On Death and Suffering

Suffering humbles us. ​Sickness can bring us to despair. Pain crushes the spirit. Hope deferred makes the heart sick. Plans destroyed, unexpected injury, disease, loss, all these sideline us or send us spiralling into depression. In the midst of the interminable blackness, the searing agony, we cry out. "How long, oh Lord?"

The prophet Isaiah records a near-death experience of Hezekiah, king of Judah in Isaiah 38 (it also is recorded in 2 Kings 20). Hezekiah was ill and the prophet gave him a word from the Lord. Now, one would expect this to be a word of encouragement and strength, but no, God said to get his house in order, "You're going to die. You will not recover."

Great news? Not so much. God was gracious in at least giving him time to get his affairs in order. Hezekiah then did what I think most of us would do. He turned his face to the wall and wept bitterly. But he prayed, and he prayed privately about the matter to God. He reminded God how he'd lived: he'd walked faithfully, with wholehearted devotion, and he'd done what was good in God's eyes. Now, God knew this, but in the depths of his despair, Hezekiah reminded God anyway.

Note: Under the Old Covenant, blessing and cursing was sent by God on the basis of obedience or disobedience (Leviticus 26, Deuteronomy 28).  More about this in a moment, but for now, back to our story.

Lo and behold, Isaiah gets an update. "Go tell Hezekiah," the Lord says, "I've heard your prayer and seen your tears; I will add fifteen years to your life and I will deliver you and this city..."

And God did. Hezekiah's response was nothing short of poetry. It's recorded in ‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭38‬. I've taken the liberty to add line breaks and poetic formatting. On the left is Hezekiah's report, and on the right is what he said to God.

In the prime of my life 
must I go through the gates of death 
and be robbed of the rest of my years?

I will not again see the Lord himself 
in the land of the living; 
no longer will I look on my fellow man, 
or be with those who now dwell in this world. 

Like a shepherd’s tent 
my house has been pulled down and taken from me. 
Like a weaver I have rolled up my life, 
and he has cut me off from the loom; 

day and night you made an end of me. 

I waited patiently till dawn, 

but like a lion he broke all my bones; 

day and night you made an end of me. 

I cried like a swift or thrush, 
I moaned like a mourning dove. 
My eyes grew weak as I looked to the heavens. 

I am being threatened; Lord, come to my aid! 

But what can I say? 
He has spoken to me, 
and he himself has done this. 
I will walk humbly all my years 
because of this anguish of my soul. 

Lord, by such things people live; 

and my spirit finds life in them too. 

You restored me to health 

and let me live. 

Surely it was for my benefit 

that I suffered such anguish. 

In your love you kept me 

from the pit of destruction; 

you have put all my sins 

behind your back. 

For the grave cannot praise you, 

death cannot sing your praise; 

those who go down to the pit 

cannot hope for your faithfulness. 

The living, the living—they praise you, 

as I am doing today; 

parents tell their children 

about your faithfulness. 

The Lord will save me, 
and we will sing with stringed instruments 
all the days of our lives 
in the temple of the Lord.

Here we see a king subjected, first to confronting the reality of his own death, then pleading with God for his life. At the end of it all, he concludes that the suffering was for his benefit. That God, in love, kept him so that he can continue to praise him in the land of the living and tell his children about God's faithfulness.

Hezekiah triumphantly declares his conclusion:

The Lord will save me and we will sing for the rest of our lives.

So what's our takeaway? In the midst of our suffering, we pray and weep bitterly. God may choose to answer by delivering us, extending our life on this earth. But far more often, it seems, we do not see a miraculous healing, nor a promise of extended life.

How should we pray then, under the New Covenant given to us in Christ, where we are justified now only by faith in Jesus (Galatians 3:13-14)? We don't plead for ourselves based on our good behavior. "Hezekiah’s principle of prayer isn’t fitting for a Christian today. We pray in the name of Jesus (John 16:23-24), not in the name of who we are or what we have done. We come across similar pleas again and again in the prayers of God’s children of old. The Psalms abound with them. But we do not find them in the New Testament. The Church bases its pleas on Christ’s righteousness.”(1)

We know that Jesus suffered and died. His prayer was also to ask deliverance, but ultimately, he prayed, "Not my will, but Thine be done." His obedience made our salvation possible.

