Why Does God Allow Life to Stink?

Giorgia is a young woman who lives in a suburb of Rome who we've known since she was a little girl. She is as sweet as gelato. She has cystic fibrosis, and is waiting for a lung transplant. She will die a young woman without it. Her mother, a good friend and dear sister in Christ, died suddenly some years ago from an aneurism. Parts of Giorgia's life stink, although I think she would say her life overall doesn't stink.

This week, I visited David, and elderly, wonderful, godly man who is dying from cancer. He wept telling us how good God is. He's in constant, but managed, pain. Parts of David's life stink, but he'll tell you honestly that he's rejoicing.

I could add to this list. You could add to this list. We most likely have mutual friends who belong on this list. Wonderful people with profoundly unwonderful aspects of their lives.

There are some famous authors who address the suffering of decent people, some unhelpful (such as Kushner) and some quite helpful (such as Lewis). I won't try to improve on them. My point here is shorter and simpler.

Whatever reasons God has for allowing suffering, even among the most decent of people, one thing that happens through the suffering is the revelation of how much God is God.

We want to ask, "Where was God when Giorgia's mom had an aneurism or when the typhoon killed hundreds?" Perhaps we should ask instead, "If God is only around when life doesn't stink, how much of a God is He really?" If He's only the God of good times, then he's not a very extensive God.

The god-ness of God is not affected by man's circumstance. But man's perception of God often is. If there is any God of good times, then He must also be God of bad times, or He's not God at all. He is so much God that His reign remains secure even when life stinks. Suffering reveals the breadth of God's god-ness.

He is still with us being God in the bad times. He must in order to be God. Some people, like David, have keen enough insight to weep at His greatness even when ebbing away toward death. And He promises to one day restore all things through His Son.

So Much Death

Last week, one of my students died.

He was a husband and father, and he was one month away from graduation. He fell ill, and within just a few days, passed away. He was gone before I even knew he was sick. Unfortunately, his story is not all that unusual in Kenya.

Edwin was a student at a seminary in Kenya where I have taught several times. I was by no means one of his most imporant teachers, and to say "my student" only means that I had the privilege of having him in a few of the short classes I taught. There are other, very gifted teachers who spoke much more into his life.

Under normal circumstances, we talk about students in terms of their academic prowess, as if that's the most important attribute of being a student. Edwin did good work, and I appreciated his contributions in class and in group assignments. But his greatest attribute was not whether he was an A or a C student, but that he was committed to use whatever he learned. His identity as a student more about applying everything he could learn and less about grade cards or the idle accumulation of knowledge. He wanted to learn so that he could apply it right away.

Sometimes as students we say, "I don't even know why we're studying this." Someone chose it to teach to us, but somewhere along the way, we can end up without knowing what we're learning it for. On the other hand, when we know from the beginning how we're going to apply what we're about to learn, we are far more motivated to learn. Along the way, we ask far more pertinent questions, we solidify it as knowledge by actually using it, and then we have truly "learned."

This is where death comes in. Death is not more common in Kenya than in the US. The death rate in both countries is 100%. Life expectancy may differ, but there is no less death per capita. There is so much death ... in both countries!

Death is why we learn. "Why am I studying this?" Because one day, you will die.

That doesn't render your education meaningless. Quite the opposite! It makes what you learn precious. You will die one day ... but until that day, with a limited number of days between now and then, the things that we can do that will matter will require learning. In almost every case, what we-who-will-die can do that will have any real meaning requires us to learn. And so, because death is entirely common, we learn in order to do meaningful things.

Put another way, since we each only have a finite number of days left, it's hard to redeem those days with activities that require little learning. If we want to spend those days well, we remain students.

For example, it doesn't take much learning to spend time with your kids at the park. But we must be students of both our children and the world around us in order to connect our children to their habitat in a meaningful way. Where did the trees come from? Why does it matter to recreate as a family? Why is that guy on the bench homeless? And what should we do about it? How do you throw a curveball? Why should we pick up our trash (even from a theological perspective!)? Why is fair play important, since the workaday world is dog-eat-dog? Do I have enough money for ice cream? Why is that old woman alone - what is death? What happens after we die?

