry of limbs and the sound of my creaking joints, I remember that I love this world.

This is a world where sinners and sufferers gather together to be sinners and sufferers together. Some are penitent. Some are healing from past wounds. Most are willing to talk.

My family took a winding path to reach this point. We traveled through prairies and over mountains, alongside friends and revisiting the wounds of war.

The Lord has brought us here--to the majestic mountains and soaring seas of the Northwest, to the morning formations and earnest cadences of young soldiers ready to face war. As my wife soaks our two pint-size sponges in the culture of the Northwest and the gravity of a life lived before God, I will work with those who face conflicts much deeper than those fought by armies.

Please pray for me, that the Lord would open doors and that words may be given me to proclaim the mystery of the Gospel (Eph. 6:19; Col. 4:3).

How Much Should Christians Love the Church?

Before I became a Christian, I thought of the church as a haven for hypocrites.

I remember going to church as a little punk kid with baggy clothes, and having a finely-attired kid attack me for being there. Apparently, church was no place for someone as messy as me.

Then I became a Christian, and I would like to tell you that my thinking changed about the church. It only changed a bit--I critiqued it from the inside rather than the outside. I still complained about the people who dressed themselves up, and when unbelievers talked about hypocrisy in the church, I sadly nodded along and talked about what a shame it was that some people didn't live up to the profession in Christ.

Later into my Christian journey, I learned that pithy phrase "The church is an ugly bride." Even as I heard that phrase and nodded along enthusiastically, I was stung. "Whose bride?" "Who belongs to the church?"

I am part of the church--the bride of Christ--and do not have the luxury of being an armchair critic. Every critique I make about church rebounds on me. Complaining about the hypocrites makes me a hypocrite. As the Apostle Paul said, "Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners...of whom I am the foremost."

Now, when I hear people talk about the hypocrisy of the church, I tell them that I am the worst of hypocrites, and that I am sorry.

Yet, she is still the bride of Christ.

Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish. (Eph. 5:25-27)

If Christ loves his bride, then I should as well (both my wife and the church!). How much does He love her? He gave himself up for her. Think about that. No one stood by Jesus on the day of his death. The church would be gathered from those who denied him, abandoned him, and cried out for his crucifixion.

How much, then, should Christians love the church? Obviously, we aren't Jesus nor can we fill ourselves to follow His example, but we can live in view of His mercy by grace He gives us. Here are a few ways in which we can love the church:

1) We can speak well of her and seek to build her up. When the people cried for Christ's crucifixion, they also cried for his blood to be on their hands (Matt. 27:15-26). Instead, of calling down wrath upon them, Christ cried "Father, forgive them..."

2) We can bear wounds without growing bitter. I know, easier said than done, but love covers over a multitude of sins. Obviously, Christ knows what it is bear wounds at the hands of the church. Yet, for the joy set before Him, He endured the cross. The truth is, Christ draws people from every walk of life and calls them to bind their hearts to Christ and to one another. It's not just that he bore wounds, but in a sense, he bore them at my hand! He bore the wounds from me and for me. So I can bear wounds and give glory to God.

3) We can value every member of the church, even when we disagree. Again, there are vastly different personalities in the church. Christ bore His wounds for people from every tribe, tongue, people, and language. This diversity in every sense is no accident. We don't want an echo chamber of our own enlightened thoughts, but a people who sharpen and encourage one another as long as it is called "today."

4) We bring our messes to the church in plain view, rather than our Sunday School facades. The church--this ugly bride of which we're a part--is also a hospital for souls. It is there that Christ tends to the mess and binds our wounds. It is not a sanctuary for self-righteous saints. We do not dress ourselves--we are dressed in and by Christ. We stand as naked as Christ upon that cross with the knowledge that His forsakeness meant our forgiveness. By His wounds we are healed. He rose from the dead so we can rise from our bed and each week worship God the Father through God the Son by the power of God the Holy Spirit.

This is on my heart and I am preaching these words to myself as I write. Do you despise the church for your wounds? Consider the wounds of Christ and love the ugly bride for whom He died!