Its part of pain and pleasure

“Love until it hurts” said the tumblr. 

A quaint sentiment spoken, I warrant, not during the hurt that loving entails. It’s always easier to speak platitudes and aphorisms that sound profound about situations when you’re not necessarily undergoing them. Much like how I tend to listen to a fellow graduate student-teacher explain a difficult situation involving one of their students, and my advice usually involves a degree of objectivity and detachment that I, were I in the same situation, would find it rather more difficult to express in such a blasé fashion. “Oh, just fail the paper,” I say easily after hearing of a student’s frustrating behavior, but it’s tougher when you’re the one giving the grade and the student shows up in your class every week, when you have to look in their eyes and teach knowing that they likely resent you or at the very least are upset by your actions.

“Love until it hurts.” Admirable, that. Though perhaps overly simplistic. The general idea, as I take it, means that one should love others or things to the point where they matter at a deep level and thus their removal or loss will elicit pain in you. But the way this sound bite comes across is that the object of love is to acquire pain, to stretch out until you feel tendons tearing, to contort your body to the point of injury, to give of yourself until it costs you. Which seems to me a fallacious sentiment to express. No where in God’s word does the injunction appear to love to the point of pain. 

I rather doubt that the writer meant to convey such a meaning. I’m fairly certain that the takeaway intended involves the exhortation to love with abandon, to unstintingly allow yourself to feel deep passion and to commit and express such passion to the object (again I assume this is directed toward a person). Whether it be a spouse or a beloved, a child or a parent, a friend or a coworker, the Christianized version capitalizes on the popular and non-controversial espousal of love as a divine attribute, one that is much less objectionable to unbelievers than God’s righteousness, justice, mercy, grace, and omnipotence. “God is love” offends far fewer casual people than “God is holy” or “God is truth,” so this expression simply takes it and invites the viewer to ponder ways in which s/he does not fully commit their love to their beloved. 

Thus, the more correct wording would probably be, “Don’t be afraid to love until it hurts.” The fallen nature of existence and humanity virtually ensures that harm and injury will come, whether from circumstances of nature or from the actions of other people, and the tendency, the temptation is to recoil, to keep one’s emotions removed and secured behind walls that limit the damage and access to one’s innermost being. But the object of loving someone isn’t oneself; the very nature of the act and attitude of love is directed away from the subject toward the object. Otherwise it’s not really love. If you truly love someone, you allow them access to the depths of your soul and spirit, to the point where they can injure and hurt you by their actions. But of course, their intention should never be to harm you, and those quasi-sadists who insist upon measuring and verifying the love of others for them by hurting them are not really loving the other person, and in all likelihood will lose the love they simultaneously desire and mistrust. 

“Love until it hurts.” I’m hurting right now. I loved a woman and I told her so. She did not feel the same way, and so I’m in pain. One of the questions (and there are many) swirling around my brain ponders, “Was it worth it? Was the love I felt for her worth the present pain I’m experiencing?” The events are still quite fresh, and thus quite raw in my heart, so this may not be the ideal time to explore them, but I’m sure my insight and understanding will wax with more distance. In the meantime it may be interesting to compare notes from my initial reaction to more thoughtful and less emotional ones in the future. 

But the question stands as to whether it was worth it. Note that I harbor no doubts as to whether I should have told her and risked rejection; different reasons drove this decision, but one of them coincided with the above maxim, or at least the modified one: “Don’t be afraid to love until it hurts.” And I have been afraid for a long time about being hurt. My willingness therefore to be vulnerable and to be hurt is a marker of growth for me, and I’m satisfied with that decision. But the question is not concerned with the decision, but rather the emotion and direction of will that compelled it to be made. And for this the answer is less translucent.

One school of thought that immediately occurs to me is the sports/fitness metaphor. To love someone is an emotional muscle that must be exercised in order to grow stronger and healthier. Therefore loving and experiencing loss or disappointed hopes is similar to lifting weights or running and the subsequent aches and pains that follow. Given my willingness to take a risk and chance the pain, I have given my loving mechanism a great workout which will make it heartier the next time, quicker and wiser in choosing an object of affection and tougher in the face of objection or rejection. And while this analogy has some merit, frankly, I regard that as an insufficient reason to expose oneself to risk of emotional injury. 

