“Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail, in you do we trust, nor find you to fail. Your mercies, how tender, how firm to the end, our Maker, Defender, Redeemer and Friend!” – Robert Grant
We are fortunate when our paths are smooth, but we rarely give thanks. We look at the blue sky as if it were our due—as if we deserve such beauty. But should the dark clouds roll in, we hustle and crab, gripe and moan. Sometimes we are given a great and wonderful gift; the ability to see this world as it truly is, including our relationship to it. By that I mean that this world is broken and we in turn are buried beneath the weight of that brokenness.
As I write this, someone I love dearly is undergoing brain surgery. The doctors have shaved the beautiful hair from her head and they are using instruments to try to remove a significant tumor. And I suppose it would be easy to put my faith in the finest medical doctors utilizing the most modern technology available to remove the mass and save the life of my friend, but I don’t. Because the doctors are just people, and the instruments they use consist of molecules and atoms.
If I place my faith in the doctors, the machines and the instruments, I founder. A co-worker stopped by with his assessment of the situation. “She is laying on a cold, hard slab of metal and we are all waiting to see what will happen.” Time plus matter plus chance indeed.
I felt the gravity of his fear pulsing like waves in my direction. After all, any surgery has inherent risks. He asked me a question with great sincerity, “Are they prepared for the worst?”
It is a question we should all be asking on a regular basis because, if we are honest, tomorrow is guaranteed to no one. And while no one likes to think about it, death comes to all of us at some point. Sure, we console ourselves with the idea of living a long life and have plenty of time to prepare. We assume cancer will never happen to us or that a stroke won’t cripple us. That happens to other people. So when tragedy strikes, we are shattered. Today if you are reading this and you have never considered your future, stop and make an honest assessment, are you truly prepared to die?
There once lived a man named Jesus who spoke these words about death. “And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows. So everyone who acknowledges me before men, I also will acknowledge before my Father who is in heaven, but whoever denies me before men, I also will deny before my Father who is in heaven.”
These are the words that came to mind as I considered the loss of my friend. I suppose some people can scrape by with well wishes and hope for a successful surgery. All I could see was the loss of someone I love and how on earth I would begin to cope with such agony.
My friend knows Jesus. So the knowledge that her body might perish does not frighten me. You see, I believe what the Bible says about death—that heaven and hell are real places—but Jesus laid down his life to save us from eternal death(hell) by paying the ultimate price for our sin. And if we know him, he will defend us before the father to ensure we do not go to that terrible place. It is not a hopeful wish. It is not a fairy story. I don’t have some vague idea that my friend will be in a better place. I am confident that should the worst possible thing happen to her, she will go to be with Jesus. And that knowledge gives me incredible joy.
There are people reading this that will think I’m a lunatic. Or they might even think I am foolish or simple-minded. After all, only simpletons believe all that old-fashioned religious stuff. But I am joyfully confident. Can the dear reader say the same?
I woke this morning from a frightful dream. In it I was torn between two loves and couldn’t make up my mind. I thought for some reason that I could maintain both and woke up in tears because I was trying to deceive each into believing I had chosen them. The soundtrack to my dream was an old hymn and I was fearfully reminded that what we worship matters.
“O worship the King all-glorious above,
O gratefully sing his power and his love:
our shield and defender, the Ancient of Days,
pavilioned in splendor and girded with praise.”
In my dream I was worshipping myself. I wanted both loves even though each person demanded fidelity. My frustration was the fruit of my selfish desire rather than the love and care of those people. As I prayed about it, I began to see that what I want is tainted by the brokenness of this world, i.e. sin. My limited perspective is guided by selfish desire, but God’s ways are higher than mine. He is not limited by the things that limit me and his purposes are not my purposes. I have to admit that I broke down into sobs. The only prayer I could pray was, “Father, have mercy on me.”
So what if my friend does not wake up? What if she is disabled? Does that make God any less good? I know from my own limited perspective that I want to see her wake up and have no remaining infirmity—as if that is the only good that can come out of such a diagnosis as a brain tumor. But when I consider that the “good” God chose to save me was to murder his son on the cross, I am certain that what I consider good and what He considers good are not the same things. So who will I worship?
Today I do not worship the doctors. I do not worship the hospital where my friend is having surgery. I do not worship the nurses, or the machines, or the drugs that enable my friend to endure a procedure pain free. As we wait on the razor edge with worry about the future, I worship the Ancient of Days. He knit my friend together in her mother’s womb. He knows every atom and molecule in her body. He knows how many hairs are on her head, even after it has been shaved. He loves her, and all those who belong to her. And He is capable of holding them all in the palm of His hands.
And lest I forget, the palms of his hands are marred by the nails of the spikes that held Him to the cross—a torturous place of contempt and shame. And because of this—because of Him—I can rest easy. Because I know how very much He loves my friend and her family. Because I know how much He loves me. He cares more about the soul than the body. And He knows what it means to suffer.
So I wait and I pray.
Because I am confident there will be good.
Because God is good.
No matter the outcome.
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” – Jesus (John 14:27 ESV)
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