We were promised sufferings. They were part of the program. We were even told, ‘Blessed are they that mourn.’ The real problem is not why some pious, humble, believing people suffer, but why some do not. C.S. Lewis ~~writing on suffering in The Problem of Pain
The Christian has never been promised a pain-free existence. No one escapes suffering, no matter how strongly they believe in God. It is what we signed up for.
How could an all-powerful all-knowing God allow suffering, especially in innocent children? This is a standard argument used against the existence of a beneficent God. The reasoning is — if abundant suffering and evil is allowed in the world, no merciful God is in control.
Yet that reasoning sets aside gospel reality: God identifies so strongly with His Creation, He allows His own suffering and death.
He mourns. He weeps. He hurts. He bleeds. He dies. Just like us.
What all-powerful all-knowing God would do that? Our God would, because He is first and foremost a loving God who makes imperfection perfect again. Then He defeats death to ensure our eternal union with Him.
No, there isn’t a “no pain” guarantee –neither God nor even the natural world ever promised that. But only our God promises “no stain” –that we are washed clean for eternity by His shed blood.
In the midst of our sadness and mourning, that is our greatest comfort of all.
For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ. 2 Corinthians 1:5
I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. John 16:33
This Lenten season I reflect on the words of the 19th century southern spiritual hymn “What Wondrous Love is This”
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The work, not of men, but of angels. —Gerald of Wales
With quills and ink of iron gall on folded vellum, monks in their cells labored in hives of stone, producing pages that glistened like honey, sweetening the word of God. On this page, the chi commands the eye, its arm swooping to the left in an elegant scrawl, the smaller rho and iota nestled to the right. Knotwork fills each letter to the brim. Three angels fly from the crossed arms, heaven and earth intertwined, coiled spirals connected by curves. Despite the gleam, no gold is used, just layers of color built up like enamel. In the interstices, creatures of air: birds and moths; creatures of sea: fish and otters; creatures of land: cats and mice. For the whole world was holy, not just parts of it. The world was the Book of God. The alphabet shimmered and buzzed with beauty. ~Barbara Crooker “Book of Kells: Chi Rho”
In the summer of 2013, Dan and I wrapped up our 3 week Ireland trip with one day in Dublin before flying home. I wasn’t sure I could take in one more thing into my super-saturated brain but am grateful Dan gently led me to the exhibit of the Book of Kells at Trinity College along with the incredible library right above it.
I needed to see the amazing things of which man is capable. My weariness was paltry compared to the immense effort of these dedicated writers and artists.
The Book of Kells is an intricately illustrated ninth century version of the four Gospels on the Isle of Iona, meticulously decorated by young Irish monks with quill pens and the finest of brushes and artistic flourish. Two original pages are on display at the library, changed every eight weeks – the brief look one is allowed scarcely does justice to the painstaking detail contained in every shimmering letter and design. No photography is allowed of the book itself.
Upstairs, is the “Long Room” of 200,000 antiquarian books dating back centuries, lined by busts of writers and philosophers. It is inspiring to think of the millions of hours of illuminated thought contained within those leather bindings.
The written word is precious but so transient on earth; it takes preservationist specialists to keep these ancient books from crumbling to dust, a slowly disintegrating alphabet of letters potentially lost forever to future generations.
The original Word is even more precious, abiding forever in the hearts and minds of men, and exists everlasting sitting at the right hand of God, never to turn to dust. He is the inspiration for the intricate beauty of the illustrated Gospels we saw that day.
God is the ultimate source of wisdom for civilization’s greatest writers and poets. He alone has turned darkness into light even in man’s most desperate hours. Our weariness dissipates along with the shadows.
God is no stranger to us – He meets us in His Word and our reading is our ladder up to Him. In that meeting, we are forever His.
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“You are fettered,” said Scrooge, trembling. “Tell me why?” “I wear the chain I forged in life,” replied the Ghost. “I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it.” ― Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
Hail Lord, loose my chains… ~C.S. Lewis from Prince Caspian
My chains fell off, my heart was free; I rose, went forth and followed Thee. ~Charles Wesley
As the cold chains of memory and wrath Fall from our hearts before we are aware, Their rusty locks all picked by patient prayer, Till closed doors open… ~Malcolm Guite from “Peace”
These weeks of Lent are a time for me to remember my chains; they are invisible compared to all the rusty chains everywhere on our farm, but, in truth, are just as restrictive to freedom.
I’m fettered not only by the chains imposed by the limitations of a selfish society, but primarily by chains I have made myself, needing no help from anyone as I add link after link until I’m completely weighed down and immobilized.
We are bound to our sin as if by chains, locked tight with the key thrown away, pitiful in our imprisonment. Saturation with the gospel and heart-felt prayer are the only keys that will spring the lock, unclasp the chains, unbind our hands and feet, free our souls, loose us to live fully as images of our Creator.
Remember my chains? How can I forget? I have been handed the key to freedom.
This year’s Lenten theme for Barnstorming is a daily selection from songs and hymns about Christ’s profound sacrifice on our behalf.
If we remain silent about Him, the stones themselves will shout out and start to sing (Luke 19:40).
