by Michelle Gee
Early in the pandemic and initial shutdown, I heard a story on NPR about a teacher that ran a marathon in his backyard for charity. It was fun and inspirational enough to remind me of the resilience of human beings, the incredible stamina of the human spirit. I read Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl (a Nazi concentration camp survivor) shortly after and felt a renewed hope in the ability to cope and overcome adversity. While the pandemic introduced new stressors, there was a novelty in learning to adapt that was, I daresay, exciting. It was enough to propel me forward on exhausting, challenging days, as I looked forward to the return of normalcy.
Now, a year later, I couldn’t feel farther from that mindset. The fatigue from this prolonged season of adaptation feels all too much.
During this season, I’ve struggled to recognize what is left of my faith since much of the trappings have been stripped away. While I’ve always been taught that faith in Jesus is larger than Sunday morning gatherings, a beloved church building, or any other act in itself, I’ve come to realize just how much these rituals meant to me. Scripture encourages us to gather, sing, confess, and pray together for a reason—these corporate acts cannot save us, but they certainly bolster our walk with God. The redeemed life is not without its ongoing challenges.
I have been blessed in that I have not had to go through this Covid-19 journey alone. There is still community, for sure, and there is still access to Scripture, worship songs, and other resources for encouragement—all reasons to be thankful. However, the loss of nearness is a tangible loss I have continued to process.
I am grieving.
I imagine you might be, too.
I find myself less interested, these days, in triumphant stories about mere humans overcoming the struggles of living in a pandemic. I’m less interested in cute anecdotes when I’m ready to scream from overstimulation in my own home, where the walls feel as if they’re closing in on me each day. In addition to the pandemic, we’ve witnessed bitter division that has left me reeling with grief over the state of the American Church.
I sat on a beach with my husband one recent Sunday morning and these thoughts, and accompanying tears, came pouring out of me. We were enjoying a brief respite from the usual, crazed pace of our lives, and the stillness was enough to allow these uncomfortable thoughts to surface. I felt such pain and embarrassment as I confessed that these days, I sometimes question whether Jesus is as real as I had thought, whether the Gospel truly offers a hope that can sustain me, if I even have faith at all.
It is hard to share these things in print (on the internet, of all places), until I remember that at its core, the Church is a family—broken and dysfunctional, but at its best, loving, accepting, and honest. In the midst of such upheaval, we need to create the space for such hard truths to be expressed. I am here to remind you (and myself) that these feelings do not disqualify you from experiencing relationship with Jesus.
On the beach that morning, after I was out of tears and all I could admit was, “I am trying to trust that Jesus has me,” I was reminded of a story that felt especially compelling.
There is one verse in Genesis 3 that, in my experience, is often overlooked. It follows Adam and Eve’s rebellion against God and the resulting curses He delivers to Adam, Eve, and the serpent. Before they are cast out of the garden forever, Scripture tells us, “And the LORD God made for Adam and for his wife garments of skins and clothed them” (Genesis 3:21, ESV).
As this verse interrupted my grief that morning, I reflected on how Adam and Eve must have felt immediately after the fall. For them, any notion of nearness was gone in an instant; in one singular act, they had done away with the most intimate, harmonious relationship they had ever known, and not even for just themselves—for all of mankind. I thought of how broken they must have felt, how alone and ashamed…left reeling from the trauma of death and separation from their God, and the newfound distance within their own marriage.
And then…God clothes them—not with leaves or synthetic fabric, but with the skins of a slain animal, a beloved creation named by Adam himself. In a beautiful place that had not known death, a place now tainted by the disobedience of humans, God got His hands dirty for the sake of the very people that wronged Him. He knew they couldn’t bear their own shame, so He embraced the ugliness of death to ensure they would be clothed.
I can’t express how much relief the reminder of that provision brought me in that moment. I was reminded of how God moves toward the brokenhearted, how these feelings of distance have been present since the very first humans rejected God, and how the story of God has persisted in spite of Adam and Eve feeling so very far from Him. When my faith felt so small and so faltering, God met me with the compelling beauty of who He is—who He has always been.
I am still becoming acquainted with this little faith of mine, disentangled from the things I must go without, that I miss dearly. I feel less sure-footed without the rituals that have been so encouraging to me over the years. In moments of doubt, however, God shines through my own insecurity and reveals He is the author and perfecter of my faith (Hebrews 12:2).
In a similar season of doubt during my college years, a dear friend introduced me to R. S. Thomas, a Welsh poet that also happened to be an Anglican priest. To this day, he is one of my favorite writers due to his stark honesty; he demonstrates a faith that was rocky and yet beautifully anchored by a trust in Jesus, even when it felt grim.
I leave this poem with you today, hoping that wherever you are, even if you are feeling so far from God, you would know you are not alone. As we progress through Lent together, and make sense of what is left when so much is stripped away, I dare you to press in to Jesus with your discomfort and doubt, to let Him meet you in that very space.
The Absence by R. S. Thomas
It is this great absence
that is like a presence, that compels
me to address it without hope
of a reply. It is a room I enter
from which someone has just
gone, the vestibule for the arrival
of one who has not yet come.
