Grieving Losses?

 

Yesterday a friend and I discussed the losses of growing older. In my mind, it was the loss of ability to do anything well apart from Christ. I was thinking of what He said:

Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. (John 15:4–5)

In my friend’s mind, the losses were more like physical inabilities and mental acuity. Aging does affect the body and our faculties, however, I was not thinking about that so much. Yesterday, I read a long list of people who served God well into their old age. Last week I met a few people who are 90-100 and are going strong. Some have aches and pains but all had sharp minds.

Instead, I was thinking about serving the Lord only in the strength and direction He gives, and doing only His will and not my own. In other words, I was considering the loss of running my own life, doing what I thought was best, like making a mark in the world. The Lord has shown me the extent of human weakness is not mere physical or mental. It includes everything, even the abilities that I’ve had all my life. His Word says all of that is to be put off. Instead of relying on me or my talents, I’m to abide in Him, in weaknesses, but also in the things that could be called strengths.

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. (2 Corinthians 12:9)

For we are the circumcision, who worship by the Spirit of God and glory in Christ Jesus and put no confidence in the flesh— though I myself have reason for confidence in the flesh also. If anyone else thinks he has reason for confidence in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless. But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ (Philippians 3:3–8) 

Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. (Ephesians 6:10)

These verses are not just about spiritual matters and Christian service. They are about who I am, my character and what I rely on for everything I do. I try to explain this, but discover that many Christians separate their lives into secular and spiritual, ordinary life and spiritual. How can that be? Who do I model when I’m visiting family or buying groceries? Am I not to be like Jesus in everything, not just when at a prayer meeting or doing something “spiritual”? 

The desire to run any part of my life is from my old nature. God’s design is that I be like His Son, who said, “Not my will but thine” even as He sweat blood. Paul said, “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21) and lived that out in suffering the loss of all the “good” things he could have gloried it — to gain Christ. He also said, “Godliness with contentment is great gain.” (1 Timothy 6:6)

Realizing the losses, such as the ability to plan my day my way, and so on actually reveals I trust me more than God. How silly is that! I feel the loss and sometimes look in the mirror and wonder who this person is for I am not the same as I was before. Even in my old age, I’m climbing a learning curve and sometimes struggle with the effort. Letting go of my will is a continual challenge and fills life with the surprises of realizing that God knows what He is doing!

PRAY: This week I obeyed You by sending a message to someone with info they needed. I expected a rebuttal or no answer at all but You surprised me with a positive response. Each day, doing what You say makes an incredible difference to time, effort, better use of the skills you give, and a greater sense of the importance of serving others. You remind me of that old cosmetic commercial where the woman said, “I’m not getting older; I’m getting better” only leave the “I” out of the last line. You, by the power of Your Spirit, never stop Your power to change, and do wonders beyond my imagination. 

Holiness and grief

Earl Grollman, a rabbi and grief counselor, says penetrating  things about grief. For instance, "Grief is not a disorder, a disease or a sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical and spiritual necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure for grief is to grieve.”

I know that grief visits when least expected, but if I shut the door on grief, it will only come calling again and again. Letting it in, feeling it, expressing it, or letting happen whatever it brings is the only way to satisfy its painful demands. Grief is relentless and without it, our broken hearts cannot be healed.
Today’s reading is about holiness. Dare I compare it to grief? Certainly it is at the other end of the spectrum but both are about love. Think of it; holiness is to be like someone who loves us so much that He was willing to become like us but without sin — and die so that we could become like Him. How is that like grief? Without holiness, our broken lives cannot be healed.

Not only that, the love of God is relentless, as is grief. Jesus says this:

Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me. (Revelation 3:20)

Grief does that too. It knocks at the door of my heart, a painful visitor yet a healer. Jesus comes to eat with me, not painful but He also is a healer. When He first came to my door, I was broken and in pain. He did more than tap on the door; He opened it and walked in. Ever since that day, whenever sin deals its awful blow, He is there, knocking, wanting in to bring repentance and healing. He persists. Like grief, He will not let me go until I welcome Him.

Today’s reading says that His commands to be holy are all based on the fact that He to whom we belong is holy. In order to be one with God, which is our final destiny, we must be like Him in character; and since He is holy, we cannot be “partakers of the divine nature” (2 Peter 1:4) without ourselves being holy. That is, it is because we are the Lord’s and not in order that we may become His that we are called to be holy.

