-or- For What Shall I Pray?
I must have been Out East, attending Yale Divinity School. Sitting with some fellow students, I was called upon to pray. I prayed for several important things, though I do not remember what those were. What I do remember are the trivial things I prayed for: that it wouldn't rain over the weekend, that our soccer team would win on Saturday, that we would pass Monday's test.
I remember these three things because after I finished the praying, one of my fellow classmates criticized my prayer. My colleague declared to me how preposterous it was to believe in a Supreme Being that cared one iota about trivial things such as whether or not I pass a test, it rains, or which intramural soccer team wins--and the like. At the time I reacted with the appropriate righteous indignation: "Of course God cares; of course God listens and responds to all of our prayers."
Today, I have a much different opinion. I have a different understanding about how prayer works. And I have a different understanding as to how God acts in the world and what God's purpose is.
This change began in me with a revulsion from a common Christian platitude: "God has a plan for you." or "It is all a part of God's plan." Such nonsense is used in an attempt to comfort people in the midst of suffering or satisfy them in the midst of the confusion of life. The platitude takes such forms as "God needed an angel in heaven and that is why he took ______ away from you." Even more dreadful than that is the phenomenon of the televangelist turned judge: "Haiti was struck down by an earthquake because of their sinful pact with the devil." Somehow, it is supposed to be comforting to one and to all that every little thing that occurs in life is a detail in some larger plan, that every event is a cog in the machine which God has designed this life to be--that every little thing that happens to me has some great purpose, which is unfathomable from my very mortal and finite perspective.
But sisters and brothers, I tell you, God does not micro-manage.
It is true, God does have a plan, or put in a better way, God always acts with a purpose. However, it does not follow that God, therefore, has written into this plan whether I pass a test or my team wins, etc. In fact, when and how I die may not even be written into the plan--as significant as that event may seem from my own perspective.
Think about it. What kind of Being would God be, if God were a micro-manager?
+ God would be a caricature of an omnipotent being, that is, a god who uses their infinite power to orchestrate minuscule events--like smiting an ant hill in the battle against evil.
+ Such a god would be a fairy tale, like the magical Santa Claus who visits every boy and girl on earth in one night, having kept a naughty/nice ledger on each of them throughout the year.
+ God would be a fable, the likes of which we see in the movie Bruce Almighty. The point of the movie has nothing to do about God, but instead is a lesson in morality. The focus is on the haughty pridefulness, and self-centeredness of humankind. Bruce was unable to successfully take over God's job because his desires and perspectives remained too narrow--remained all too human. In the movie, God is only a foil for our tragic narrowness.
+ Such a god would be pagan: one who is directly seen in nature, and who is the direct, supernatural cause for every (natural) thing that happens.
+ Lastly, such a god would be a dread being. One who uses suffering as a teaching implement, uses suffering in order to change or control the behavior of individuals. We have a word for such a being: Tyrant.
No. God does not fix events; God empowers people.
God's plan focuses not so much on what happens in life so much as the one to whom life is happening.
Failing one test does not negate the intellect with which God has blessed me. God gives me the gift of my mind to use, instead of rigging every test so that I might ace it.
And when tragedy comes, it is not a part of God's plan, because God's plan for me is always for the good. Instead, God has a plan to build me up so that I can deal with the changes and chances of life. Yes, God created the wind, but he does not tell the wind how and when and where to blow. There is no divine butterfly effect.
Does this mean that we should stop praying for the little things?
Certainly not. We are to pray without ceasing, for big things and for small things.
But we must have a different understanding of what it means to pray, that is, what happens when one prays. Prayer is not a magic spell that calls down power from on high to fix events in the world. We do not pray to God in order for God to change things. Such a view of the efficacy of prayer is a pagan conception of the relationship between the gods and humankind. The pagan prays to appease the gods so that they, in turn, act in certain ways--bestow certain blessings.
No, this view of prayer must be rejected. Prayer does not change or alter God actions or purposes. Instead, prayer changes people. In prayer, we allow the Holy Spirit to so work on our minds and hearts in such a way that we are free to act, free from despair.
In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prayed to his Father that the cup of suffering would be taken from him. Jesus prayed God would spare him from the Cross. What was the result of that prayer? The cross certainly happened, so did God ignore his own son? Did God hear, but do nothing? Not at all. Instead, through Jesus' prayer, God was preparing his son for the task ahead--giving him courage in the face of death, giving him faith to trust in God's larger purpose for him. God's plan cannot be derailed by small incidentals. And to God, even death is incidental.
