Suffering

It's Easter. I've been thinking about contrast. There is none more stark than the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus. The darkest hour of all known existence when God the Son took on all of the sin of every human to ever live, being engulfed by it and because of it being separated from God the Father, and the wondrous opposite when Christ conquered all of that evil and rose from the grave. It's something I've been told of countless times and known all of my life. But sometimes things you think you know all about suddenly open your heart with new depths of meaning.

My grandmother had a story of my father when he was a wee lad. With great amusement she would tell of him coming home from school one day with a revelation to share with her. “Mother! Have you ever heard of the solar system?!!” When I have a profound thought, I often wonder if I'm the last person to get it. I think back on things I've heard or read of people expressing one thing or another about God or the life of faith and wonder how they could be so excited about it. Then with eyes newly opened to something I think, “Aha! That's what that guy was trying to tell me.” But we have to have ears that are ready to hear. That's what contrast often does for us.

In the “My Utmost...” reading for today, Oswald Chambers says, “Our Lords cross is the gateway into his life... He rose to a life that had never been before...” A while back while ruminating on what might be the meaning of the concept of “sharing in the sufferings of Christ,” I wondered if it might be the taking on of the risk and cost of loving. In order for God the Father to love us, he had to pay a dear price to redeem us from the sin we were born into and reconcile us to himself. The Father/Son relationship is our best hope of understanding this, but it really can't come close to plumbing the depths of the reality of that great price. In order for God the Son to accomplish the great provision of our salvation, he had to allow himself to be touched by evil. To take on sin. It's bad enough to be enmeshed in the black slime of evil when we choose to get ourselves there. But to know it's filth and stench through no fault of his own but to get it on him and over him and to drown in it and die by it as an act of choice for the sake of another is to know only the lowest of the downside. Without even the pleasure of “sin for a season.” There was no counterfeit thrill for Jesus. He knew exactly how bad it was going into it.

I've long wondered about what the Bible refers to as “the power of the resurrection.” At first glance this would seem to be about the supernatural ability of Jesus to come back to life after he was killed. That is obviously it on one level, I suppose. So to know this power, as is longed for by some of the New Testament writers, might mean to hope for one's own resurrection. That's a big deal. A very big deal. But I think there may be more to it for the here and now. That never before possible life that Oswald Chambers spoke of happened because Christ was touched by sin. He became sin for us. His love for me came through suffering. Suffering was the price for it and also provided the context and contrast for being able to appreciate it.

I spent an evening long ago with some guys who were involved in some ministry activities that were dynamic and exciting. They were thrilled with how things were going and kept talking about God's blessing and how wonderful it was. It must have been one of my braver moments, or maybe just a spurt of negativity, but I said something about those who are called to suffer. Like someone with an illness who would spend their whole life in bed and in pain. It was a wet blanket moment. They looked at me like I was nuts. Their view of God's blessing didn't involve pain. I had an inkling that it did. It is an inconvenient truth that Jesus talked about suffering quite a bit. And Paul did too. A Sunday School teacher I sat under when I was coming of age used to tell us “... it never said it was gonna be easy.”

I've done a lot of living since those days. I've known a lot of pain. I've known some wonderful love as well. I've come to believe that the way of love is the way of suffering. Love without suffering is of little or no value. Ignorant beauty has charm in it's naiveté, but beauty in the context of contrast is so much more rich. It's like the savor of a fine meal compared to a piece of candy. Love that comes from the backdrop of suffering, that has been touched by pain, that has been forced through the cracks of brokenness, is love that has power. It has the power to know. It has the power to understand. It has the power to care deeply. To empathize. Even the creator God of the universe somehow subjected himself to this law. The touch of the cross was necessary for the great love of Christ to come to full fruition. The power of the resurrection was only possible through suffering. So, I choose to embrace my own suffering. It is dark and dirty and uncomfortable, but it is the fertile soil for growing a harvest of abounding love.

By the way, have you ever heard of the solar system?