Christian faith answers suffering best when it has no answer

I must have attempted to nail an article like this many times, but so often words evade me even when I’m focused on such a topic, because I attempt to explain the inexplicable.

The rich and caverns-deep Christian tradition of Lament is the answer to suffering exactly because it doesn’t pretend to have an answer.  In lament, which is being true to the sorrow and fear and grief in a situation, there is a bold acknowledgement that there is no answer.

Lament defies sceptics who expect 
Christians to put up SOME answer.

Sceptics know that pretentious answers 
reduce Christian faith to hocus pocus.

I’m sure many Christians feel their faith needs to have answers to all things.  They feel it must have some ‘value’ to this degree—it must be ‘good’ for something when life is tough!  Yet, precisely the opposite is what true Christian faith is about—being brave and humble enough to honour the truth, and honest enough to know that there are no ‘pat’ answers to the toughest situations in life.

But that’s not the end of it!  On the contrary, Christian faith IS the answer to every lamentable situation, however long lasting the situations may be, when it offers no answer.

Here are some reasons why Christian faith answers suffering best when it has no answer:

§     In not pretending to have the answer, there is no spiritual bypassing, but the opportunity to sit and do what Lament does—lament.  Lament has integrity with the truth of what hurts so much! Lament is stillness, and in stillness despite the pain there is healing.

§     In lamenting we get the opportunity to engage in what I call ‘facing’, which is simply sitting there in the presence of suffering’s reality, which is something that doesn’t defeat us when we engage in it.  It often compels us to reach out for support.  And in facing, we find that our suffering doesn’t comprehensively defeat us, though it does take us to a place of blessed brokenness for what cannot be changed.

§     One moment at a time, we find with facing, we CAN endure it, and the pain always teaches us something—which is often something we learn by faith in the moment as we look back afterwards.  There are fathoms of depth to be learned in compassion through suffering, for one instance.

§     And that’s not all.  When ‘facing’ with the genuine support of another, there’s a confidence gained when neither gives way to the temptation to need an answer.  This involves getting to that rare place of Liminal Space—which is that in-between place between what-was and what-will-be.  Nothing heals us quite as effectively, nor gives us confidence in the faithfulness of God, as sitting in liminal space.

§     In being broken beyond our capacity to bear, we’re not broken forever.  We learn that being broken and feeling broken are actually an essential part of Christian faith—Jesus was broken.  Hardly ever will we grow like we do when we’re in a place of extended brokenness.

§     The world needs to see more examples of true Christian faith in suffering that has no answer and pretends nothing whatsoever—honouring horrific realities is respectful but denying and bypassing reveals hypocrisy.  There is so much Christian tradition that speaks to the reality of Christians who prospered even as they suffered, and this speaks nothing about the spiritual blessings enjoyed afterward in keeping with Hebrews 12:11.

§     Moments are transformed when we take the pressure out of them.  When it’s acknowledged that there’s no answer, the moment is freed up of pressure to do the impossible, which is of course ludicrous.  It’s in these moments of being utterly useless, where all we can do is accept what is, where God’s power resides most.

§     This must simply be experienced to know its power: sit with sadness and call it what it is, without needing to change it or explain it away, and we find that sadness truly appreciates being met.  Our sadness craves recognition.  Recognising our sadness is essential to our wellbeing.  In the brokenness IS the healing.

§     The extended time period we suffer for keeps us in the growth zone.  Growth is the only compensation for suffering, which is paradoxical, because growth is wonderful, but it is also replete with pain.  So by being kept in the situation of our grief we learn what we would otherwise not.

Sceptics of Christian faith may have seen responses to suffering by Christians that are neither biblical nor helpful, for example the use of spiritual bypassing like, “Just focus on the positives in your life... count your blessings... don’t worry and don’t fear, God will use your suffering for good... don’t you know that God is with you,” etc, including pat use of Bible verses.  None of this is from a heart to help.  Whilst there is truth in these statements, they shortcut the power of God.