That which will be valuable in the dwindling days of our time here will be far more substantive if we're students. Death is why we learn this stuff.

I've Often Not Been on Boats

One of our favorite movies is Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead - a very clever Tom Stoppard 1990 movie based on his equally clever 1966 stage play. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are bit characters in Shakespeare's Hamlet, who appear in just few scenes of Shakespeare, but are the main characters of this story.

In R&GAD, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern (or is it Guildenstern and Rosencrantz?) travel through the parts of Hamlet that their characters appear in, all the time trying to determine what the rest of Hamlet is about. They appear in only a few scenes of Hamlet, but from just those scenes as "real characters" caught in the story, they are trying to determine the full story of Hamlet. What they end up with is convoluted and inaccurate, because their characters are never exposed to key parts of the story.

The dialog is clever and quick, including a verbal tennis match. The comedy ranges from simple slapstick to deep irony. They ponder the meaning of life, death, time, and even boats. At one point, there's a play within a play within a play within a play. It's a movie worth seeing several times, because you don't catch every joke, gag, and line the first time around.

Sometimes we do the same thing with life as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. We look at only the scenes in which we appear, and then try to figure out the overall narrative, the "big picture" of life. Based on just the tidbits we personally experience, we try to reconstruct an intelligent play written by a gifted author. And we rarely do a good job of it. We ponder the meaning of life, death, time, and even boats, and conclude something far more convoluted than the actual narrative, because we've not been exposed to key parts of the story.

Rather, we should just read the full play that the author wrote. Only then does the whole story make sense. And only then do our few scenes make sense. The story is not about us, and so we cannot reconstruct the story based only on the scenes that do happen to be about us.

Rosencrantz says,

Whatever became of the moment when one first knew about death? There must have been one. A moment. In childhood. When it first occurred to you that you don't go on forever. Must have been shattering, stamped into one's memory. And yet, I can't remember it. It never occurred to me at all. We must be born with an intuition of mortality. Before we know the word for it. Before we know that there are words. Out we come, bloodied and squalling, with the knowledge that for all the points of the compass, there's only one direction, and time is its only measure.

This unalterable progression of time is a storyline greater than our own, approaching long before we are born and advancing long after we die. Our lives are but one brief paragraph of a great play by a gifted author, rendered overly complex when we try to understand it from the inside out.

Life Lessons or Life Lessens

Our church family is mourning the recent loss of a dear lady named Margaret. Many knew her quite well, and not a few have known her more than 30 years. However, those who have been with us less than four years or so haven't had as much chance to get to know her. Her last several years were spent mostly within the confines of a care facility, and her ability to be with us steadily diminished with her health. To get to know Margaret in these years required going to her - and that privilege was well worth the trip.

Although I was not with Margaret the hour she passed, Lynne and I were able to spend quite a bit of time with her, her family, and a constant stream of loved ones over her last two days. We were also with her and her husband Pete when he passed almost exactly four years ago. The pastoral responsibilities, as you might imagine, have put me in a number of situations where the pall of death drapes down from the rafters like a curtain.

Those experiences have run the spectrum. There have been peaceful times where underlying confidence of entering into the presence of the Lord buoys the entire experience. There have been times when there remained far more unresolved relational issues than the time left afforded for any real repair, despite frantic attempts to "set things right." There was even one situation where the person was not prepared to die and fought it with everything she had, including some rather disturbing moments of sheer, inconsolable dread.

One thing that has been cemented in me through the collection of these experiences is that death is not the worst thing that can happen to us. First, estrangement from others rivals death. That may sound overstated ... while we're all breathing in and out with some measure of confidence. But when the end for one of the estranged parties is within days or hours, I have seen more grief caused by the ill repair of the relationship than by the parting of death. The regrets that soon follow further exceed the pain of loss. On the other hand, when the relationships are healthy, the last hours are not panicked, largely ineffective stabs at reconciliation. Rather, the loved ones can focus merely on the comfort of and fond memories with the dying.