Due to the realities of being human under the curse of sin, all of us suffer -- for many reasons beyond illness. Yet when we, or those we love, may be afflicted by disease and are near the point of death, like Hezikiah, we weep bitterly and plead with God to extend life. This is not wrong. But to demand healing based on our own personal goodness, is contrary to the model given us by Jesus. He lived a sinless life, but God did not answer his request for deliverance.

Sometimes, God grants healing and extends life. Other times He does not. This is one of the most challenging tests of faith. Trusting in God's sovereign will. We know that suffering, sickness and disease can come for various reasons, and it is dangerous to try and understand these reasons or declare their purpose with certainty from our time-limited, earth-bound, human perspective. Romans 11:34 says "Who has known the mind of the Lord, and who has been his counsellor?"

As Christians, we understand that in death we go to be with the Lord. John Trapp suggests, “...why should a saint be fond of life, or afraid of death, since to him it is as his father’s horse, to carry him to his father’s house?” The sting has been removed by Christ and so can we agree with the apostle Paul,  "to live is Christ and to die is gain"?

In the same context (Philippians 1), Paul addresses his suffering as he was in chains in prison. He could have boasted about his good life, and demanded God intervene, but he acknowledges that what was happening to him actually served to advance the gospel (v.12) and instill confidence in other believers (v.14). His testimony was this:

"I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death." (v. 20)

His final charge to the Christians at Philippi, and to us, is this:

Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ. 

I have lived through many suffering days, and walked at length through the valley of the shadow of death. It was, sadly, often as a result of my own human failings, or the failings of others, and rarely due to suffering for the gospel of Christ. This blog is filled with a decade of my struggle, musing, frustration, lessons and poetry on this very subject. Too often, my response to difficulty was not worthy of the gospel. I did fear evil, I did stumble and fall. This was not a small matter, my extended time of living "in the far country" in my heart and attitude, where I wept bitterly and turned my face repeatedly to the wall and pleaded for God to save me, rescue me, transform my circumstances, deliver me.

But God... but God... in his mercy, continued the good work he had begun in me (Philippians 1:6), despite my rebellion and disobedience, regardless of my good works, out of his infinite riches and unsearchable judgment, he showed mercy. He continues the process of redemption begun at the cross in Christ, and the shaping and sanctifying continues to happen over time as I seek after the Lord and respond to his refining fire.

I can echo with Hezekiah what God did for me: It has caused me to walk more humbly because of the anguish of my soul. My spirit finds life in Him, the one who restored me to health and let me live. "Surely it was for my benefit that I suffered such anguish." In God's love he kept me from the pit of destruction and put all my sins behind His back. And like the Psalmist, he has given me beauty for ashes, the garment of praise in place of a spirit of heaviness. He has turned my mourning into dancing.

So, how should we then live while we continue to walk and suffer on this broken earth in this fragile bodies, these jars of clay?

When I look to myself, I grieve. When I look to the Lord, I receive.

In very practical ways, each day I must dwell in his presence, soak in his word, and speak the truth of God's promises over my heart. His mercies are new every morning. Great is his faithfulness! We do not have to fear evil (persecution, death, disease, suffering) because the Lord is with us. He is our shepherd, we will not lack. He makes us rest in lush pastures, leads us beside still water, restores our soul, leads us into right living for his name's sake. We do not have to fear evil because he is with us, his rod and staff comfort us, he prepares a table for us, anoints us with healing oil, fills our cup to overflowing. Goodness and mercy follow us while we live and when we finally die, we will live eternally in the house of our Lord forever (Psalm 23).

Prayer:

Dear Heavenly Father, 
Thy will be done, on earth, in me, for your name's sake and for your glory. By your mercy and love, grant me sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. Amen

Inspiration and Maintenance

In “The Artist’s Way: Creativity as a Spiritual Practice,” Julia Cameron offers a wide slate of encouragement, exercises, prodding, tasks, tools, proven advice and hard-learned lessons which, when applied, can move writers and others from stuck to stellar, from blocked to blossoming. I'm going through the book in a 12-week class.

