If Karla is distressed, it’s for the comfort of others. If she is suffering, it has a bearing on the salvation of her transplant nurse. It is for the endurance of her friends in mid-life crisis or menopause.
“I’m beginning to see it.” Karla straightened and said, “If my body is going to fall apart piece-by-piece, then God must be allowing it not just for my good—”
“But also the good of those around you,” I finished her sentence.
Karla Larson may go completely blind. She eventually may be unable to physically do anything. When it happens—and it might—she still won’t have to worry about feeling useless, that she has no purpose for living or no reason for going on. She will continue to be God’s witness (Acts 1:8).
This “reason why” is echoed in this note I received from a young woman named Tina who takes care of her grandmother:
Dear Joni,
Yesterday Grandma was struggling with feeling useless. She wondered what good she was, what purpose she could possibly fulfill, what meaning life could have when she lives mostly between a bed and a couch. I saw how easily we equate our purpose/meaning/usefulness with things we physically do, and how little emphasis we place on things of the spirit and acts of encouragement which require little or nothing of us physically.
I told Grandma this, but then suddenly realized that I was not focusing on glorifying God in my inner life—my purpose had become “taking care of Grandma” and not listening to the Lord, focusing in prayer, and thus practicing genuine concern for others. These are things that must happen inside me.
Love, Tina
FOR THE SAKE OF OTHERS
Conversation flowed between Karla and me. Smiles were warm. Tears were real. The thoughts that surfaced out of the Bible were soul-strengthening. We glanced at our watches and realized the next retreat session was about to begin.
After we prayed, she turned her wheels to go. “I’m going to think about what we covered,” she said over her shoulder as she went ahead. I watched as a few of Karla’s friends who had brought her to our retreat gathered around her. One of them gave her a bottle of water, a straw, and a hug. It is better, it is necessary for them that Karla remains.
Something nagged, though. Does this make hurting people nothing more than audio-visual aids in the hands of a utilitarian God? Object lessons from which others can learn? Are suffering people who keep emptying themselves mere role models of inspiration? What does Karla stand to gain?
I hearkened back to the example of Paul. After he acknowledged it was more necessary that he remain in order to strengthen and encourage others, he added: “I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, so that through my being with you again your joy in Christ Jesus will overflow on account of me” (Philippians 1:25).
I like that part “on account of me.” What others gain from observing Karla gets credited to her eternal account. It’s the old principle of John 15:5, 8: “I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit.”
The Almighty Lord of the Universe notices when Karla sows seeds in the lives of others. He keeps tabs every time she waters the seed with her prayers. If something good stirs in a soul, even in the souls of those she doesn’t know, God chalks it up to her account. He records it on Karla’s balance sheet when he observes faith flowering and fruit ripening in the life of someone in whom she has invested her example.
If they profit, she gains. If they are rewarded, she reaps. If they are lifted up, she is raised with them. She shares in the blue ribbon for the fruit borne in their lives. This is why the apostle Paul spoke of those in whom he invested his life as “his joy and crown” (Philippians 4:1). Other people are our crown!
I want to jump in Karla’s corner of the ring. I’m not asking for her suffering; I’m wanting her attitude. She reminds me how we are all richer when we recognize our empty-handed poverty. We are all stronger when we face up to our frailty. We all gloriously gain when we kiss shattered dreams good-bye.
We sacrifice comfort but fall back on the cushion of God’s arms. We forfeit earthly pleasure but rise to euphoria that is out of this world. We empty ourselves and get fat and sassy on the grace of God. It’s a pattern given to us by Christ himself:
Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant…he humbled himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross! Therefore God exalted him to the highest place.” (Philippians 2:5-9)
Notice the “therefore” part. Like a math formula. Like an inverse proportion. Rather, like an equation blowing all proportions. God raises us up not to just any old high place, not just to the spectator’s gallery, but as a co-heir with Christ, we get seated alongside him. “We are heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory” (Romans 8:17). Astounding! We suffer with Christ—that we may share in Christ’s highest glory. Believers who face the greatest conflict yet hold on to God with all their hearts, at times clinging to hope like the string of a kite—these are the ones who have the greatest confidence in sharing Christ’s glory.
All the power, honor, glory, blessing, and riches showered upon Christ on his crowning day, all of it, overflowing all the universe, we will share in. What is it worth? “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us” (Romans 8:18).
God offered Adam and Eve a path that led straight from Eden to an eternal Paradise. But since our first parents opted for a detour, since suffering is now part of what it means to be a Homo sapiens, God is going to use it. Not half-heartedly, but in delight. For as dark and pernicious as it is, God will squash suffering like a grapefruit in the face of the Devil, turning it inside out into something sweet. If suffering can’t be avoided, God’s going to redeem it to usher us into the highest echelons of heaven.
