Growing in Christ
love of Christ
Suffering with Jesus
06 months ago
It was over two years ago now. I’d gotten a concerned call from Michelle and headed home from work. When I got there, there was even more reason to be upset and confused. The next day we found out we’d miscarried our first pregnancy, but for that evening, we were lost in confusion, pain, and a hint of what was happening.
In those moments, I didn’t know what to do, but I knew we needed to hear from God. In these situations, people typically run to the Psalms. They’re full of perspective and the reality of life in a suffering, fallen world. But I think in my mind that night, I wanted something that was long (because I honestly didn’t want the silence to crush us), and something that put us in God’s story.
After dinner, I turned to John, and we read chapters 13-17, Jesus final discourse with his disciples. Maybe this seems odd as a passage to read for comfort in suffering and pain. At the time it made perfect sense, and it still does.
The section opens with these profound lines about the mind of Jesus going into the crucifixion. John tells us that, “Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart out of this world to the Father, [and] having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.” He goes on: “Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going back to God, rose from supper.” Jesus knew the pain and confusion of the world – he knew one of his closest friends was going to betray him to death in a matter of hours (under his own permission in fact), but he didn’t flinch, and he didn’t muscle through. Jesus knew that his Father was sovereign and in control of everything, even his own death, and he continued to love. He loved his father, and he loved his own. He loved them to the end.
In this vein, there are three sections that particularly spoke comfort in those dark hours: The Vine, The Victory, and The Prayer.
The Vine
In John 15, Jesus speaks of his union with his believers in such intimate terms that they are his branches, feeding off of his nourishment. In terms of suffering, like a plant, when one part suffers, the others feel it. We typically understand this in terms of other people sympathizing and feeling with us, which is right. But we need to take this back to Christ. When we suffer, Christ does. Being united to Christ means that all that we weather in him is weathered in his love. The paths of love are constantly, ever flowing from Christ to his people in all situations. John Flavel remarks: “Christ and the saints smile and sigh together.”
The Victory
Jesus said, “I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 17:33). There’s nothing quite like the death of a long anticipated pregnancy to make you feel that the world is full of trial and tribulation. Here, Christ calls us back to seeing his own sufficiency for our need. The sorrow does not win, because Christ who took on the full weight of sorrow and suffering, did not stay dead. This doesn’t mean the pain isn’t real, or lasting, or a wound that won’t go away, but it does mean that there’s hope and peace and comfort in Jesus. Along these lines Paul later comments “[we do] not grieve as others do who have no hope” (1 Thes. 4:13). We grieve, but with hope. I wrote about this after we miscarried here.
The Prayer
The High Priestly prayer of Jesus in John 17 is maybe one of the holiest sections of Scripture. If you want to know the Savior’s heart for you in this world, and in your trials, follow his prayer here. What this prayer did (and does) for me was give perspective. Jesus knows my trial, Jesus loves me and walks with me in my trial, and Jesus wants me to have the best thing at the end of my trial: seeing him face to face in his full, radiant glory. Suffering and sorrow will be swallowed up one day, and this Jesus who “loved me to the end” will see me, and I him, and will heal this heart wounded by the tribulations of this world. One day. One day soon. In the meantime, he has prayed for me to know him and his love, and the best medicine for sorrow and pain is to learn the hope and love that he is for me.
Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
12 years ago
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…
I don’t know why, but the sorrow just won’t go away. Tomorrow will be three months since we found out we were pregnant; which means that it’s been two and a half months since we miscarried. It’s strange, my attention for the longest time was towards Michelle – helping her walk through the sorrow and pain. I don’t think I lost sight of caring for my own soul before the Lord – there were several nights on my face before God. But lately the miscarriage has continued to be a struggle.
In the midst of sorrow, especially prolonged sorrow, the heart becomes difficult to discern. The questions constantly swarm: Am I angry at God about this? Am I legitimately sorrowful about this? Am I throwing my fist at God? Am I jealous of my friends? Why did God do things like this? Why did he take our baby?
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me…
From here I crawl, scrap, drag myself in prayer to Jesus: “Jesus, my Lord, I don’t understand what I feel. This stuff is hard. You know how to discern my heart better than I do. Take away the sin. Sanctify the pain. Hold me up, help me trust in you for today. Just today. Grace for today.”
I have made the habit of excluding “God” from my mouth when talking to unbelievers and inserting “Jesus”. This is for a couple reasons, but the main one is this: I hold to Jesus, my Savior and God, who is ever with me by his Spirit. I cry to Jesus. I take joy in Jesus. I trust in Jesus. I look to seeing Jesus. He is God’s steadfast love and faithfulness (link Ex. 34:6 and John 1:17).
I have felt deep battles and drownings in depression at times in the wake of the miscarriage. I think this is a season of deep weakness. But honestly, at the same time I have not felt more deeply met in prayer by a sense of Jesus love. As I’ve gone to him, he’s met me. He’s faithful.
Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
One of the more stark realities of the Bible and our hope of the new heaven and new earth is that we really are never promised to know why God does what he does. The hope of the eschaton isn’t that we’ll finally understand why God worked all things the way he did. No, we’re simply promised that he will whip our tears away and make all things new. I don’t mean to be contentious, certainly the possibility is there, but the Biblical promise is that Jesus will be enough. Not Jesus + explanation. It’s a counseling mistake to say we’ll understand why God did X in the end – that is not our hope. Jesus is.