TRUE CHRISTIAN FAITH

True Christian faith denies nothing of the suffering realities we encounter and find we’re marooned in.  Those of true faith sit there in the reality of our distress with us—yes, that’s true relational faith.  These are the faithful, utilising the power of faith in acknowledging there is no answer.  The last thing a person who’s suffering wants from a support person is an attitude that doesn’t honour the starkness of the reality they’re in.

To sit there and lament means no explaining it away as if we mere humans could have any logical, helpful, or valuable insight about the situation and a step-by-step on how to recover.

The truth is suffering is beyond human answer.  No human being can rationalise it.  (Isaiah 55:8-9 attests to this truth.)  Only as we engage in lament are we given a process that helps to keep us safe in the moment and gives us hope for healing eventually.

Everyone is dubious about a religion or faith system that pretends to have the market cornered on suffering, and that’s because most of the world knows it’s too complex and too impossible for human fixing.

Lament is central to true healing, 
ONE DAY AT A TIME, 
by faith,
over the long haul.

Somehow—and I can’t explain how—just by sitting and facing our anguish, by learning the practice and engaging in it, we give ourselves the best chance of healing.

The reason this is the case is we see that we can bear it and that gives us confidence and hope, and somehow the pain dissipates when we bear the truth, even though the source of grief doesn’t change.

Suffering demands a response, and lament is that response.

A transcendent hope when all hope seems dashed

There are many times in grief when you feel like it’s you that’s died.  Life as it’s come to be is impossible to live.  A new normal has suddenly replaced what we yearn to return to.  In a state of life that can only connect with the suffering, everyone else appears to live completely trouble free.

A hope that died and can no longer be revived is a loss that simply must be grieved.  But there’s more, a lot more, if anything of true life is to be redeemed.

Perhaps what stands to be noticed on the horizon is an opportunity to live a different kind of life—at least while in the in-between—to that which most people live; call it transcendence.  Let’s face it, we would never have chosen to embrace a life we can now manufacture but for the hope that evaporated before our eyes in the loss that’s become reality.

When there’s no connection left with those in ‘the normal life’ then there’s a connection to be created with those who live the ‘new normal life’ you’re presently in.  There’s no use in resenting the place you’re in; best make the most of it.

The life of the psalmist in Psalm 88 is very dark.  They’ve been completely cast off.  There is absolutely no light in such a life.  Yet, that kind of life is very familiar to any of us who have experienced cataclysmic loss.

There is a hope that can only spring from loss—that is, the hope that doesn’t come into view until the old life is gone.  It leaves us with an opportunity.  With old possibilities gone, and refusing to give up on the presence of hope in the new milieu, we venture forth in the darkness, desperate to find the presence of light.

Faith is at its strongest when we’re at our weakest when we refuse to give up on hope.

Sure, there are times in loss where we cannot get out of the Psalm 88 countenance, where we can’t get out of bed, can’t stop crying, or can’t begin the day, or lose hope in the evening when all of life is empty.  But out of such absence of hope comes the motivation to make for new ground.  Not every day, mind you.  There are times when we have no will in us to live, let alone explore for the new hope we believe is out there for us.

There is a transcendent hope that lies in wait for the person whose hope has been vanquished.

Hope out of loss is a redemptive thing.  For those who do not ultimately give up, there is always fresh hope to be found.

Enduring the grief of despair’s dark night of the soul

There are times in life where we’re stuck in a Psalm 88 season where there is no light.  There has to be a place in God’s word that reflects a place of pure darkness, for there are times in life when life’s like that.

If that sounds unreal, hold out consideration that this is reality for many people.

Many people in the faith cannot contemplate such a hellish place where there’s no sign of light.  That’s why it’s good for those who bear witness to utter despair that there is a psalm like Psalm 88.

The truth is there are so many in the faith who disparage another’s experience of the dark night of the soul because it speaks so chillingly to the reality that it’s possible.  When someone is blacklisted spiritually, as if they “don’t have enough faith” to experience God’s light, it’s a blasphemy of the Holy Spirit.