It’s hard to think of heaven when you’re hurting—its blessings for others and benefits for you. All the more reason to “let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people” (Galatians 6:9-10).
It’s a thought with which to fan ourselves every time we feel like fainting.
BUT WHAT IF?
What if Karla’s example did no good to anyone? What if she were unable to come to a family retreat or lived completely alone? Godly lives should be observed. But what about the widow who seldom ventures outside her apartment? The foreign student who spends lonely weekends on an empty campus? The prisoner in isolation? The older man in the nursing home who lives in the last room at the end of the hallway? What if he hardly connects with the staff? Perhaps a few nurses are encouraged by his life of quiet trust, but what if no one else notices?
Loneliness mixed with affliction is a dangerous potion. You lie awake, persistently needled by pain. Physical pain, yes, but also mental. The mountains you face are unknown to others. “Suffering for nothing” is a poisonous thought. Whether we’re actually alone or lonely, if we get the feeling that no one notices our sorrows, it can drive us to despair.
I’m thinking of John McAllister. The six-foot-three-inch oak of a man withered and weakened from the degenerative disease. The man whose eyes twinkle from their sunken sockets. My friend who lived through the attack of ants. Remember him? John no longer rubs elbows with people. In the beginning stages of his disease, he could drive himself to church, to the mall, and to a residential facility where he led a Bible study for young people with cerebral palsy. Neighbors at the mall would wave hi. Folks would stop him in the parking lot. Gas station attendants looked for his happy hello and wave of the hand. But years have passed and the novelty of his wheelchair has worn off. People don’t drop by much anymore. Gaunt and unable to speak, his days are
spent sitting up in bed in the middle of the living room. Birds outside the window are his main companions.
Is John McAllister really alone?
Something dynamic and electrifying is abuzz in John’s room, filling the air, agitating the atmosphere around and above his home. Angels, along with powers and principalities in the heavenly realms, are watching, listening, and learning. People may not be noticing John McAllister, but the spiritual world is. Angels—even demons—are intensely interested in the thoughts and affections of every human being.
“His purpose was that through the church [that is, through Christian] all the rulers and powers in the heavenly world will now know God’s wisdom, which has so many forms” (Ephesians 3:10).
I can hear you thinking, Angels eyeballing and eavesdropping on me? Angels sitting in the passenger seat of my car and getting an earful of my outburst when that red Chevrolet cut me off? Demons wringing their hands in glee, hoping I’ll curse at my kids when they cross me? Principalities and powers watching on tiptoe to see whether I turn to God or turn away?
This isn’t science fiction. Luke 15:10 is nonfiction: “I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”
God’s angels actually get emotionally charged up when people choose to trust in God. Read Ephesians 3:10 again. God’s purpose is to teach millions of unseen beings about himself; and we are—John McAllister is—a blackboard upon which God is drawing lessons about himself for the benefit of angels and demons. God gets glory every time the spirit world learns how powerful his everlasting arms are in upholding the weak. They learn it is God who permeates every fiber of John’s being with perseverance. My friend’s life is not a waste. Although not many people seem to care, someone—a great many someones—care more than John can imagine.
John’s life does something else. It disgusts Satan. The trust he shows God drives the Devil up a wall. Even though his body is emaciated and his eyes are virtually robbed of sight, he’s like an old warrior hearing a far-off bugle from a battlefield. “I’ll never curse God, no matter how much he takes away from me.”
John is a little like Job, whom Satan threw in God’s face, jeering, “Job doesn’t love you, he loves your blessings. You’re not great enough, God, to get someone to follow you on your own merits.”
But Job said, “Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him” (Job 13:15). A statement like that speaks highly of Job (it speaks highly of John McAllister). But it speaks more highly of God. Nothing wounds the Devil more—and John has a part in rubbing salt in those wounds. The life of the most insignificant man is a battlefield on which the mightiest forces of the universe converge in warfare—this elevates the status of the lowliest and least person on earth!
I picture that day when John will depart earth and head for heaven. When his spirit rises out of his shell of a body, the entire universe of angelic hosts will stand erect, holding their breath in respect. They will salute in amazement, watching his spirit ascend as a sweet-smelling savor to God. And then—watch out!—the party will really break loose.
Each day we go on living means something. God is up to something good when it comes to our trials. There are reasons. For us, for others, for the glory of God, and for the heavenly hosts.
FOR THE GLORY OF GOD
But suffering accomplishes even more than this. It sets the stage for offering something exceedingly precious to God: “Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise—the fruit of lips that confess his name. And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased” (Hebrews 13:15-16).
