He Knows Our Sorrows

Have you ever watched a television series or a movie that was a real tear jerker? Maybe it was something that everyone raved about and then you watch it and afterward felt like you’d experienced emotional whiplash. When that happens to me, I then want to go back to that friend who recommended it and ask, “Why did you do that to me?”

It’s not as though I don’t like tear jerkers; I’m just not always emotionally ready to watch something that will make me cry. I like to be prepared beforehand to know I am going to walk away from a television show or movie feeling emotionally exhausted.

If only we had such a choice in real life. If only we could choose the time and date when we are emotionally prepared to experience something heavy and hard. If only we could push pause on difficult times of life or better, change the channel all together.

We know all too well that real life is not like that. All too often, the sorrows of life come upon us when we least expect it. And there’s no pushing pause or changing the channel. That’s because life in a fallen world is hard. We experience loss and heartache and trial on the regular. Jesus himself said that we would have troubles and sorrows in this world (Jn. 16:33). Peter instructed us to not be surprised by trials when they come (1 Pet. 4:12).

While the hardships of real life are nothing like watching them unfold on a movie screen, we do have a compassionate Savior who knows and understands the sorrows we bear. “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin” (Heb. 4:15). Our Savior knew well the grief and fear, hardship and poverty, rejection and injustice, temptation and loneliness we face in this fallen world (Heb. 2:17).

Jesus Christ was born not in a castle, but in a stable. His parents were not royalty; his father was a poor carpenter. He was rejected by the people of his own hometown. John tells us that Jesus knew grief as he wept at the grave of his friend Lazarus. He was betrayed by Judas, mere hours after he washed his feet. On the night before he was arrested, he cried out to the Father in lament, asking that the cup be taken from him, all the while trusting in his Father’s will. As he anticipated what was to come, his agony was so great, he sweat drops of blood. HIs friends then went on to abandon him at his darkest hour. Upon his arrest, he was mocked, beaten, and crucified for our sins. Isaiah sums up the sufferings of our Savior well: “Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed” (Is. 53:4-5).

The fact that our Savior knows what it is to suffer life in a fallen world is important; it reminds us that he was both fully human and divine. In his humanity, he had to experience suffering to become a perfect sacrifice in our place. John Calvin wrote, “Certainly those who imagine that the Son of God was exempt from human passions do not truly and sincerely acknowledge him to be a man.” He also cautioned, “if we are ashamed that Christ should experience fear and sorrow, our redemption will perish and be lost.” The fact that Jesus felt such intense emotions should encourage us in our own sorrows for we have a Savior who understands our pain—so much so, he was willing to bear the weight of sin to set us free.

Friends, we are not alone. We have a Savior who has gone before us. We have a Savior who knows and understands and cares for all our sorrows. The psalmist wrote that God keeps a count of all our tears; he stores them in a bottle; they are recorded in his book (Ps. 56:8).

Our sorrows matter to God.

What then are we to do with our sorrows? We do what Jesus did: we bring them to God in prayer. We lament. We cry out to the God who hears us. “In my distress I called upon the LORD; to my God I cried for help. From his temple he heard my voice, and my cry to him reached his ears” (Ps. 18:6). And he hears us because of Jesus Christ. Through faith in the Son’s work on our behalf, we are brought into the family of God. He are adopted as his children; we belong to him. This means we have full rights and free access to the Father; there are no barriers that keep us from him. “Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Heb. 4:16).

It’s true: real life is nothing like it is in the movies; it’s harder. We can’t walk out when we don’t like a particular scene. We can’t push pause until we are ready to engage. But what’s far better is having a perfect Savior who has gone before us. A Savior who knows our cares. A Savior who has born our sorrows. Let us cry out to the One who hears and cares for all our sorrows.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Life in the Desert

I remember my first trip to southern California many years ago. We visited some friends who lived out in the desert. I said to my husband, “I could never live here. There’s no life anywhere.”

Having grown up in the Mid-Atlantic, and then spent twenty years in the tropics of South Florida, the desert is foreign to me. I love trees and flowers and waterfalls and all things nature. The desert seems harsh and lifeless.

In many ways it is, but in many ways it’s not.

