Faithful Paradox

I find that I am in a musical rut these days. My usual go-to playlists feel flat, so while doing chores the other day, I turned to a worship station on Apple Music. Song after song played, proclaiming victory. God was a God who showed up at just the right time. He was a God who moved in the last minute. He was a God who made a way when there seemed to be no way. He was a God who never leaves us disappointed. On and on, song after song of God’s miracles, power, and might.

Rather than encouraging my heart and buoying my faith, however, I found myself wrestling. My emotions wanted to proclaim “Yes!” But my heart struggled. The truth is, I had hoped and prayed God would show up in some big, powerful way and when he didn’t, I felt deeply disappointed in who I hoped God would be; in how I wanted to see and define victory.

I recognize that it was my own wrongly held hopes and expectations that left me feeling disappointed. I know the place I find my heart plays into my perspective right now, but I also found myself wondering if this prevalent idea that God is always going to show up in some big, powerful way in the midst of our trials is the best picture of the Christian life? Is this a realistic hope and expectation?

We are called to live in expectation of what God can do. We are instructed throughout the entirety of Scripture to remember what God has done; to call to mind his mighty works and proclaim his faithfulness. The idea, however, that we will always see and proclaim a victory that looks and feels like victory in this life, in some ways, feels like we are being fed a lie about what the Christian life is truly like. The lie is not about what God is able to do. He is able to do far more than we ask or think. Rather, the lie is that we can always expect to see what feels like victory in the battles we face in this life.

According to Jesus, “in this world you will have trouble” (John 16:33). It’s a promise. So much of the Christian life is comprised of waiting, watching, praying, being faithful, all the while resonating deeply with the saints who, “died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth” (Hebrews 11:13).

When my son was battling cancer, I hoped and prayed that God would show up like he does in these ballads; that he would make a way when there was no way. We prayed until my son took his very last breath that God would heal him. We knew God was able. We hoped he would answer us at the last minute and rescue Ezra from the jaws of death. We were pinned between an enemy and an impassable sea. We pleaded that God would create a path forward and God chose not to part the proverbial Red Sea for us. If I’m honest, this felt like anything but a victory. It felt like defeat. It felt like God didn’t show up just in time. It felt like God didn’t show his power and might. It hurt and I find I am still working to recover from a broken heart as I work through grief and disappointment in how my hopes and expectations played out.

The truth is, God is one who doesn’t always bring victory in the way we would desire. The victories we experience very rarely look like a miraculous road through a sea or the sun standing still. The victories will rarely look like an army of dried bones that comes to life or even a death bed revival. Often, the victory we experience here on earth will actually look and feel a lot more like defeat in the moment.

Victory may look like growing in humility through a moment of humiliation. Victory may look like growing in faith through God’s answer of “no.” Victory may look like growing in patience, not through problem removal, but through enduring whatever it is we face. Victory will look like a saint maintaining her faith in and affection for Christ, even though the prayers for healing seemed unanswered. So often, victory comes wrapped up in gifts from God that remind us that we are weak and broken creatures who desperately depend on our Father to take what feels like ruin and turn it into something beautiful. He’s the only one who can bring beauty from brokenness.

Ultimately, victory is found in what Christ accomplished. The true irony of victory for the Christian is that our truest victory here on earth has very little to do with us and will always end in death. Victory is not found in overcoming trials, but rather it’s that God holds us no matter what the trial may be. True victory will never be ours to claim, but will always point to our hero: Christ.

Every victory we experience outside of the saving and sanctifying work of Christ is temporary. Had God chosen to heal Ezra, it would have been a temporary healing; a temporary victory. Death would still have been his story. One day, just like my son, we will all lose our battle and it is then, because of Christ, that we will be ushered fully into the presence of God where his victory will be fully understood.

True victory is that God has promised he will hold those who are his and he will lose none of his children. True victory is that God has promised to remain faithful and every time he brings one of his children home, once again his victory is proclaimed.

As one who still grieves, this truth is both full of comfort and yet it also leaves me longing; aching if I’m honest. I wanted the victory of the songs I heard. I wanted to see victory in my son’s life with victory defined as victory over cancer. I wanted God to make a way forward when there was no other way. I wanted victory to be that I got to see and participate in the ongoing life Ezra lives today rather than knowing he lives but I am not able to comprehend what that life entails or looks like right now.

The truth is that even though cancer ravaged Ezra’s body, he was victorious because God held him. God kept his promise and caused Ezra’s faith to endure. When his body lost its earthly battle with cancer, his soul was ushered into heaven, not because he fought hard in his own strength, but God held him because Christ was victorious over sin and death. What looked like defeat for Ezra was actually God’s victory.

These are truths that are both dear to my heart and simultaneously, I have to fight to remember them. If I’m honest, these are truths that do not feel as good right now as I imagine it would have felt to see God miraculously heal Ezra. Of course these promises offer greater security, finality, and assurance, but the current ache of loss dulls the comfort that comes with these assurances. I know the hope is there, but waiting to see them fulfilled is hard. The ache dulls but never truly leaves.

Hoping for a miraculous work of God and believing that every trial will be met with some terrific display of God’s power urges our hearts to believe in the possibility of what God might do (and creates some inspiring song lyrics). There are absolutely times that God works and acts in ways that pushes back the darkness, that brings his kingdom to earth, and feels victorious. The reality for most believers, however, is that the victory God has promised is rarely some huge display of his power over disease and destruction here on earth. Rather, the victory we experience is the promise of God to hold and keep us until the very end.

We know he is the God who caused the sun to stand still, and caused dry bones to march and he could do it again. We know he sent angels to open prison gates and walked in the fiery furnace. Yet God has not promised these types of miracles to his children. His promise is that nothing, not sickness or death or demons or any kind of power will be able to remove his hold on us (Romans 8:38-39). There’s no enemy or struggle strong enough to rip his loved ones away from him. His promise to us is that, “no one can snatch [my children] out of [my] hand,” regardless of what trial may come (John 10:29). His promise is that because of Christ, we have eternity with him, and in this lies our greatest hope and victory.