Thus, we pray so that we may be blessed with the gifts of the Spirit of God, in order to meet the changes and chances of life with courage and faith. God does not control. God invites. God repairs. God forgives.
And so, when my loved one dies, it is not because it was a part of God's plan. Rather, God's plan is able to break into the world through that death. Death, which is a natural stage of life in the world, is the opportunity for God to assert God's larger plan for us. It is the moment in which eternity can break forth into time, or rather, pull the traveller out of time and into eternity--where God's will is done as a matter of course. In eternity, the will of God and the nature of things are one. But even there God does not micro-manage. God simply exists. And all things exist in and through God. That is, God is all-in-all. Meanwhile, in the world, we still wait for this consummation, we still wait for God's will to be done on earth as it is in heaven. And so, in the meanwhile, God works indirectly.
And in the meanwhile, we continue to pray for everything, great and small.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Thursday, August 22, 2013
The Fire of Faith
-or- "Singled out by the Hidden God"
"I came to bring fire to the earth.... Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three...." Luke 12: 49, 51, 52
In this Gospel lesson from last Sunday, we are given a picture of Jesus' ministry that is foreign to our ears and minds. After reading the section from Luke's gospel above, I immediately thought of a line from one of my favorite Christmas carols. It came to mind because it is so different a picture:
"Tell the story,
how from glory
God came down at Christmastide,
Bringing gladness,
chasing sadness,
Showering blessings far and wide."
No fire there.
Even one of our most common images of the Cross, despite the event being a horrific execution that scattered the disciples, set Judeans against one another, and instigated division between Roman rulers and their Jewish subjects, is the image of Jesus stretching out his arms in order to gather all people to himself. And it is true, by the Cross and Resurrection, we are unified into one people of God, unified into one Baptism for the forgiveness of sins, unified into one holy catholic and apostolic church.
So what is with this talk about fire and division?
Jesus is talking about how we each and all must approach God and faith--alone (that is, for ourselves) and amidst the fire of rebirth (that is, the refining fire).
We begin with how mortals see and experience God in the world. Christians cannot have a direct relationship with God, that is God cannot be seen directly. In paganism, the gods are seen in every tree and river, and upon every mountain. In Christianity, nature consists in traces of the hidden God's work. In paganism, extraordinary beings reveal the glory of the gods directly: the strength of Hercules, the amazing appearance and reappearance of the Phoenix, and the lightning bolts of Zeus. In Christianity, God is hidden in very ordinary things. For instance, the most direct communication between God and humanity was Jesus Christ (when God came down in a form we could see and talk to directly). Still, God's glory in the incarnation was hidden in a very normal human being. Even God's victory was hidden in defeat; the power of God's life was hidden in death. (For God's victory and life were shown most clearly on the Cross.)
[Some of God's manifestations, particularly in the Old Testament are rather more extraordinary. For instance the Ark of the Covenant, the appearance of angelic beings, and the burning bush that was not consumed by the fire. In that last, it was not only the ineffectual fire, but also the fact that the bush was talking to Moses, which makes that manifestation of God quite direct, and definitely spectacular. One must remember that these were the days of paganism, and God was finally revealing God's self in such ways as to assert his existence, presence and dominance over and against other, false, gods. These images must be tempered by other, more mysterious and indirect images, such as the three strangers that visited Abraham and Sarah or the sheer silence that marked God's presence for the prophet, instead of the earthquakes and winds and storms.]
God is hidden, God relates and communicates with us indirectly because the truth about God can only be experienced or laid hold of inwardly. What does this mean? To begin, Martin Luther once said that there are two things that each of us must do alone: faith and death. No one can believe for us; no one can die for us. We must experience these...processes. If I go to church simply because people I know do--or better yet, if I go to church just because my parents did--or if I say the creed simply because the rest of the congregation is saying it, then I do not have faith. Only once I have the passion of inwardness does faith begin to present itself. I say the creed because I truly believe it, and don't care whether others say it or not; I go to church because I desire to see and worship God, not because it simply what I do.
