Faithful Paradox

We long to see redemption in our stories. We long to understand what God is up to; how he uses pain for our good and his glory. God has promised he will work all things for good for those who love him and there are times that God, in his kindness, allows a glimpse of this promise fulfilled. There are times we see God’s kingdom come, his will being done, on earth as it is in heaven.

There are also parts of our stories that his purpose remains hidden and veiled. There are things we endure that simply feel confusing; things that will likely never make sense this side of heaven. We long to proclaim a victory but are left feeling defeat. We long to see God using our pain for a purpose, but live with the discouragement of loss. We hope for answers to our prayers that are met with different grace than we wanted. Our desire is to see something that is tangible or immediate, with immediate being defined as something we can understand during the days we have on earth.

In either scenario, whether God shows us his hand at work or keeps it hidden, his goodness does not change. This can be hard at times to reconcile, especially when the good we can see and understand is so limited. There is good we cannot see and this can be painful.

When my son was diagnosed with leukemia, throughout the entirety of his treatment our rally cry was, “This will be worth it! It’s for the life is he going to have!” We believed in faith that God was going to heal Ezra; the pain he was enduring, the sorrow he was facing, the loss he incurred would be worth it. It was shaping him into the man God wanted him to be and God would use all the pain, all the suffering, all the loss, all the sorrow to write a beautiful story of redemption. We fought so hard and remained steadfast in hope for the life that Ezra would have in the years ahead. We believed that we would, “see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living” (Psalm 27:13). When cancer took Ezra, the hope of seeing redemption in his story felt like it died with him.

If I’m honest, I still sit in a space of confusion many days about this piece of Ezra’s story. He suffered so much. When God took him home, it was hard to understand what purpose the suffering served. I know God does not waste anything. I know God used it. I just didn’t get to see how God used it. I just don’t understand it and that is deeply painful.

I wanted to see the purpose of the suffering; at least a small glimpse. I wanted to understand even a small piece of why God allowed it. I wanted to see the man that Ezra would become because of the pain he endured. I wanted to see a piece of redemption. I wanted to experience the tangible comfort of knowing that God intended the suffering for good with good defined by me.

Therein lies the trouble. When I define what is good, I limit what God’s goodness might look like through that lens. I severely underestimate the good God intends. I thought God working for good would look like victory over cancer and a full life for my son. If God had shown his goodness in that way, then I could reconcile the suffering and the loss. I could reconcile that God used the cancer to make Ezra into the man he wanted him to be. It could make sense in my brain.

The truth is, this perspective reveals how tightly my own heart is still tied to this world. It’s not wrong to desire to understand why God has allowed what he has. In fact, it’s good for us to identify what good we can in our pain. It’s good for us to hunt for and search out the goodness of God; to name it. It’s good to hope that we might see God’s redemption unfold. This in itself is a beautiful act of faith, obedience and trust. It’s a longing to see God’s kingdom come and his will be done on earth as it is in heaven. It’s not wrong to desire to see purpose or to ponder what God may be up to in our circumstances. There are even times that faith is strengthened when we see some of the good God had for us in the midst of pain.

Yet Paul tells us that our, “light and momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory” (2 Cor. 4:17). The suffering we endure here on earth has far more to do with eternity than it does with today. I often forget this.

God is doing far more through our suffering than we could ever think or imagine. Not only is he preparing an eternal weight of glory that we cannot yet understand, he is testing the genuineness of faith (1 Peter 1:7). He is loosing our hold to this world and creating a longing for heaven (2 Cor. 5:2). God uses these pains to make us more like Christ, which in turn will bring glory to Christ. (Phil. 3:10). I think I often miss this reality. I try to make sense of the light and momentary affliction (even though it feels anything but light and momentary) and forget that this life we live is a dot on a timeline in comparison to eternity.

God’s word says that when Ezra died, he was, “swallowed up by life” (2 Cor 5:4). The day Ezra died was actually the very beginning for him to truly see and experience God’s purposes, his goodness unveiled. There is good that has been promised that I cannot yet see living on this side of the veil. As we walk here on earth, we only see in a mirror dimly, but Ezra’s mirror is no longer dim (1 Cor. 13:12). Even any good he could have understood from his suffering is understood with far more purpose, far more meaning than it could have ever been understood here on earth.

Where I sit now, I don’t understand why Ezra suffered as he did and I don’t yet get to see the good God had for him, because while it certainly produced something in him during his life, it was more about eternity. I think that is true for all of us.

When we get to see God working things together for good, it’s only a partial view; it’s limited and incomplete because God’s goodness extends far beyond what I can see or understand. What I can be sure of is that God’s redemption has followed Ezra in ways I do not yet understand.

Paul tells us that the, “sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is going to be revealed to us” (Romans 8:18). We are promised that glory will be revealed. It’s not simply about what we can understand and the good we can see today. It’s about the good that comes from Christ’s glory in a way we cannot yet comprehend.

We tangibly experience God’s mercy when we get to see small pieces of redemption in our stories; the good that God is up to in the stories he has written. What we get to see, however, is minuscule compared to the incredible grace that is yet to come. Peter exhorts his readers to, “set your hope fully on on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 1:13). When Jesus is revealed, all these pains will be made right. All the goodness of God, the ways he worked for our good, will be revealed. One day, this grace will be revealed and so we must set our hope fully on that, even in the midst of the pain and sorrow.

If I’m honest, knowing this truth, redirecting my gaze, does not always feel like it helps in the moment. It certainly does not remove the pain nor does it make enduring the sorrows and confusion any easier. I wish I could see the good that God has extended to Ezra. I wish I could see that portion of his life right now. I wish I didn’t have to wait until Christ is revealed to understand that part of his story. The good that we can see and understand this side of heaven will rarely, if ever, outweigh the hard. Sometimes, the sorrows and grief will far overshadow any purpose we could hope to find. Yet even as we wait, we wait as those with hope; hope in the promises of our God who has promised good.

I know one day I will understand how this suffering, this loss, this confusion, this pain was worth it. It’s bringing Jesus more glory in ways I cannot comprehend. God has worked it for good in ways I cannot see. I don’t understand how this works right now. The less sanctified parts of my heart still long for the comfort of knowing, to experience victory, to gain understanding. I can find hope, however, in knowing that God’s goodness is not limited to what I can see or understand. It extends far beyond anything I could hope and imagine.