(HT: 22 Words)

If we really want to start down the road of asking “why,” let’s not sell ourselves short of following it all the way to the end. At the end there’s God. He’s the One in control. He’s the only being in the universe that is sovereign. He’s the beginning and the end of all things, including our laments. And that’s probably why we don’t want to follow it all the way to the end because if God is at the end of that trail, then we aren’t just asking why about the cancer. we are asking about the foundations of what we think—what we hope—is true. We are asking about the nature of good and evil. We are wondering about the validity of the love of God. We are pondering the extent of His compassion and wisdom. And in that kind of questioning, the basis of our whole existence is at stake.

That’s why we don’t follow the trial all the way to the end—we’re afraid of what we might find there. So we medicate, dripping spiritual and emotional morphine into ourselves so we don’t have to face the ultimate reality of an uncomfortable conversation with an uncomfortable God.

———-

Excerpt taken from my book, Wednesdays Were Pretty Normal: A Boy, Cancer, and God.

“If we have put our hope in Christ for this life only, we should be pitied more than anyone” (1 Corinthians 15:19).

Interesting, right? In other words, if there nothing more than this life – no new earth, no new body, no raising with Christ – then Christians should be the most pitied of any people. More pitied than the lowest members of the caste system. More pitied than the widow and the orphan. More pitied than the egomaniac millionaire with oodles of dollars but no friends.

Christians should be more pitied than all those.

So… why?

There is an enormous assumption behind Paul’s statement here, one that obliterates the very thought that faithfulness to God would necessarily result in health, wealth, and prosperity. You ready for it? Here it comes:

The Christian life is going to be hard.

Jesus said it: “You will be hated by everyone because of My name” (Matthew 10:22).

Peter agreed: “Dear friends, don’t be surprised when the fiery ordeal comes among you to test you as if something unusual were happening to you” (1 Peter 4:12).

James affirmed: “Consider it a great joy, my brothers, whenever you experience various trials…” (James 1:2).

It’s going to be hard. Don’t be surprised. Expect it. Know that it’s coming, and stand in the midst of the trial. But let’s not stop there, because the three references above are referring to situations of persecution and hardship – things that affect all of us because we live in a world marred by sin. But Christians aren’t the only ones who get cancer. They aren’t the only ones who are in car accidents. They aren’t the only ones who are downsized in their jobs.

So if that’s the only kind of “hard” that afflicts the Christian life, then Christians at most should be just as pitied as every other kind of man.

The fact that takes the assumption to the next level isn’t just that the Christian life is meant to be hard. It’s that as Christians, we are meant to make choices that make our lives hard:

- We are to turn the other cheek when it would be easier to take revenge.

- We are to love those who hate us when it would be easier to malign them behind their backs.

- We are to choose honesty when it would be easier to tell a seemingly insignificant lie.

- We are to work not to build huge bank accounts but to have something to give to those in need.

All these choices make life hard… at least from a temporal perspective.

See how it comes into focus? If there nothing else, no heaven, no new earth, no redemption, then we are to be pitied above all men because Christians are making choices, day in and day out, that make their lives temporarily harder and less comfortable than anyone else.

Pity them if there is nothing else. Pity us if there is nothing else. But here’s the real kicker. Here’s the truth that knocked me in the teeth today:

- Am I making the kind of choices that make my life pitiable if there is no heaven?

- Is my lifestyle ludicrous if there is no resurrection from the dead?

- Do my choices display an absolute confidence that there is indeed more to come?

Weigh your choices against these questions today. I’m weighing mine. And I’m discovering that, if indeed I believe in the resurrection of the dead, that my life is not nearly pitiable enough.

Making a significant life decision.

One that will affect our family dynamic and our budget.

One that once you do it, you can’t really go back from it.

One that will change the way we vacation, our daily routine, and our leisure time.

We are thinking about getting a dog.

See, Joshua loves dogs. He’ll kiss a dog on the mouth. Repeatedly.

But we’re not sure yet. Almost there, but not quite yet. So don’t tell Joshua, in case you happened to see him. But today, I’m soliciting some advice on the blog:

“What advice would you give to someone considering buying a pet?”

(HT:22Words)

We are emotional beings, and because we are, we live a certain amount of the time in a reactionary stance. Something happens, it causes an emotional response in us. Cause and effect. Action and reaction.

Most of us, including me, live a bit enslaved to our emotions. After all, when you’re sad, you’re sad, right? Yes and no.

It is extremely helpful for me to look through the Psalms, a very emotional book in the Bible, and see time and time again the writers telling their soul who’s boss:

“My soul, praise Yahweh, and all that is within me, praise His holy name. My soul, praise the Lord, and do not forget all His benefits” (Psalm 103:1-2).