I must first be divided from all others, and understand (subjectively, not objectively) God's truth in Jesus Christ, before I am able to be unified to the people of God in the Kingdom of God on earth. God doesn't want to relate to a crowd, but to me and to you. God does not want us to come to the table as a commune (which is a prerequisite for a cult), but would have us come as individuals so that God himself can transform us into a holy communion. God comes to ignite the fire of passion in us, dividing us from others as the individuals we were created to be, in order that God can relate to each of his creatures singly. And it is only through our relationship to God that we then are bound together. We are one in Christ, gathered by the Holy Spirit. We are gathered individually, called to unity.
Christ comes to bring division, then, in order to break asunder all human allegiances. If I go to church because of my parents; if I say I love God for my parents; if I get married in the church solely because my parents want it that way--in each case, I do not act out of love for God, I act out of love for my parents. God need not even attend. And so a household is divided so that the next generation may feel the passion of faith for themselves--each individually.
Just so, if I claimed to be Christian because I live in a Christian nation, or even the reverse--if because I was Christian I somehow needed the nation in which I live to be Christian also--then this is not faith, but nationalism.
Instead, God is revealed indirectly. God is always hidden in, with and under very ordinary things, so that I must--myself--lay hold of the truth of God's presence. I must come to the crisis of faith in which I choose a relationship with God for myself. Faith begins in this way. And only after I have become myself because I am divided--by Christ--from all others, can I be refined in the fire of self-surrender. At which point, I am freed from the last allegiance holding me back from relationship with God and communion in the Kingdom, to wit, the allegiance to my self. When I am divided from even my own selfish desires, then faith has reached its height, and I cannot go farther.
God is hidden in the paradox, so that each goal is reached only through its opposite. God is hidden in the Cross so that I, offended, must lay hold of the passion of faith which goes against what is seen and provable (for one cannot prove that life comes from death). God is hidden in the ordinary things of my daily life, so that I must look harder and come to know God for myself, and at the same time, come to know myself and my own biases and delusions (in repentance).
God always comes to divide--to single me out, to single you out. Because God has chosen me, God has chosen you. God wants a unique relationship which each of us.
Now back to that wonderful Christmas song. Each of us is called to tell our story of faith, to tell how God came down from Glory to meet each of us individually--how he made me glad, how he chased my sadness away, how he blessed me to be a blessing.
Experience the hidden God for yourself. Tell that story. Tell it like you mean it...tell it like you lived it.
May the Holy Spirit single you our with such fire and passion for the Gospel.
Amen.
"I came to bring fire to the earth.... Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three...." Luke 12: 49, 51, 52
In this Gospel lesson from last Sunday, we are given a picture of Jesus' ministry that is foreign to our ears and minds. After reading the section from Luke's gospel above, I immediately thought of a line from one of my favorite Christmas carols. It came to mind because it is so different a picture:
"Tell the story,
how from glory
God came down at Christmastide,
Bringing gladness,
chasing sadness,
Showering blessings far and wide."
No fire there.
Even one of our most common images of the Cross, despite the event being a horrific execution that scattered the disciples, set Judeans against one another, and instigated division between Roman rulers and their Jewish subjects, is the image of Jesus stretching out his arms in order to gather all people to himself. And it is true, by the Cross and Resurrection, we are unified into one people of God, unified into one Baptism for the forgiveness of sins, unified into one holy catholic and apostolic church.
So what is with this talk about fire and division?
Jesus is talking about how we each and all must approach God and faith--alone (that is, for ourselves) and amidst the fire of rebirth (that is, the refining fire).
We begin with how mortals see and experience God in the world. Christians cannot have a direct relationship with God, that is God cannot be seen directly. In paganism, the gods are seen in every tree and river, and upon every mountain. In Christianity, nature consists in traces of the hidden God's work. In paganism, extraordinary beings reveal the glory of the gods directly: the strength of Hercules, the amazing appearance and reappearance of the Phoenix, and the lightning bolts of Zeus. In Christianity, God is hidden in very ordinary things. For instance, the most direct communication between God and humanity was Jesus Christ (when God came down in a form we could see and talk to directly). Still, God's glory in the incarnation was hidden in a very normal human being. Even God's victory was hidden in defeat; the power of God's life was hidden in death. (For God's victory and life were shown most clearly on the Cross.)