Second, estrangement from God far exceeds death. While we're strong and eager, we may ignore God or even shake our fists at Him. But He is eternal, and our bodies are temporal. There will always come a time when we are too weak, too close to passing, to even form a fist to shake at Him. The confidence that death is nothingness teeters ... "What if?" When one is estranged from God, there is no external surety that what lies ahead is better. On the other hand, a healthy relationship with the Lord stirs a sense of eager anticipation beneath the immediacy of loss.

The reality of impending death for each of us gives us a choice: Life Lessons or Life Lessens. Either death teaches us lessons about life, especially about our relationships with others and with God, or life lessens - it becomes less valuable. In that case, death does not enrich the days we have left. In that case, death just robs those days of deep joy, peace, and love they could otherwise contain.

I've seen enough death to appreciate life, but not cling to it more than everything else. Because I have seen a number of deaths, I value more my relationships with others and with the Lord. Death can be our tutor, or it can be just a thief.

The Danger of No Danger

For those who are very observant, you might have noticed that there was someone in the pulpit other than me this last Sunday. Pastor Luther from Bridge of Hope and I will do a "pulpit swap" once or twice a year, which usually brings a whole slew of good things for both churches, and frankly, for both Luther and me.

When I arrived at BoH Sunday morning, I stepped into the men's Sunday school. They were talking about keeping praise vibrant in our lives, talking through all the things that God has done for us - especially good things that we don't deserve. One of the points that was discussed, one that seemingly everyone in the room except me identified with, is the miracle of waking up alive, considering all the drugs, violence, and crime that went on the night before.

Most, or likely all, of these men have extraordinarily checkered pasts. Bridge of Hope exists primarily to reach those society has written off - drug abusers, drug dealers, prostitutes, gang members, petty thieves, and even violent criminals. Waking up alive beat the odds on many mornings for many of these men, and they keep praise alive by remembering that several times over, they shouldn't even be breathing.

If I stretch my imagination to the limit, I can remember maybe four times when I felt like a beat the odds to still be alive or stay out of jail: as a child with severe asthma, two perilous encounters with drivers driving toward me in my lane of the highway, and goofing around driving as a teenager and almost hitting an elderly man. Even then, I don't think the odds were stacked high against me. I just don't have the context to feel like I'm lucky just to be alive, let alone several times over.

Nor can I identify with a family of dear friends in Kenya who thanked God at least five times in one evening that they finally have electricity to light the one light bulb they have in their house. We have well over 40 bulbs in our house, and I grumble when one of them goes out and I have to walk all the way down into the basement to get its replacement.

Perhaps most of you are similar - very little real sense that being alive is beating the odds, or that a single lit bulb deserves a choir of angels. Some of you could count on one hand the number of times you've had a close brush. A few of you could list dozens of times. But our response should not be that we feel guilty for not having the same dilemma as others. We're not worse, and we're certainly not better, because we've "cheated" death fewer times than they have. Having more light bulbs doesn't make us closer to God.

Rather, we also have something to be grateful for ... that we haven't had repeated brushes with death or jail, that we do have lit rooms. That in itself is a blessing. It is a different form of rescue. God has rescued me, and many of you, from a life that frequently tests our mortality. Those of us in that group have been "saved" from a life of real, frequent casualties.

But we also, then, face a greater danger than darkness, jail, or death - a danger that requires no less of a rescue. We face the danger of complacency, of taking God for granted, of feeling like this relatively safer life isn't a gift of grace, but rather the just rewards of a birthright. Lord, save me from the jaws of temerity!

God has not promised you that you will always be safe from all harm. We will scrape our knees. Some of us will die young. Some of us will suffer disease for years. What he does promise us is that we will always be as safe as he needs us to be for his purposes. God has a purpose for all who call on him, and he will accomplish that purpose. That means that we will always keep us safe enough for him to complete that work. For some great followers past and present around the world, that means that God kept them perfectly safe enough to make it all the way to the stake or firing squad ... in order to accomplish his purpose.

