Six questions: Fifth Question

I keep trying to do whatever it is You want from me. And I’m not accomplishing anything. If You want it done, please say something!

“It is precisely in times of spiritual dryness that we must hold on to our spiritual discipline so that we can grow into new intimacy with God.” (Henri Nouwen)

“And of this gospel I was appointed a herald and an apostle and a teacher. That is why I am suffering as I am. Yet I am not ashamed, because I know whom I have believed, and am convinced that he is able to guard what I have entrusted to him for that day.” (2 Tim. 1:11-12)

Once we have settled our beliefs about Who we believe and what we believe, we are called to take a stand, putting that belief into action.

           

Praise be to the God that gives us light to see! And who, even if he doesn’t illuminate, guides.

"And I know that if we live we will live by His promise. And I know He who made it and I’m sure that He would not lie.” (Rich Mullins)

Stand firm where you’ve been planted, but be ready to move, and move quickly. Do whatever it takes to tie the truth around you so tightly that there’s nothing to get tangled up in. (Eph. 6:10-18) We see truth through our community, the Holy Spirit, and the intentional pursuit of time with Jesus.

Consider him faithful who made the promise. Make choices about where you put your feet and your heart. (Prov. 4:26) Fix your eyes on what, and Who, you know to be true.

Sometimes our walk is more of a stumble, and other times it barely resembles movement at all. The thing is to remind yourself that it is God who calls, God who equips, and God who “trains my hands for battle.” (2 Sam. 22:35, Ps. 18:34)

"…sometimes uncertainty forces us to pray like it depends on God.” (Mark Batterson)

Weak though you are, work on.

It’s in following your commandments, your instructions, that you are made strong. Your brokenness is healed. Your wounds are bound up. And your scars have meaning.

Six questions: Fourth Question

I have prayed. I haven’t heard You answer.

There are lessons learned only in the wells of the night. Unexplainable things that must be felt, rather than told; a new understanding and quiet coalescence of thought. These are nights that change you; though whether for better or worse is not always readily apparent.

The ‘dark night’ is a very real place, as anyone who has been there will tell you. Alan Jones calls it ‘the second conversion.’ While the first conversion was characterized by joy and enthusiasm and filled with felt consolation and a profound sense of God’s presence, the second is marked by dryness, barrenness, desolation, and a profound sense of God’s absence. The dark night is an indispensable stage of spiritual growth both for the individual and the Church.

Have you ever prayed that you might be more prayerful? Have you ever prayed for a lively and conscious awareness of God’s indwelling presence throughout the day? Have you ever prayed that you might be gentle and humble in heart? Have you ever asked for a spirit of detachment from material things, personal relationships, and creature comforts? Have you ever cried out for an increase in faith? I know I have, and I suspect that we have all prayed often for these spiritual gifts. But I wonder if we really meant what we said when we asked for these things? Did we really want what we asked for? I think not. Otherwise, why did we recoil in shock and sorrow when our prayers were answered? (Brennan Manning)

            “…the life of pure faith is the dark night.” – Manning

We pray for faith and don’t expect to be given the opportunity to practice that faith. The dark night—or desert—however gives us the opportunity to prepare for the battle ahead.

“When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them on the road through the Philistine country, though that was shorter. For God said, ‘If they face war, they might change their minds and return to Egypt.’ So God led the people around by the desert road toward the Red Sea. The Israelites went up out of Egypt armed for battle.” (Exodus 13:17-18)

The New Living Translation phrases the last part of verse 18 as “Thus the Israelites left Egypt like an army ready for battle.” In the English Standard Version, the same passage is “And the people of Israel went up out of the land of Egypt equipped for battle.”

“God proportions his people’s trials to their strength, and will not suffer them to be tempted above what they are able, 1 Cor. 10:13… God knows our frame, and considers our weakness and faintheartedness, and by less trials will prepare us for greater. God is said to bring Israel out of Egypt as the eagle brings up her young ones (Deut. 32:11), teaching them by degrees to fly.” (Matthew Henry on Exodus 13)

God calls and he also equips. What seems like a detour, or no motion at all, may really be God equipping us for what’s ahead.

Even after God brought them out of the desert road, the Israelites still panicked at the Red Sea. They were a people group broken down by slavery, unable to see beyond the limits of their experiences. But in taking them down the desert road, God brought them to a place where his power and justice could be seen in vivid relief against the backdrop of their circumstances.