[Some of God's manifestations, particularly in the Old Testament are rather more extraordinary. For instance the Ark of the Covenant, the appearance of angelic beings, and the burning bush that was not consumed by the fire. In that last, it was not only the ineffectual fire, but also the fact that the bush was talking to Moses, which makes that manifestation of God quite direct, and definitely spectacular. One must remember that these were the days of paganism, and God was finally revealing God's self in such ways as to assert his existence, presence and dominance over and against other, false, gods. These images must be tempered by other, more mysterious and indirect images, such as the three strangers that visited Abraham and Sarah or the sheer silence that marked God's presence for the prophet, instead of the earthquakes and winds and storms.]
God is hidden, God relates and communicates with us indirectly because the truth about God can only be experienced or laid hold of inwardly. What does this mean? To begin, Martin Luther once said that there are two things that each of us must do alone: faith and death. No one can believe for us; no one can die for us. We must experience these...processes. If I go to church simply because people I know do--or better yet, if I go to church just because my parents did--or if I say the creed simply because the rest of the congregation is saying it, then I do not have faith. Only once I have the passion of inwardness does faith begin to present itself. I say the creed because I truly believe it, and don't care whether others say it or not; I go to church because I desire to see and worship God, not because it simply what I do.
I must first be divided from all others, and understand (subjectively, not objectively) God's truth in Jesus Christ, before I am able to be unified to the people of God in the Kingdom of God on earth. God doesn't want to relate to a crowd, but to me and to you. God does not want us to come to the table as a commune (which is a prerequisite for a cult), but would have us come as individuals so that God himself can transform us into a holy communion. God comes to ignite the fire of passion in us, dividing us from others as the individuals we were created to be, in order that God can relate to each of his creatures singly. And it is only through our relationship to God that we then are bound together. We are one in Christ, gathered by the Holy Spirit. We are gathered individually, called to unity.
Christ comes to bring division, then, in order to break asunder all human allegiances. If I go to church because of my parents; if I say I love God for my parents; if I get married in the church solely because my parents want it that way--in each case, I do not act out of love for God, I act out of love for my parents. God need not even attend. And so a household is divided so that the next generation may feel the passion of faith for themselves--each individually.
Just so, if I claimed to be Christian because I live in a Christian nation, or even the reverse--if because I was Christian I somehow needed the nation in which I live to be Christian also--then this is not faith, but nationalism.
Instead, God is revealed indirectly. God is always hidden in, with and under very ordinary things, so that I must--myself--lay hold of the truth of God's presence. I must come to the crisis of faith in which I choose a relationship with God for myself. Faith begins in this way. And only after I have become myself because I am divided--by Christ--from all others, can I be refined in the fire of self-surrender. At which point, I am freed from the last allegiance holding me back from relationship with God and communion in the Kingdom, to wit, the allegiance to my self. When I am divided from even my own selfish desires, then faith has reached its height, and I cannot go farther.
God is hidden in the paradox, so that each goal is reached only through its opposite. God is hidden in the Cross so that I, offended, must lay hold of the passion of faith which goes against what is seen and provable (for one cannot prove that life comes from death). God is hidden in the ordinary things of my daily life, so that I must look harder and come to know God for myself, and at the same time, come to know myself and my own biases and delusions (in repentance).
God always comes to divide--to single me out, to single you out. Because God has chosen me, God has chosen you. God wants a unique relationship which each of us.
Now back to that wonderful Christmas song. Each of us is called to tell our story of faith, to tell how God came down from Glory to meet each of us individually--how he made me glad, how he chased my sadness away, how he blessed me to be a blessing.
Experience the hidden God for yourself. Tell that story. Tell it like you mean it...tell it like you lived it.
May the Holy Spirit single you our with such fire and passion for the Gospel.
Amen.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Bearing the Cross, Part 2
-or- A Brief Treatment on the Theodicy
The Theodicy is a philosophical argument against the existence of God. It is an old argument that has been, for hundreds of years, very compelling to people. In fact, when I speak with most folks who were once Christian, but profess the faith no longer, the most frequent reason is, basically, the theodicy.
The argument runs like this:
God is all-powerful.
God is good, righteous and all-loving.
Yet, suffering exists.
Therefore, God cannot be both all-powerful and all-loving.
[Because, either God is all-loving and would not suffer his people to endure evil, and so God is unable to do anything about evil in the world (not all-powerful). Or, God can do something about evil, but does not want to, and so is not all-loving, not all-good.]
This is the problem of evil.
Because evil exists as it does in the world, neither can God exist in the way that we Christians talk about him--as omnipotent and one with steadfast love.