And that's plenty to be thankful for.

It's not just that I'm alive when shouldn't be, but that I don't normally even have to worry about it (when what I deserve is to be constantly running for my life). The more I pursue God's purpose, the more I can rest assured that I will always be exactly as safe as I need to be for him to accomplish his purpose with my life. Or death. He owns both.

ABNY Week

I'm in a rather unique window of time this week. 

Last week, my dad began cancer treatments. It's not a grave scenario, and the non-chemo treatments are for better quality of life rather than trying to stave off his mortal decline. The side effects are not severe, and in his case, manageable and quite minor. But it's still cancer treatment, an ominous reminder of the inevitable degradation of the human body. We get old and eventually die.

On the other hand, this Sunday, I won't be with you all because I'll be at my folks' church with the amazing privilege of baptizing my own mother. Baptism is the most prominent Christian symbol of new birth, new life, and our everlasting existence in the Kingdom of God. The exact opposite of the decay and death of our fallen state. The promise that is needed only because of things like cancer.

And I'm in this week, the middle of these two events in the lives of my own parents. Yet, this week is a microcosm of the era we all live in - somewhere between the inevitable destruction of these bodies and the fulfillment of the eternal promise of everlasting life by grace through faith in Jesus Christ.

We must not, however, think about the Kingdom of God as something that is only future. There is clearly a great future of enjoying the full Kingdom for all time, with the complete absence of sin, death, sorrow, pain, suffering - the complete absence of the results of being a sinful race. No more cancer and no more cancer treatments and no more side effects of cancer treatments. New, glorified bodies designed to endure forever.

However, the Kingdom of God is also present. Jesus told His own generation that the Kingdom of God was already upon them. At the moment we become members of God's family through faith in Christ, we enter the Kingdom in this era. Our citizenship is in heaven already. We can experience attributes of the Kingdom today. We can live as citizens of the Kingdom this week. Jesus can be our King and reign over every aspect of our lives now. Even while we have things like cancer. Especially because we have things like cancer.

We can also bring aspects of the Kingdom to those God puts us in contact with. Not only can Jesus reign over our lives, but by our influence through the power of the indwelling Holy Spirit, we can bring the goodness of our King to our environments, "on earth as it is in heaven." 

We cannot usher in God's Kingdom, and it is not our task to (contrary to what the "Kingdom Now" theologians claim). We can, however, bless those around us with the benefit of the Kingdom's impact on their lives, too.

If you are not yet sure you're a member of this Kingdom already, it would be a privilege for me to talk with you about it.

In this week, between cancer and the sign of new birth into the Kingdom of God, I rest in the already but not yet. I am able to rest because I know I have already entered that Kingdom, and I am convinced that its fulfillment is even more inevitable than the decline of my own body.

What if we weren't afraid of death?

I'm meeting weekly with a student who's just about to ship off to college under the illusion that I have all kinds of things to teach him. What happens frequently, though, is that during our discussions, one of us will trip over a question that makes us both look up the ceiling and try to figure out just how significant the question is. This happened yet again this week - two guys inspecting the ceiling as if the answer was written there.

The background of the question is that there are many forms of death. There is physical death (heart stops beating, lungs stop breathing), emotional death (no will to be in relationship or to live life), spiritual death (the state we're born in, plus the eternal fire thing), social death (shame, loss of status, friendless), intellectual death (learning nothing, thinking about nothing meaningful), death of security (in danger, no sense of protection), and even economic death (financial ruin). All forms of death, and we could list still others. Death in these terms is not only the opposite of life, but also separation. We are separated from our friends, from God, from security, and so on.

In Scripture, death is punishment for rebellion against God. He brought all forms of death as punishment in varying degrees. Adam and Eve suffered immediate separation after the Fall, Israel suffered waves of death of all kinds to urge them back to the covenant, on the Cross our Lord suffered death and separation on our behalf, and eternal death will be the ultimate punishment in the eternal state.

