First, despite Christ’s compassionate death for our sins, God’s plan—not plan B or C or D, but his plan—calls for all Christians to suffer, sometimes intensely. To encourage us, he may write some light moments into the script of our lives—he may include adventure or romance. An amusing situation will get us chuckling, and an occasional twist of plot may delight us to tears, for God loves to give. But without fail, some scenes are going to break your heart, some of your favorite characters will die, and the movie may end earlier than you wish.
Second, God’s plan is specific. He doesn’t say, “Into each life a little rain must fall,” then aim a hose in earth’s general direction and see who gets the wettest. He doesn’t reach for a key, wind up nature with its sunny days and hurricanes, then sit back and watch the show. He doesn’t let Satan prowl about totally unrestricted. He doesn’t believe in a hands-off policy of governing. He’s not our planet’s absent landlord. Rather, he screens the trials that come to each of us—allowing only those that accomplish his good plan, because he takes no joy in human agony. These trials aren’t evenly distributed from person to person. This can discourage us, for we are not privy to his reasons. But in God’s wisdom and love, every trial in a Christian’s life is ordained from eternity past, custom-made for that believer’s eternal good, even when it doesn’t seem like it. Nothing happens by accident…not even tragedy…not even sins committed against us.
Third, the core of his plan is to rescue us from our sin. Our pain, poverty, and broken hearts are not his ultimate focus. He cares about them, but they are merely symptoms of the real problem. God cares most—not about making us comfortable—but about teaching us to hate our sins, grow up spiritually, and love him. To do this, he gives us salvation’s benefits only gradually, sometimes painfully gradually. In other words, he lets us continue to feel much of sin’s sting while we’re headed for heaven. This constantly reminds us of what we’re being delivered from, exposing sin for the poison it is. Thus evil (suffering) is turned on its head to defeat evil (sin)—all to the praise of God’s wisdom.
Last, every sorrow we taste will one day prove to be the best possible thing that could have happened. We will thank God endlessly in heaven for the trials he sent us here. This is not Disneyland—it is truth.
GOD’S PLAN INCLUDES SUFFERING
Everyone who takes the Bible seriously, and many who don’t, agree that God hates suffering. Jesus spent much of his short life relieving it. In scores of passages God tells us to feed the hungry, clothe the poor, visit inmates, and speak up for the helpless. So when we feel compassion for people in distress, we know that God felt it first. He shows this by raising sick people from their beds—sometimes to the wonder of doctors—in answer to prayer. Every day he grants childless women babies, pulls small-business owners out of financial pits, protects Alzheimer’s patients crossing the street, and writes happy endings to sad situations. Even when he has to punish sin, he says it gives him no pleasure (Ezekiel 18:32). In heaven, Eden’s curse will be canceled. Sighs and longings will be historical curiosities. Tears will evaporate. Kleenex will go broke.
But it simply doesn’t follow that God’s only relationship to suffering is to relieve it. He specifically says that all who follow him can expect hardship.
But didn’t Jesus hang on a cross so we wouldn’t have to suffer hell? Yes, but not so we wouldn’t have to suffer here—on earth. Hear the Bible on this:
“I will show [Paul] how much he must suffer for my name” (Acts 9:16).
“For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ…to suffer for him…” (Philippians 1:29).
“The sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives…” (2 Corinthians 1:5).
“We must go through many hardships to enter the kingdom of God” (Acts 14:22).
The Bible goes even further. After calling Christians “heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ” it adds—“if indeed we share in his sufferings” (Romans 8:17). In other words, no one goes to Christ’s heaven who doesn’t first share Christ’s sufferings.
But surely, someone says, such suffering by Christians is not God’s plan, God’s best, God’s will. No?
“Those who suffer according to God’s will should commit themselves to their faithful Creator and continue to do good” (1 Peter 4:19).
“[Don’t] be unsettled by these trials. You know quite well that we were destined for them” (1 Thessalonians 3:2–3).