Six questions: Third Question

You called me. Why aren’t you giving me victory?

The champion is not always the victor in the fight.

We are not promised triumph in all of life’s trials and situations. What we are promised is that God has already won the battle for our souls. That being said, our powerlessness sets the stage for God’s movement.

God did not call us to accomplishments; he called us to obedience. Difficult times grind deep the truths and foundations of our faith.

“Violent passions are formed in solitude. In the busy world no object has time to make a deep impression.” (Henry Home)

In other words, we get to practice.

“Here’s the point: God is in the resume-building business. He is always using past experiences to prepare us for future opportunities. But those God-given opportunities often come disguised as man-eating lions. And how we react when we encounter those lions will determine our destiny.” (Mark Batterson)

Or, to put it another way, “no problem equals no miracle.” (Mark Batterson)

Sometimes we are led into the desert of powerlessness in order to get away from anything and everything that may cause us to attribute events to anything other than God’s involvement.

“The wisdom of the desert is that the confrontation with our own frightening nothingness forces us to surrender ourselves totally and unconditionally to the Lord Jesus Christ.” (Henri Nouwen)

Over and over in the Old Testament, God moves in such a way that no other explanation can be given than that of the Providential Hand of God moving in the affairs of men.

For example, Jehoshaphat marched his people out against an overwhelming advancing army—sang—and by the time they got there, their enemies were dead. (2 Chron. 20:1- 30) Or take Gideon’s army, which was stripped down to what seemed like less than a skeleton crew. Their enemies were obliterated. (Judges 7)

“Has any god ever tried to take for himself one nation out of another nation, by testings, by miraculous signs and wonders, by war, by a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, or by great and awesome deeds, like all the things the LORD your God did for you in Egypt before your very eyes? You were shown these things so that you might know that the LORD is God; besides him there is no other. From heaven he made you hear his voice to discipline you. On earth he showed you his great fire, and you heard his words from out of the fire.” (Deut. 4:34-36)

You meet God in the furnace of difficulty a long time before you meet him in the sky. (Rich Mullins) And it’s often in that furnace that God’s intervention in daily life shows up the greatest. We see his work for what it is most clearly when it cannot be anything else.

“Then we speak best of God and his goodness when we speak from our own experience, and in telling others, tell God also what he has done for our souls.” (Matthew Henry on 2 Cor. 1)

Six questions: Second Question

I follow YOU. Doesn’t that count? Doesn’t that sacrifice matter? Doesn’t that choice matter? I’ve done my part, why aren’t you doing yours?

A review for the movie Independence Day described the American spirit as being at its strongest “when there is a clear reason to protect what we value most.

Difficult times— whatever the context— force people to come to a crossroads. You either rise to the challenge and bring your “A” game or you try and sit it out. Even with your best efforts, you may not be victorious. But you don’t even have the chance of victory if you shy away from the action.

All that’s to say that difficulties can create the training ground for the beliefs and practices we want to define us. A dancer learns the movements of a ballet in the relative quiet. The ballet is born though in the joints and muscles of continual, aching practice.

To want obedience without actually having to make a choice to do so isn’t really obedience. Obedience comes at a cost. (2 Sam. 24:24) Difficulties bring an opportunity to practice living what we want to become.

“Discipleship without sacrifice breeds comfortable Christianity barely distinguishable in its mediocrity from the rest of the world. The Cross is both the test and the destiny of a follower of Christ.” (Brennan Manning)

There’s an underlying question here though. If you’ve got confidence in the steps that led you to the situation you find yourself in, the issue is no longer one of geography, but one of theology and the supremacy of a God who does not immediately, visibly reward seeking Him, when there is an apparent disconnect between obedience and fulfillment.

It is in this “No Man’s Land” that the battle of faith is often fought.

“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for.” (Hebrews 11:1)

You are in the middle of a story. All the saints and prophets, broken people and sinful patriarchs of old point the way, crying out for a better city.

“All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth.” (Hebrews 11:13)

Difficulties force us to make a decision as to whether we’ll believe if and when we can’t even remember why we started in the first place. This starts as a personal choice to believe.

“My Deliverer is coming, My Deliverer is standing by. I will never doubt his promise, though I doubt my heart – I doubt my eyes.” (Rich Mullins)

The weary fighter lifts his head one more time. His balance is off, and he struggles to regain his footing. He stands, plants his feet and squares his shoulders. A broken whisper escapes, “I’m still in this.”