Another consolation may be forwarded in the guise of the argument, “Well, you put yourself out there, and even if you get rejected, if you were pretty sure such would be the case, you have a better chance of not being rejected than if you never put yourself out there to begin with.” This counter is more satisfying to me for several reason. First, the possibility of pain makes the avoidance of pain and reciprocation of love that much sweeter if it turns out that way. Just like the relief of a gamble increases the more money is riding on it, so the loss-potential can increase the success that occurs. To have your faith rewarded, to expose yourself to risk makes you appreciate it more when the risk pays off. Incidentally, it will also increase the affection one has for the object, seeing that they chose to embrace instead of reject the subject. 

Rich Mullins wrote some wonderful songs, the lyrics of which are the closest contemporary analogues to the old hymns that I’ve encountered. Among the most resonant lyrics for me comes in the song “The Love of God” in which the phrase “the reckless raging fury that they call the love of God” is repeated several times. The idea of the furious nature of God’s love always struck me as curious and not a little unnerving; after all, this God allowed His Son to be murdered by torturous means in order to offer salvation to those very people who murdered him and for whose sake he allowed himself to be murdered. The recklessness of God’s love stuns me whenever I really think about it, which is what Mullins was tapping into, and that same recklessness should permeate our lives and relationships among ourselves and between us and the Lord.

And lest you think that Mullins solely ascribed the ferocity and reckless nature of love to the Father, in his song “Calling Out Your Name” the third verse exclaims: “The Lord takes by its corners this whole world, and shakes us forward and shakes us free to run wild with the hope.” Here the operative word is “hope” but I feel safe in assuming Mullins would have easily transferred a similar ethic to love as well. Not only is God’s love reckless, but He has invited, encouraged, nay, perhaps even mandated that we “run wild” with the love, free from constraints of worry as to what could happen to us. The worst that could happen is to be rejected, emotionally or physically by death. If the second should happen, well, “to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.” If the first, we can rest and recover assured that no matter what earthly tumult and pain may assail us, we can hide and rest in His sheltering arms, secure in our unshakable confidence in His love for us. That is the true heart of the Gospel, that is the good news, and armed with that I will humbly approach each day confident in who I am and my beloved status in Christ before the throne of God.

I’m sure that these words, though spiritually and intellectually true and understood, will at times seem small comfort when the ghostly pain echoes through my soul. Like a splinter removed, the afterimage on one’s emotions of shattered will linger and recur like waves on the sand. But I trust and hope that the tide of affection and the pain of its refusal will, like the tide, recede into the ocean of God’s love and acceptance, immovable as He Himself. Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus.

An Unpleasant Realization

I’ve had an unpleasant realization. My mind strayed to Her, as is frequently the case, and another voice said, You need to stop thinking about her so much. To which I responded, I care about her, so why shouldn’t I think about her? You don’t care about her, the other voice replied. You care about Diana and Shawn, Mom and Dad, Abigail, Caleb and Rebecca, and you don’t think about them very often during the course of the day. You care about Me/the Lord, and you don’t think about Him that often either. You want her; that’s why you think about her. Just like you want to lose weight and you want to win the lottery or have a pile of money. And what you desire, what you covet, that is what you think about continuously.

And I realize that I’ve made Her into an idol, just like I’ve made losing weight into an idol. I think about losing weight so much, with the focus on food and this new thing about calories, and exercise, and the ancillary preoccupation with my body and its various ailments. It’s always on my mind, always lurking in the background of my consciousness. I look at tumblrs that show people with sculpted physiques and wallow in envy and desire; not sexual, even with the women who look fantastic, but envy and jealousy to be in such good shape. And for what purpose? To attract women? Certainly. To be healthier and perhaps to be more active, play basketball or golf or tennis? Absolutely. To see the end of many, hopefully all, the various aches and pains I suffer, and to prevent long-term diseases like those which plague Dad’s side of the family? Yes. But ultimately the desire is to feel good about myself, to worship myself and my body, just like my desire for Her is to have someone desire me and love me, to affirm me and shower me with affection and attention. 