But perhaps such passages refer only to religious persecution. Jesus warned that the world at large would hate his disciples. The high schooler who mentions Jesus in English class may later take some verbal hits in the cafeteria. Outspoken believers in past centuries spent their last moments on earth burning at the stake. A midnight knock on the door from the police still comes to Christians in some countries. When the Bible promises suffering, it means these things—not life’s other problems. Persecution aside, Christians who live by biblical principles can expect to be happy and healthy.
To rephrase: Christians can expect mistreatment—but not measles. The world may hate us—but it can’t make us sick. We can’t avoid dying—but we can stave off illness, disabilities, and months of therapy after car crashes. All this, provided that we claim by faith God’s promises of health.
What’s the logic behind this viewpoint? In part, it goes:
1. Disease flows from the curse God pronounced on us after Adam’s sin in Eden.1
2. Jesus came to reverse this curse.
3. Therefore, Christians shouldn’t have to live with disease.
Let’s examine these points, kick the tires a bit, and see if we still want to buy them. Number 1 is certainly true. “In Adam’s fall, we sinned all,” chanted colonial New England children from their primer. Until the first sin, no one ever heard of migraine headaches, athlete’s foot, tooth decay, or diabetes. Baseball star Lou Gehrig had no disease named after him. Dr. Down wasn’t honored by a syndrome. Lyme, Connecticut, wasn’t famous for a tick-borne malady studied there. But one bite of fruit ruined everything. The Evil One, who had prodded humans to rebel, now became God’s tool for punishing that rebellion. Satan received the nod to do his worst with us. Before long he had Job in his oven. Jesus blamed Satan for keeping a pitiful woman hunchbacked for eighteen years (Luke 18:11, 16).
Number 2 is also true. “The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the devil’s work.” Jesus once likened himself to a burglar who ties up a muscular homeowner so he can rob him blind. Satan is the owner. We’re the possessions that Jesus steals from under his nose (1 John 3:8; Matthew 12:29).
But the logic breaks down at number 3. We’d all like to think that “Jesus came to take up our diseases—therefore we don’t need to put up with them anymore.” But that’s akin to saying: “There’s an oak in every acorn—so take this acorn and start sawing planks for picnic tables,” or “Congress just passed a Clean Water Act—so Manhattan residents can start drinking from the East River tomorrow.”
Forty years will pass before that white oak is ready for lumbering. Purging industrial ooze will take time, even if Congress can guarantee the outcome. So, with the Rescue. What Jesus began doing to sin and its results won’t be complete until the Second Coming. “It is finished” he uttered from the cross—the purchase of salvation was complete, the outcome settled with certainty. But the application of salvation to God’s people was anything but finished.
Think about it. The Messiah came so the lion might one day He down with the lamb—meanwhile that lion crunched the bones of first-century Christians in the Roman Colosseum. The Bible says we “have redemption”—but the day of our redemption is still future.2 God “has saved” us—yet we are still “being saved.”3 Jesus came to “save his people from their sins”—yet “If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.”4 First Corinthians 15:45 calls Jesus the “last Adam” who came to undo the curse triggered by the original Adam—but this summer you’ll again wrestle weeds in your garden, and giving birth
to your next child will be no picnic. Only in Paradise will it be said, “No longer will there be any curse” (Revelation 22:3).
