For the Joy Set Before Him

"No one does anything without expecting a return for what they've done." My first response to this idea is to push back and say there's no way it's true. Like my friend who had a conversation about this idea with his fiancé. But then my friend really thought about it and realized he doesn't think he does anything without some thought of, "Well I'll be rewarded for this, whether in this world or the next." He looked defeated as he said this. I think his defeat comes from an assumption that may not be true. Did Jesus do things without any thought for himself? At first I thought, "Of course." Then I thought of the verse, "...For the joy set before him he [Jesus] endured the cross..." (Hebrews 12:2) What was 'the joy set before him'? You. Me. Jesus had EVERYTHING, everything. Perfect and complete relationship in the Trinity. The only thing he lacked was you and me. Jesus endured the cross so he could have you. He didn't do it with no thought of himself, or for no return. He knew what his return would be. That's why he died in our place. So here's the assumption: It is wrong or ungodly to act expecting return. But in reality Jesus did everything expecting return. His motives were pure and his actions perfect, and he did what he did to get you. Our motives aren't pure and our actions aren't perfect, but expecting something back, some joy, for the godly things we do is not ungodly. In fact it is fellowship with God because He has also worked for a reward. This is not to be confused with keeping score. God doesn't keep score and He doesn't call us to. This is simply to say that when you do something good, or honorable, or kind and you feel the benefit of it or enjoy what you get from it that is not wrong. In fact it is God-like.

Preface for These Blog Essays

What do you call a compilation of stolen ideas? Finding that answer was my first task when thinking about starting this blog. The moment of wondering was just long enough for me to begin to think that perhaps you can’t write a compilation of stolen ideas. Then it hit me, “Essays”, you call this conglomeration of all that resonates for you from so many different sources “Essays”. These are my Essays, my instances of resonance. Not that I hope they may happen for you, or even that they repeat for me, in fact many of them are too painful to wish for, but that we might begin to recognize where God and our soul’s design overlap by developing the muscle of resonance. From Eve, this muscle has atrophied until we see almost none of what God has plaited into our lives and our world. Like a braid with the third strand pulled out, loosing all the hair. So our world looks to us, nothing fits together, it simply falls without rhythm or purpose. The Third Strand is present, it is we who don’t see it, not it that is not there.  Though braid is to simple a form of weaving, God’s woven tapestry is complex and infinite. It is my hope that we should see wider and wider glimpses of His work among us, what Lewis calls mythology (Divine among the non-divine), that we might begin to strengthen the muscle of resonance and live more fully.

To Know Pain is to Know God

Recently I was thinking about how hard it is for me to sit with my pain. To name it. To feel it. Even to recognize it. I began to wonder how obvious, how real, a thing could be so slippery. I think it is because I had defined pain the wrong way. I defined pain as separation from God. Therefore it was something to be avoided at all costs. In fact one should flee from pain, do anything to not be associated with it. Numb it, ignore it, rename it, belittle it, anything to not sit with it. To feel pain was to deny God for me. I didn’t realize that the opposite was true: that to feel pain was to proclaim God. That pain  ought to be defined as fellowship with God. How can I say that to feel pain is to proclaim God? That it is fellowship with Him?  I’m not entirely sure I can, or that I should. But here is my answer: God is so concerned with us that He is often more evident in our pain than our ease. How many times have you heard someone say, “I learned the most, I grew the most, I saw God the most, when things were tough”? To know pain is to know God. God is so close to pain. He cares so much, they’re almost synonymous. Not that anything of God is inherently suffering, but that God is so deeply concerned with the affairs of Earth He makes Himself one with our suffering: The passion of the Christ. Yet we minimize pain, we deny it, we say it is apart from God, we say it is wrong to feel. These are the whispers of the Devil. So close to true, but poisoned by the slightest nuance. The truth is we were not meant for pain and suffering, in that sense it is wrong, the lie is that it’s wrong to feel it. Evil comes and whispers, “You don’t know pain. Look at her pain. Yours is nothing compared to that. It would be selfish to examine your pain. If you can even call it ‘pain’” Or if your hurt is too blatant for that lie to work the Devil whispers this instead, “Numb it. Drink. Run. Do. Don’t look back. Don’t tell. Ignore it.” Or perhaps he says, “It’s your own fault. Can you really call it hurt if you brought it on yourself? Can God really care when it was your own doing?” Why does Satan accompany our pain so closely? Why does he work so hard to distort our understanding of it? Because to know pain is to know God, and Satan knows this. He saw Jesus know His Father in His passion. He fears you will see the same in your passion. God never initiates pain and suffering. But when He let us love Him we set it in motion, it is nearly the most constant and universal thing about being human, so that is where God is. God is in the Valley of the Shadow of Death because that’s where we are. He is with us. When I have sat with my pain, God has never whisked it away, but He has validated it, He has held my hand, He has brought me friends to help. Satan is the Great Minimizer, ready to tell you your pain is small and you are inconsequential. But Jesus is the Great Truth Teller, ready to tell you that your pain is real and consequential. At first it feels like this is a death sentence. “Jesus are you killing me?” I have thought on many occasions when a torrent of grief over my hurt has rushed over me. But what I thought would kill me brings me life. When we are honest about the brokenness of our own lives and the lives of those around us we are at the heart of God. He brings us to Himself not because he needs our help, or wants to show us our guilt, or to condemn us, but that we might know He is our hope and the pain does not win. He is where we hurt the most because no one, no one else is enough. He is our last hope and He delights to be our only Way. Yet He is also our Complete Hope, lacking in no way, He is More Than Enough.