Hey Jude

Trivia: What was the original title of this song? (Answer at the bottom of post!)



"Hey Jules"

Suffering

Once, a friend looked at me with suspicion because he saw that my internet home page is Fox News. My argument was that I like to keep up with the things that are happening in the world -- through a "balanced, non-biased" news source (ha, as if). But honestly, more often than not, I glance at the first page full of stories about school shootings and negligent parents and I quickly navigate to my g-mail. Even that quick glance can make my heart burn with sadness and sometimes anger.

Where is God in the midst of suffering? It seems to be a hot topic relevant to every century and generation.

Craig Brown, my pastor, quoted three different people last week in his sermon on Genesis 50, and I found the words to be very enlightening. As a little background, this passage in Genesis documents a ridiculously hard-to-believe story about Joseph (you know, the guy with the coat of many colors) who is faced with the option of forgiving his brothers for the intense suffering they put him through, or punishing them. He says, "Do not fear, for am I in the place of God? As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good..." So Joseph takes himself out of the picture and points to the character of God.

Joseph's response is counter-intuitive; and the picture of God that the story illustrates is as Craig says, a "non sequitur." It's supernatural. Perhaps it illustrates the idea of justice well, but it also illustrates God's goodness. God used the very elements of the brothers' evil to bring eternal redemption to the world. This is goodness, right? But a goodness that's hard to wrap our minds around.

If we are honest with ourselves, it's hard to escape that question that has been around forever -- "If God is both powerful and good, then where is he in the midst of suffering? Where was He when 6 million Jews died in the Holocaust? Where is He in Africa right now as millions suffer through the AIDS epidemic? Where was He during 9/11?"

One man, Epicurus (Greek philosopher, 341 BC), put it this way:

“Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able?
Then he is not omnipotent.
Is he able, but not willing?
Then he is malevolent.
Is he both able and willing?
Then whence cometh evil?
Is he neither able nor willing?
Then why call him God?”

Tim Keller, an active pastor in New York (who I heard preach last year and he's great), says in his New York Times Best Seller Reasons for God (which I haven't but intend to read!):

"If you have a god great and transcendent enough to be mad at because he hasn't stopped evil and suffering in the world, then you have a god great and transcendent enough to have good reasons for allowing it to continue that you can't know."

And Bill Lane, a New Testament scholar, says:

"Jesus came to be with the Father for an interlude right before his betrayal, but he found hell rather than heaven open to him, and he staggered."

Despite what we think about how much God cares about our present suffering, at least we know that God is deeply in touch with our suffering because he experienced it to its fullest.

My dog was full of paradoxes. Her middle name was Grace, but she was far from graceful. She was stubborn but sweet, independent but loving, and though she was only about 15 inches tall she had the superiority of a Great Dane and the aggression of a bulldog. Above all, Missy was more than a family dog. She was a friend who consoled, an energetic entertainer, and a playmate who made every game of hide and seek exciting.

She died of a tumor about six months ago, and my dad (who is generally pretty level-headed) shed his share of tears, and then had her cremated. Her ashes were scattered in a local doggy cemetery.

I learned a lot of lessons from my dog, honestly. But one of the greatest things I learned from her stemmed from yet another paradox in her personality.

She loved adventure. On occasion, she would find the courage to escape the yard. More than once, I saw her willingly bear the pain of the electric fence to chase a bird, the whole time anticipating the sweet release that would come after the shock. She saw an opportunity to explore the realms of nature, and she seized it, her little legs taking her wherever her nose led.

Even more than adventure, however, she loved home. She was tired from the day's adventure, and she knew where she could find rest. The only problem she faced was getting back through the electric fence. It didn't seem so easy anymore. Humbly, she sat at the edge of the yard and waited. As time passed and no one saw her, she let out a small bark to draw attention to herself. Slowly, the small barks turned into bigger barks, and soon, tired as she was, she let out cries of pitiful desperation.

I remember walking outside to retrieve her. She sat so poised, so as to maintain some level of dignity. But as soon as I was three feet away her ears lowered and her head cowered submissively. "Oh, Missy," I would say, as I reached down to pick up the pup and bring her safely across the line of defense. Though she knew she had been wrong and that she may face the consequences of her behavior, she also knew that once she was in my arms she was free from the pain. She had her fun, but she was ready to be safe and dependent.

This little dog taught me that freedom always comes with a cost. In my lifetime I've enjoyed a great amount of freedom. For one, I'm in America. And despite the misconception that most people have about home schoolers being socially repressed, I actually had a relatively large amount of free time (most of which I spent collecting things like stickers and rocks -- but that's another topic for another day).

It's hard to recognize your freedom as a gift when you have so much of it. Eventually, it has become part of me. But of course, this is not to say that I've always used my freedom well. I tend to be quite stingy with it, viewing it as something I've earned. When in fact, I inherited it. I could just have easily been born into a situation of abandonment and loss. So what's the deal? What did I do to get all this material freedom?

But then there's another type of freedom. The freedom to live under God's law. Seems like a contradictory statement -- perhaps two contradictory ideas: freedom and law. But the gospel is full of paradoxes (see a theme running through here?), and yet very clear. Jesus came to fulfill the law so that we could be free from the requirements of the law (which is perfection), and live as free people...but still with a love for the law. In the Psalms, David raves about the law and how amazing it is and how much he wants to meditate on it and love it more and more. The Apostle Paul, who had his share of preaching to people confused about this idea, writes,

Live as people who are free, not using your freedom as a cover-up for evil, but living as servants[1] of God.

It's hard for me to grasp the concept of living free as a servant of Christ, having been born in an abundance of material freedom. Maybe that's why some people I've met in places like Honduras seem to take their faith and calling to live as servants of God way more seriously. They see themselves as part of an eternal family of rich inheritance.

I can't count the number of times I'm tempted to think of my freedom as synonymous with laziness or craziness. The thing I need to understand is that it's synonymous with work and rest, work and rest. Resting in the freedom that Christ bought for me, and working as a servant for the building of his kingdom -- because this inheritance of freedom from the law should only produce an envious desire to love the things Jesus loved, and to be consumed with longing for God's life-giving law.