It’s a manipulation of God for humanity’s purposes, and God doesn’t work that way.

It’s never God’s will that a person in a Psalm 88 season would not be supported.

It’s never God’s will that a person enduring a dark night of the soul would be abandoned.

The despair that a person experiences even as they practice their faith in the darkest night is real.  Indeed, that’s the quintessence of faith; that a person has a plethora of reasons to give up on God, yet wisely by faith they cling to the only hope of light they know.  Such is the assurance of a faith that will not eventually be crushed.

The one experiencing the grief of despair’s dark night of the soul has an inspiring faith.

This is the one who should not be vanquished and banished for their apparent grief, but all the more should be lauded for the fact that their perseverance speaks potently of God’s venerable power.

It doesn’t look like the one who is struggling under the weight of loss has much faith.  But how else is faith to be deepened than it is pushed to and past the brink.  Experiences that break us are part of how faith is meant to work.  But we must not call to eventualities before they exist.

Instead, we’re to allow the dark night of the soul to persist without judging it or anyone else.  Of course, this doesn’t mean we won’t do all in our power to change the equation—for faith calls us to the light that will ultimately make the darkness mute.

Instead of changing the reality in our minds by denying its pain, we’re called to endure the pain as it draws us into parallel with the sufferings of Jesus—whom is very well acquainted with a Psalm 88 season.  In fact, Jesus is with the person in their darkness even if they can’t feel him.

It’s important that we don’t over-spiritualise the concept of despair by engaging in a spiritual bypassing that makes all of life only benevolent.  All of life is NOT benevolent.  “In this world you will have trouble,” said Jesus.

We must understand that there are times in life where there is no light, and it’s in those times that we show the most faith by enduring, “Walking by faith, not by sight.”

It’s abuse to tell someone that their experience of the dark night of the soul is their fault.

On the contrary, the one experiencing the dark night of the soul has a more profound faith in the making, and that ought to be revered.

Reflecting over a difficult year & a most uncertain year ahead

Many people’s approach to the emerging new year in 2021 was sheer optimism, as if suddenly a New Year would herald a starkly new reality amongst the backdrop of that ‘unprecedented’ year 2020.  Many memes focused on this very idea.

What a surprise a lot of people would have had as 2021 dawned and there was no hope of life-back-to-normal in sight.  The health impacts of the pandemic only deepened in 2021, and as country after country endured third, fourth and fifth waves, the economic and social pressures intensified.  In fact, as countries prioritised economy over health, they suffered the consequences as the virus spread under Delta.

As a Western Australian, one of only three million people in a State of Australia that has keep Covid out, 2022 rings big alarm bells, as the State is to be ‘reopened’ in February.  Cases are skyrocketing around the country in every other State.  It may only be Omicron, but I don’t think people understand the future impacts.  Worldwide, we’ve been notoriously late on the scene every time.

So how do we plan for a year that promises to be very uncertain indeed?

Well, we need to hold out hope that during 2022 we will turn some sort of corner.

Keeping safe from Covid or recovering well and boosting our immunity must be big on the agenda.

We need to continue to help keep our immunocompromised family and friends safe—being immunised is the best hope we all have.

We need to set our houses in order, and there’s no better time than now to become disciplined in doing what we can while we can.  So many people have used Covid to lose weight and get fitter, not to mention get their lives more balanced.

Lockdowns have had their massive negative impacts, and perhaps we can predict that there might be fewer of those, but there’s no certainty in that.  At least now we have something to plan for—we know what to expect, and how to make the most of such times.  We need to hope that it won’t get much worse.

With travel being severely limited we’ve come to be very grateful for the travel practices we used to engage in.  Indeed, we’re not taking as much for granted these days.  This is a good thing.  We’ve been deepened in our losses of freedom, but this has also cost so many of us in terms of mental health.  Yet another sad reality is we seem more divided than ever as a society, locally and globally.