“My soul, praise Yahweh! Lord my God, you are very great; You are clothed with majesty and splendor” (Psalm 104:1).

“Why and I so depressed? Why this turmoil within me? Put your hope in God, for I will still praise Him, my Savior and my God” (Psalm 42:5; 43:5).

That’s just a small sampling, but a beautiful one. There is something amazing and empowering about these words; it’s a defiant refusal to be ruled by temporary emotion. It’s a rebellion against circumstance and an active effort to feed the hope that’s inside you. Of course, this doesn’t mean that it’s wrong to be sad. Far from it. It means that even in the worst of times, the darkest of days, you and I can help ourselves to remember the faithfulness of God.

Talk to yourself today. Tell your soul who’s boss.

So the song goes.

And I’ve sung it. Alot of times. Particularly at the end of worship services.

I used to think of “surrender” as the equivalent of walking into a bank and withdrawing everything I had. All. Every single penny. And then walking outside and giving it away to another. Similarly, then, surrendering is writing a massive check for your life and giving it to Jesus. Case closed, done and done.

Here’s the problem with that view of surrender though:

I always have more than I think I do.

Sure, there are the tear-filled moments in the altar when I’ve lifted my open hands to Jesus and said plainly, “I surrender all.” But then I wake up the next morning and realize that I did not in fact surrender all. It wasn’t that I was consciously withholding something from Jesus; I wasn’t. The problem was my own deceptive heart.

It’s a bit like moving to a new house. You spend days going through every corner of your home boxing up dishes, packing up toys, and emptying filing cabinets. You find junk upon junk that you didn’t even know you had. You fill garbage bags full of RCA cables, Tibetan coins, and old ticket stubs from Disneyworld until you finally reach the point where everything you own is in boxes.

Right?

Wrong.

There is that moment on moving day when, much to your great dismay, you go through the house one more time and find that one single closet you forgot to open. More stuff.

So it goes with surrender. All to Jesus, we surrender – or at least all we know we have. But oh, how many are the chambers of the heart. That’s why, day after day, we truthfully say again and again, “I surrender all.”

And “all” is a bit more each time.

It’s late in the day, the witching hour for parents with young children. The kids are rebelling against the “green stuff” on their plates, claiming that if they have to eat something of that color, then Skittles has a lovely variation that fits the bill.

It’s been a long day at work, full of copy machine jams, meetings that went 30 minutes too long, emails, and over demanding bosses.

It’s been an equally long day at home with school pickups, homework assignments, potty training, piano lessons, and preparation of the aforementioned “green stuff.”

In short, everyone is ready to snap, including mom and dad. It seems inevitable that someone is leaving that table in tears, their emotional nose bloodied by a well placed verbal jab. My wife has learned a helpful phrase to pull me through such times, when she knows that my nerves are frayed to the breaking point:

“We’re on the same team.”

That’s easy to forget during the witching hour, when baths have to be taken, dishes have to be done, and everyone is a little overextended from the day. It’s during the witching hour that, in my selfishness, I can easily convince myself that I stand alone. That the children have conspired against me to make my life harder. That my spouse doesn’t understand the burdens and pressures of my life. That I am a lone ranger in the house.

But I’m not. And my wife reminds me I’m not.

“We’re on the same team.”

Suddenly I realize my foolishness. There is no nefarious motive behind the request to help with the dishes. There is no evil intent behind the request to bathe the kids.

“We’re on the same team.”

God has joined us together in this fight – the fight for our home, for order, for the extension of grace. And what God has joined together, no man should separate. Least of all me. But that’s exactly what I’m trying to do when I firmly assume my status as the nightly martyr.

Remember, husbands. Remember, wives: We’re on the same team. You’re not being internally and subversively sabotaged. Remember it, and tell it to each other. Feel the weight begin to lift. Look back at the paranoia with which you have been afflicted. Believe in the good intentions of your spouse.

Now you’re ready. Not alone. Together. For God has given us the gift of each other.

There’s like 18 teams in it now. Pretty much everyone except Nashville. And that’s pretty much because we don’t have a team. Now that the NBA Playoffs have started, I can finally get my storage room cleaned out.

Nevertheless, there are those who are passionate about this time of year. Now that the NBA Playoffs have started, those people can finally know whether or not Lebron James can close out a game during the playoffs.

So which person are you? The former or the latter? I’d love to know by your answer to today’s question. So please complete the following sentence:

“Now that the NBA Playoffs have started, I can…”