In His name, may we sing…
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14 The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. John 1:14
For me it is the virgin birth, the Incarnation, the resurrection which are the true laws of the flesh and the physical. Death, decay, destruction are the suspension of these laws. I am always astonished at the emphasis the Church puts on the body. It is not the soul she says that will rise but the body, glorified. ~Flannery O’Connor in a letter written in 1955
Good is the flesh that the Word has become, good is the birthing, the milk in the breast, good is the feeding, caressing and rest, good is the body for knowing the world, Good is the flesh that the Word has become.
Good is the body for knowing the world, sensing the sunlight, the tug of the ground, feeling, perceiving, within and around, good is the body, from cradle to grave, Good is the flesh that the Word has become.
Good is the body, from cradle to grave, growing and aging, arousing, impaired, happy in clothing, or lovingly bared, good is the pleasure of God in our flesh, Good is the flesh that the Word has become.
Good is the pleasure of God in our flesh, longing in all, as in Jesus, to dwell, glad of embracing, and tasting, and smell, good is the body, for good and for God, Good is the flesh that the Word has become. ~Brian Wren Good is the Flesh: Body, Soul, and Christian Faith
The Word was made flesh. This one verse in John is the crux, the heart, the center point of the Gospel. Without God putting on flesh to become like us, He is not one of us. He is fully God and fully man — both.
He comes from the body of a mother, born a baby frail and weak, just like us. He hurts, He thirsts, He hungers, He stumbles, He falls, He weeps. And He dies as we do.
Yet this God, our God, rises again to walk, speak, eat, and be touched so that we too may rise as He does. The Word was made flesh so our flesh, weak and frail though we are, becomes His body glorified.
The word was made flesh, and dwelt among us. We beheld the glory of the Father, full of grace and truth. In the beginning was the Word, The Word was with God. In Him was life; and the life was the light of men. He came to his own, and his own received him not.
There is a fragrance in the air, a certain passage of a song, an old photograph falling out from the pages of a book, the sound of somebody’s voice in the hall that makes your heart leap and fills your eyes with tears. Who can say when or how it will be that something easters up out of the dimness to remind us of a time before we were born and after we will die?
God himself does not give answers. He gives himself. ~Frederick Buechner from Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale
The wild plum trees have been blooming now for a couple weeks and the flowering cherries are about to burst. This despite 20 degree nights after nearly 60 degree days. It is winter at night and the perfumed air of spring permeates the day. Such extreme variability is disorienting, like standing in a spotlight in a dark room.
Yet this is what eastering is like. It is the awakening out of a restless sleep, the opening of a door to let in fresh air, the rolling back of the stone that has locked us in.
I could weep for a quiet love like this, the kind of love they don’t write movies about, but the Maker writes down in a book of His own.
It’s not the kind of flashy that makes any red carpet, but it’s the kind of unforgettable love that runs red.
It doesn’t matter one iota what the checkout glossies tout: Sacrifice is the most attractive of all. And boring love is what touches the deepest– our lives boring down deep into each other’s hearts. And I have loved you as the hero-of-few-words who has rescued me day in and day out, without any fanfare or flash.
You have lived and bore the weight of it —- I am far worse than I ever dreamed.
And yet you have loved me beyond what I could ever dream.
You have lived Gospel to me.
~Ann Voskamp from aholyexperience.com
On a day celebrated for honoring Love,
I grieve that women — mothers and daughters
who know nothing of slavery,
who know nothing but freedom,
seek out and pay out
for a fantasy of seduction,
blinded and bound by books and movie
that have nothing to do
with honor or love.
Give me boring gray love rich in so many shades:
love that bores deep into the other’s heart
and stays,
enduring,
before, throughout and beyond the gray.
The shades of gray in my life
will not be covered with dye and make believe,
but celebrated as reflecting
love not forsaken,
not for any one
or any reason.
We declare it to all who are to come after.
Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, my God, till I declare your power to the next generation, your mighty acts to all who are to come. Psalm 71:18
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee one by one
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee two by two
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee three by three
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee four by four
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee five by five
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee six by six
Six for the six that never got fixed
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee seven by seven
Seven for the seven that never got to heaven
Six for the six that never got fixed
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee eight by eight
Eight for the eight that stood at the gate
Seven for the seven that never got to heaven
Six for the six that never got fixed
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
And one for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee nine by nine
Nine for the nine all dressed so fine
Eight for the eight that stood at the gate
Seven for the seven that never got to heaven
Six for the six that never got fixed
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee ten by ten
Ten for the ten commandments
Nine for the nine all dressed so fine
Eight for the eight that stood at the gate
Seven for the seven that never got to heaven
Six for the six that never got fixed
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee eleven by eleven
Eleven for the eleven deriders
Ten for the ten commandments
Nine for the nine all dressed so fine
Eight for the eight that stood at the gate
Seven for the seven that never got to heaven
Six for the six that never got fixed
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee twelve by twelve
Twelve for the twelve Apostles
Eleven for the eleven deriders
Ten for the ten commandments
Nine for the nine all dressed so fine
Eight for the eight that stood at the gate
Seven for the seven that never got to heaven
Six for the six that never got fixed
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
And one for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
He was born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
~Traditional Gospel
Again Jesus said, “Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you. John 20:21
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