D and I were watching Compass on the ABC a few months ago. We don't watch much TV, but when we do, it's almost always the ABC.
This particular series on Compass was called Mum's Boy, Dad's Girl and among the families interviewed for the series were father and teen daughter duo, Jason and Patty.
Of all the families interviewed for the program I was especially fond of these two. A sober warmth permeated from Jason while he and his daughter talked about their life and relationship, and the special bond they shared due to Patty's Mother's illness preventing her from ever filling the 'normal' motherly role in their home.
Jason had been in a practical sense - both mother and father to Patty throughout the course of her life.
Though there was much beauty in the closeness they shared the strain of the family dynamic was evident. Patty talking of embarrassment and bullying throughout her growing years, and Jason trying to juggle caring for his wife, providing for his family and raising his much loved daughter all while himself suffering from mild cerebral palsy.
Every quality show like this has a defining moment, and for D and I that moment came when the interviewer asked Jason, who had earlier professed his Christian faith, how his faith had helped him on his journey. His reply was very sober "Religion is not my opium, I am not numb to pain".
He didn't have to say it, you could see the pain. You could see through his eyes into his broken and contrite heart, and it was in the oddest way the most beautiful thing. And I understood while watching Jason why God Himself says He loves so dearly the broken and the contrite of heart. Jason was devoid of pride and 'self-sufficiency' and fragile enough for people to see that the only thing keeping his heart beating was undoubtedly an external force, a higher power, His Beautiful Saviour.
Over the past few years I've been thinking alot about pain and suffering and where it fits in with faith for you, for me, and for people like Jason.
***
Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
18 yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior.
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
18 yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior.
***
A scripture I read recently that really caught my attention, Malachi 1:2
2 “I have loved you,” says the Lord.
But you ask, "How have you loved us?"
How have you loved us? That question has carried on through the generations and lands right on our doorstep today. The pain of life sometimes leaves us asking the same question and all my years in church as a young person failed to answer it. We were pumped John 10:10 and Jeremiah 29:11 and everything was going to be alright - right? And my experience over the years has been, many walk away from church - and even Jesus - because their reality isn't matching up to the promises being preached. The promises are in fact leaving in their wake an epidemic of bitter disappointment.
But lately I've been wondering if we're missing a major piece of the promise those scriptures offer, if we're using these scriptures to claim promises they never intended to make, reading them as if they fit neatly within the bookends of our life here on earth when perhaps Jesus had the glow and glint of eternity in his eyes when he inspired them. And perhaps when we cling to them He wants us to have the same.
In Luke 7:28 Jesus speaks about John the Baptist in a pretty glowing light: "I tell you, amoung those born of women there is no-one greater than John". And, we'd expect given the glowing reference Jesus gave of him that all might go well for John. That, like so many of the modern day equivalents to John, the current prophets and preachers famous for "preparing ye the way of the Lord", he'd be living in ease and comfort, signing Vol. 2 of Book number 389, racking up loads of frequent flyer points looping the globe to appear at countless speaking engagements, standing before packed auditoriums, and have a tribe of star-struck followers who sit and stand and wave at his command - but no... this is not John's story. He was imprisoned, and had his head sliced clean off and served up to his enemy on a silver platter.
Ouch. That's confronting. Jesus loved John. John was Jesus' man! He was John, the 'no-one-greater-than-John' guy. He had given it ALL. Lived on locusts for the cause of Christ. And I can see him there in my mind's eye, sitting in his cell, waiting for the rescue, a rescue that didn't come. And I don’t want to preach apathy or unhealthy acceptance – but I do know I need a place to go when God doesn’t.
***
But could it be that Jesus Himself finds the pain and brokenness of this world a bit too much. Could it be that while we're busy pointing at the sick, the dying, the heartbroken, the hurting and screaming out to God "how have you loved us!?", that He's desperately pointing us to the Cross, His Cross, and the way He made for us to be where we can finally be safe, finally be well, finally be whole? The place He promises He is preparing for us?
Could it be that His heart is bleeding just as much as ours over the pain of life and that is why He went to such unmatched lengths, sending His one and only Son to die, to make a new way for us? A way into eternal life?
Could it be that while we travel through the streets of life - tired and hurting, cold and blinded by the darkness - that He is waiting up ahead preparing for our arrival? That He, knowing we're currently out in the cold is beaming with love as He lights the fire place so that upon arrival we can finally feel warmth? Knowing that we will arrive hungry from the arduous journey, is preparing a hearty meal that will finally fully satisfy? Knowing that we, because of broken relationships are burnt and lonely, and is with the anticipation of a parent on Christmas Eve, laying our name card down at a banquette table where we fully belong?
Not one of us are spared the pain of life. It comes to us all in varying degrees and varied ways. Some seem to pass through relatively untouched while others seem to be engulfed. And if our measure of God's love for us isn't firmly fixed upon the ultimate grand gesture - the cross - then it will at times seem unfair, unevenly spread, inadequate and often, not like love at all.
But Jesus loves us all the same. Jesus died for us all the same. And Jesus gives us all the promise that He is always with us, and won't ever leave us, from today til we arrive safe at His table.
*****
At the end of His interview, with a shake in his voice and bible in hand Jason shared with profound simplicity. "There are all these basic Christian ideas about, you should never worry, pray about everything. Don't be anxious about anything. Now that sounds irrational and absurd sometimes, and it is irrational, because your faith has to kick in and you say well... Grace has led me safe thus far and grace will lead me home."
The Journey Home
Where the grass bends gently
As
the warm wind blows
Where
your laughter is endless
As
the bright sky goes
Where
your tears are an old thing
That
you used to know
Oh
I want to take you home
Where
there’s no feeling tired
No
sad, lonely eyes
No
saying goodbye to the people you love
No worries to tease or wake you at night
No
troubles to take the joy from life
Where
there’s horses to ride
Over
vast mountainsides
Where
there’s lands to explore
That
you’ve never seen before
Where the lion is tame
Brush
your face in his mane
Where
crystally streams
Run
through forests deep green
Take me, take me, take me home