Then our gaze is stretched to ‘essential workers’ who will be never more exhausted than now, and we have to wonder how society sustains those who will be burning out or have already.

Covid is not much of an advertisement for attracting doctors, nurses, epidemiologists, etc, but it may also have the opposite effect for those who are young who have been inspired to take up the cudgel of service, and certainly those who have witnessed travesties and want to set those right.

2022 holds a lot of uncertainty about it, especially for those where geopolitical tensions exist, and there are so many of those.  But that said, we’re almost used to the chaotic by now.  Surely we’ve all become more used to being pushed around by life that 2022 holds few real concerns.  2020 and 2021 have been useful training for those who are looking forward.

It’s good to make plans, and I’m not talking New Years’ resolutions.  Some will be starting studies, and some will be completing them.  There are financial hopes that many bear, and certainly there are plans to connect with those we haven’t been able to see.  New careers will take form for many.  But equally for many, loss will bite, and we need to hold out a little space for those in empathy.

There is so much change and perhaps with it, a lot of opportunity.  To be honest, if only we can be open to seeing the opportunities, they’ll come.

Whatever 2022 holds, the past two years have been the ideal preparation for whatever might come.  Hopefully 2020 and 2021 have made us kinder in preparation.

These words have been life for me since 2004

God has been teaching me all kinds of lessons this year.  Probably the most salient and important lesson is that God is moving in my life most especially when I don’t or can’t see it.  

Especially in the backdrop of significant societal uncertainties, at such a pandemic time as this, anxiety needs to be thwarted.

If you learn anything from reading this, hold yourself open to this possibility in your own life.

Let me commence with a story.

It was August 31, 2004.  I sat upon a spiritual and a situational precipice.  My recovery was just short of 12-months in the making, and I’d been embraced by the leadership in the church—drawn into leadership to be around wise people who could guide me, especially in those tenuous moments, and there are plenty of those in recovery.

These moments where anxiety, doubting, spiritual attack become big in one’s story.

One of the golden threads through this article is the importance of communities of grace in not only our recovery but also in our routine going out and coming home.

The fact is, we’ll get it wrong, and rather than be judged by our families and communities, we all need grace, and just as much, we all need to extend grace.

We all need to experience being forgiven, and just as much we all need to experience what God does within us when we extend that forgiveness.

Back to the story:

I was having one of those deep moments of torment, of doubt, of self-sabotage.  As I approached the precipice, I reached out via ‘a letter’ that I sent to a mentor—Rod, a deacon/elder at the church who was deeply involved in my journey.  I couldn’t sleep, so I recall going into work, writing the letter, and emailing it from there.  The letter involved some risks, in the things I was stating, my desires and intentions.  The correspondence was loaded.

Having sent the letter off, I was still in a battle with myself, partly at peace for having communicated what I felt I needed to say, but also partly anxious for how it would be received.

At this point, reflect.  Think about a time when you’ve sent something that was loaded.  Perhaps it tested the relationship.  Maybe it came to define the relationship.

It was 24-hours later that I received a response to my letter via email.  Not only was the reply from Rod full of grace, but it was also full of prophetic wisdom.  Not only had Rod been wise enough to choose to encourage me rather than chastise me—which would have revealed fear from him to control me—he also used the opportunity to call my vision beyond the present.  It actually proved pivotal in my being called a month later by God to become a pastor.

But it was during a follow-up phone call that Rod said such important words that have stuck with me ever since.  When I told him I was fearful of backsliding, he immediately came back with, 

“There’s no way that you, having seen what you’ve seen, and having experienced what you’ve experienced, would go back to the old way of life, so don’t worry about that.”

In other words, “You will not turn back.”

It was important to hear, because it was true.

It was exactly what I needed to hear.  It’s also been something I’ve needed to remind myself of from time to time when I’ve lost my connection with God, poignantly under spiritual attack.