David, the psalmist, did it all the time. He sighs in Psalm 43:5, “Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me?” But before his soul can drag him under, David jerks it upright: “Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.”
God is pleased with praise, but he swells with joy when the praise he breathes has the aroma of a sweet-smelling sacrifice.
Nothing delights him more. How so? Let’s say a woman with arthritis in her hands embroidered a set of pillowcases for you. The gift would probably mean more to you than if sewn by a woman with nimble fingers. Why? Because the arthritic woman expended extraordinary effort. Her gift involved cost and sacrifice. You’d weigh the extra hours she invested, the frequent breaks she took to rub her knuckles, the pain she endured with each tiny stitch. Most likely, you would be moved to tears. Her suffering “glorified” her gift, making it more valuable in your eyes.
If we respond this way to sacrifices, how much more is God enthused? A sacrifice of praise makes praise more glorious.
Ken and I worship in a small church where we have to shuffle a couple of folding chairs to make room for my wheelchair in the left aisle. The Pomeroy family usually sits a few rows up on the right. Mother, father, two boys, and youngest daughter, Veronica, who likes to wear pretty hats over her blonde hair. Veronica coughs a lot in church. I used to think she was a child plagued by frequent colds. I later learned she has cystic fibrosis, a severe lung disease that constantly clogs her breathing passages with phlegm. The prognosis for CF is never good. Veronica doesn’t let it get her down. She’s only eleven years old, yet she rallied her classmates this past Christmas to collect hundreds of toys for orphaned children in Bosnia.
I enjoy glancing over at Veronica during worship service. Especially when we sing hymns.
Breathe on me, Breath of God,
Fill me with life anew,
That I may love what Thou dost love,
And do what Thou wouldst do.
She coughs in between the lines and I wonder what God must be thinking as he receives her praise. A genuine sacrifice of praise, it is, as she wheezes through the hymn. Veronica, with her limited lung capacity, inspires me to fill my chest and harmonize with all my heart.
A sacrifice brightens God’s glory. It demonstrates the enormously high value we attach to him. Such praise costs us our logic, pride, and preferences. But it’s worth it. “Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!” (Revelation 5:12-13).
IN THE MEANTIME
I just learned that Karla Larson had another setback. She mentioned it in the P.S. of a note she sent after the retreat:
Dear Joni,
After speaking with you, I feel I can “run the race” and “fight the good fight” again. My reasons for not wanting any more medical procedures were based on fear. I now realize that my decisions not only concern me, but affect family, friends, and others who watch. I am alive because of God’s grace, mercy, and faithfulness to me. So when the need for the next angioplasty or whatever arises, I’m ready to go for it.
Love, Karla
P.S. I just learned I have uterine cancer.
I slid the note aside and drew a deep breath. Thanks, Karla, for the reminder. I’m ready to keep running the race too. Her example is growing in importance and power, and if her family and friends forget that, or if I do, there are always angels and principalities looking on. There is always God.
There is God.
He is not passive. He is not a casual onlooker.
Karla may have a better handle on a few of the good “reasons why,” but as she and her friends at church grow closer, as they help each other, one more “reason why” will become clear. It will become clear to them all.
The “reason why” has to do with God himself.
LET’S RELIEVE THE SUFFERING
God’s heart intent is to alleviate suffering. He is bending over backward to make it happen. God is moving heaven and earth to dry the tear, lighten the load, ease the burden, take away the pain, stop the wars, halt the violence, cure the disease, heal the heartbroken, mend the marriage.
God is straining to feed the homeless, clothe the naked, visit the prisoner, adopt the orphan, comfort the grieving, console the dying, defend the children, bandage the battered, give to
the poor, care for the widow, uproot injustice, clean up pollution, prevent abortion, right the wrong, protect the animals, rectify racism, support the elderly, sustain the downcast, stamp out crime, stomp out pornography, help the disabled, prevent abuse, cease corruption, muffle the cursing, get rid of gambling, turn stone hearts to flesh and dead men into living ones.
He rallies us to his noble cause, but we fall behind. If God is weeping, it is because he has made his heart intent regarding suffering abundantly clear, but few—even of his own people—are moved into action. We aren’t listening.
For day after day [my people] seek me out; they seem eager to know my ways, as if they were a nation that does what is right and has not forsaken the commands of its God. They ask me for just decisions and seem eager for God to come near them. “Why have we fasted,” they say, “and you have not seen it? Why have we humbled ourselves, and you have not noticed?” “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen [says the Lord]: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?” (Isaiah 58:2-3, 6-7)
God longs to push back the pain through those who serve as his body, his hands and feet on earth. “He is the head of the body, the church” (Colossians 1:18). And “From him the whole body…builds itself up in love, as each part does its work” (Ephesians 4:15–16).
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