God leads us through all things as his children on the promise of his sustained character. That doesn’t change. The victory of Jesus crushing sin by the gushing of his blood; that doesn’t change. Why did God take our baby amidst such satisfaction in answered prayer? That answer is never promised, directly. Indirectly, God promises in Romans 8 that in union with Christ we have only loving acts from God to us. Was the taking of our baby loving? Yes. God’s character never changes, all of his acts towards us are always loving. Even ones without explanation. I don’t understand why he did things this way. Sure there are hunches, things I’ve learned. But do I really want to say that the lessons learned were better than the life of a child? Such things are to high for me to consider (Psalm 131:1). I leave those thoughts to God – possibly forever. Jesus is my only hope.
The miscarriage has been hard. It has been a blow from his rod. But his strikes have been for my good and his glory because God says so. They comfort me because I’m turned to see Jesus as my hope. With tears and pain I will kiss the rod, and call it blessed, for it has kept me near to Jesus.
Grieving As Those Who Have Hope
22 years ago
There is sad new to report here: we lost the baby Monday night. The miscarriage was confirmed yesterday when we went to see the doctor. The sorrow is deep, the miscarriage of answer prayers and the ensuing joy. But we do “not grieve as others do who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13), Jesus has overcome the world (John 16:33). This does not dissuade the sorrow or pain. Grieving at the curse of the fall is the godly and right response here (John 11:35), a response born and carried by the Holy Spirit’s work in us, the fruit of Christ’s victory over death. In the simplest of terms, we know that Jesus loves us, for as John tells us, he loved us to the end (John 13:1); that is, we know Jesus loves us now because he loved us to the cross. My Lord has dealt us a heavy blow, but I return this heart, bruised and bleeding, to him.
At the moment, my simple prayer is that as the Lord has given us this turn of events, that I might have more of him. He does what is right, and in my heart of hearts I rebuke any thought that questions his goodness in these events – Who are you, O my soul, to answer back to God (Rom. 9:20)? I shall not. As a weaned child I will sit on my Saviors lap, I will not lift my eyes to high (Psalm 131). This is the fruit of the Holy Spirit, Self-Control with her twin sister, Peace of Christ, and they spread the grace of the joy of God in this valley of the shadow of death (Gal. 5:22; Phil. 4:7). I will weep, but I will not weep as those with no hope, for Christ is my portion. For Michelle and I, this is our prayer and only hope. God has chosen is infinite, holy wisdom to take our child from life. To the Great Redeemer I trust this little one. As for us who still walk this pilgrim’s road, I join the hymn and pray:
Let sorrow do its work, come grief or pain;
Sweet are Thy messengers, sweet their refrain,
When they can sing with me: More love, O Christ, to Thee;
More love to Thee, more love to Thee!
Visits of Christ
32 years ago
In reflecting on the state of my soul lately, I can’t remember one single day in the last year where I wasn’t tempted to, battle with, or succumbed to spiritual depression. By spiritual depression I simply mean that black, hopeless cloud of a downward spiral into a meaningless, ambivalent, despair, fueled mostly by doubt and (for me) anger. It’s not precisely happy land, but a land nonetheless. Of course circumstances don’t particularly matter, this is one of those things that comes about for various randomly prompted reasons. However, in a recent trial Michelle and I have been facing, I’ve seen the temptation arrive at my door step.
With this, I have once again picked up the letters of a good (dead) friend of mine, Samuel Rutherford. His spiritual experience of God is nothing short of staggering. I’m particularly fond of reading his letters, not so much because he’s a dead Puritan, but because his experience and expressions of Christ help clear the fog for me and set a vision of what I want for my own life with Christ. In a letter I read last night, he spoke to the subject of spiritual depression with the following remark to a friend:
Now, my dear brother, I cannot show you how matters go betwixt Christ and me. I find my Lord going and coming seven times a day. His visits are short; but they are both frequent and sweet. I dare not for my life think of a challenge of my Lord. I hear ill tales, and hard reports of Christ, from The Tempter and my flesh; but love believeth no evil. I may swear that they are liars, and that [such] apprehensions make lies of Christ’s honest and unalterable love to me. ~ Samuel Rutherford, Letters #92, 195.
What he says is astonishing: The war of liars of “false lies” from Satan and his own flesh is fought by the declaring the true and unalterable love of Christ for him, which he experiences regularly. The Gospel says “Yes!” to our sin and it’s just punishment in Hell, but quickly follows up with the open arms and extension of Jesus Christ’s love for us in the mercy of his work on the cross. In my spiritual depression, there is a fog light of love to be seen in Christ. As Rutherford states, Christ’s love for me is “honest and unalterable.” More over, I long to experience Christ’s presence and love regularly through the day. How does one aim at this? By warding off Satan and the flesh’s regular attacks of condemnation with the Gospel. Jesus Christ died to save lost and hopeless people, one of the great truths to be seen here is that God initiates salvation to bring me near. He runs to save, he runs to love, not because of me, not because of what I add to him, but because he chooses to. God comes near in the Gospel not once, but regularly. Regular visits of Christ in love for the enjoyment of my soul.
As the Psalmist says:
Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation and my God. ~ Psalm 43:5
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As an aside, I highly recommend checking out Samuel Rutherford’s Letters for lasting spiritual benefit.