It’s one reason I’ve not had the urge to blog. And why I’ve not felt a need to see my therapist. And one of the contributing reasons as to why I’m happier than I’ve been for about as long as I can remember. Well, besides the fact that I’m a very happy newlywed, married to an astonishingly perceptive, funny, loving, gifted man.

I also must tip my proverbial hat to the course facilitator, Caroline Russell-King, a successful playwright and dramaturg who has run the class numerous times through Alexandra Writers Centre Society. She has guided the participants of the course with gentleness and stewardship.

It’s not a walk in the park, though. week four and week nine are typically the weeks participants quit, according to Caroline. And I am procrastinating on the week nine assignment quite a bit. Self-discovery is not always about mining the good stuff. Sometimes there’s a lifetime of sludge, negativity and denial, even outright lies we have believed about who we are.

Yet, it’s worth the excavation, moving the rubble out of the way to get to the buried gifts. One of the most significant discoveries has come through an increased self-awareness: what’s going on in my body, mind, heart, soul. I’ve come to finally recognize how I have had a negative narrative running incessantly for most of my life: accusing me, name-calling, cultivating doubt, pointing out past missteps and all sorts of imagined failures; raising up the spectre of past wounds and offenses, stirring fear. It is the sum total of all the unkind voices of my past, plus my own, at times, when I’ve chosen to agree with the dark whispers regarding my perceived limitations.

“You’re a loser.
“You’re fat, lazy, rude, unlovable, unworthy.”
“You will never succeed.”
“You will never be enough.”
“You don’t deserve anything.”
“You are nothing.”

Until now.

Now I speak the truth against it. Speak affirming words, kind words, filled with self-care and truth. I re-read the cards of thanks for those who were touched or changed by my care or prayer. I sing songs and repeat scripture passages that tell me who I am and what God thinks of me. Loved. Treasured. Worth dying for. Daughter of the king. Gifted. Called. Chosen. Blessed. Shepherded. Fathered. Cherished.

Self-care is part of the assignment. Making that a habit. Eating right, setting up routines that help me get to sleep, learning how to process thoughts and dump them onto the page each day so they don’t get stuck in an infinite loop. Solving problems, setting goals, having fun, taking play dates with my inner artist.

The past ten weeks have been full. I write daily, complete class assignments, poems, articles, projects; I was acting in the dinner theatre, prepping for my son’s wedding, doing a weekly Bible study, camping and hiking, directing and singing at the choir year-end concert, speaking three times to different groups, working on a script for a grief recovery video, finding a new medical doctor, making medical and dental visits, preliminary appointments with specialists before impending surgery, doing home maintenance.

Everything needs maintenance.

Not only do I need to do maintenance on my heart, soul, mind and body, I need to do it on my physical environment. Even as I write, there is an HVAC specialist here replacing the air conditioner. He replaced my furnace three years ago. The year before that, I had the roof redone. I replaced two-thirds of my windows two years ago.  I have a fireplace that needs repair or replacing. These are the major items and not unexpected in a home nearly thirty years old. Yet the details of getting all this done can take up enormous time.

Then there are smaller chores and minor maintenance. Replacing plastic parts in the dishwasher - twice. Installing a fire pit in the back yard. Five large trees and multiple shrubs require regular pruning and fertilizing. I maintain a flower garden, several bird feeders and have nine large potted plants to water and dead-head each week. The deck chairs need new cushions. Then there’s the challenging load of trying to help the grass grow in the midst of shade and spruce needles without helping the weeds flourish. And regular chores like cooking, cleaning, laundry, and so on.

I know none of this is unusual. I love many of the activities I’ve listed, but they all simply take time. So writing sometimes gets the back seat, the lower priority on the to-do list. So this blog is the first to languish without my attention. So, I thought I'd throw out this little crumb of a summary.

But, truly, no news is good news. I’m finally at a point in my life where it seems I am living out the reality of those quiet verses in Psalm 23: “He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside the still waters, he restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name sake.”

I refuse to cave in to foreboding joy. The next verse says, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” I know the cycle of life well. I know death comes, and I have had more than the average share of lives cut short among those I love. So, I choose to focus on the last part of the verse: “I will fear no evil, for You, Lord, are with me… your (guiding) rod and your (disciplining) staff comfort me… you anoint my head with oil, my cup runs over. Goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.”