Since that first trip to California, I’ve homeschooled my children. One year, we did a unit on eco-systems and there we learned about all the life that exists in the desert. There are plants and animals and important microorganisms. Flowers too.

We were in Utah last week and explored the desert where I saw this life up close. As we hiked, I stopped to take photos of flowers popping up amidst the rocks and sand. The prickly pear cacti were in bloom; I spotted yellow, pink, and red blossoms. There were small trees whose trunks were twisted at odd angles. Lizards, chipmunks, and birds appeared from time to time. The rust colored rock formations had a beauty all their own, gleaming in the sun with ripples of green, purple, and black laced throughout.

Indeed, there is life in the desert.

It’s no coincidence that I read the book of Numbers in the weeks prior to our trip. The book of Numbers chronicles the Israelites’ journey through the desert wilderness. They too thought there was no life found in the desert. They searched for life but kept missing it. They grumbled and complained, thinking things were better in slavery back in Egypt.

“Now the rabble that was among them had a strong craving. And the people of Israel also wept again and said, “Oh that we had meat to eat! We remember the fish we ate in Egypt that cost nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic. But now our strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at” (Numbers 11:4-6).

Yet all the while, Life was with them every step of the way:

“On the day that the tabernacle was set up, the cloud covered the tabernacle, the tent of the testimony. And at evening it was over the tabernacle like the appearance of fire until morning. So it was always: the cloud covered it by day and the appearance of fire by night.” (Numbers 9:15-16).

They refused to see the Life right in front of them. They refused to trust the One who delivered them from Egypt, brought them through the Red Sea, and provided all their needs. Multiple times they were nearly wiped out from existence because of their grumbling and disbelief, were it not for the efforts of their mediator, Moses, and the utter grace of God. Ultimately, their chronic disbelief and idolatry resulted in an entire generation missing out on the Promised Land.

Paul tells us in 1 Corinthians that it was Christ, our ultimate and final Mediator, who was with them in the wilderness:

“For I do not want you to be unaware, brothers, that our father were all under the cloud, and all passed through the sea, and all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea, and all ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink. For they drank from the spiritual Rock that followed them, and the Rock was Christ” (1 Corinthians 10:1-4).

The Christian life is one of wandering. In some of our wanderings, we find ourselves in the desert where life is harsh, and the terrain is hard. We may be spiritually parched and desire to return to our former life of slavery—at least there we know what to expect. We may think the desert is Life-less and are tempted to find it on our own, creating our own versions of false-life in counterfeit substitutes. We may even despair and think the desert will destroy us.

Paul cautions us in 1 Corinthians to read the Israelite’s wanderings in the Old Testament and learn from them. To heed the warnings found there. To remember that we are prone to the same grumbling, the same idolatry, the same disbelief. “Now these things took place as examples for us, that we might not desire evil as they did” (10:6).

And above all, to not miss out on the Life that is always with us. We are never alone in our desert wanderings. Christ, who is our Life, is with us. He has wandered the desert before us, meeting every temptation with his perfect righteousness. He provides access to God’s grace through his blood shed on the cross for our sin. He nourishes and sustains us through his Life-giving Spirit. He is the manna and the wellspring that will never run dry.   

Friends, if you are wandering in the desert, look to Christ. He is Life in the desert.

On Psalm 88 and Jesus's Final Night

Some people refer to a visit to Israel as the fifth gospel. I guess it’s because everything you read about in the Bible comes to life when you walk where Jesus walked. Visiting the Holy Land engages not only one’s thoughts and emotions, but also the senses. Seeing the cities and towns where narratives in Scripture took place, hearing the bleating sheep on the hills outside Jerusalem, sitting on the same hillside where Jesus preached, and smelling the sea where he calmed the storm, makes those passages you’ve read countless times come to life.

With Good Friday and Easter on its way, I can’t help but think back to our trip to Israel last year. I recently read the account in Matthew when Jesus was arrested and could see the Garden of Gethsemane in my mind, with its gnarled olive trees and quiet solitude. After his arrest, Jesus was first taken to Annas’s home and then on to the home of Caiaphas, the high priest. Caiaphas was one of those behind the plot to have Jesus killed (John 18:14, Matthew 26:3-4). Peter stood out in the courtyard and waited to see what would happen.