How utterly selfish I am. What a little rotter, an egocentric narcissist I turn out to be! After all this time, after all the spiritual nurturing and maturing the Lord has patiently shepherded me through, how abysmally removed I still am from Him, who has every right to be so egocentric and demanding, but who humbles Himself a thousand times a day to continue to endure me and my self-centeredness, to bear patiently with my waywardness.

I was just wondering whether or not the reason why the Lord has refused to answer my prayers about losing weight has been not due to my own failings but because He was purposefully preventing or abstaining from lending a hand in this undertaking. And it occurred to me that He is waiting for me to finally come to that place where I say not “I can’t do this and You must, Lord,” but to say, “It doesn’t matter. You matter, Lord. Only you.”

So, whether or not I ever lose the weight and get healthy, whether or not I ever attract Her or some other woman, whether or not I become successful and wealthy, whether or not I finish grad school and secure a professorship, all these things must become issues about which I am disinterested. I am interested in seeing how they play out, but I am not investing my sense of worth and my worship in these things. Because they are ephemeral and inconstant, and they do not satisfy. Only You satisfy, Jesus, Father, Holy One. Only You.

Why Pleasing God is a Fool's Errand

It always struck me as strange that God would declare that He was pleased with Jesus when John baptized him in the River Jordan. After all, Jesus hadn't really done anything to that point; he may have changed water into wine since that took place (seemingly) before the official start of his earthly ministry, but even that miracle was not necessarily glorifying to God in the same way his healings, preaching, and other miraculous deeds. And yet God declared Himself pleased with His beloved Son. This suggests several truths which I conceive may prove transformational if they take root in our hearts.

The first truth this suggests is that God based His approval of Jesus not on Jesus’ miraculous activities in promulgating the Kingdom of Heaven on earth, whether through preaching and healing or incarnating the life of the Father, thus fulfilling the role of Adam. True, Jesus did complete his earthly life to the utter satisfaction of the Father, not only in his sinless life, but in his obedient submission to the Father’s will to the point of the Cross. This is the way in which Jesus was “made perfect” on earth; that he, being perfect, offered his heart and life up to God and endured the absolute torment and unimaginable agony of shouldering the sins of humanity. He was always perfect in his nature; he had to prove his perfection in vocation and ministry. And in the same way, we share the perfection of Jesus’ nature, which took effect at the point of conversion, and we are becoming perfect in submission to God’s will, working out our salvation with much fear and trembling, but looking forward to the completion of that process which will culminate after we die or the Lord returns, whichever comes first.

All this is true and too glorious for our minds to fully comprehend or even to express in my inadequate words. But again God’s declaration of His approval of Jesus took place before the perfection of Jesus’ earthly ministry was complete. Disregarding the timelessness of God, which is a valid objection, I propose that God deliberately chose to locate this expression of approval at the stage in Jesus’ life for the purpose of undermining a common objection that some people, even believers who might know better, have about emulating or comparing themselves with Jesus. “Well, of course God loved Jesus,” they retort. “Jesus was perfect! No wonder he was able to do what he did, and to win God’s approval! Look at the miracles he performed. I’ll wager that if I walked on water and healed a man blind from birth God would thump me on the back too!” and if God’s declaration of being pleased with Jesus came after part or all of his earthly ministry, those people might have a leg to stand on, even if other passages would prove problematic for said leg. But for the purposes of unpacking this a bit more I turn to an exemplary book I just finished reading called The Normal Christian Life by Watchman Nee.

