It seemed pertinant to the discussion of Lent, Suffering & Joy

“If we accept that we have at least an iota of free will, we cannot throw it back the moment things go wrong. Like a human parent, God will help us when we ask for help, but in a way that will make us more mature, more real, not in a way that will diminish us.” —Madeleine L'Engle

Lent, Suffering, and a Joy Dare

The thing that "gets" me every time I sit down to really take a look at joy, at what it is, what it means, and how we find it (practice it? develop it? live it?) is the inclusion of suffering in the equation. A discussion about joy only goes so far before one runs into some seriously dark questions. How can I find joy when I lose someone precious? When war erupts? When a job is lost? When trust is broken? When hope seems so very, very far away?

It's easy to be joyful when life clips along smoothly and things go as planned. But is that really joy? I think sometimes it is. We can be both happy and joyful. All too often, though, when happiness wanes, we find that we must dig deep to find an underlying joy.  Walt Wangerin, Jr. says,

"The difference between shallow happiness and a deep, sustaining joy is sorrow. Happiness lives where sorrow is not. When sorrow arrives, happiness dies. It can't stand pain. Joy, on the other hand, rises from sorrow and therefore can withstand all grief."

Wangerin then draws a connection to the church season of Lent, a time when many church folks mark themselves with ashes and put on grief and mourning, when we deprive ourselves in order to remember suffering and to bring forth...joy?

"In the sorrows of the Christ - as we ourselves experience them - we prepare for Easter, for joy. There can be no resurrection from the dead except first there is a death! But then, because we love him above all things, his rising is our joy. And then the certain hope of our own resurrection warrants the joy both now and forever."

In the same way, the Jews taste the bitter herbs during the Passover Seder, to remember the suffering, to increase the joy. "When Adar comes, joy is increased."

So much of me is still resistant to this idea.  Does this mean that God wills suffering? Even that God allows suffering for our own character development is too much for me. I can abide that God allows suffering because people have free will, and God allows for free will, and free will sometimes means that horrific things happen. But I cannot abide a God who allows suffering for my own character development. Maybe minor suffering - like reaping the consequences of my own mistakes. This is the kind of suffering I allow my children. I want them to learn from their mistakes. So, I don't step in and fix everything for them. But if something or someone else is threatening my child? You better believe I'll step in. You better believe I'll do everything I can to save them.

William P. Young takes on this idea in his book, The Shack, by suggesting that it makes a difference that we are all children of God. So, of course, I would defend my child against someone hurting them. But what if one of my children hurts one of my other children? Am I quite so ruthless then? Will I still go all "Mama Bear" when my child is being hurt? Most likely, the answer is more that I want to save both of them. I want the perpetrator to be spared...in case there's a possibility for a change of heart. I want the victim to be safe. I want them both to know I love them. I hope that my love has the power to change.

But then, the analogy also breaks down when we are talking about God because God has the power to bring about both outcomes, right? And it seems that at least some of the time God has stepped in to save some children, who need saving, and to destroy some children bent on destruction. The Bible tells us so. And then I come all the way back to the original question. Is suffering allowed because it brings about greater joy? Is it really true that we only know true joy in the face of (or aftermath of) sorrow? Is this why some suffering is allowed? I am afraid I don't have any answers. My hands come up full of ashes.

I know for sure that, as a human, I am, indeed, more aware of the joys in life when I have suffered, when I have been wounded. The joys, then, are piercing, poignant. I remember this beautiful scene in Tolkien's book, The Return of the King, when Frodo and Sam return after destroying the ring: 

“And all the host laughed and wept, and in the midst of their merriment and tears the clear voice of the minstrel rose like silver and gold, and all men were hushed. And he sang to them, now in the Elven-tongue, now in the speech of the West, until their hearts, wounded with sweet words, overflowed, and their joy was like swords, and they passed in thought out to regions where pain and delight flow together and tears are the very wine of blessedness.”

 I know that feeling...when joy is like swords.

And I think that maybe this is something we can only understand in stories. It is something we only know in the living out of our lives. It isn't something that can be known in so many words or explained in the theology books. It isn't something that makes sense. It is something that is in the fabric of our humanness, and, perhaps, it is something of God's image in us. Joy following suffering, following the epic drama.

And does God allow it? Does God create it? I don't know. I know God uses it. I think I understand that God suffers, too. That God suffers with us. Mike Freeman in his blog, "wordhavering," sums up some ideas of Nadia Bolz-Weber and Richard Rohr this way (from his blog post: caged god):

"In our suffering we tend to experience God as outside of it all, watching, a omnipotent bystander who by all rights could and should be able to do something, but he just sits there, stands there, whatever, letting it all happen anyway. Helping it all happen anyway? And for his glory? Yes, let me slap that.

And that’s what I appreciate about Rohr’s musing. He taps right into main line of biblical teaching when it comes to suffering – though we seldom perceive it. God participates in our suffering. In all of it. He feels each deep wound, screams in each terror, groans in each injustice more profoundly than we can begin to fathom. We groan. Creation groans. God groans."