On our trip to Israel, we went to that courtyard where a statue of a rooster now stands. We then went to an underground prison beneath Caiaphas’s home where Jesus was likely held the night of his arrest. It was a deep, dark pit. There was one light dimly illuminating the room for us, but I could easily imagine what it would have been like turned off. I thought about the time our family went on a tour of a cave in the mountains of Tennessee. At one point on the tour, the guide turned out the lights so we could experience what it was like for gold miners when their lights were extinguished. It was the darkest place I’d ever been. Complete darkness. That’s what I imagine the pit in Caiaphas’s dungeon would be like without electricity. With two dozen of us crowded inside, we read Psalm 88 and sang a hymn. Reading the psalm in the place where Jesus spent his final night before going to the cross, struck me in a way it hadn’t before.

“You have put me in the depths of the pit,
in the regions dark and deep.
Your wrath lies heavy upon me,
and you overwhelm me with all your waves” (Psalm 88:6-7)

Psalm 88 is the darkest of the psalms in the Psalter. Unlike other laments, it doesn’t end with words of praise. Despite its darkness, the psalm has brought me hope over the years when I’ve found myself in my own place of darkness. The mere fact that the psalm is in included in the Bible, and in the songbook of God’s people no less, tells me how compassionate our God is. He knows how fallen our world is. He knows our pain and invites us to share it with him. Our grief and sorrow isn’t neat and tidy. Sometimes we can’t even put our thoughts and emotions into words. But no matter how dark our emotions, we need to cry out to the God who hears us, for he alone is our salvation. As Matthew Henry commented, “before he begins his complaint, he calls God the God of his salvation, which intimates both that he looked for salvation, bad as things were, and that he looked up to God for the salvation and depended upon him to be the author of it.”

Like all of Scripture, each psalm has a here and now meaning for the author who wrote it. Psalm 88 was written by Heman, one of Israel’s worship leaders. As a worship leader, he wrote songs to help God’s people sing to God during all of life’s circumstances, both in the joys and in the sorrows. In Psalm 88, we can see that the psalmist obviously endured a significant trial in his life. He was in despair. He cried out to God day and night. He felt the weight of God’s judgement and the abandonment of his friends. God seemed far away—so far, darkness had become his only friend (v. 18).

But also like all of Scripture, Jesus fulfills Psalm 88. As Luke 24:27 tells us, when Jesus walked on the road to Emmaus with some of the disciples following his resurrection, “And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.” In Psalm 88, we hear Jesus with his friends in the Garden before his arrest echoing the psalmist, “For my soul is full of troubles, and my life draws near to Sheol” (v. 3). Jesus stepped into the darkness on our behalf. The night he spent in the pit was only the beginning of all that he would endure for us. He felt the full weight of God’s wrath at the cross in our stead. “Your wrath lies heavy upon me, and you overwhelm me with all your waves” (Psalm 88:7). He too was abandoned by his closest friends (v.8). Christ took on the curse of death, the darkest of all pits.

After my visit to that underground pit beneath the home of Caiaphas, I now read Psalm 88 with greater joy than ever before. I still rejoice that I can come to the Father and voice my sorrows, no matter how dark. I still turn to him in lament and ask for his help and rescue, trusting in him as my salvation. But I also rejoice, knowing that my Savior endured greater darkness—God’s wrath for sin—on my behalf.

When it seems as though I’m stuck in a pit of despair, I remember Jesus and the lengths he went to for my redemption. He went to dark places I will never have to go. And for that I rejoice.

Life Lived in the In-Between

I don’t know about you, but my life hasn't always turned out like I anticipated. I didn't experience the bliss of motherhood that the baby shampoo commercials promised. My dream job wasn't such a dream after all. The house that was supposed to be better than the last, turned out to be just as imperfect and broken. And no matter how many how-to books I've read, I still struggle in relationships, in my role as a wife and mother, and in organizing my life.

The truth is, life is filled with failed expectations. We pursue after dreams only to find that they weren't what we thought they'd be. Relationships let us down. Our bodies let us down. We let ourselves down. That's because life is not as it should be. We live in a broken and fallen world where life is disappointing. It often doesn't "work" or go as planned. We sin and are sinned against.