The final chapter of this book (which you really must read) discusses the concept of “wasting” for the Lord. When Mary broke the alabaster flask of oil and anointed Jesus in the house of the Pharisee, Judas Iscariot and others of the Twelve berated her for wasting an expensive item that could have been used to bless the poor in some manner. Nee discussed Jesus’ response and expanded upon the idea that whatever we do for God is never waste in the sense of being pointless or useless or too extravagant, for how can anything we ever sacrifice for the Lord even begin to approach recompensing Him for what He has lavished abundantly on us and for us and to us? Nee went on to cite examples from his own life, particularly a woman who seemed to be wasting her talents and extraordinary relationship with the Lord by staying in a remote village and not traveling around conducting seminars or writing books. The point was that God’s economy looks for different things than humanity’s priorities suggest are valuable and important. Giving money to the poor is a tangible way to demonstrate one’s devotion to principles or even to God and blesses others; “wasting” money to anoint Jesus’ body soon to be crucified and buried is far more opaque to the world’s eyes and moral paradigms. Yet Jesus pronounced himself pleased with her offering and halted his followers from disparaging her profligacy.

And in this principle God’s declaration of His approval of Jesus begins to make more sense. For we are not told of any great works that he did before his ministry on earth; the only snapshot of his childhood, adolescence and young adulthood is that episode in the temple where he teaches the experts about the Scriptures and scares his mother half to death. Yet what God values is the availability of Jesus to the Father, the waiting patiently upon God’s will and in God’s time, of trusting that God’s plans are good and will transpire where and when they must to bring about God’s glory and praise. God saw that Jesus was wasting his time waiting for God to direct his life, to start his ministry and initiate that inevitable death march towards Calvary and the empty tomb. After all, what was Jesus doing in his twenties? There’s a decade more of preaching and teaching, healing and ministering, just wasted, a thousand missed opportunities, innumerable people with broken bodies and broken hearts thirsty for truth and meaning and love that went without ever encountering Jesus. I imagine that if I were to travel back to meet Jesus at his 18^th birthday, I might exhort him to start his ministry much sooner than he did; why not bless and heal and nurture and teach as many people as possible? This is the worldly way of thinking.

But God was watching Jesus, and He knew His Son was completely devoted to the will of the Father. In other words, it was the orientation of Jesus’ heart in relation to God the Father that pleased Him, and not any works of righteousness or any sound doctrine or piety or miraculous signs.

Now, by this time you might be saying to yourself (or others), “Get on with it! Yes, Jesus was perfect and his very nature was pleasing to God. I know all this! What are you getting at? How is this anything new?” This brings me to the second truth, and the one that I pray will prove radically transformational in my life and hopefully in yours as the Lord reveals and imparts it to your heart throughout the year 2014. Here it is: God is pleased with me. Well pleased.

Just let that sink in for a moment. Marinate your heart and mind in that statement for a tick. God is well pleased with me. With me! And with you!

Because, as mentioned before, if God is well-pleased with Jesus because of his complete availability to the Father, because he was willing to be wasted for God’s good pleasure, to cool his heels and just be, and if by the indwelling Holy Spirit we share the life of Jesus, both his life and death and resurrection, then that means that God is well-pleased with us in the same way!

If you’re not jumping up and down and shouting your voice hoarse right now in astounded rejoicing, you may need to ruminate further on this truth. And bear in mind that God’s pleasure with you and me is not based again on our ability to measure up to His standards, because His pleasure with Jesus was not based on Jesus’ activity for God, his holiness and perfect accomplishment of Jesus’ earthly ministry. No, it was based in Jesus’ complete availability to be wasted for God, to be at His disposal and thus to be disposed of according to God’s will. And therefore God’s pleasure with us is completely independent upon our performance here on earth, even in our new lives as believers. I struggle with a myriad of fleshly desires and peccadillos; just yesterday I found myself in a funk and was tempted to declare myself utterly worthless. I actually rejoiced in the fact that no woman would ever be interested in me as a potential mate because I was such an unmitigated mess, and resigned myself to being God’s major rehabilitation project during my earthly sojourn. But I was reminded that God’s love for me and His pleasure in me is not based on my ability to control my appetites and abstain from indulging sinful desires or attitudes.

