“A God Who Suffers,” part three

Remember how I said one of my former professors likes to compare God (Psalm-like) to a black lab? She’s written a wonderful little book about it called “Dogspell: A Dogmatic Theology on the Abounding Love of God.” Her name is Mary Ellen Ashcroft … look it up on Amazon and get a copy.

Anyway, at the end of this tiny tome, she talks about “Rescue Dog,” and his extraordinary love … how he is always there, wherever we are, to share our sorrows with us. “In the ICU, the mortuary, the nursing home – there is God, muzzle against cheek,” she writes. Human rescuers “race in, equipment in hand, all efficiency – where’s the problem? They set up machines, take measurements and rush, sirens wailing, through the streets. They maintain the patient’s vital signs, help them hang on for dear life – if “life” is a permanent vegetative state. If time is a lockstep through eternity, then we must check off as many heartbeats, as many breaths as we can.”

But rescue dog is different. He doesn’t swoop in and remove us from our difficult situations. “Rescue dog doesn’t do extreme measures,” she says. “The most extreme measures have already been done – tumbling, stripping, rolling.” He has already come down and joyfully mingled with us in the mud, already given himself to rescue us forever. “It’s enough to be there, dog with us.

“Rescuers rush in and hook up machines. Dog rushes in and licks your face. Presumably, God could pull out machines, machines beyond our wildest expectations – truly dues ex machina – to deliver us. God could do that, but it seems that often God, doglike, prefers simply being there to extraordinary measures. [Dog] comes in and sits, tail thumping occasionally, muzzle on neck, occasional lick on hand until the heart stops.

“It’s all over: The graph lines on the machines fall flat. The rescuers shake their heads and start unhooking.

“Deep within, far beyond their most sensitive monitors, the stilled heart quivers. That sound? What is it?

“A scratch from the other side of glory’s door, a whimper of welcome. The yelp of greeting warns you. Brace yourself: This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. Prepare to meet thy dog.”

I know it’s not a perfect metaphor, especially if you haven’t read through the book to get to this last chapter … you haven’t read about how dog waits eagerly to greet you, face to face. How he longs to w-a-l-k with you in the cool of the day. How he runs joyfully to meet you, with uncontained exuberance, and doesn’t care what you look like or what you do for a living. A God enthusiastic and vulnerable to pain. A God who rushed down the slippery slope through the mud just to be near us where we were.

But it’s this same God of whom David says in Psalms 56:8, “You have kept track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” In 85:8, David writes, “I listen carefully to what God the Lord is saying, for He speaks peace to his faithful people.” God speaks peace to us! He catches our tears.

And in Jeremiah 17:7-8, the prophets writes, “Blessed are those who trust in the Lord, and have made the Lord their hope and confidence. They are like trees planted along a riverbank, with roots that reach deep into the water. Such trees are not bothered by the heat, or worried by long months of drought. Their leaves stay green, and they never stop producing fruit.” In other words, they are plugged in to the vine, and draw their sustenance from God himself.

In the footnotes of my Bible it says this: “Those who trust in the Lord will have abundant strength [even in difficult times], not only for their own needs, but even for the needs of others.” They will produce fruit even in their suffering.

“A God Who Suffers,” part two

I haven’t suffered too much in life, by comparison, but I dislike it when I do. I don’t rejoice when I encounter various trials (I love the wording, though: “various” covers so much ground so nonchalantly) as James directs in 1:2. But I am figuring out a few things that suffering has to teach me.

Suffering teaches me compassion. I’m not a merciful person by nature, so when I suffer it helps me identify with those who are suffering. Suffering is awkward for me. It’s a kind of weakness I don’t know how to handle. I want to tell suffering people to suck it up. (I told you I’m not merciful.) It’s what I tell myself, too, when I’m suffering. But I don’t think that’s what James meant when he said “Consider it all joy” or when Paul talks about “rejoicing in weakness” in 2 Corinthians 12:7-10. I certainly don’t think it’s the example Jesus gave us through his suffering. He didn’t suck it up.

He cried and bled and groaned and hung on to God for dear life. He was miserable. You’ve got to be pretty upset to sweat blood. But instead of closing in on himself, he opened up. That’s what gave him the grace to say, “I love you and forgive you” to the people poking at him with a stick while he bled to death. Even more, God’s shocking love was what caused God to say, “I love you and forgive you” to the people poking his son with a stick while his son bled to death. That’s a crazy love. Either he’s twisted or we are.

Suffering also teaches me how much life matters. How valuable life is. That’s the reason suffering sucks … because life is important. So when it goes wrong, it’s painful and awful. If life wasn’t important, suffering wouldn’t matter as much. What I do with my day wouldn’t matter as much … the choices I make wouldn’t matter as much. But they do, because it is. So suffering teaches me the value of life, and why it is such a tragedy for even one to be lost … because that one means the world to God; that one is precious.

It also helps me to understand joy better, and satisfaction. Contrasting opposites help us while we muddle around here on earth. I don’t think they are essential … we’ll understand true joy in heaven without any suffering necessary to define it … but while we’re here it definitely helps deepen my perspective.

And as James says, suffering builds strength in us. No pain, no gain. When we come through on the other side, our faith is stronger – we have more experiential proof to sustain our faith. I think it’s a tribute to God’s greatness that he uses suffering … the exact opposite of his purpose in creation … to build stronger faith in us. He redeems everything! Everything meant to harm us, he transforms into something that blesses us (Gen 50:20). And the benefits don’t just nurture us, but extend to others as well.

What does suffering teach you? How has God transformed your suffering? Can you see any opportunity for healing and growth through the suffering in your life?

“A God Who Suffers”

Suffering is such a great topic; it’s so deep and twisty you can think on it for hours, come to few conclusions, and still feel accomplished that you have tackled a great mystery.

I think suffering is a great catalyst. It can either close us up, folding us in on ourselves, or it can open us up to the world. When we turn inward and focus on ourselves in our suffering, our wounds often begin to fester. Our suffering becomes sour and depression swamps us. Tendrils of bitterness curl around our hearts. I like to talk about sin in my life this way: as a festering sore that, when covered up, goes inward, blackening the skin and oozing a greenish pus. It communicates how unhealthy sin is for us, and how it taints the healthy parts of us too. I think suffering is also like that – disastrous when it turns inward. The good news is, suffering is edifying when it turns us outward to focus on others and on God instead of on ourselves.

But let’s be real: suffering isn’t easy. Sometimes it’s hardly bearable. There are things so unexpected, so unjust, so painful, we don’t know how to move forward. Yet even in our agony, Christ offers us opportunity. When we open ourselves up in our suffering -- as Christ opened himself –instead of making us sick, our suffering begins to heal the sick parts of us. Our vision sharpens, our priorities clarify. Instead of festering, the wounds clear. We begin to learn what suffering has to teach us … what the example of a suffering God has to teach us.

More on this tomorrow.