When life is disappointing, I often ask myself: how should I respond? Do I make lemonade from my challenges and view life from Pollyanna rimmed glasses, denying the harsh realities of life? Or do I fully taste the sourness of this fallen world and just accept it like it is? Do I demand life work my way? Or do I lock myself in my house, fearful of the next disappointment and failure?

Or is there perhaps another way to view life altogether?

A Holy Tension

Have you ever watched a tight rope walker? We once went on a vacation to the mountains of Northern California. While hiking in Yosemite, we came across a group of brave hikers. They hung a slackline across a deep crevasse and walked across it. One miss-step and the hiker would fall thousands of feet to the ground below. I couldn’t even watch because just the thought of what they were doing made me nauseous.

But in many ways, our lives as Christians are like walking on a slackline.

Like someone walking across a rope, we live out a holy tension. We are called to live in the world, but not of the world. Because of Christ's sacrifice on the cross for our sins, we are dead to the power of sin, yet not completely free from its presence. We are called to both be dependent upon Christ (John 15:5) and to "work out our salvation with fear and trembling" (Philippians 2:12).

In fact, as long as we live on this earth and until Christ returns, we live in what theologians call the “already-not yet." We are in an in-between time, where life is not one-dimensional. It's not as simple as making lemonade from the bitter experiences of life. Rather, life is an intertwined experience of joy and pain, tears and laughter, beauty and bitterness. We can't accept things as they are, but we can't despair as though we have no hope. We cry in sorrow over the horrors that sin has brought, yet we have joy, knowing Christ came to make all things new.

This is the reality of the Christian life. A co-mingling of seemingly disparate conditions. A holy tension of life lived in-between the already and the not yet. In 2 Corinthians 4, Paul described this holy tension: "We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed" (8-9).

When I read Paul’s description, I wonder, how can that be? Because when I feel despair, that's all I feel. It overshadows everything else. When I am afraid, fear takes the driver's seat in all my decisions. And to be honest, joy seems all too far away to be co-mingled with anything else.

So how do we live out this holy tension? How do we live in this already/not-yet time in history?

Walking the Holy Tension

It is through Christ's life, death, and resurrection that this holy tension makes sense. And it is through the power of the gospel that it is possible to live in the in-between.

The gospel tells us that God became flesh and dwelt among us. The Maker and Creator of all things entered this sinful broken world and lived life as a human. He was tempted just as we are tempted, yet never sinned. He experienced all the heartaches and pains of this life, yet obeyed and glorified God in all things. Because he was sinless, he could take on our sins as the spotless Lamb of God. Christ was punished in our place, and bore the full wrath of God for us. After three days in the grave, he rose victorious, ensuring our own resurrection at the end of days.

This is why we are comforted in the midst of affliction: because Christ was afflicted for us. Though we may be persecuted or rejected by others, we can stand confident knowing we are accepted by God because Christ was rejected in our place. We can have joy in the midst of our sorrow, because we know that the Man of Sorrow's bore all our burdens at the cross. We can face the disappointments of life with hope because we know that one day sin, sorrow, and disappointment will be no more. We can repent over our sin and feel freedom because we know Christ became sin for us. We can live without shame because we know God will never leave us or forsake us.

Yes, life is disappointing. We can't deny it or pretend otherwise. Because of the Fall, we will continue to experience disappointments, sorrows, and failed expectations. People will continue to sin against us, and we’ll continue to sin against them. We will face hardships, challenges, and broken dreams. Yet, we do not live like those who have no hope. We continue on in this seemingly paradoxical life, walking a holy tension, balancing life in the already/not-yet, through the gospel of Jesus Christ. 

Because of who Christ is and what he has done for us, we can live life in the in-between. Because we know whose we are. We know true and abiding joy is found not in circumstances or things, but in our Maker and Redeemer. We also know the end of the story; we know there’s more to come. In keeping our eyes focused on our hope in eternity, we can live in the in-between and remain "afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair."