This is the truth that transforms, the knowledge that God’s love for me and His pleasure in me comes from His love for and approval of Jesus, and is completely independent from my ability to live in Christ-like manner. If I can live in that truth this year, I will not be the same. And neither will you.

The Folly of Umbrellas

It was a dark and stormy night in Waco. My favorite kind of night. After an afternoon full of grading papers my mind needed a break and I bethought I should take my nightly constitutional, as is my custom. The distant peel of thunder had been rumbling in the evening air like ten thousand tympani, but I reckoned I could take my promenade afore the heavens would open. When, however, I flung open the door, there had come soft rains dressing the earth in glistening garments and washing the air of stifling Texan humidity. I yearned to luxuriate in the blessed coolness, but hesitated to venture into the precipitation. Finally, I snatched the umbrella by the door and sallied forth.

As I am wont to do, I fired up my nearly defunct Ipod and selected a sermon by Major Ian Thomas to edify my mind and nourish my spirit as I exercised my body and refreshed my soul. Lightning and thunder provided accompaniment to MIT’s wise words about Mary and David’s perfect hearts towards the Lord. After reaching and circumnavigating the Garden of Contentment, I removed my earphones and sang a rousing rendition of “Singin’ in the Rain” as the inclement weather alternately gnashed its teeth and spat bright power across the skies. Returning the earbuds to my ears I resumed the sermon and directed my steps toward home. 

As a native Oregonian born in England, I come by my hearty appreciation for rainy weather honestly. As I sashayed through the soaked sidewalks on Baylor’s deserted campus, I tipped and twirled the umbrella to expose my face to the sprinkles. As MIT discussed the simplicity of letting God be God, I ruminated on the necessity of the umbrella in keeping the rain off me. I minded not a good wetting, though my glasses adorned my face and my garb was ill-suited for daring the elements. However, I collapsed the umbrella and welcomed the falling blessings. The thought occurred to me that I was preventing the beneficent weather from bathing me in its enervating and soothing caresses, which informed my eventual decision to eschew the protection of the umbrella.

This idea also occurred to me in a spiritual avenue; namely, that too often believers (or at least, I) beg and plead for the blessings of heaven to shower down upon us when it also seems like we throw up blockades or protectors to shield us from the very blessings we implore. And before I postulate on why this might be so, let me defend this assertion.

In my life, for the last decade or so I have undergone trial after tribulation after disappointment after privation. From physical ailments that continue to inflict themselves upon me, to financial poverty which nags at me like a blister in my sole, to indecision and anxiety about the future, to the discovery of dear friends only to lose their presence again, my heart has been battered and torn, sick and blind, lifted high and brought low. Consequently, these last ten or so years constitute the greatest gain in spiritual maturity and devotion to God I have ever experienced in my life. Too many blessings have been lavished upon me, too many dear relationships developed, too many chains struck off, too much freedom gained in every facet of my life to even begin to elucidate here (though a thorough examination of my blog will give some indication). Regardless, the Lord has been exceedingly gracious, loving, kind, and good towards me, and I know that I have no idea just how gracious, merciful, kind, and loving He has truly been. Even so, I am greedy for more. I want to see my own failings and predilections toward sin completely eradicated. I want to find new and deeper relationships with people, or deepen those ones that have become immensely dear and important to me. I want to conquer my self-condemnation in regards to body image and pharisaical legalism, so that I might be freer to love and serve Jesus. I want to see miracles, to participate in wonders, to impact other peoples’ lives in dramatic ways. And for all these things I pray.

But I wonder how serious I am. Because the blessings of God are not always what we want and how we want them. 

When I considered collapsing the umbrella and letting the rain pour down on me, I had to consider that my glasses would become wet, making visibility an issue. I would become drenched (though the rain was not yet very vigorous as it soon would be), which on a cool night might lead to catching a cold. These may seem like frivolous and inconsequential considerations, but arise they did in my mind, and I had to accept the possibility of consequences and discomfort in order to experience the blessing.

