There are
three aspects of our lives--dare I say, God's plan for our lives--that
we often--I often--struggle with accepting, with understanding:
suffering, failure, and the daily spiritual warfare necessary to become
more like Christ. And yet they are a vital part of our walk with Him.
Jesus, our Savior, was a "man of sorrows." As He walked this earth and saw the suffering of others, sensed the emptiness of men in search of a life of meaning, felt the attack of spiritually proud men on His compassion for others, His heart was broken. And He calls us to see the world as He sees it and to respond to its needs as He responded. To have no sorrow is to have no compassion. And He knows suffering: disease, poverty, the death of those He loved, misunderstanding, false accusation, betrayal. He experienced those things that He might have empathy with us in our sorrows. And then He calls us to participate with Him in His suffering. And it is in the midst of suffering and sorrow that we find the deepest joy and the incomprehensible peace that only He can give. I have never felt His presence more clearly than when I found myself in the midst of suffering. And I believe we grieve His heart of love when we question His love in the midst of our sorrow. When Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus, yes, He wept because He felt their sorrow, but He also wept because some in the crowd questioned His love for Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. "Couldn't He who healed the sick and made the blind to see have prevented this from happening? Where was He when they needed Him the most?" But as He told His disciples, He was not there because He loved them and because this sorrow would be used to glorify God. Suffering--sorrow--is essential if we are going to understand His great love for us and develop a faith that can sing in the midst of the fiercest storm "When peace like a river attendeth my way and sorrow like sea billows roll, it is well, it is well with my soul."
Failure. We're all experts at that, eh? And yet, that is the tool God uses to teach us the humility we need to rely on Him and not ourselves. It is the humble that God exalts and the proud that He brings down. My reaction to failure will show the Potter whether I am brittle clay or soft moldable clay, whether I perceive myself to be spiritually complete or accept that I am desperately in need of a fuller transformation into His likeness. It is in failure that I embrace His grace that tells me that "when I am weak, then I am strong." "That His Power is made perfect in weakness." I cannot experience "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" if I never experience the failure of trying to accomplish the spiritual in my own puny strength. "Without Him, I can do nothing." And when I try to do it without Him, I accomplish just that--nothing. Failure is God's reminder that my spiritual pride is quenching His Spirit's work in my life. "The arm of flesh will fail you, you dare not trust your own."
When Paul wrote to the church at Corinth--the church deep in the clutches of spiritual pride--He told them "to examine themselves to see if they were really in the faith." And how do I pass that test, that self-examination? Well, is your daily walk with God a struggle, a battle, a war with yourself and your wants and desires? Then, you pass the test. It is those struggles that show us that the Spirit is at work in our lives, revealing through His Word--like a mirror--how much of the beauty of Jesus is still missing from our lives. If there has been no struggle to grow, than there is no life. The spiritual struggle compels me to begin each day "putting on the whole armor of God that I might be able to stand." Victorious Christian living requires a spiritual battle. I should begin to worry when there is no struggle. I struggle because I am His growing child, not because I'm not. It is His assurance that we are His.
Sorrow, failure, the daily struggle to be transformed are all gifts--dare I say "good gifts"--from the Lover of our souls who desires above all else that we might sense His presence like Joseph from the pit to the prison to the palace. "God meant it for good." These three things whittle away the spiritual arrogant me and replace it with the image of the altogether lovely One.
May Christ be seen in me.
Jesus, our Savior, was a "man of sorrows." As He walked this earth and saw the suffering of others, sensed the emptiness of men in search of a life of meaning, felt the attack of spiritually proud men on His compassion for others, His heart was broken. And He calls us to see the world as He sees it and to respond to its needs as He responded. To have no sorrow is to have no compassion. And He knows suffering: disease, poverty, the death of those He loved, misunderstanding, false accusation, betrayal. He experienced those things that He might have empathy with us in our sorrows. And then He calls us to participate with Him in His suffering. And it is in the midst of suffering and sorrow that we find the deepest joy and the incomprehensible peace that only He can give. I have never felt His presence more clearly than when I found myself in the midst of suffering. And I believe we grieve His heart of love when we question His love in the midst of our sorrow. When Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus, yes, He wept because He felt their sorrow, but He also wept because some in the crowd questioned His love for Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. "Couldn't He who healed the sick and made the blind to see have prevented this from happening? Where was He when they needed Him the most?" But as He told His disciples, He was not there because He loved them and because this sorrow would be used to glorify God. Suffering--sorrow--is essential if we are going to understand His great love for us and develop a faith that can sing in the midst of the fiercest storm "When peace like a river attendeth my way and sorrow like sea billows roll, it is well, it is well with my soul."
Failure. We're all experts at that, eh? And yet, that is the tool God uses to teach us the humility we need to rely on Him and not ourselves. It is the humble that God exalts and the proud that He brings down. My reaction to failure will show the Potter whether I am brittle clay or soft moldable clay, whether I perceive myself to be spiritually complete or accept that I am desperately in need of a fuller transformation into His likeness. It is in failure that I embrace His grace that tells me that "when I am weak, then I am strong." "That His Power is made perfect in weakness." I cannot experience "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" if I never experience the failure of trying to accomplish the spiritual in my own puny strength. "Without Him, I can do nothing." And when I try to do it without Him, I accomplish just that--nothing. Failure is God's reminder that my spiritual pride is quenching His Spirit's work in my life. "The arm of flesh will fail you, you dare not trust your own."
When Paul wrote to the church at Corinth--the church deep in the clutches of spiritual pride--He told them "to examine themselves to see if they were really in the faith." And how do I pass that test, that self-examination? Well, is your daily walk with God a struggle, a battle, a war with yourself and your wants and desires? Then, you pass the test. It is those struggles that show us that the Spirit is at work in our lives, revealing through His Word--like a mirror--how much of the beauty of Jesus is still missing from our lives. If there has been no struggle to grow, than there is no life. The spiritual struggle compels me to begin each day "putting on the whole armor of God that I might be able to stand." Victorious Christian living requires a spiritual battle. I should begin to worry when there is no struggle. I struggle because I am His growing child, not because I'm not. It is His assurance that we are His.
Sorrow, failure, the daily struggle to be transformed are all gifts--dare I say "good gifts"--from the Lover of our souls who desires above all else that we might sense His presence like Joseph from the pit to the prison to the palace. "God meant it for good." These three things whittle away the spiritual arrogant me and replace it with the image of the altogether lovely One.
May Christ be seen in me.
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