In Christ, however, death has been defeated. Not just physical death, but all forms of death have been defeated by the finished work of Jesus on the Cross and His resurrection. "Whoever believes, even he dies, yet he will live." (John 11:25)

Yet, fear of death in all its forms cripples us from loving fully, obeying entirely, taking risks for the Kingdom, sharing our faith, giving generously, and on and on. Fear of death prevents us from fully following Christ.

So, our question was, "What if we weren't afraid of death?" Not just physical death, but all forms of death. What would life be like we we had no fear of these things, because all forms of death have been defeated? If we die, yet we shall live - in every form of life. Can I therefore live life with virtually no fear at all of any form of death?

Imagine what your life would be like...

A View from the Canyon

The Grand Canyon is the world's most beautiful hole in the ground. A mile from rim to river, 10 to 18 miles across, 277 miles of river, encompassed in a park covering over 1900 square miles (http://www.nps.gov/grca/faqs.htm#big). With breathtaking vistas, layers of hues, and rugged beauty, the canyon is an untamed beast refusing to be domesticated by the dots of people on the rim looking down.

Some people have never seen the canyon in person. They likely have seen stunning photos and video. Perhaps they've gotten a glimpse from an airplane window, but that doesn't really count, either. They know that the canyon is awesome, but they've never experienced that the canyon is awesome. They probably know someone who has been and can tell them how awesome it is.

Most of the people who have seen the canyon in person and gasped at its size and beauty did so from the safety of the rim, likely from behind the safety of a guardrail. And now, you can even step out into the chasm a bit on the glass-bottomed skywalk, but still safely behind a guardrail. These folks can tell you from personal experience how awesome the canyon is.

(Image from http://www.grandcanyonwest.com/images/latestnews/l-skywalk.jpg)

Imagine, though, someone who wanted to not just be near the canyon, but in the canyon! I'm not talking about renting a burro or scaling the face, but someone who takes a running jump off of the rim, sails a mile downward into the canyon, and SPLAT! Really, really in the canyon! We would say, "How crazy! What a waste!" The man (or woman) threw away a perfectly good life. Even if that life was troubled, it's still a crazy waste, we would say.

Spiritually speaking, there are those who are like the ones who have never seen the Grand Canyon in person. They may have heard about Christ to some degree, but have never met Him "face-to-face." They may know several people who claim to know Him personally, they may even have the impression that Jesus is somewhat awesome.

Others can be like those who have seen the canyon from the ledge - safely behind the guardrails. They attend church somewhat regularly, they read the Bible once in a while, they know from observation that Jesus is incredibly awesome. They could tell others how awesome He is. But they've never taken the leap. They've never been in the canyon - always behind the guardrail.

Still others have taken the flying leap off the rim. No safety net, no scaling gear. Just sailing off into the depths of the canyon. And, just like what would happen in the real canyon, SPLAT! They die!

They die to sin. They die to the "old self." They die to the ways of seeking the pleasures of the flesh. They die to pride, selfishness, rebellion, idolatry, and most of all, religion. And the world says of these who die, "How crazy! What a waste!" All the world sees is a man or woman "throwing away" a perfectly good life. What a crazy waste!

But unlike the canyon, those who make this plunge are resurrected to new life, the "new man," the new creature of the new creation. They are "born again" or "born from above." Scripture says two things about this curious reality: 1) One must die in Christ before he is raised with Christ, and 2) All who die in Christ will be raised with Christ. In other words, SPLAT! of the old self is necessary, but it is always followed by resurrection to the new self.

If the world does not assess our lives as a "crazy waste," then we appear to them to be on the rim of the canyon, not in the canyon itself. At the canyon, not in the canyon. At Christ, but not in Christ. Someone can be in Christ but appear to the world as being only near Christ, and safely never being labeled a "crazy waste." The world should, and in fact the world must, see our lives as a crazy waste, rather than safely on the rim behind the guardrails. We must entice the world to scratch their heads, wondering how we could "throw away" our lives. That is the only way they will know what it means to be in Christ.

Romans 6:4 - Therefore we have been buried with Him through baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.