And herein lies the application to myself as a believer (as may also apply to a great many others). The blessing of God entails not just the fulfillment of our desires and longings (if even that); with it comes the imperative that we should submit our lives, our fortunes, our hearts and wills to the dictatorship (benign though it certainly is) of the Holy Spirit. Elijah was a mighty prophet of the Lord, but he also lived in solitude and loneliness on a Spartan diet in the wilderness, had to face down a murderous king and a hostile crowd, and suffer the rejection of communicating the Lord’s displeasure and censure of Israel. Paul and the apostles all met rather unpleasant ends after enduring innumerable hardships for the sake of Christ even as they performed miracles and saw the spread of the Gospel around the Roman empire. All down through the ages, those who have been used by God to move mountains and level armies, to reform ecclesiastical corruption and defy oppressive governments, have usually endured strong persecution and rejection at the hands of those they attempt to minister to. And certainly no one better exemplifies this concept than the Lord Jesus Christ Himself, who raised the dead and walked on water, who calmed storms with a word and conquered demons with a stern voice, who restored sight to the blind and hope to the wretched, yet suffered for the sin of all mankind even as he was tortured to death on a Roman cross, despised and rejected by His chosen people, betrayed by his disciple and condemned by the priests who claimed to serve God better than anyone.

The upshot is: receiving blessings from God may be more than I bargain for. And I think that subconsciously I sense that, which is why I’m still hesitant to throw aside the umbrella protecting me from full exposure to the reckless raging fury that Rich Mullins called the love of God, the wild and unpredictable Spirit that might impose strictures on things I would be loath to relinquish, or to sacrifice my pride, my money, my time, my dignity, or my body in ways I would find difficult to accept. To abandon myself to God’s will entirely might mean walking away from my cherished dreams and ambitions of being a college professor and writer. It might mean a life of chastity, of never capturing the love of a woman and attaining a Godly wife. It might mean humbling myself to live in places I would not want to live, to do things I would not want to do, to resign myself to never losing weight and having a physique I can be proud of. It might mean, in short, the death of myself. How far will I dare to die, that Christ might live in me? Will I take up my cross in spirit as well as truth? Will I suffer the cold, the temporal tragedies and tribulations that total devotion and submission to the Father’s will might entail?

It occurs to me (and perhaps this is of diabolic origin) that taking the bitter with the better when it comes to receiving God’s blessing is rather unfair. After all, isn’t God good? Doesn’t He love us and want what’s best for us? Shouldn’t we expect His blessings since we are now His (adopted) children, co-heirs with Jesus, declared the righteousness of God in Christ, inhabited by the Spirit, priests and temples all in one? Why is God making unreasonable demands of us like the complete annihilation of our own desires and ambitions? Surely they can’t be all bad, can they? I fully intend to teach college students literature in a way that pleases and glorifies God, and to write about things that will direct people towards a deeper contemplation of Him. Why would God not want that to happen? Why would He not give us what we ask for? Doesn’t the Bible say that all we have to do is ask (John 14:13-14)? 

In order to answer this, I turn a retrospective eye to my journey to grad school in Waco. I had contemplated continuing on for my Ph.D. while still at Truman getting my M.A. in English. I decided against that and moved to Kansas City. After several failed attempts at making it in the professional world, I again began to consider making another run at doctoral programs, eventually deciding to apply in 2010. I applied to five schools, all of whom rejected me. I applied again to five in 2011, throwing in Baylor as mostly an afterthought. I’d met a girl who went here and spoke well of the school, though she was not a grad student nor an English major. After four of the five rejected me again, I resigned myself that the Lord was closing this particular door. I had a job that paid well, even if I hated it, and friends and a church home I enjoyed, especially those from the small group I attended for several years. I sincerely surrendered the situation to the Lord and began contemplating my next move when Baylor finally rejected my application. 