There are so many times in 2021 when I’ve drawn on this truth, especially when I’ve been pressed into a fresh season of conquest and challenge.  Through providence of God’s grace, the reminder of God’s mercy, I was enabled to overcome a certain hardness of heart, but due another set of challenging circumstances, I found my heart growing dark and discouraged.

The majority of 2021, and certainly the second half, has been punctuated by frustration and exhaustion.  In this season, there’s almost been a weekly cycle of being under the blowtorch of spiritual warfare.

At times of deep spiritual attack, what’s needed most of all are reminders of hope, and particularly for Christians, that God is still moving.  During this pressing time, there have been more reminders than usual that God is moving:

§     regular messages from a fellow pastor friend, poignantly on days when I needed them most

§     more than one situation where people I didn’t really know came and told me, “God wanted me to say to you, ‘He’s still moving and working... don’t lose hope’”

§     times when I’ve had regular visions of what would happen, yet only saw the fullness of the vision consciously at a time when God wanted to show me, i.e., when I needed to see it completely

§     special ministry opportunities (funerals, counselling, speaking, etc) have come up

§     one of the key challenges has been indecision (one of the two AA “pests,” the other is hurry), and so many times God has broken through to clear and clarify the way

§     being able to see that despite the regular weekly spiritual attack from exhaustion, the following day would inevitably bring recovery—genuine resurrection experiences

§     Most poignantly, it’s been the communities of grace that have ‘held and contained’ me very much this year—to succeed, everyone needs such grace, which is like a safety net

What I’ve learned that I also want to show you is, when you most think you’re about to give up because you’re assailed by the enemy, you will not turn back.  You won’t.  You know what you need to do.  You know that God is your hope, and so no matter what, you cling to that hope.

When God seems least to be moving, paradoxically God’s moving more than you think.  Our role is to wait well, to be patient with ourselves, our circumstances, and others, resolving to be gentle with ourselves and others.

Rising out of the depths, eventually, is the overcoming life!

Joy’s possibilities in the belly of grief

Seems a lambasting thought
that joy might be possible
deep in the belly of grief.
Think of it as access
to the otherwise inaccessible Spirit
when we most need relief.

There seems little to celebrate about grief, that lamentable position of situation or circumstance that lingers and tarries, always far longer into our exhaustion than it relents.

But it’s not until we’ve been there—cast against the rocks in the howling squall of loss; tossed violently by that horrendous milieu of life and kept there—that we recognise that at the end of us is the beginning of God.  We might otherwise fail to find our salvation.

Yet it never quite feels right to say it just like that, does it?

Be that as it may, we have the opportunity to juxtapose that change and indeed growth occurs serenely against the flow of our individual control, whereby our preference for and bias toward comfort so often works against the schema of God to take us into the divine.

Oh, how we hate and thereby avoid pain.  And yet out of being pushed and stretched and cajoled by loss, we gain access to the divinity ever beyond the horizon of our characteristic ease.

When suddenly we find ourselves backwashed into a place we can no longer deny or avoid, where we’re so weak we find nothing within us can resist the current underneath the groundswell of life’s rushing torrent, there’s one moment, perhaps, where joy becomes us, despite the horror of suffering that brought it to us.

It’s a moment that the light breaks through—and it only needs to be a moment.

One moment is all the testimony the light needs.  Once that light bores through, it leaves itself, embellished, a record on the memory, huh!  Such embellishment is of course welcome, for it is the very light of hope, an anchor with which to cling to in our distress.

Jesus’ Spirit overcoming, 
not succumbing.

As disciples, we do have trouble in this world, yet, as John 16:33 states and the preceding seventeen verses contend, there is an abounding joy to be had for the hope set before each one of us—due even one encounter with the living Christ, not despite the pain of grief but because of it, founded within it.

We only need to have been there once, and the memory of such an event is a light that can’t be darkened.  Once for all time is the victory of Christ at Calvary, and once for all time is the victory we experience in encountering the living Christ, and it’s faith that compels us to relive such a glorious thought.

Joy is not only possible in grief, 
it is found there in its purest form.