George MacDonald wrote, “There is nothing, from the lowest, weakest tone of suffering to the loftiest acme of pain, to which God does not respond. There is nothing in all the universe which does not in some way vibrate within the heart of God. No creature suffers alone; He suffers with His creatures and through it is in the process of bringing His sons and daughters through the cleansing and glorifying fires, without which the created cannot be made the very children of God, partakers of the divine nature and peace.”
I’ll never forget reading that for the first time. What an incredible picture of the nearness of God.
A few days ago, as I was spending some time with a woman whose husband passed away suddenly seven months ago, the verse, “in all their affliction, He was afflicted” came to mind, and I was reminded, once again, that God really does feel our pain. (“In all their affliction He was afflicted, and the angel of His presence saved them; in His love and in His mercy He redeemed them, and He lifted them and carried them all the days of old.” Isaiah 63:9)
To give us an idea of how closely connected we are to our heavenly Father, the apostle Paul wrote that we are the “body” of Christ. Everything we feel and experience registers in “the head.” He gets it. He really understands.
Jesus said, “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” This is the way of nature: the dying of all things beautiful begins in the Fall, and death seems to reign in Winter, but both of these seasons lead up to a fresh, “newness of life” that begins in the Spring; and that freshness leads to a harvest (fruitfulness) in Summer.
We all experience these “seasons” in our lives and Christ experienced them, too. He walked on this earth as a human, as a “man of sorrows and acquainted with grief,” feeling and experiencing everything as we do; and He showed us, through His dying and rising again, that true life is not found in the comforts (or lack thereof) of this world, but in God Himself.
The seasons teach us that there can be life after death, joy and beauty after heartache and pain. For some of us, that joy will not become reality until we finally see our Savior face to face. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe we’re not supposed to be comfortable here. Maybe we should, as the saints of old, seek “a better country… a heavenly one” (Hebrews 11:16). The saints who “conquered kingdoms, performed acts of righteousness, obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions, quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, from weakness were made strong, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight… experienced mockings and scourgings, yes, also chains and imprisonments. They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were tempted, they were put to death with the sword; they went about in sheepskins, in goatskins, being destitute, afflicted ill-treated…” (Hebrews 11). Maybe the only thing that kept those very human “saints” going was the same thing that can keep us going: faith. Not faith that things will get better in this life (maybe they will, maybe they won’t), but faith that someday we will be in a place where we no longer have to face the seasons. Where the light of the sun isn’t needed because of the radiance of light surrounding us (Rev 22:5). Where love reigns and death does not exist. Where every tear we have shed will be wiped away and we, and those we love, will live forever.
The Body of Christ is to be a picture of God’s love to a world in desperate need of comfort, healing, and power. The apostle Paul wrote that he carried within himself “the dying of the Lord Jesus” so that he could also carry His life. So, dear friends, when we find ourselves experiencing what all of humanity experiences, let us remember: we are not alone. He is carrying us. And, somehow, He will give us the strength to endure when we feel like we can’t go on. And through our deepest pain, perhaps we can be that “kernel of wheat” that, though it dies, it rises again, and bears fruit that can sustain the world.
Keep the faith,
Stephanie