They, of course, did not, and even offered a few extra dollars to help come here. An absolute criteria for acceptance was a fellowship that covered tuition, which was also offered. The Lord provided. I accepted, lost the cushy job in Kansas City, and moved down to Waco, away from any and all connections for the first time in my life (even in Kansas City, I had an uncle in town, and my parents a mere 3 hours away). 

Had the Lord not deferred my desire to go on to grad school for six years, I would not have had the experiences in Kansas City that I did, the immense growth in maturity and spiritual development that the events and people there provided. I would not have found my brother Caleb, a mentor in Uncle Eric, my theological sparring partner Boen, my dear friends Seth and Mayberry, or my capacity for worship at New Day and spiritual nourishment from Lloyd Rindels. Had I been accepted to Oregon as I devoutly hoped and not gone to Baylor, I would have missed out on the wonderful relationships I have developed here, like Andy or Jeremy Larson. Had I not been required to tutor for a year instead of teaching right away and not been assigned to the Athletic Writing Center, I would not have made three friends who have become incredibly dear to me: Ingrid, Daniel, and Christine. Had I not been constantly teetering on the brink of financial insolvency, I would not have seen the Lord bless me through others, most notably Jeremy Larson.

All these things have been blessings from the Lord, and all of these blessings have involved situations that have tested my patience, faith, and sanity at various times and in various measure. This seems to be the way the Lord operates, and reflects a major pattern in human experience, that the success is that much sweeter because of the possibility of or the previous reality of failure. In this fallen world, pain is a part of pleasure or at the very least serves to enhance pleasure by contrast. 

What is the conclusion of all this rambling? What you take from this is your business. As for me, I see the pattern, the blessing of the Lord that comes from the midst of pain and suffering, from trials and tribulations. I believe that even greater blessings await me, and if I must walk through thorny paths to reach them, I am resolved so to do. You may avoid pain and discomfort by shielding yourself from the full force of God’s will, but you will also shield yourself from experiencing His full blessing and promise and Presence. The choice is yours.

The Reincarnation of Jesus Christ

I wrote a piece for my other shared blog:
http://bibleglasses.wordpress.com/2013/08/12/reincarnation-of-jesus-christ/

Good Sorrow

Tonight I said goodbye to Ingrid, who has become one of my dearest friends. We’ll just leave it at that. As I struggled to contain my tears, I was struck by a revelation that I shall attempt to elucidate here. 

There are two kinds of sorrow in this life: good and bad. The bad kind of sorrow is what most people think of when they begin to grope for reasons to disbelieve in God; loved ones dying of cancer, senseless crimes like rape or murder or hate-fueled evil, natural disasters, the wickedness of people who corrupt other people or companies or governments or whatever other resource they can for the purposes of their own selfishness. This kind of sorrow is “bad” because it doesn’t seem to coincide with the way we think the world should work: children starving in Africa or sold as sex slaves around the world is wrong, and what, after all, have such innocents done to deserve the sorrow and torment they endure? And how could a kind and merciful God tolerate such wickedness and stand aside from intervening in the midst of such suffering? Disputing this canard is not the point of my blog, so I shall merely point out that the only redeeming value of such sorrow is that others might be moved to action to intervene upon the sufferer’s behalf, to save them. This is a symbol of what Christ did for us, and an opportunity for us to embody Christ to the world. But the sorrow itself is bad, coming as it does because of the existence of pain and evil, sin, necessitating its correction or termination and ultimately the salvation of Jesus Christ.

The other kind of sorrow is that which I now struggle with, and this sorrow is good. I would like to explain this sorrow and then postulate on its meaning as regards the Christian’s walk with the Lord and understanding of who He is and why He does the things He does. A modest goal; we shall see.

Now, at this point you may be wondering, how can any sorrow ever be good? My friend is leaving Waco to enroll at Purdue in Indiana for her doctorate program, which is a step up for her in relation to her desire to specialize in medieval literature. The program’s reputation is better than Baylor’s, she’ll be working with some of the best scholars in this field, and they’re giving her a sweet ride as far as fellowships go, better certainly than Baylor. Lest you think that she was motivated solely by such calculations, allow me to disabuse you of such notions. She had made many friends down here, she is well-liked and respected by the English faculty as a whole, and could easily have stayed down here as received a good education with decent prospects. She brought the decision before the Lord and I believe that her departure is in accordance with His will. 

