Wounded by God's People

by Anne Graham Lotz

  I told William I was so sorry for the way we — God’s people — had behaved. I apologized to him for the very real hurt Christians had inflicted on him. I also shared some of the hurts I had experienced. I told him that while we had had similar experiences, we had come to dramatically different conclusions. Rather than drive me away from God, the hypocrisy and sinfulness I had seen in the organized church and in the lives of some of God’s people had caused me to run to God, to wrap my arms of faith around His neck, and to cling tightly, knowing He was not like the people who had hurt me. I had made the decision to embrace knowing God as He truly is — not as some people say He might be or think He is or portray Him to be. I recommitted my life to reflecting who God truly is through my own words, actions, and decisions. I did not want to ever be like them, the ones who had hurt me. I concluded with an urgent appeal: “William, God loves you. Don’t reject Him because others have rejected you or disappointed you. He is not like them. Get to know Him for who He is, not for the tarnished reflection some people give of Him. God desires for you to know Him in a personal, love relationship. Come back to God!”

  As we parted, dear William leaned over and kissed my cheek. Although we had a warm rapport and he listened respectfully to what I had to say, I detected no change in his attitude. When I arrived back in my room after our meeting, there were tears on my face — and I believe there were tears on the face of the God who loves him. To my knowledge, William continues to hold to his view that there is no God. While he readily blamed others for the journey that brought him to this final conclusion, I couldn’t help but wonder if his prolonged spiritual exile was self-imposed.

  I wonder if Hagar also had a stubborn spirit at this stage of her journey that was prolonging not just her physical wandering, but her spiritual exile. It almost seems she would rather die than humble herself and cry out to God … that she was refusing to see the situation any way but her way. Perhaps she reasoned that if God agreed with Abraham and Sarah, He was in the wrong. Or maybe she concluded, like William, that there really wasn’t a God after all. It could be she convinced herself she had been deluded about Him all along.

  I’ve met believers who begin to doubt the presence and power of God in their lives when He doesn’t answer their prayers by giving them what they want, in the way they want, when they want. It’s as though they demand that He prove Himself to them by coming alongside and carrying out their will, not the reverse. They can’t believe a good and loving God would allow them to wander in the wilderness … to struggle in such a hard and lonely and difficult place. So they conclude that He is not good and loving. Or, if He’s not going to do things their way, then they don’t want Him. Or they may even conclude that He’s not there.

  To Hagar, her predicament must have seemed grossly unjust, unrighteous … and unbelievable! Her world was turned upside down and inside out on every level. She was expelled by those who called themselves by God’s name, excluded from fellowship with God’s people, and now in exile on the brink of destruction. And not for something she had done, but for something her teenager had done. She must have felt stubbornly defiant and justified in remaining silent.

  If Hagar suffered from a stubborn spirit, doubted God’s power to make a difference, and was therefore deluded about His presence in her life at that moment, her delusion was short-lived. Because in response to Ishmael’s cry, God lovingly, patiently, tenderly spoke to her: “What is the matter, Hagar?”2 I sense a very soft rebuke within the question. God obviously was not questioning Hagar for information. He was seeking to draw a confession from her, prodding her ever so gently to examine her own attitude and actions, saying in effect, Hagar, why are you so helpless and hopeless? Don’t you remember that I am the One Who Sees you? After more than twenty years of living in a relationship with Me, how is it you have forgotten that I am just a prayer away? Why, Hagar, are you not praying? You may be separated from Abraham’s household, but you are not separated from Me. I have not left you, even for a moment. I am right here. Your exile from Me, Hagar, is self-imposed.

  Dear believer-in-exile, are God’s words to Hagar also God’s words to you? Is your exile from Him self-imposed? Before you reject that suggestion, it may be worthwhile to think it through for a moment. Since God used a question to get Hagar’s attention, ask God to use the following questions to guide your thoughts as you reflect on His presence in your situation. As you do, open the ears of your heart to listen to what He might be saying …

  Do you think God has forsaken you when He says He never will?3

  Do you think God no longer loves you when He says He always will?4

  Do you think God no longer cares about you even though He says He most certainly does?5

  Do you think the wretched way others have treated you is an accurate reflection of how God treats you when He says it is not?6

  Do you think your situation is beyond His ability to alter when He says He’s the God of the impossible?7

  I wonder how long you have kept God waiting for you to turn to Him in your spiritual wilderness. Surely He weeps as He watches you and me allowing our anger at others to spill over into our relationship with Him, blaming Him for what happened to us, insisting stubbornly that it’s His fault, becoming so offended by the people who hurt us that we are also offended by God. Are you hunkered down in your spirit — eyes tightly shut, ears deafened, face turned away from Him — intentionally?

  Self-imposed exile can become a prison cell that locks from the inside. The key that unlocks the door is a simple one, but potentially a key that is so heavy and painful to lift and use that we look for any other key but that one. But there isn’t another one that unlocks the door. The key that works is to cry out to God in humility and sincerity, out of desperate necessity, acknowledging if He doesn’t find and save us, we will remain caged in our misery. But to pick up the key we have to lay down our hardness of heart and stubbornness of spirit. We have to deny our pride. We have to want to come out of exile into the glory of His presence more than we want to remain where we are.