Thank you, God, for this life. For this joy. For the capacity to see it, soften into it, relish it and love the life you have given me for as long as it lasts without worrying about when it's going to end.

And when life IS over on this earth, “I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” What could be better than that? "In your presence is fullness of joy, at your right hand there are pleasures forever!"

Amen.




Photo credit: depositphotos.com #46399219, standard license

What Gets Me Out of Bed

quote by Chris Gardner (The Pursuit of Happyness)

I have little use for George Burns. He belonged to the prior generation and I never got his humor. However, he did say one thing I remember. When asked what advice he would give about what it takes to live a long, productive life, he simply replied “Don't stay in bed.” 

Today what got me out of bed was poetry. My dad’s. My own. A woman wrote from Maryland this week asking for music for one of my dad’s songs. She and her sisters had learned it from listening to one of our record albums and it would make a good theme song for an upcoming women’s retreat and would I be willing to allow them to have a copy of the printed music. Of course I said yes, and multiple copies were fine, and off I sent a PDF version I scanned out of my dad’s song book.

As I mused on it this morning, I realized the song was my father’s take on Psalm 23, which he named the Good Shepherd Psalm.  What’s more interesting is, the day before, I had written my own version of this psalm, in part, for my husband, who is drawn to the old westerns and grew up reading Louis L'Amour paperbacks.

A poem started to rise about all this, and what gets me out of bed, but now that I’ve posted both my dad’s poem and my own, the original poem I rose to write has gotten tired of waiting and left me sitting here stranded.

So, enjoy my Dad’s view of Psalm 23 here.

and my quirky take here.

Don't Doubt in the Dark What God Has Shown You In the Light

Do not assume that he who seeks to comfort you now lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes do you good. His life may also have much sadness and difficulty…Were it otherwise he would never have been able to find these words. – Rilke

It is so important to understand, in the midst of our darkness, that the one who brings comfort through their words and assistance may be bearing wounds far beyond what we ourselves are experiencing. I have been (and am still) on both sides of that equation, both giving and receiving comfort.

As I approach the second anniversary of my first husband's suicide, the grief is waning and overwhelming waves that blindside me are less frequent. Some parts of my life are happier now than I can ever remember being in my entire life. My new husband not only loves me well in every possible way, he makes me laugh, leans into the hard conversations, teaches me new things, helps in practical ways, coaches me to sleep, dries my tears and leads me to Jesus. And that is just the first 11 weeks.

Now that I’m in a safe place, growing stronger in this season of life thanks to a loving and stable environment, other parts of my life are beginning to require attention. Parts that have lived in shadow and shame. Parts I am just beginning to name. As others have said, we cannot heal what we do not acknowledge and it is in naming a thing that we take away its power. This is more than disconcerting.

She could never go back and make some of the details pretty. All she could do was move forward and make the whole beautiful. – Terri St. Cloud

One of these places feels like an unmarked grave in the forest. Dark. Quiet. Frightening. If I begin to dig, not only will it be difficult work, I do not know in what condition the remains will be or if I’ll even be digging in the right place. While my impulsive, impatient, perfectionist self wants to pave this place over and put up an amusement park, my heart knows the offenses of another against my much younger self are hidden there and will undermine the foundation of anything I try to construct over it.

The worst form of censorship is when we edit our story to make it acceptable to others.
– People of the Second Chance

So I hold tight to that comforting, yet somehow disturbing portion of Psalm 23: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.”

Even better, how Eugene Peterson puts it into context in The Message:

God, my shepherd!
I don’t need a thing.
You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
you find me quiet pools to drink from.
True to your word,
you let me catch my breath
and send me in the right direction.
Even when the way goes through
Death Valley,
I’m not afraid
when you walk at my side.

Recently, God told me to “Rest!” and to wait on him, watching where he goes and he invites me to walk alongside. I’m not digging up these old bones alone. He’s let me sleep in lush meadows and drink from quiet pools while I catch my breath. He’s given me the GPS coordinates and even though the way is going through Death Valley, he’s with me and for me, so I don’t have to be afraid.

Now, where is that backhoe?