Allow me to begin by saying that there is no answer to the problem of evil when it is phrased this way. The logic of the argument above is undeniable. Given the reality of suffering, the first two propositions cannot both be true and the conclusion follows. I argue, however, that the phrasing of the problem is too simplistic. In the blogpost that follows, I will try to briefly show that the premises and assumptions behind this logical quandary are misguided, that the problem of evil is much more complex than the argument above indicates...and that the solution to the issue must be equally complex--I daresay paradoxical.
First, the argument from evil assumes that there is a God. At root, the assumption is that God causes (or similarly allows to be caused) evil against humanity and creation. In Part 1, we discussed a human's initial response to suffering--laying blame. The argument above, the way it is phrased and constructed, consistently blames God for human suffering. Yet, God is, indeed, blameless. I invite you to see "Bearing the Cross, Part 1" for my treatment on this point, as well as my ruminations below. St. Augustine tried to get around God's culpability by arguing that evil was not a thing-in-and-for-itself, but rather that evil was the absence of the good. However, this only places more blame on God: now God's shadow is evil itself. And isn't God still the cause of evil even if evil occurs when he withdraws the good? For the argument from evil to be compelling, one must begin with the will to blame and disprove God.
Second, most of the compelling arguments against the problem of evil only serve to shift the blame. Some alter their conception of God, that is, "admit" that God is not omnipotent, or that God does have a malfeasant side. If this is not another way to blame God, it is a way to blame humanity itself--we have just had the wrong idea about God. Another argument is the argument from freedom: God has given his human creations the gift of freedom. Humans freely choose evil. Therefore, both evil and an omnipotent and all-loving God both exist. Responsibility is laid squarely on the shoulders of humanity here. We are to blame.
None of these answers are adequate to the question.
I suggest, therefore, that we take a new approach. Instead of looking for the cause of evil, we must simply admit that suffering happens. Even if everyone in the world lived a perfectly Christ-like life, there would still be suffering in this world, for natural disasters care little about human morality. If we lived on a calm planet, and Eden, in time our sun would still fizzle out or explode and we would suffer for it (yes, that is an understatement). Suffering happens. Why? There is no satisfying answer to be had. What caused it to be? Perhaps suffering comes from the remnants of the chaos that God began to order when he started creation. That doesn't make chaos bad, but rather it necessitates that the combination of order and chaos is not without pain and strife.
Once we just admit that suffering happens and that its causes elude us, then we are free to open our eyes to what God is doing in the midst of suffering. For this we look to the cross, because the cross is what gives meaning to all of our suffering--not that our suffering is redemptive, but rather we have God's empathy because God, too, endured suffering.
God is all-loving: he sent his own son. God, himself, came to experience what it was like in order to be human. This quality of solidarity is hardly found in the world today. God suffered to ease our suffering. God suffered so that our suffering would not be in vain. God came into the world and took on flesh, so that we would know of God's presence and love in the midst of chaos and suffering.
God is all-powerful: he conquered death through the death of his son. By suffering, God destroyed suffering. God overwhelms evil not by obliterating it, but by meeting it and transforming it. Death is not abolished...its sting is taken away. God is that power at work in each one of us which turns our suffering into victory. We cannot overcome what we do not endure, what we do not meet in life. And although God is not a micro-manager (he does not control each wind to make sure a hurricane never occurs), we know that he is always present in our lives to give us power and victory.
Soren Kierkegaard often wrote about suffering and the Christian life. One of the more profound things he said about the Way of faith is this: "The road is not hard, but hardship is the road." In hardship, in suffering, is when God chooses to come to us, because that is when we need love and power. And so hardship is not a bunch of obstacles along the road of faith. Instead, the only way is suffering itself. That is the road that God makes easy for us, that is the burden he makes light.
What blessed joy is ours that we find God in hardship, because that is where God pours his power and love. What blessed joy is ours that God does not cause or allow suffering, but combats it in the only effective way there is, and precisely when we need the help. What blessed joy is ours that God is strong enough and loving enough to use the cross to solve the problem of evil.
The Theodicy is a philosophical argument against the existence of God. It is an old argument that has been, for hundreds of years, very compelling to people. In fact, when I speak with most folks who were once Christian, but profess the faith no longer, the most frequent reason is, basically, the theodicy.
The argument runs like this:
God is all-powerful.
God is good, righteous and all-loving.
Yet, suffering exists.
Therefore, God cannot be both all-powerful and all-loving.