Yes, Jesus “carried our sorrows.” But Paul knew “sorrow” when his prison companion became ill—he confessed to “great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart” over the spiritual lostness of his race—and he described Christ’s apostles as “sorrowful, yet always rejoicing.”5 Jesus’ death for us didn’t keep the Corinthians from being “sorrowful as God intended” over their sins (2 Corinthians 7:9). It didn’t hinder Jesus himself from saying, “Blessed are you who weep now”—or James from advising us to “grieve, mourn and wail” when we sin.6
Yes, Jesus “took up our diseases” (Isaiah 53:4). His cross is our ship to heaven; his miracles gave us glimpses of Paradise; he ladles out foretastes of bliss by a thousand blessings large and small. But they are all just that—glimpses, foretastes. We’re not in heaven yet. So, godly Timothy had stomach ailments and “frequent illnesses.” Epaphroditus, who hand-delivered Paul’s Philippian epistle, “was ill, and almost died.” Paul left his friend Trophimus “sick in Miletus.” The apostle himself admitted to his Galatian readers, “It was because of an illness that I first preached the gospel to you”—apparently he had detoured to Galatia to recuperate.7
Some Christian teachers have explained this by saying, “Paul and his friends lacked faith.” But do we really want to go that route? It’s more accurate to say, “We and our friends lack humility—we prefer pointing the finger at Christ’s apostle rather than considering the possibility that we’ve been misreading Scripture.”
But doesn’t the Bible specifically say that God “heals all my diseases” (Psalm 103:3)?
Yes, David writes that in Psalm 103. David, who spent months in caves hiding from King Saul, who lost his best friend in war, whose infant son fell ill and died despite David’s prayers, whose other son tried to murder his dad and overthrow the government, and who watched in horror as seventy thousand of his subjects died of the plague. But yes, David apparently recovered each time he had gotten sick and was thankful for it.
But David’s sufferings were avoidable—punishments for his sins (2 Samuel 12:10, 14). If we live godly lives, we shouldn’t have to go through the same.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone at the shepherd whose slingshot killed Goliath! Do we really suppose we are spiritual superiors to this “man after [God’s] own heart” whose writing makes up part of the Bible (1 Samuel 13:14)? Didn’t Jesus imply that our secret lusts and hatred are a match for David’s adultery and murder (Matthew 5:21, 27-28)? Are we above the other psalmist who confessed in prayer, “Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now I obey your word” (Psalm 119:67)? Think twice if you feel superior to these men—you don’t know your own heart. “The Lord disciplines those he loves, and he punishes everyone he accepts as a son” (Hebrews 12:6).
Yet surely healing and prosperity are included in Jesus’ promise: “I will do whatever you ask in my name…You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it” (John 14:13-14).
Profound verses. They rebuke us all. May we all repent and pray more fearlessly. But let’s examine his promise closely. “I will do whatever you ask.” Sounds pretty good. “I will do whatever you ask in my name.” What does that mean? Surely, more than mouthing “In Jesus’ name” at a prayer’s end just before the Amen. Rather, it’s to pray admitting that God hears me only because I’m the guest of his Son. It’s to pray in the bold but respectful way that Jesus did while here. It’s to pray for the things Jesus taught us to. What things were they? He summarizes them in the Lord’s Prayer: spiritual things, eternal things. “May Your kingdom spread…May Your plans be accomplished on this rebellious planet…Forgive the way I’ve treated You…Keep me from falling for the evil that allures me” (see Matthew 6:9–13). Only one request in six deals with earth-bound matters, and there he taught us to pray, “Give us this day our daily bread”—not, “Bless the Dow Jones Average and please be with the NASDAQ.”
Of course it’s not wrong to pray beyond our basic needs—to pray that Susie will find her lost kitten, that I’ll have fun at my birthday party tomorrow, that none of us will catch colds this winter, and that Christmas will hurry up and get here. God loves to hear pre-schoolers pray. He also invites grownups to “Cast all your anxiety on him,” and “Pray about everything” (1 Peter 5:7 NIV; Philippians 4:6 LB). But do we really think Jesus gave us a blank check for an easy life? Do we imagine we can pray our way clear of trials? “In regard to evil be infants, but in your thinking be adults” (1 Corinthians 14:20).
Imagine yourself chaperoning a troop of sixth-grade Boy Scouts to a play at a local community college. Refreshment tables in the foyer greet the audience during intermission. A little sign says: HELP YOURSELF. Jimmy-the-Plate-Licker begins stuffing his pockets with pastries. His buddy Weasel slides a tray full of macaroons down his shirt. Never one to be shy, Eddie Wisniewski is appreciatively sampling his sixth glass of generic-brand fruit punch.
