Recycling Suffering into Peace

 

This small paper bag's contents are all that remains of my faithful sewing machine. The machine that served me so well was diagnosed with a broken shaft. This diagnosis is the sewing machine equivalent of a broken leg for a horse. When I went to pick up my unfixable friend, I noticed a sign about recycling hanging on the shop wall. I was able to empty the bobbin drawer and leave the machine behind. I like the idea that the metal from my machine might be reborn into some other useful tool. I hope that in her second life, she receives better care. She was a faithful servant who helped my daughter create beautiful formal gowns for dances, repaired my husband's and son's clothes, and provided me with much stress-relieving activity during grad school and covid.

The human version of recycling is, of course, reincarnation. I don't believe in reincarnation, but I can see its appeal. It might be easier for us to tolerate suffering when we can imagine a better life next time around. The sufferer is also comforted at the thought that his persecutors might find themselves in a less enjoyable life. When we suffer, especially at the hands of others, we want an explanation, and furthermore, we want our brand of justice to prevail. Yes, reincarnation is a logical man-made solution to suffering, but its lack of truth leaves us empty.

Our pastors are preaching on the seven letters for Lenten services. This week we hear about Smyrna, a community that persecuted its Christians from several sides. Here is part of their letter:

Do not fear what you are about to suffer. Behold, the devil is about to throw some of you into prison, that you may be tested, and for ten days you will have tribulation. Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. The one who conquers will not be hurt by the second death. Revelation 2: 10-11

 In this letter, Jesus does not promise the church relief from suffering. Instead, He predicts more suffering. This message is not the kind of justice we have in mind! When we suffer, we want comfort and a promise of relief, not a prediction of ten more days of something that is likely to be worse. 

Yet, even in this response, we see God's benevolence. God is bigger than our suffering. He knows what we are experiencing and what we are losing, and He knows how long it will last. He also has a plan for that suffering. We will not experience a second death but live forever with Him. Oh, and many of those who persecuted us will be with us in heaven, as will those who received ill-treatment from us. What kind of justice is that?

It is not justice; it's justification. The crown of life is not justice because it is not the punishment we deserve. It is an unimaginable grace. The crown is ours because of Jesus' death and resurrection.

Our suffering draws us close to Christ, and He sends the Spirit to pray on our behalf. The Spirit is not concerned with who or what is persecuting us. The Spirit is concerned with our faith. Our suffering does not promise a second chance at a better earthly life. That is the kind of goal devised by the human mind. Our suffering promises us a perfect life that will never end.

I look forward to hearing the Word tonight at Lenten services. I will listen to my pastor's teaching and let God recycle my weariness into His peace and joy.

Never Ignored

 

After returning from my ophthalmologist's office, I looked for this image online. I wanted to see what he was explaining about the retinal tear in my eye. A while ago, after falling asleep to flashing lights, I woke up thinking my eye had become the embodiment of Luke 6:41 because it appeared I had a log in my eye. The doctor reports that while the tear in my retina will heal, the fuzzy spot in my eye will not.

A week later, I can comfortably work with the fuzzy log in my eye, even though I am acutely aware it is there. I understand that my brain can inhibit noticing this abnormality, but it seems to be taking its time getting there.  Just don’t ask me to remove a speck from your eye.

It is fascinating to me how the inhibition of sensory memory works. For every waking moment, our brain is sifting through tons of sensory information and deciding what is worth attention and what will be inhibited. If this didn't happen, we would be unable to think through all the sensory noise. For instance, if you feel a tiny rock in your shoe, your brain will not likely inhibit this information. You need to get rid of the rock to protect your feet. But, if you are in a place where it would not be polite to disrobe your feet, you will find difficulty ignoring the rock. Once you take care of things, you immediately stop paying attention to the feel of your socks. This action clears up space in your brain allowing better learning and interaction.

I wonder if so many people dream that they find themselves in public without pants is because once our brains make sure we are wearing pants, we stop paying attention to the feel of them. So, if we are not noticing the feel of pants in a dream, it would be logical to assume they are missing. I don't know because I studied cognition instead of dreams in my psychology classes. But I do know that our brains are very good at ignoring things that are always there.

My peace is that even though God designs my brain to learn to ignore, God never ignores me.

Wondrously show Your steadfast love, O savior of those who seek refuge from their adversaries at Your right hand. Keep me as the apple of Your eye; hide me in the shadow of Your wings. Psalm 17: 7-8

Packed into these verses of Psalm 17 are two ways God does not ignore us. First, His love is steadfast. A steadfast love is not only unwavering; it is active. This love is the polar opposite of ignoring because it is a love that misses nothing. Steadfast love also pays close attention because it constantly acts on our behalf. Steadfast love is one of my favorite descriptions for God because steadfast is everything I’m not.

The second assurance in these verses is in the phrase “apple of your eye.” The apple refers to the pupil; we use this phrase to indicate someone we cherish. Our eyes are precious because of the information they transmit to the brain, but they must be exposed to the world to work. Because of this, our body diligently protects the eye. Any movement will cause us to blink or turn our heads. Even when we are not actively thinking about our eyes, the brain is still alert to protect them.

Think about the peace involved in being the apple of the eye of a steadfast God. He is always there. He is always paying attention. He

is always acting on our behalf. We are loved and loved fiercely.