It’s lived out in community.

“When you can’t run, you crawl, and when you can’t do that anymore, you find someone to carry you.” (Firefly)

Six questions: First Question

Why, after increased focus and renewed dedication in following God, is it harder to follow Him?

“Now, when your weapons are dulled, your ardor dampened, your strength exhausted and your treasure spent, other chieftains will spring up to take advantage of your extremity.” – Sun Tzu

            Chinese philosopher and military strategist Sun Tzu laid out his principles, in The Art of War in the late 6^th to mid 5^th century B.C. Now it’s considered the foundation of modern warfare, a guide in business and required reading in many settings. It can also feel like the Christian life follows this pattern sometimes.

We get a second wind in our faith, take a deep breath and press harder. We get just a little clearer glimpse of Jesus and it’s enough to breathe energy into tired muscles and weary hearts. Then, life ambushes us, everything goes wrong, and we get to the point where we’re thinking, “One more thing, and I’m going to crack.”

            And then five more things happen.

            We’re drowning and left crying to Heaven, “Hey, I’m fighting your fight. I’m exhausted. See my blisters? And now—now! —I get attacked by everything and am sinking in the morass of humanity.”

            But for as much as we cry, sweat, shake it off, keep going or crumple to the ground, the fact remains that sometimes following Jesus seems to produce more misery, less comfort, and a lot more pain than we expected.

            Maybe increased suffering for a Christian comes for several reasons and from a number of different sources.

We live in a broken world.

It’s full of entropy and barely-controlled chaos. Stars are made from violent explosions. Cells mutate and turn deadly. The act of breathing, which keeps us alive, also brings us closer to our death. Fact: we’re falling apart. For as often as things go right—a bus doesn’t hit us, the sun doesn’t fall down, our skin doesn’t disintegrate—it also goes wrong. And that’s just life. Bad things happen and life is difficult because we live in an inherently flawed world.

Everyone trains.

Like the altars on Mount Carmel, our lives are altars to something. (1 Kings 18)  We were born into a battle. Since Satan staged his rebellion, the forces of Heaven, Earth and Hell have been fighting this war. Whether we follow God or not, we’re already combatants.

The question, then, is what you are training for and how will that fight play out. Job’s life- for example- was the stage for one skirmish. (Job 1:1-10) Ours are too. (1 Peter 5:8-9)

Take heart! The fact that you are suffering is only a reflection of whom you are being claimed as. You matter. And for this reason you are having a difficult time. You see, noncombatants don’t get a second glance in the thick of battle. They are of no threat to the enemy. Dig in deep, game on. Hold the line. (Heb. 11-12, Pr. 4)

“We need to quit praying, ‘God, keep me safe’ and start praying, ‘God, make me dangerous.” (Mark Batterson)

Suffering “lets” us practice faith

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the power of the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade—kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you greatly rejoice, through now for a little while you may have had to suffer all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”

(1 Peter 5:3-7)

He tried it with Job, and he’ll try it with us. “Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.” (1 Pet. 5:8)

Our deepest held beliefs are what we turn to when we’re stripped of all else. Short of that point, there’s always another way to say it, always another way to look at it, always something else. Suffering forces us to reevaluate and reinforce our basic principles. It also presents a choice whether to hold tighter to the beliefs you’ve said are true or to let go. Warriors don’t hold the line for a lightly held belief; they stand their ground for the truths they’re stone-cold convinced are worth it.

“The reward for good work is more work”

Mark Batterson

Max Lucado said something to the effect that Jesus loved us too much to leave us alone. He saved our souls, and he’s continuing the long work of making us more like him. Holiness is a process. Not an appointment. Purification is ongoing, and keeps getting more intense.

What feels like increased trials can really be the next level of training. You’re only ready for it now because you know where to look. And that’s not God picking on you, that’s him helping you train and purify. (Hebrews 12)

With apologies to Buckaroo

Over the next couple of days, I'll be posting a series of responses to some questions that were asked of me earlier this year. They are by no means exhaustive replies, really only just skimming the surface of subjects people far wiser than I have tackled in greater depth and with varying degrees of success.
In an almost-tongue-in-cheek move, we'll call the series:

In Defense of Suffering

The Short Form

Sorry Buckaroo B.