Disgusted, you stride up to the tables. “Excuse me, boys?”
Surprised innocence returns the stare. “But the sign said!”
Yes, the sign said. But you’ll still yank them into a corner and threaten them with a slow, painful death for reading the sign but not reading the situation. What will you say?
“These are refreshments, not Thanksgiving dinner!”
“The cookies are free for you, but somebody had to pay for them!”
“If everyone acted this way, only the first five in line would get something!”
“Your parents had settings like this in mind when they taught you to watch your manners!”
In other words, “Read the sign like someone with an IQ above forty.”
Let’s use our heads about Jesus’ promise to grant whatever we request. Peter warns us against distorting the Scriptures. Paul urges Timothy to “correctly handle” the Bible. Apparently these men knew teachers who incorrectly handled it. We avoid this by comparing one Scripture with another—this always throws additional light. Parallel passages are like rails holding a train on course. They’re like canals giving direction and flow to teachings that our wishful thinking would otherwise let become swampy and vague.
First John 5:15 is such a canal: “If we ask anything according to his will, he hears us.” That channels our thinking a bit. For us to receive a go-ahead, God must already want what we’re requesting; no one will twist his arm in a prayer meeting or convince him against his better judgment. Some people don’t find this thought to be even a mere speed bump. They have a clear handle on God’s will: “Surely God will get more glory healing my disease than giving me grace to bear it.” But the apostles weren’t so clairvoyant. Paul once begged relief from a certain “thorn in the flesh”—surely he could minister better if he were undistracted. “But [God] said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you.’” Another time he tried to preach the gospel in Bithynia—surely God would want the Good News proclaimed there. “But the Spirit of Jesus would not allow them to.” This is why James advised believers not to presume beforehand what God intends, not to make their plans too confidently. “You ought to say, ‘If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.’”8 No one has the Almighty in his lunch box.
John 15:7 is another canal: “If you remain in me…, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you.” Quite a tall order. Apparently, the way I live affects God’s hearing. Not even an offering-plate full of sincerity can replace a careful life of obedience when it comes to getting prayers answered. Jesus added another condition: “If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you.” This gets even more specific. I can have enough faith to move mountains—enough faith to make the annual congregational meeting interesting—and still my prayers will flop if Christ’s words don’t remain in me and I ignore his teaching. Have we really grasped this fink between getting our prayers answered and steeping our minds in Christ�
�s words? The longer the tea bag sits in the cup, the stronger the tea. The more God’s word saturates our minds, the clearer our grasp on what’s important to him and the stronger our prayers.
Mark’s gospel sheds light on this. Remember his account of Christ’s remarkable twenty-four hours at Capernaum? “That evening after sunset the people brought to Jesus all the sick and demon-possessed. The whole town gathered at the door, and Jesus healed many who had various diseases, he also drove out many demons…” Understandably, the next morning everyone was looking for the Great Physician. But they found him away from the crowds, praying alone, almost hiding. “Let us go somewhere else,” he answered, “—to the nearby villages—so I can preach there also. That is why I have come” (Mark 1:32–39).
So I can preach, he says. That is why I have come. Not that he didn’t care about the cancer-ridden and feverish in Capernaum who had gotten word too late to come for healing the night before. But their illnesses weren’t his focus—the gospel was. His miracles were a backdrop, a visual aid, to his urgent message. That message was: Sin will kill you, hell is real, God is merciful, his kingdom will change you, I am your passport. Whenever people missed this point—whenever the immediate benefit of his miracles distracted them from eternal things—the Savior backed away. To a crowd that walked for miles to track him down, he said: “I tell you the truth, you are looking for me, not because you saw miraculous signs but because you ate the loaves and had your fill. Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you” (John 6:26–27). The words of Jesus interpret his miracles and must guide our prayers.
When God Weeps Page 6