I’ve gotten to know her quite well over the year we had together. We worked in the same writing center, giving us ample time to discover who the other was and how our personalities interacted. There was a great sense of camaraderie in that writing center among all of us, for various reasons both good and bad, and she and I and Daniel had a particularly jovial time riffing during the down times there. We watched movies together, had dinners and dances, had a class together as well, and just shared our lives. My attachment to her might have been greater than hers to me but even so we had a wonderful friendship. Even more important, ultimately, is her devotion to the Lord and her amazing capacity to love others and pour out her life for others. Her interactions and attitudes were a constant and firm (albeit gentle) rebuke and reminder to me to pursue the Lord even more wholeheartedly. Rare indeed is the person who emanates such a sweet aroma of the Spirit, and I was very blessed and humbled to spend time with her and watch her dedicate her life to God. 

So this evening was that much more difficult to endure. Ever since she announced her decision I’d been trying to prepare myself for today, sometimes steeling myself, sometimes sinking in grief, at the prospect of losing such a wonderful person from my life. This goodbye was in some ways as difficult as it was saying goodbye to my friend Caleb from Kansas City, though not in the same way since we were of different genders which limits the depths to which unmarried people can unclasp their hearts. Regardless, I quickly began to blub as we prayed, and that set her off, so we both ended up a bit teary. Afterwards, I began to reflect on this idea of sorrow as a good sorrow.

The sorrow that we felt at being parted was due to the love and friendship we shared and the fact that it was coming to an end, at least for now. God alone knows what the future holds, but we will never have what we have had and quite possibly will never share our lives again this side of eternity. And I was heartbroken. Still am. But I believe that this sorrow is a good sorrow, because it’s the sorrow of Love, the love for Jesus that bound us even closer than normal colleagues and friends, a love that may only be surpassed on earth by that between spouses and parents-children. This love is the kind of love that should exist among every Christian, and when it does, it baffles the world even as it incites in their hearts an indescribable longing that can only be satisfied by Christ. 

Moreover, the sorrow I feel at her departure is untainted by selfishness and bitterness. The months leading up to this gave me ample time to give up any sentiment of resentment or despair that lapped up against my heart, and which I might have indulged in as a younger man. But I had directed my heart and will to rejoice in her opportunity, to enjoy her company while I still could, and to thank the Lord for the time we spent together. So the sorrow is as pure an expression of love as I am capable of in this world. And herein lies the crux of the matter: sorrow, good sorrow, is another form of love. The sorrow we feel for a loved one on their death bed is mixed with the hope in the promise that they are soon to be fully and finally united with God and that in just a little while we too will join them in that union, and our love will reach even greater heights than humans can imagine as it is completely expressed through the Lord. 

Furthermore, the experience of forming a friendship with those in Kansas City, particularly Caleb, helped me to realize the power and preciousness of fellowship with others, and the sorrow I felt leaving them behind enlarged my capacity to love others and to form new friendships in Waco. So too I imagine the sorrow of losing Ingrid’s fellowship, as piercing as it feels at the moment, will reap harvests of new friendships and relationships as this experience enlarges my ability and desire to find new people to love, and to love those I already love more fully and authentically, especially the Lord.

And so, even though I’ve broken down a few times as I have written this, and even though my world is dimmer than it has been, I can embrace the sorrow and rejoice in the sadness that I feel, for it testifies that I can love and that God is remaking me in His own image, for He is love and I will never face a parting from Him. And though my will shall have to drag my heart through times of grief and nostalgia, the Lord has promised to heal my heart, to restore my joy, and to bring new friends and new fellowships as I continue to pursue Him. For His very nature is love which requires other persons to love, and so our reflection of His image must be comprised primarily of love for Him and for each other. And sorrow is the price we pay here on earth. I pay it gladly.