I modernise the anachronis
of my language, but he is no more here
than before. Genes and molecules
have no more power to call
him up than the incense of the Hebrews
at their altars. My equations fail
as my words do. What resources have I
other than the emptiness without him of my whole
being, a vacuum he may not abhor?
by Mike Harman
How does it sit with you that God gave Satan permission to wipe out Job’s life (Job 1:12 & 2:4-6), a man who was blameless and upright? We are told Job feared God and shunned evil (Job 1:1 & 8.) We even see that Job's response to his loss was to worship God, not charging God with any wrongdoing, (Job 1:21 & 22. Job 2:9-10).
Did Job have a profound understanding of God's Sovereignty, of God's character being both good and just? Was Job ahead of his time knowing that the world he lived in was fallen, not functioning as designed, and filled with corruption and situations of injustice?
I've been reading through the Old Testament book of Isaiah and there are some verses that help anchor me when questions about God's character & sovereignty arise (There are undoubtedly many more in the Bible.) Check out: Isaiah 40:13-14 & 27-28, 45:5-7 & 9-10, & 49:15. Also Psalm 115:1-3. & 125:1-2.
A strong belief in the theology of God's sovereignty can provide us with a sure foundation for the trials of suffering and challenges of life, none of which even begin to touch Job's loss and suffering. I understand that our stories are not a points of comparison weighing whose story is worse (or most difficult, or best, most blessed , or "successful"). Each of our stories are unique, personal, and overseen by God so that we might seek and find Him, so that we would be redeemed and restored to His design and purpose. (Acts 17:24-27)
Is the theology of God's detailed sovereignty a cop-out to life’s hardships and the choices and decisions we make? Absolutely not. The scriptures are clear that we are responsible and accountable for our decisions and choices, yet God's story and power over-arches our stories. Our stories are made by the decisions and choices we make, as well as the actions of others too, yet nothing happens without God; He has ultimate power and authority. My brain tilts when I try to wrap my head around man's choice, man’s personal responsibility, and a God who oversees all our lives with detailed sovereignty.
Some acquaintances who coauthored a book speaking about free will said: “No one knows exactly how God's sovereign intention meshes with our decisions, but there is enough revealed truth to believe they comfortably coexist without damage to either.” If we don’t hold to God’s soveiregnty we then would have a capricious and malevolent god ruling over us…and that is not the God of the scriptures. Either God is really God or there is no god at all and it’s all on us.
In speaking on the scriptures, Paul Tripp in his book "What Did You Expect", page 62 says: There is no collection of wisdom principles more stunningly insightful than what can be found in the pages of scripture. Of course, this would be true, since the book was written by the hands of men who were guided to write what they wrote by the one who created everything about which they wrote. It is only the Creator who could have such a powerfully insightful and practically transformational origin-to-destiny perspective as the one found in the Bible. Only He is able to have a perspective not limited by time and space and the bias of sin. Only He is able to speak from the vantage point of creation intention. Who could possibly know more about the world He created and the people He designed?
God's word really does open up to us the mysteries of the universe. It really does make us wiser than we could possibly ever be without it. Yet, having all this, it is important to reflect on how sad it is that we don't take more advantage of the wisdom God has given us. It is sad we don't think His thoughts after Him. It is sad that we don't require ourselves to look at life (always) through the lens of His wisdom. It is sad that we swindle ourselves into thinking that we are wiser than we are. It is sad that we aren't more irritated by our foolishness and more motivated to seek His wisdom.
I think we would lack intellectual integrity to not consider and wrestle with Job chapters 1 and 2. We would do well to sit with th e questions as we consider, ponder, and inviting God into our wrestling with who He is and how the scriptures have revealed Him. If we don’t take time to work through the hard issues we risk misunderstanding God and settle for a god that we’ve fashioned to suit us, a god of our own making and understanding, that fits our life, situations, and experiences.
There is a God as revealed in the scriptures and I am not Him.
It is important that we honestly consider the questions in Job against God being good and just, questions that also consider suffering and "injustices" in the world. How else can we face our suffering? We must know God is with us as we sit with family and friends in their questions and experiences of suffering. Only by working through this ourselves will we be able to offer honest love, care, and wise Biblical counsel that actually helps one another and does not give trite answers and platitudes (God's got this. God will never give you more than you can handle. All things are good in God. God is good in all things). Platitudes may sound good and may even have some truth to them, but they usually provide more of an easy answer and means for us to not get dirty or walk with those going through and struggling with God's character and sovereignty.
God came to live in our midst, struggled and suffered in every way like us so He could come along side us, so He could provide the way for our rescue.
In learning and growing in our trust of God's character and sovereignty we need to be honest about our situations, circumstances, and hearts that causes us doubt and uncertainty. Let us be those who are honest with God and those in our trusted community. God knows us, from the beginning to the end. He is more interested in our growing in trust than getting to the destination, as how we get there is often of greater importance. In His goodness and grace God will get us where He needs and wants us, home with Him as redeemed and restored image bearers.