  Would you pick up the key? Right now? Throw away your pride. Cry out to God, Help me! Please! Come to Him. Run to Him. Fling your arms of faith around the neck of your Savior. Ask Him to save you from such a miserable existence. Ask Him to forgive you of your wrongdoing as you stop complaining about theirs. Then ask Him to refill and revive and redirect you according to His plan and purpose for your life.

  If you say no … then your stubbornness must be applauded in hell. Your silence must be deafening in heaven. And surely, as God opens His mouth to speak to you, there must be tears on His face.

  If you say yes … then God will move heaven and earth to come to you. Your exile will be over.

  THIRTEEN

  The Turning Point

  That Was Then, This Is Now

  Do not be afraid; God has heard the boy crying as he lies there. Lift the boy up and take him by the hand, for I will make him into a great nation.

  Genesis 21:17–18

  Diets are difficult for me because I love to eat! I love the taste of food, and I love the comfort food brings. So if I am going to give up food or cut back on food, I have to be hugely motivated. And usually that motivation comes when I either step on the scale or look in the mirror. The moment of truth — that I am carrying more weight than feels or looks good —presents me with a choice. I can continue in my misery and discomfort, hiding my weight under long, floppy clothes and talking about how I need to shed a few pounds, or I can change my eating habits. I have to reach a turning point. I have to want to lose weight more than I want to eat those fried onions, or fried chicken, or fried potatoes, or fried shrimp, or fried okra, or fried green tomatoes, or fried anything. The battle of the bulge is a battle of my will. I have to decide not only that the time has come for a change, but then I have to exercise my will and make the change. Just do it!

  The same is true when I experience a wound in my spiritual journey. I have to come to a turning point where I want
to be healed more than I want to be wounded. Because, to be truthful, there are some wounds I have nursed. Sometimes it feels good to hurt bad. I can take a wicked pleasure in rehashing what others have said or done to inflict the wound, each time reaffirming my own innocence and giving in to self-pity. I derive a counterfeit comfort from extending to myself sympathy and consolation and understanding. After all, I deserve those tears! Yet, even though it is often appropriate to grieve, an attitude of entitlement about my wounds can keep me wandering in a spiritual wilderness, weeping under the scrub bush, getting nowhere with my life. At some point, I have to decide if the wounds are worth holding on to. The wounding is past. That was then; this is now.

  I believe Hagar had reached that turning point in her own journey. She had to decide if she was truly ready and willing to change. She had to stop her sobbing, stop fighting the wounders — mentally, emotionally, and spiritually — and just be still. She had to acknowledge the reality of her current position so she could get on with the rest of her life. Regardless of how she arrived where she was, she was there. I wonder if, in her weariness, she was just too tired to even take another step, think another thought, make any decisions at all.

  God understands. Years later, another wounded child of His was running for his life through the desert.1 The prophet Elijah had just miraculously defeated the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel. He then prayed, and the three-year drought that had plagued his nation ended with a pouring rain. But instead of being grateful for Elijah’s powerful ministry, the wicked queen was enraged and put out a warrant for his capture, dead or alive. And so Elijah ran.

  When he finally collapsed under a broom tree, Elijah prayed that he might die. He was so exhausted and depleted that he fell asleep. He awoke to a gentle touch from the Angel of the Lord, who had brought him a jar of water and had fresh bread baking over a hot fire. Elijah ate, drank, then went back to sleep. For a second time, the Angel of the Lord touched him. With tenderness and compassion, He conveyed the sympathetic heart of the Father: “Get up and eat, for the journey is too much for you.”2

  If God was sympathetic and compassionate with Elijah, and He was, why do you think He would blame you for your weakness and weariness and woundedness? God understands. But He won’t leave you in that depleted place. Elijah was so terrified for his life that, after sleeping and eating, he ran for another forty days. But he couldn’t outrun God, who met him at the end of his journey and gently asked, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”3 In the remarkable encounter that followed, God brought Elijah to a turning point — he had to choose between living in terror or trusting God with his future. Elijah chose to leave behind his fears and sense of failure and move forward to complete the ministry God had for him.

  Sometimes we need an extra push to get out of the miry pit in which we’ve been living. And that’s often when God shows up. He seems to wait, quietly and patiently, until He knows we’ve reached the turning point. Then He gives us that extra incentive, just as He did for Elijah — and Hagar.