 

 

 

Joy in a Time of Struggle

 

And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. Luke 2: 10-11

Joy is the emotion we most often associate with Christmas. After all, it is the day we rejoice over the birth of the Messiah. In an infant's first cry, God set the stage for a permanent change in our status with our Creator. The saving work of Jesus transforms us from hopeless sinners to hope-filled children of God. No other event in this world could produce a stronger joy.

Some of us may struggle with feeling joy this Christmas. How can we be expected to feel joy amid grief over losing a loved one? Where do we find joy while enduring a life-threatening illness? And what about those people whose life situations increase the burden of their depression? Can we, or should we, manufacture joy? Is it permissible not to feel joy at Christmas?

 
Emotions are tools of our brain for reacting to people, news, and situations. We can regulate our emotions by helping them to fit a situation better. However, each emotion has its authenticity and purpose. As Ecclesiastes 3: 4 reminds us, there is a time for both sadness and joy. Our emotions are there for a reason. Our grief, worry, and sadness can all draw us closer to God as we realize our need for His love and mercy

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I think of Christmas joy differently. This joy is not something we create – joy is something we receive. Joy is not only the reaction to grace; it is grace. The remembrance of the birth of the Christ Child brings us joy even in the darkest of circumstances. That joy is real even when mixed with grief or weariness. Jesus' birth and what it brings to us are true even when we don't feel like celebrating. Because Christmas joy is a gift from God, it is not emotionally exclusive. We can feel seemingly opposite emotions simultaneously. However, the emotions change each other. We may not feel the exuberant joy of a much hoped-for gift or the tearful joy in the embrace of a loving reunion. 

Instead, we find the quiet, soul-saturating joy of communion and the realization of the depth and breadth of God's love for us. Because of Jesus' sacrifice, we have a place at His sacred table.

 
We can experience joy in both the best and worst of circumstances. This "good news of great joy" is a joy that marks an awareness of God's amazing grace. It is not so much an excited, euphoric joy but a quiet mindfulness of God's saving and healing love emanating from the bed of the newborn Christ child and echoing in the Easter tomb.

But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has risen, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay.  Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and behold, he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him. See, I have told you.”  So they departed quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Matthew 28: 5-8

 

Mary's Lesson on Primary Emotions

 Today we celebrate Epiphany, but my heart is still with Mary's song.

And he came to her and said, “Greetings, O favored one, the Lord is with you!” But she was greatly troubled at the saying, and tried to discern what sort of greeting this might be. And the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. Luke 1: 28-30

As I read this familiar passage of the Christmas story, I am struck by Mary’s emotions. One moment she was a young woman preparing for married life, and the next, she was trying to comprehend the words of an angel. Mary reacted in fear and confusion, certainly an appropriate response given the circumstances. Our emotions are a gift from God that help us to absorb a situation. However, emotions do not always feel like a gift, especially when they are intense.

It is not unusual for us to take a strong emotion and change it to something more comfortable. Mary might have turned her fear into anger and focused on the new challenges of her life. She was to be an unwed mother at a time that did not treat that circumstance with mercy and kindness. From an earthly perspective, her life was in ruins. Instead, she let go of fear in favor of praise as seen in a psalm sung for Elizabeth.

And Mary said, My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior. Luke 1: 46

God turned her fear into rejoicing. Because of this, Mary moved outside of her own needs and considered how she was to have a role in divine mercy. She did not dwell on the days and months ahead. She did not dwell on her sacrifices, difficult conversations, or how God imposed this situation on her. Instead, she rejoiced in the fulfillment of God’s promises growing beneath her heart.

This particular part of the Christmas story sticks out for me this year. I have spent much time working with teachers to understand the emotions they see in the colleagues, students, and parents with whom they work. We have talked about how we are apt to replace our initial emotion with one that makes us feel we have more control over an out-of-control situation. The problem is the second emotion doesn’t fit, so we have to find a way to justify it. For example, our fear about a pandemic becomes anger, and we look for someone to blame – scientists, health experts, pastors, teachers, government leaders, and even loved ones. But, of course, this anger and blame do little to address the issue that brought about the fear. Instead, it keeps us from trusting in God’s plan. When we fail to trust, we miss out on the blessings God prepared for us. Imagine the grief Mary would have created if she had not put her trust in God’s benevolence.

Mary had God’s messenger to help her move past the fear and confusion to see God’s ultimate plan. Mary also had a strong faith that moved her emotional state into gratitude and joy. We don’t have an angel encouraging us to process our fear through faith, but we do have God’s Word. God’s Word has power over our fear and anger. God’s Word always points us to the saving work of Jesus.

I am intrigued by Mary’s song because even though the event happened to her, the song is about what God was doing. She saw blessing in being a servant to her God, no matter the circumstances.  Her song sang the praise of what God’s mercy accomplished through the work of the Christ Child.

And His mercy is for those who fear Him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with His arm; He has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. Luke 1: 50-51.

In Mary’s response, we see the best course of action for dealing with any chronic struggle. We set aside anger and trade fear for trust. God’s plan is complete and ancient. He brings good out of all circumstances because He can do no less for the children He loves. The baby in the manger came to fight and win all battles for us.

The Magnificat teaches us that our God delivers His people amid suffering and disappointment. But Mary’s song points to an attitude we can adapt to better process challenges. We can trust in God and look for ways to serve His people. We, too, can be a part of God’s work. We do this not out of a spirit of fear or obligation but as a result of the joy of being a child of God. Because of Jesus, we find ourselves living in God’s favor, covered by His righteousness. This favor is the source of our gratitude and joy.