 And maybe the knowledge of God's presence in our suffering is where we find our source of joy?

Joy Dare - Hard Thanks

Today's Joy Dare Prompt:
3 Gifts Hard to Give Thanks For

My list (picking up from the last list - and often adding more than just the prompt):
642. Snow is SO HARD to be thankful for this time of year, and yet I find it keeps creeping into my list in unexpected places.
643. A good visit with my dad and his new wife
644. That joy is known best when one has suffered

Chodesh Adar - Accept the Grace of Joy

Today is the 11th of Adar. The eleventh day of the Jewish month of JOY. Adar is considered the month of Joy because it includes Purim (the Fast of Esther) and falls one month before Passover. Both Purim and Passover are deliverance stories, times of joy and celebration. The Talmud says, "When Adar comes, joy is increased."

How fitting that my Bible Study group began a study of Joy last week and I have been following the Joy Dare prompts this year! And how fitting that the month of Joy comes in one of the darkest seasons, right before spring...right when we need it the most. This is the month of anticipation, of joy breaking through, of awaiting our deliverance. From winter. From captivity.

I wrote this for my Bible Study group:

I got to thinking about the plethora of literature that's been generated in recent years about happiness. A website called Happiness Club lists the top 20 books on happiness. Amazon and Goodreads both have lists and lists of books about Happiness. I've read a few of them myself. Most notably, The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin, where I learned that Happiness is about learning to simplify, organize my closets, and have more fun. Clearly, we live in a culture where we are longing for something. We call it Happiness, but I'm convinced we are really after Joy...because we are after something that can only come from outside ourselves...ultimately, God.

A number of other thoughts have come tumbling through since then. I wonder what it means to have joy or to be joyful when you aren't happy? If we make a distinction between Joy and Happiness, can we assume they are independent of each other? Some people describe Happiness as something that is based on circumstances. We are happy when things are going on our. Joy is independent of circumstances. Something we have from within, despite circumstances. Or, perhaps, something that comes from without, that comes from a reliance on something greater than ourselves.

I like the idea. But what does it look like? How do we have joy when we are mourning? In the midst of sadness? In the midst of struggle? When we are tired, broken, defeated, frustrated, angry...

I'm not claiming to have answers. I just wonder. Romans 12:12 says, "Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer." And again, 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 says, "Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." Seems like a pretty impossible standard. Rejoice always? Pray without ceasing?

I also started thinking about people I know, whom I would consider joyful. ...or not. So, my neighbor, who was previously a drug addict, who has been clean for years now, has a daughter in high school, married to a sweet Hispanic guy who experiences a lot of discrimination, raising her "surprise" baby now, low income, watching previous friends die from overdoses or gang related violence, working to help clean up our part of the city... She has joy. Definitely. I mean. I can't even figure it out. Because I know that sometimes she's sad and she struggles, and she doesn't hide that. But somehow, she's always overflowing in joy.

I don't know what it is. I just know that isn't me. And I also know you cannot fake it. You can try to see the silver lining all the time. Try to see the rose in the midst of the thorns. Try to think of how it's always better than it could be. But, honestly, those things feel forced.  There is something so genuine and real about the truly joyful people I meet. And it seems to me that it's sort of like grace. It's not something you can earn or create. It's something you are given and you must open your hand and receive it. TRYing will get you nowhere. Acceptance is the only path. Accept the grace of joy.

Hope that Burns Us

I love, love, love the planning and preparing for this season of Advent and Chanukah. I love the strings of lights, the glittery reflections on window glass and ornaments. I love the feel of the words that surround this season...
hope,
peace,
love,
redemption,
Messiah,
Yeshua,
chanukiah,
shamash...
 I want to wrap those words around myself like warm, downy blankets, their comforting sounds shushing the wails of grief, ever singing in my ears. Is it muffling grief? Is it balm to the wounds? I don't know. It helps. It eases the suffering.

A candle flickers in the Nativity scene in my entry room day and night. I light candles often in my house, for beauty, for remembrance, for prayers. I think of the seas of candles at candlelight vigils...at Christmas Eve church services...at Easter Eve at the Basilica. Especially, I think of the way we extinguish our candles at the Basilica when we hear of the death of Messiah and then we pound on the pews until one single light returns.

One single light.

The light of Yeshua. The one we Hope for this Advent. We are waiting for His return. When grief overflows in our hearts we beg.
Come, Yeshua. Come.
Come now.
Come save us.
We are done with this world. We pound on the pews. We stomp our feet. The noise builds to fill our ears. Darkness fills our eyes. Grief fills our throats.

Until that one tiny light returns. And gives light to the whole room. And our eyes flood with relief from the aching darkness. Our burning hands are still. Our tired feet can rest. Our cheeks are wet with the grief and the pain and the hope that burns us.

"And he sang to them, now in the Elven tongue, now in the speech of the West, until their hearts, wounded with sweet words, overflowed, and their joy was like swords, and they passed in thought out to regions where pain and delight flow together and tears are the very wine of blessedness." (from Tolkien's The Return of the King)

So, why did God plant the tree?