“I am the Lord your God” is always the ground of His appeal. He doesn’t say, “I will be your God if you will be holy,” but He says, “Be ye holy, because I already am the Lord your God.” I have been  bought with a price. Holiness is the result. That event happened and holiness happens, just as a searing loss happens and grief follows. Grief is His sorrow, weeping with us, part of what we feel.

When Jesus saw (Mary) weeping, and the Jews who had come with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in his spirit and greatly troubled. And he said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus wept. (John 11:33–35)

Even though Jesus knew what He would do — raise Lazarus from the dead — He wept. Even though I know my lovely sister-in-Christ is gone and in heaven with Jesus, it is not a sin to weep, to grieve for sorrow. Yet this also points to the holiness set before me.

Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is. And everyone who thus hopes in him purifies himself as he is pure. (1 John 3:2–3)

PRAY: Jesus, my friend is now like You — and our loss is her gain. Her holiness is perfected. Grief ultimately leads me to thoughts of my own life and death. Because of You and because of grief, I am motivated to holiness even as You are holy. No one knows when You will call us home. The desire to be more like You is heightened because of the depth and sorrow felt this week. Keep knocking. The door is open.

A terrible grief, an amazing grace

Yesterday the small city of Humboldt, Saskatchewan held a vigil service to honor their dead and comfort the living. They prayed and sang. Fifteen of their Broncos hockey team and team supporters were dead. As many were wounded. A main message from the team chaplain powerfully expressed the emotions of them all, the questions, and the deepest grief. He sobbed. He wrestled with his own sorrow. He also told them they need Jesus.

I watched their faces. Some seemed to hang on to every word with the conviction that all he said was true. Some shook their heads. A few looked bewildered. Many were so overcome with emotion that they could scarcely listen. At least one seemed to view the entire event as opportunity to be in front of a camera. Others were angry, not caring about God’s offer of solace.

My own pulse raced. Tears flowed. This was a difficult hour. We had a morning of rich worship, a challenge from the pulpit to take care of the clutter in our physical and spiritual lives, a rest in our weariness, then this deeply sorrowful, deeply passionate appeal to trust the God who is both on the throne and with us in our brokenness.

Today’s devotional is about worship. Tozer writes, “We can only worship in the Spirit, we can only pray in the Spirit, and we can only preach effectively in the Spirit, and what we do must be done by the power of the Spirit.” I wonder what people expect when they understand that statement. If the Spirit is involved, do we expect confident prayers, spectacular answers, powerful sermons leading to wholehearted response to God, and effective ministry that reaches thousands?

Yesterday’s message from that chaplain was done in the power of the Holy Spirit. The man was totally undone, transparent to share his rawest emotions, his greatest sorrow. He said he had no answers to the why question. He only knew that because Jesus came and walked among us and died for us, that He is here with us and He knows. Call on Him. He alone can give solace in the darkness.

“God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.” (John 4:24)

This is truth; we cannot see God. Tozer says we cannot worship and serve Him either, except by the power of the Holy Spirit. I saw that reality in the faces of those gathered in that arena. The message to unbelieving ears made no sense. The message to overwhelmed hearts was blah-blah-blah. The message to those who had already rejected the gospel brought tightened lips and fiery anger. The message to those full of themselves was just a lot of talk that was not about ‘me’ so they didn’t listen. Only the Spirit of God can bring a hunger for God, a comprehension of truth, a desire to find wholeness in the One who created us. Only the Holy Spirit can open hard hearts to hear that God loves them, to know that He is with them. Only the Holy Spirit can produce faith.

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Jesus, I know that faith comes by hearing the Word of God. I also know that deaf ears need a power beyond human power to hear that Word. These faces still swim before my mind’s eye, especially the faces of those who could not hear the same incredible message of Your love and hope that I did. Touch them. They need the Holy Spirit and the consoling power of mercy and Your amazing grace to give them comfort in this horrible grief.

Weep with those who weep

Concentration is difficult this day. Last night, a Canadian Junior A hockey team on their way to a playoff game in a bus were broadsided by a semi-trailer. Of twenty-eight in the bus, half of them died on the scene. The other half are injured, at least three seriously. These young men and their coaches were from various places in western Canada, including our city.

Like most Canadians who grew up in rural areas, I spent many hours at the local rink, skating or watching hockey. While I don’t personally know any of this team in the bus, I feel as if I do and share the pain and grief.