"So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal." 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

Photo by Leio McLaren (@leiomclaren) on Unsplash

The Garden of Gethsemane

On a recent trip to Israel, I had the opportunity to visit the Garden of Gethsemane. It is a quiet, peaceful place, in stark contrast to the crowded streets of Jerusalem. The Garden is situated at the foot of the Mount of Olives, across from the city of Jerusalem, and up from the Kidron Valley. It’s no wonder Jesus often came to this hillside grove to pray to his Father. Remarkably, some of the old gnarled olive trees have stood there since Jesus’ day—and still bear fruit!

It was in this garden that Jesus brought Peter, James, and John on the night before he was betrayed.

“And he came out and went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives, and the disciples followed him. And when he came to the place, he said to them, “Pray that you may not enter into temptation.” And he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, and knelt down and prayed, saying, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” And there appeared to him an angel from heaven, strengthening him. And being in agony he prayed more earnestly; and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground. And when he rose from prayer, he came to the disciples and found them sleeping for sorrow, and he said to them, “Why are you sleeping? Rise and pray that you may not enter into temptation.” (Luke 22: 39-46)

In the final moments before his betrayal and arrest, Jesus sought the Father in prayer. As was his habit, he went to the Mount of Olives to pray, specifically to the Garden of Gethsemane. He brought his closest disciples with him, needing their community and support. Jesus asked them to pray so they would stay awake and alert and be there for him. Then he went to be by himself and cried out in prayer to his Father. Hebrews tells us, “In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to him who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverence” (Hebrews 5:7). “In the days of his flesh” references all of his days on earth, including this moment of anguish in the Garden...

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What Not to Say to the Hurting

Confession: I often watch sappy shows on TV like those on the Hallmark Channel. One thing I notice is that every time a character has a struggle in their life, their friend or family member says some sort of useless platitude like, “This will work out, things will get better. You’ll see.” These kinds of phrases remind me of the song from one of my favorite childhood movies, Annie: “when I’m stuck with a day that’s grey and lonely, I’ll stick up my chin and grin and say…the sun will come out tomorrow.” This song is similar to the 1980’s classic, “Don’t worry be happy.”

Such phrases sound nice. They make us feel helpful in saying them. They even come from good intentions. But in truth, they hold little meaning. Christians have their platitudes as well, those things we say to hurting friends and family members. Perhaps you've heard them. “God will turn this out for your good” “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” “You should rejoice in your suffering” "Your loved one is in a better place now" "This too shall pass." Our platitudes can come from truth but are often misplaced and misused.

Why are such platitudes wrong to say? Ed Welch says that such platitudes circumvent our compassion (Side by Side, p.105). Sometimes, even if a statement comes from Scripture, such as “God will use this for your good” it’s not the time to say it. When someone has just experienced a severe loss, we need to be sensitive to them. When a wound is fresh, we don’t want to add more pain to it. Even something that is true like, “you should take joy in your trials” is hurtful when someone has just learned that they have been diagnosed with stage four cancer. There is a time for speaking such Biblical truths but it’s not when the wound is new and raw and fresh. As Proverbs 25:20 says, “Whoever sings songs to a heavy heart is like one who takes off a garment on a cold day, and like vinegar on soda.” The Bible doesn’t say to rejoice with those who mourn. It says to mourn with those who mourn. 

Saying something like, “everything is going to be okay” is also unkind because it’s not always true. The sun doesn’t always come out tomorrow. Sometimes marriages do fail and end in divorce. People do lose their jobs and homes. The cancer doesn’t always go away and people do die. Sin and the fall are real. Horrible things happen to people. Traumatic things. Things that leave lasting, painful scars. We are not being a good friend when we tell people that everything will be okay.

And when someone has lost someone dear to them, no matter how old they are, or how sick they might have been, it hurts. The grief is real. To say that it is better for their loved one to be dead is unkind. Though it's true that if the loved one was a believer, it is better to be with Christ (Phil. 1:23). But let's not forget that death is part of the curse. It came as a result of the fall. Every time someone dies, no matter how old they are, it is a reminder that things are not as they should be. All death should cause us to mourn and grieve because our world is broken and we desperately need Christ to come and make all things new.

So instead of platitudes, let's sit with our hurting friends. Let's cry with them. Let's hold their hand and listen. Let's mourn with them. Let's pray for them. And let us remind them of the One who wept for them, who bled for them, who even now catches their tears, and who will one day dry their tears forever.