Faithful Paradox

I felt the heaviness of sorrow and grief once again this past weekend. I think I cried more in the last three days then I have cried in the last several months combined. The overwhelming ache of missing my son came rushing back. In some ways, I found myself feeling confused about why this was the case.

This past weekend, Christians all over the world celebrated the risen Christ. It is the single greatest reason I have to rejoice. It is the greatest hope I could possibly have. So if I have this incredible hope, why were tears so present? Why was the grief so heavy? 

I think it has to be that although I have this hope that can never be shaken, the comfort of that hope is not always felt; at least not as I would desire. While there is comfort to be had, it is different than the hope.

It is easy to mix up the concepts of hope and comfort. As a Christian, God’s word tells me that I am “not to grieve as others do who have no hope” (1 Thes. 4:13). I have encountered many who have taken this verse to mean that sadness should not be great because we have great hope. While I agree that we have great hope, I believe that the comfort that flows from that hope is not always something we feel this side of eternity.

Hope is a future-oriented belief in God’s promises. It is an expectation of his ultimate restoration of all that he has promised. Comfort, however, is a present-day encounter of God’s peace. Comfort is a gift given by God to help us endure whatever trial it is we face.

In all of this, I am reminded of the prophet Elijah. In the midst of his emotional, physical, and spiritual exhaustion, he longed for comfort. As he hid in the cleft of the rock, the winds tore the mountains, the earth quaked, and fire passed through, but the Lord was not in any of those terrors. Rather, as Elijah strained to listen, “there was the sound of a low whisper” and in that tiniest breath, the Lord comforted Elijah with his presence (1 Kings 19:12). If that was the Lord’s comfort for Elijah, I think it is often the same for us.

There are times that the storms of this life come. The winds tear apart our hearts, the ground shifts under our feet, and the infernos destroy our plans and dreams. These experiences are very real and devastating. We, like Elijah, must strain in the midst of the torrent to hear the small whisper of God; to feel his breath of comfort. While it is always available, it is not always experienced or felt.

I think this may have been the reason for so many tears this past weekend. I have an unshakable hope in all that Christ has accomplished and promised. I believe he has overcome. I believe he will return. I believe he will come to restore all that has been wrecked by sin and death. Yet I don’t always feel the present comfort that is linked to this hope. Despite believing all these truths, my heart still aches. Despite knowing that one day Christ will return, I still feel the weight of loss now. I still miss my son with an intensity that, at times, does not depart.

The present sorrows we bear can, at times, overshadow the comfort. Withstanding the roaring wind and experiencing the burn from the fires of life can dull our ability to feel that gentle breath of comfort.

I’m grateful for the hope that does not end. I’m grateful that at times, I also experience the present-day comfort that overflows from that hope. I know one day, the small, whisper-moments of comfort will be as great as the hope. What joy there will be when both comfort and hope are fully realized in Christ. I long for that day.