Faithful Paradox

Over the last several years I have been invited to share at various events to tell our story and train groups in walking with people who are suffering. Inevitably, after I share, there is always someone who says something to the effect of, “It’s amazing to see how God is using your loss for so much good.”

If I’m honest, my heart always bristles a little when this happens. While I know these comments are always intended as encouragement, the way they are received by my heart, which is still grieving God’s plan, is that the pain and loss that I have incurred are somehow “worth it.” It seems that what is being communicated is that losing my son to cancer is worth it because now I get to share with people how we’ve seen God’s faithfulness. It’s worth it because I get to train people on what it is to walk with others who are going through loss. Somehow all the pain and suffering is worth it because I get to see more of God’s faithfulness and get to tell others about it. The reality is, if I could trade all these opportunities to press forward in faithfulness and have my son back, I would trade it in a heartbeat. Not once have I believed that comforting others with the comfort of God has made my own loss worth it.

The truth is, there is not one thing on this earth that I can think of that makes the loss of Ezra feel worth it. There is no amount of sharing our story, no amount of seeing how God was present and faithful, or even seeing the faith of others grow that makes the loss we’ve incurred seem worth it. While there is certainly a softening to pain over time, and gratitude grows when I get to see small pockets of good despite the devastation, there is still not a sense that it has been worth it. I imagine the loss will always leave a deep ache, despite any glimpses of good I can see.

I often hear people say of their suffering, “I would do it all again for the sake of what I gained.” I’m not there yet. I may read this post ten years from now and have a different perspective, but the reality is, I think there are pains we endure that will simply never be made right this side of heaven. While we can certainly see the hand of God at work, seeing it and sharing it with others does not balance out the pain or sorrow of loss and certainly doesn’t make the loss “worth it.” It is in these moments of loss, where it seems the gain I experience will never be worth the pain, that faith must grow from an ember to a roaring flame.

Oswald Chambers says that, “faith is deliberate confidence in the character of God whose ways you may not understand at the time.” We are commended not to seek deliberate confidence in what God is doing, but rather, deliberate confidence in who God is; in his character. There are times that the circumstances of our lives are so hard and so confusing that it takes a discipline of faith to remind ourselves who God is, even if everything in our lives leads us to question what God is up to.

Much like the people who have been quick to point out how God is using our story for good, we can jump too quickly to consider how God might be using pain so that we can find some purpose in the suffering. While there is certainly purpose to all God does, could it be that we are sometimes too quick to seek out purpose?

Seeking purpose is not wrong. Looking for the good that God might be up to is looking forward with faith and trust. In the midst of this searching, however, the question must be asked: Is my faith based on the character of God or is it found in seeing some purpose or understanding? Do I trust more in wanting to understand the purpose of the pain than in the character and promises of God? Are there times I look for good, either in my own story or in another’s, forcing good when there simply is not any to be found… yet?

As we wait in these times of “yet,” an essential piece of faith for every believer is learning to lament. I would define lament as coming before the Lord in our anguish, pain, sorrow, or confusion, crying out to him for the purpose of leading our hearts to trust in who God says he is, even when his purposes for us remain hidden. Lament is not necessarily looking for how God is using the pain in the moment, nor is it thanking God for the pain. Rather, lament is crying out to God in the pain, all the while thanking him for who he is despite the loss. It’s praising God, even in the depths of confusion and sorrow, for his unchanging nature. It’s naming our sorrow, confusion, and loss in conjunction with the truth of who God has said he is: gracious, compassionate, tender-hearted, merciful, loving, present. It’s a discipline that directs our hearts to both intentionally engage the pain while we cry out to God in our pain, anger, and doubt. It is not a passive resignation to the pain, but rather an active yielding to the Lord’s character in the midst of loss and devastation.

This practice of lament serves to remind our hearts of what is true and who God is as we walk with pain. It’s meant to remind us of what God has promised when dark clouds shadow the loveliness of Christ. It’s intended to direct our minds and hearts back to God, even when his purposes are veiled; when we fear the pain we experience may crush us. It’s meant to be done both individually and corporately, so that others can help bear the weight. Lament is a beautiful gift from God.

I’m still not in a place that hearing how God may be using our story for good feels helpful. As I consider how I wish those people would have responded rather than pointing out that God is using our story for good, I wish they would have bent more towards lament than purpose. Even a small shift in language can feel like a gift of mercy to one who is grieving God’s plan. Rather than, “Wow, God is already using your story for good,” try “We can really see the faithfulness of God in the midst of your pain.” Or rather than, “God is bringing good from your suffering,” try “I’m thankful that God has helped you endure this sorrow, just as he has promised.”

There are some who are prone to trying to find the good in every circumstance, and this can be a beautiful act of discipline. When it’s done for someone else, however, it can feel like it’s trying to force beauty in a place where there is simply none yet to be found or the griever is not ready to embrace the good. Rather than looking for purpose, consider first what it is to lament with another in their sorrow. Consider what it is to point to the faithfulness of Christ rather than how God might be using their pain. Pointing to God’s faithfulness despite the sorrow and loss is a way to join in lament with others rather than searching for good that may simply not be there… yet.