Praying for Sutherland Springs

“Death opens a door out of a little, dark room (that’s all the life we have known before it) into a great, real place where the true sun shines and we shall meet” (C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces).

I’m having a really difficult time processing yet another mass shooting at a church. This time, it was First Baptist Church in Sutherland Springs. The town has a population of about 400 and the church typically runs around 50 on any given Sunday.

That makes it especially heinous that a gunman walked in and opened fire on the congregation, killing 26 and wounding 20. I have no words.

Just when it seems that we’ve seen the worst kind of evil, something like this comes along and reminds all of us that this world is a broken place suffering under the crushing weight of original sin. Nothing’s the way it was supposed to be in the beginning.

I do know that the answer still lies at the foot of the cross. I know that Calvary still remains the best example of the worst kind of evil ever inflicted. God in Jesus took that evil upon Himself and in the process, defeated sin, death, and hell forever.

I know that tonight, God weeps with those who are weeping. I know that God in Jesus is no stranger to grief and sorrow, as Isaiah 53 calls Him a Man of Sorrows and Hebrews says that Jesus has experienced everything common to humanity, yet was without sin.

Because of that cross, my hope is that the Kingdom of God is breaking into this world, and that one day God will put everything right and turn this crazy upside-down world right-side up again.

In the mean time, we live with the unspeakable. In the midst of ultimate evil, there is still Immanuel, God with us. That remains our hope.

 

Grief

  
I know recently we’ve had several celebrities pass away. I personally know of several friends (mostly of my parents’ age) who have lost loved ones.

Conventional wisdom says that you should grieve for an appropriate time then move on with your life.

I say (and I can’t say that I can speak from firsthand experience) that you don’t get over a loss like that. How can you go back to functioning normally with half of your heart missing?

I’ve heard adjusting to the loss of a spouse is like learning to live without one of your limbs. It requires adapting to a new normal. Nothing will ever be like it was. You will never be like you were when you were two. The hurt will never completely go away. But neither will the memories.

I also know some people who have had to bury their children. I can’t even begin to imagine how you go on after experiencing a loss like that. I suppose that only the strength God gives and that peace that passes understanding are the only things that sustain people though the death of a son or a daughter.

I can say with certainty that Jesus was well acquainted with the pain of loss. Isaiah 53 describes Him as a Man Acquainted with Sorrow and Familiar with Grief.

Above all, God knows about loss. He was the one who sacrificed His only Son so that you and I might have forgiveness and healing and life. So that death would no longer have the final say ever again.

So don’t let anybody tell you that you have to stop grieving after a certain point. If you grieve, it’s only because you had something beautiful, if only for a little while, and that’s not easy to part with. Goodbyes should never be easy.

I know in the end that nothing good and true is ever really lost. Because of Jesus and Easter, we know that death and grief and loss are only temporary. It’s love and hope and joy that are eternal.

 

The Suffering Servant Part I

Thorn again … Jim Caviezel as Jesus in Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ (2004).

Indeed, who would ever believe it?
    Who would possibly accept what we’ve been told?[a]
    Who has witnessed the awesome power and plan of the Eternal in action?[b]
Out of emptiness he came, like a tender shoot from rock-hard ground.
He didn’t look like anything or anyone of consequence—
    he had no physical beauty to attract our attention.
So he was despised and forsaken by men,
    this man of suffering, grief’s patient friend.
As if he was a person to avoid, we looked the other way;
    he was despised, forsaken, and we took no notice of him.
Yet it was our suffering he carried,
    our pain and distress, our sick-to-the-soul-ness.
We just figured that God had rejected him,
    that God was the reason he hurt so badly.
But he was hurt because of us; he suffered so.
    Our wrongdoing wounded and crushed him.
He endured the breaking that made us whole.
    The injuries he suffered became our healing.
We all have wandered off, like shepherdless sheep,
    scattered by our aimless striving and endless pursuits;
The Eternal One laid on him, this silent sufferer,
    the sins of us all” (Isaiah 53:1-6).

This is what Easter is all about. That the promised Messiah would suffer and die was something almost no one would have anticipated, even though the prophets clearly foretold it. Many were expecting a military savior to drive out the Romans and restore Israel as a nation.

But here we see God with a much larger purpose in mind. Not only did Jesus come to Earth to save those children of Israel, but He also had in mind peoples from every part of the world. People of every tongue, tribe, and nation.

This Easter, I remember that it was for my wrongdoing that Jesus was crushed. It was for my healing that He suffered grievous injuries. By His stripes, I am made whole and healed and complete.

I love that Jesus didn’t give 10% for me. Or even 20%. He gave 100%. He gave absolutely all of Himself for me.

May you and I remember that this Easter.