How do I segue into today’s devotional? I am so sad. Tozer speaks of dying to self. The Scripture gives a list of the outward evidence of those who do it, and those who don’t.

“Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God. But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the Spirit, let us also keep in step with the Spirit. Let us not become conceited, provoking one another, envying one another.” (Galatians 5:19–26)

What catches me is the line that says to “keep in step with the Spirit” and raises the question: At a time like this, how does God feel? Does He cry? Is He grieving?

“Jesus wept.” (John 11:35) His friend Lazarus had died and with the grieving family, He shed tears. Those around Him remarked that this was the grief of loss. No doubt it involved that, but at the same time, I believe His tears included sorrow for all humanity, the reality that sin brought death into this world. A few verses later say that Jesus was deeply moved, a word conveying intense emotion, even indignation. Could Jesus have wept because those around Him had been blinded to the reality of eternal life and God’s promises? Was He sad that they did not know that death was not the end of life, just like the horizon is not the end of the ocean?

The Galatians passage gives a list of spiritual fruit that obviously comes from the Holy Spirit. This describes action, but it also includes attitudes and emotions. This fruit is given to those who belong to Jesus Christ and who live in the power of God rather than in sin and selfishness. I cannot know or judge those who grieve, yet experience tells me that some will be angry, withdraw, even get drunk. However, the Holy Spirit does not offer those as solutions. Instead, in the power of the Spirit there will be deep emotion, tears, concern for others facing the same loss, goodness, gentleness, even peace. 1 Thessalonians 4:13 says that Christians do not grieve the same way as others who have no hope.

Tozer focuses on the crucifixion part, that we need to go to the cross and die there. However, if anyone is in Christ, this has already happened:

“I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” (Galatians 2:20)

The challenge is not what I must do, but to always remember what God has already done — and then live accordingly, keeping in step with the Spirit, letting Him take charge of my attitudes, actions, and emotions.

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Jesus, You are the measure of all things. From the way You lived and behaved, and from the precious gift of Your Word, I know what comprises a godly response to a tragedy like this. Your compassion puts me on my knees and weeping for the sorrow of others.

Grief and God’s promises

2 Chronicles 21:1–23:21, 1 John 1:1–4, Psalm 102:1–28

Death is on my mind this week. Last Friday, the eldest son of one of my cousins took his own life. My cousin had lost her first husband, then another son, and now this. Then on Sunday, her husband went to wake her and she had died too. Yesterday I wondered if her death was a mercy. She could not take any more so God took her.

This morning’s reading is also about death, but this time without any mercy involved. Jehoram, the next king after Jehoshaphat, choose to follow Ahab’s evil ways rather than the faith and righteousness of his father. The Bible says that the Lord struck him with an incurable disease and at the end of two years, he died in great agony. It adds this short description to sum up his life: “His people made no fire in his honor, like the fires made for his fathers. He was thirty-two years old when he began to reign, and he reigned eight years in Jerusalem. And he departed with no one’s regret. They buried him in the city of David, but not in the tombs of the kings.” (2 Chronicles 21:18–20)

At my age, I think about what kind of life I have lived and wonder if it will make a difference to the next generation. Of course there are regrets, but I’m so thankful for the grace of God and the gift of faith. I can say along with the Apostle John . . .

“That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we looked upon and have touched with our hands, concerning the word of life— the life was made manifest, and we have seen it, and testify to it and proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and was made manifest to us— that which we have seen and heard we proclaim also to you, so that you too may have fellowship with us; and indeed our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. And we are writing these things so that our joy may be complete.” (1 John 1:1–4)

Jesus gives me joy, yet in that there is also sorrow. Today’s psalm starts out with the emotions I’m feeling regarding the deaths in our family . . . “Hear my prayer, O Lord; let my cry come to you! Do not hide your face from me in the day of my distress! Incline your ear to me; answer me speedily in the day when I call!” (Psalm 102:1–2)

The psalmist knew the distress of life. However, he ends his song with promises God gives for the children of God’s children, and their children also: “Of old you laid the foundation of the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands. They will perish, but you will remain; they will all wear out like a garment. You will change them like a robe, and they will pass away, but you are the same, and your years have no end. The children of your servants shall dwell secure; their offspring shall be established before you.” (Psalm 102:25–28)

I’m thankful that God is eternal and promises security for His people. At the same time, life is precious and even though Christians do not grieve like others who have no hope, I am grieving.