  God leaned out of heaven and spoke to Hagar. And the first good, healthy choice Hagar made was to listen to the voice of God. Just the sound of His voice revealed that she and Ishmael were not alone after all! She had felt panicked that they would die alone in the desert and she had been convinced there was no one nearby to help. But she couldn’t have been more mistaken. God was with her. In spite of her stubborn refusal to cry out to Him, He was calling out to her — by name. Hagar …

  His voice must have been like a cool, refreshing breeze blowing from the oasis of His presence, soothing the fear that had gripped her. And His word spoke peace to her heart when He said, “Do not be afraid.”4 Instantly, the turmoil in her heart was replaced by a deep, quiet calm. If Hagar was like me …

  I have experienced the difference God’s Word makes when I’ve been caught in a whirlpool of grief and despair. I will never forget when my son’s first marriage ended in divorce after seven years. He was deeply wounded. As in any broken relationship, he was also a wounder. When I first became aware that his marriage was headed for destruction, his pain sent me into a wilderness of guilt. Every parenting mistake I had ever made came back to my mind like the replay of a horror movie in high-definition color. Like Hagar, I curled up into an emotional ball on the inside, blaming myself for all the things I had done wrong — as well as all the things I hadn’t done, should’ve done, could’ve done to prevent such a living death. Although I cried out to God, my self-flagellation drowned out anything He may have tried to say to me.

  Finally, after an all-nighter of emotional turmoil, I was exhausted. As my spirit grew quiet, I slipped out of bed and opened my Bible. These verses fell off the page and into my heart:

  O afflicted one, storm-tossed and not comforted,

  behold I will set your stones in antimony

  and your foundations I will lay in sapphires …

  your battlements of rubies …

  your gates of crystal …

  your entire wall of precious stones.

  [And] your … son will be taught of the LORD;

  and the well-being of your son will be great.5

  Like Hagar, I was suddenly aware that God had been right there beside me all night. He knew I had been “storm-tossed” — tossed about by regrets, if-onlys, anger, frustration, grief, and fear. He had heard me sob into my pillow, begging Him to do something. The emotional pain had been so great I didn’t think I could catch the next breath.

  When He addressed me as the afflicted one who could not be comforted, He reaffirmed that He knew me intimately, because I had revealed my agony to no one else. I knew His promises — of sapphire foundations, ruby battlements, crystal gates, and walls built with precious stones — spoke of Jerusalem, the home of God’s children. But I applied them to my home — that God would make it beautiful, a sparkling jewel-like display of His glory. Then deep peace flooded my heart when God reassured me that my son would be taught of the Lord through the experience of divorce, and in the long run, my son would not only survive, but grow into a stronger, more spiritually healthy person.

  I have driven a stake down into that promise and clung to it in the midst of other hurricane-strength storms that have continued to plague our family. As Hagar also discovered, the Word of the Lord has given me peace, even concerning past failures.

  If you too are storm-tossed and not comforted, take a deep breath. Could it be that you have not been listening to God’s voice? Really listening, with your eyes on the pages of your Bible. I have no doubt that He is right there beside you. Maybe one reason He has allowed you to get sucked into this downward spiral of fearful desperation is to bring you to a turning point. Some people might describe it as the end of the rope. It’s that moment when you are so sick and tired of your misery, you are willing to change. If that’s where you are, I have good news: you are ready for the next step.

  With peace in her heart and God’s reassuring words in her ears, Hagar was directed to “lift the boy up and take him by the hand.”6 It was time for her to stop worrying and to start reaching out to her son. She needed to get her eyes off of herself, off of her circumstances, off of her past, and focus on the needs of another. She had to learn that it wasn’t all about her — or them.

  The most poignant example of this antidote to emotional pain was given to us by Jesus Himself as He hung on the cross. He not only suffered physically as He hung nailed to the wooden crossbeams, but He suffered emotionally. Before He was crucified, He was stripped of His clothes. He was crucified, not in a remote, secluded location where He could suffer privately, but publicly beside the main road going into Jerusalem. Instead of a quick, painless death, He endured a slow, torturous, excruciating day of untold agony, nailed to a wooden cross.

  So, get the picture: Jesus — Lord of Glory, Bright and Morning Star, Son of God and Son of Man, Lion of Judah, the Creator of Life, the Light of the World, the Messiah — was hung naked from a cross at eye level beside the main road going into Jerusa
lem, with people walking by on their way to market as they were preparing for Passover. The ones who noticed Him mocked Him for the sign that hung over His head declaring Him King of the Jews. And how did Jesus handle such public humiliation and shame? He turned His attention to others: to His mother, who was lingering near the foot of the cross,7 and to the repentant thief, who was dying on the cross next to His.8

  Jesus’ example teaches a powerful lesson. He demonstrates that one way to overcome emotional pain is to focus on the needs of others — to reach out and help someone else who may also be suffering. In some way we may not fully understand, helping to alleviate the suffering and pain of someone else actually helps to relieve our own.

  The beautiful, tender, and specific instructions God gave to Hagar reveal the deep compassion of His father’s heart. Instead of telling Hagar to go get Ishmael some water, or to tell him to stop his bellyaching, or to tell him to get up because it was time to start traveling again, God told Hagar to “lift the boy up and take him by the hand.” God knew Ishmael needed the comfort of his mother’s physical touch. Sometimes enough has been said, and we just need to reach out and touch that other person. A hug, a hand on the shoulder, or a pat on the back often says more than words. The Lord understood that sometimes even a miracle isn’t enough; people need to be touched. And so …

  He not only commanded that the leper be cleansed, He reached out and touched the untouchable.9