[Because, either God is all-loving and would not suffer his people to endure evil, and so God is unable to do anything about evil in the world (not all-powerful). Or, God can do something about evil, but does not want to, and so is not all-loving, not all-good.]
This is the problem of evil.
Because evil exists as it does in the world, neither can God exist in the way that we Christians talk about him--as omnipotent and one with steadfast love.
Allow me to begin by saying that there is no answer to the problem of evil when it is phrased this way. The logic of the argument above is undeniable. Given the reality of suffering, the first two propositions cannot both be true and the conclusion follows. I argue, however, that the phrasing of the problem is too simplistic. In the blogpost that follows, I will try to briefly show that the premises and assumptions behind this logical quandary are misguided, that the problem of evil is much more complex than the argument above indicates...and that the solution to the issue must be equally complex--I daresay paradoxical.
First, the argument from evil assumes that there is a God. At root, the assumption is that God causes (or similarly allows to be caused) evil against humanity and creation. In Part 1, we discussed a human's initial response to suffering--laying blame. The argument above, the way it is phrased and constructed, consistently blames God for human suffering. Yet, God is, indeed, blameless. I invite you to see "Bearing the Cross, Part 1" for my treatment on this point, as well as my ruminations below. St. Augustine tried to get around God's culpability by arguing that evil was not a thing-in-and-for-itself, but rather that evil was the absence of the good. However, this only places more blame on God: now God's shadow is evil itself. And isn't God still the cause of evil even if evil occurs when he withdraws the good? For the argument from evil to be compelling, one must begin with the will to blame and disprove God.
Second, most of the compelling arguments against the problem of evil only serve to shift the blame. Some alter their conception of God, that is, "admit" that God is not omnipotent, or that God does have a malfeasant side. If this is not another way to blame God, it is a way to blame humanity itself--we have just had the wrong idea about God. Another argument is the argument from freedom: God has given his human creations the gift of freedom. Humans freely choose evil. Therefore, both evil and an omnipotent and all-loving God both exist. Responsibility is laid squarely on the shoulders of humanity here. We are to blame.
None of these answers are adequate to the question.
I suggest, therefore, that we take a new approach. Instead of looking for the cause of evil, we must simply admit that suffering happens. Even if everyone in the world lived a perfectly Christ-like life, there would still be suffering in this world, for natural disasters care little about human morality. If we lived on a calm planet, and Eden, in time our sun would still fizzle out or explode and we would suffer for it (yes, that is an understatement). Suffering happens. Why? There is no satisfying answer to be had. What caused it to be? Perhaps suffering comes from the remnants of the chaos that God began to order when he started creation. That doesn't make chaos bad, but rather it necessitates that the combination of order and chaos is not without pain and strife.
Once we just admit that suffering happens and that its causes elude us, then we are free to open our eyes to what God is doing in the midst of suffering. For this we look to the cross, because the cross is what gives meaning to all of our suffering--not that our suffering is redemptive, but rather we have God's empathy because God, too, endured suffering.
God is all-loving: he sent his own son. God, himself, came to experience what it was like in order to be human. This quality of solidarity is hardly found in the world today. God suffered to ease our suffering. God suffered so that our suffering would not be in vain. God came into the world and took on flesh, so that we would know of God's presence and love in the midst of chaos and suffering.
God is all-powerful: he conquered death through the death of his son. By suffering, God destroyed suffering. God overwhelms evil not by obliterating it, but by meeting it and transforming it. Death is not abolished...its sting is taken away. God is that power at work in each one of us which turns our suffering into victory. We cannot overcome what we do not endure, what we do not meet in life. And although God is not a micro-manager (he does not control each wind to make sure a hurricane never occurs), we know that he is always present in our lives to give us power and victory.
Soren Kierkegaard often wrote about suffering and the Christian life. One of the more profound things he said about the Way of faith is this: "The road is not hard, but hardship is the road." In hardship, in suffering, is when God chooses to come to us, because that is when we need love and power. And so hardship is not a bunch of obstacles along the road of faith. Instead, the only way is suffering itself. That is the road that God makes easy for us, that is the burden he makes light.
What blessed joy is ours that we find God in hardship, because that is where God pours his power and love. What blessed joy is ours that God does not cause or allow suffering, but combats it in the only effective way there is, and precisely when we need the help. What blessed joy is ours that God is strong enough and loving enough to use the cross to solve the problem of evil.
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