This is cross-posted at if life is a highway.

The question that stuck with me after my most recent meeting with my Bible study group was this: Why did God put the tree in the garden in the first place? I mean, ultimately, the tree represents the ability of people to choose their own destruction. If God did not give people the ability to choose, life would still be perfect in the garden of Eden. Perfect. Instead, the "gift" of free choice means that we live in a world where murder, rape, hunger, disease, and greed exist right alongside compassion, generosity, abundance, health, and joy. Love crashes and shatters against evil every day. Perfection does not exist.

So, why?

The best answer that I know of is that God wanted us to CHOOSE. God wants us to freely choose relationship with God, which means that there has to be another choice. Otherwise we are robots, creatures who worship God because that's what we were created to do, but not because we choose God. And, honestly, I believe that God wants to be chosen. God doesn't desire relationship with beings who have no choice.

God gave us the dignity of being free. God grants us the respect of autonomous beings.

I mentioned (in my Bible study) that it's a little like being parents. We could, potentially, protect our children from risk (and also choice and freedom) for much of their lives, maybe even their whole lives if we did a good enough job of isolating them. But then who would our children be? We've all heard of people who have been so isolated they can hardly function, and they certainly cannot think for themselves. They have no personality, no individual personhood.

Having read a fair amount about different types of parenting, I know that kids who are raised by more strict parents, especially strict conservative Christian parents may be less likely to endure a tumultuous adolescence, but they are also less creative, less adventurous, and less engaging than their peers who have been allowed more freedom...including the freedom to make some stupid choices.

Another wise parent in the Bible study group responded that, of course, she allows her son some choices...but she wouldn't let him set himself on fire and dance naked on the kitchen table. ;) In other words, she limits his choices to protect his life.

It seems that God didn't do that. God put that tree right there in the garden and did not prevent people from eating the fruit that would lead to destruction...to unspeakable pain and evil.

I'm sorry to admit that I became swallowed up in my own thoughts after that and lost the discussion, and by the time I returned the topic had moved on (we were discussing The Shack, and there's plenty there to talk about).

Here's what I was thinking, though. It's true that while my children are young, I protect them from the serious choices, choices that could mean the difference between life and death. I don't let Mane run out into the street or set herself on fire. But, very recently, I've been faced with the fact that I cannot do that with Vespera. I cannot protect her from every choice that has the potential to harm her.

If I remove her choice, her freedom, even in cases where her life could be in danger, I destroy our relationship. I'm willing to beg, plead, and persuade when I think she's making an unwise choice. But if I cross over the line into removing her freedom, I open a chasm between us. We can talk, negotiate, and argue...unless I take away her freedom. Then I've shut down communication, broken the lines, built a wall, or whatever else you want to call it. And we are left with a quiet, empty chasm between us.

And God is a God of relationship, a God who wants to communicate with us, even if it's to argue and persuade. There's simply nothing to say if we don't have any choices. So, God gave us choices to keep our relationship.

I've been trying to post this for 3 days and keep changing it. So, go easy on me. I'd love a discussion if ya'll have anything to say, ask, or argue.

This Conversation Keeps Coming Around....

It seems like I keep bumping into this issue from different angles everywhere...free will, God's sovereignty, the problem of evil, the goodness of God. Here's another take on it.

What does prayer do? We had this talk at my Bible study group last week, and I've been turning it over in my brain ever since. If, for example, I pray for my child to be cured from cancer, and my child is healed, well, PRAISE GOD! What an amazing answer to prayer, yes? And I will tell this story for as long as I live. What if, however, my child dies? It happens. It happens to faith-filled people who believe that God has the power to heal. What then? Is this an answer to prayer? And will I tell that story as long as I live?

Here's what happened to me. I was telling about the beautiful answer to prayer that Vespera & Mango were interviewed by a compassionate Christian woman at the Embassy when we went to Mexico for Vespera's visa approval. I told this story in response to a question about how we each personally have seen God in our own lives, how we know God is there. My beautiful Bible study ladies responded with something like, "But what if that hadn't happened?" Would I still believe God? My answer is a resounding yes, and, yet, I felt squashed.

Squashed feelings aside, I have to say that I know I'd still be believing God if Vespera had not been approved at the Embassy. I know I'd be seeing God work through other things in other ways bringing about other miracles. And, perhaps, the greatest miracles would be in me...in us...in our hearts and in who we are and who we would become.

So, um, back to the question. What does prayer do? If it's the case that one outcome or the other will happen, and it won't always be what we ask for or what we want, does God really answer prayer? Or do things simply happen the way they're going to happen and God helps us pick up the pieces when it isn't a positive outcome?

I don't have any answers. And I'm tired of this post sitting in my drafts. So, I'm just going to get it out there. I think God answers prayer. I think it doesn't always happen the way we want it to, and I think God is there anyway. That's what I know.

...and, for some reason, I feel the need to say that I started drafting this post at exactly the same time Heather was posting this. I didn't cheat & read her thoughts first, either. ;)