The Qualities of a Christian Life
Part 2: The Kind of Church God Blesses
Terry was a friend of mine. I met Terry through the church. Terry joined the church following his deployment to Iraq during Desert Storm. Terry was part of a Marine expeditionary unit that found itself in a firefight outside of Fallujah. Several members of Terry’s tactical team were killed. Terry was one of the few survivors. Terry returned to the United States with a broken spirit. He struggled with what many call survivor’s guilt. Terry’s sense remorse, combined with his grief, weighed heavily upon him. Less than two years after his tour of combat ended, Terry ended his life. The pain and sorrow he felt was just too much to bear.
The Bible uses some 33 different words to describe the process of mourning. All of which goes to show that grieving is very much part of the human condition. Moreover, the greater you love someone, the greater the sense of loss. The greater your attachment, the greater becomes your level of pain.
So, when Jesus described the blessings of those who mourn, he used the second strongest word to describe grief. It is the word used for mourning the dead. It is the kind of grief that doubles a person over. It is an anguish that can drop a person to his or her knees. Yet, Jesus says, “You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you,” (The Message).
Well, I have parted ways with people who are dear to me. I’ve been bent over a hospital bed soaking a loved one’s pillow with my tears as she drew her last breath. I’ve been gripped by a combination of fear and grief watching my eldest son’s plane depart for military duty in Afghanistan. I’ve known the heartache of being betrayed by a trusted friend. Therefore, I can vouch from personal experience that the emotion of mourning feels anything like a blessing. And so, I wonder. What did Jesus mean when he said that “God blesses those who mourn…” (Matthew 5:4, NLB)?
Well, from a biblical point of view, mourning is one of life’s many paths to emptiness. Last week, I spoke on the issue of spiritual poverty or what might be called the emptiness of spirit. Well, the pathway of grief must pass through the gateway of emptiness. In other words, the only way out of grief is through.
King David said in the 23rd Psalm that “…though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…” (NLT). The Scripture is clear. We must travel through the darkness before we can reach the dawn. And, we will cry an ocean of tears before we get there. But, at some point along the journey, we encounter the One who blesses us with the power of his love.
When my daughter was in Kindergarten, Courtney came home one day from school crying. She settled down long enough to tell me that a few older boys on the bus had been calling her names. My first inclination was to bust out in Papa Bear mode, go right to the parents of those kids, and give them a big piece of my mind. I quickly realized that it wasn’t my defense Courtney needed. It was my love and comfort she required. So, I pulled my 8 year-old onto my lap and kissed her tears away. Yet, before I could say, “I love you more,” Courtney was right back on her feet ready to ask a friend over to play.
Now, I don’t always have the right words for the right occasion. But, comforting my children is something that comes naturally for me. And, if an earthly father has so strong a desire to comfort his children, how much more so does our Heavenly Father desire to comfort those dear to Him? Psalm 56:8 says that “God keeps our tears in a bottle” (NASB).
What an assurance to know that God is close enough even to capture my tears. This is the blessing of grief Jesus spoke of—because it is in this place of emptiness that we find the One who blesses. It is in that space of complete brokenness and barrenness that we discover the treasure of comfort Jesus offers. Yet, getting to that place of emptiness is by no means easy. The “getting through” part of mourning is what most of us have trouble with.
Getting back to Psalm 23, David said, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death; I will fear no evil; for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me” (v. 4, KJV). I can’t help but think that Jesus had this verse in mind when he said, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted” (TNIV).
The image David provides is one of shepherd whose very staff brings renewed hope and strength. The shepherd’s staff was used for many purposes but primarily for protection. The bottom of the staff could be filed to a sharp point and used as a spear to ward off predators. The staff was also a tool used for rescue. Shepherds often moved their flocks to high ground during the winter months to graze. The pathways that led up the side of a mountain could be narrow and treacherous. Yet, if even a single sheep would lose its footing and fall, the rounded hook at the end of the shepherd’s staff could be used to snare the endangered animal.
For King David, the staff became of symbol of a ruthless trust in God. Several years ago, a Christian author by the name of Brennan Manning wrote a dynamic book entitled Ruthless Trust. Brennan demonstrated how a radical trust in God can transform a person’s grief. He began by quoting Webster’s definition of ruthless as being “without pity.” Brennan said that he used this word in the context of trusting to mean “without self-pity”—because in Brennan’s view, self-pity is the arch-enemy of trust. Therefore, the tears of self-pity are not the signs of mourning Jesus had in mind to describe those who are blessed.
While self-pity sees one’s self as weak, ruthless trust believes in Jesus’ claim that his power works best in our weakness (II Corinthians 12:10). While self-pity sees one’s self as helpless, ruthless trust believes in the promise that the Holy Spirit helps us in our distress (Romans 8:26). While self-pity sees its problems as hopeless, ruthless trust clings to the Bible’s pledge that our troubles will soon be over (II Corinthians 4:18). Psalm 30:5 declares that “Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.”
Francis De Sales, one of the saints of the Roman Catholic Church, once encouraged Christians to “Kiss frequently the crosses which the Lord sends you…”. What Saint Francis meant is that when we embrace the suffering and grief that inevitably comes into our lives, we also extend an invitation to be loved by Jesus even more.
There’s an old hymn of the church that says, “So, I’ll cherish the old, rugged cross, ‘til my trophies at last I lay down. I will cling to the old, rugged cross…”. It’s at this point the hymn writer declares the need to cherish, to cling to, to even kiss our old, rugged crosses. But, in the end he exclaims, I’ll “exchange it someday for a crown.”
So, I ask you. What crosses do you need to cherish this day? The cross to remain pure as a single person? The cross of caring for aging parents? The cross of an unsatisfying job? The cross of a loved one addicted to drugs? If you find yourself carrying a cross that you’d like to exchange, I invite you to exchange your pain and sorrow by praying with me now.
Prayer:
Lord God, there is no one else to whom I can turn who understands the level of grief I carry. I am grateful that you were willing to share my griefs and sorrows upon the cross. I do cherish the cross because it is the very symbol of my greatest hopes. Therefore, as I travel through the valley of mourning I ask you for the grace to keep me moving forward with the knowledge that brighter days lie ahead. Through Christ’s name we pray. Amen.