Comforting the Afflicted

There is a local pond and archery range about five miles from my home.  The pond is regularly stocked with fish and many people like to go there on any given afternoon to fish, or have a picnic lunch, or practice their archery skills.  Several months ago, my daughter went to the park to spend some time in the sun and enjoy the peaceful setting.  It is not uncommon to see flocks of ducks and geese gathered at the water’s edge.  As she was observing the geese, she was greatly dismayed by what she saw and took a video. When she returned home from the pond, I noticed that she was quieter than usual.  Several hours later she came and showed me the video.  I observed the geese milling around the water’s edge, drinking water and looking for breadcrumbs. 

Then I saw it…

Photo by Noelle Nevue

 …and my heart broke. 

My first reaction was shock and dismay, and immediate compassion for this goose.  My daughter and I both deeply felt the emotional strain of trying to balance the knowledge of how serious the situation was but realizing that this was a wild animal and there really wasn’t much we could do to intervene and offer aid.

My second thought was, “I know people in my life right now who would look at the picture of this goose and say they could relate to it.”  They walk amongst their family and friends and within society itself, trying to live their lives as best as they can.  They go to work and the grocery store and act like everything is okay, but metaphorically speaking, life has shot an arrow straight through their heart.  Whatever the circumstance, it wasn’t a “death blow,” but it was a serious wound…one that lingers, and the pain and discomfort is a constant reminder.  For those who have eyes to see, it is an obvious wound in need of compassion and attention. 

Lately, it seems like life as we have always known it is coming apart at the seams.  The fabric of society is being stretched and frayed at the edges.  We face many issues, both individually and as a nation, and we have strong opinions and are passionate about our beliefs.  Let us remember that as believers, we are called to be in the world, but not of the world.  Our opinions matter, but as children of God our purpose is to bring the light and love of God to those around us, and this is a call for sacrificial love.  In this current climate of isolation and screens, it is easy to forget that we are dealing with people – people made in the image of God, whose souls are often hurting and in need of comfort, even if our opinions and political viewpoints differ. 

We serve a God who both saves and comforts His people.  I recently made a list of the many different ways in which God comforts us.  The list is by no means exhaustive, but here are a few highlights:

He hears our cry (Psalm 116:1)
He meets our needs (Philippians 4:13)
He draws near (James 4:8a)
He has compassion (Psalm 72:13)
He sympathizes (Hebrews 4:15)
He offers rest (Matthew 11:28)
He helps us (Psalm 46:1)
He loves us (Ephesians 5:2)

All of these attributes are relational.  He is the model by which we are to live our lives. 

“Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children; and walk in love, just as Christ also loved you, and gave Himself up for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God as a fragrant aroma.” (Ephesians 5:1-2)

“Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.” (1 John 4:11)

As the world becomes a more polarized place in which to live, may we be a people known for love.  May we have eyes to see those around us who are hurting and respond with love and comfort.  Because we have experienced His great love, mercy and grace in our own afflictions, He instructs us to reach out to those around us by drawing near, having compassion, loving and meeting needs as He leads. 

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort; who comforts us in all our affliction so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.  For just as the sufferings of Christ are ours in abundance, so also our comfort is abundant through Christ.” (2 Cor. 1:3-5)

His supply of comfort is abundant, and He “is able to do exceedingly abundantly beyond all that we ask or think according to the power that works within us, to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations forever and ever.  Amen.” (Ephesians 3:20-21)

The Wind and the Waves

As I was doing my daily Advent devotional the other day, I suddenly found myself going down a rabbit trail and ended up with some fishermen in a boat.  I thought to myself, “What does this have to do with Christ’s birth?” 

There are two different accounts in the gospels where the disciples find themselves on a boat in rough seas.  In Mark 4, Jesus was in the boat with the disciples when “there arose a fierce gale of wind, and the waves were breaking over the boat so much that the boat was already filling up.  And He Himself was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they awoke Him and said to Him, ‘Teacher, do You not care that we are perishing?”(Mark 4:37-38)  Jesus “rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, ‘Hush, be still.’ And the wind died down and it became perfectly calm.” (Mark 4:39)  I’ve read this story countless times, but when I read it this time, my first thought was that it was an excellent metaphor for what this year has felt like.  Between a global pandemic, civil unrest, and a contested national election, it feels like the waves just keep breaking over the bow of life.  It is as if a flood gate has been lifted, and a tsunami-sized wall of water has been released upon us.  The daily news updates never stop coming. 

In Matthew 14, after witnessing the feeding of the five thousand, the disciples were instructed by Jesus to sail to the other side of the Sea of Galilee where He would meet them after He spent some time alone in prayer.  During the trip, a fierce storm arose and the boat was “battered by the waves; for the wind was contrary.” (Matt. 14:24)  Jesus came to them, walking on the sea and said, “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.”  He invited Peter to join Him on the water.  “And Peter got out of the boat, and walked on the water and came toward Jesus.  But seeing the wind, he became afraid, and beginning to sink, he cried out, saying, “Lord, save me!” (Matt. 14:29-30)  Scripture says that Jesus immediately reached out and took hold of him, and when they climbed into the boat, the wind stopped.

I tend to struggle with anxiety and fear, but in the past few months it has been crippling at times.  About six weeks ago, I made the decision to stop watching the news every night and stop checking the headlines on my phone.  I just couldn’t handle the feeling of helplessness and despair anymore.  From that day forward, I began to experience a renewed sense of inner peace, even though the waves continue to crash and rock the boat.  As I read and compared these two stories, noting how the rough seas felt like an apt metaphor for 2020, I identified with Peter.  Whenever I looked at the news (wind and waves) I became afraid and started to sink into despair.  Since I’m so familiar with the story and know that Peter will look at the situation and panic, I forget that when he first got out of the boat, he was successful!  He was looking at the Lord and actually walked on water!  The Lord is always in complete control.  The waves are under His feet and He can command the raging elements to stop with a simple, “Hush, be still.”  When I cried out to Him, He immediately took hold of my heart and mind and helped me climb back into the boat.

The last verse of Mark 4 says, “And they became very much afraid and said to one another, ‘Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey Him?”  The word afraid in this verse refers to the reverential, respectful awe sort of fear.

Whether in the boat with us,
or out on the water,
He is Jesus
God with us (Matt. 1:23)
The Prince of PEACE (Isaiah 9:6)

He hears us

Two and a half years ago I went on a trip with my daughter and her homeschool group to France.  We spent the bulk of our time in Paris visiting museums, Notre Dame, and of course the Eiffel Tower.  One place many of the kids were excited to see was the Paris Catacombs.  The catacombs were built in the late 1700’s in response to safety concerns at some of the cemeteries in central Paris.  Over time, the bones of more than six million people were transferred to abandoned limestone quarries under the city streets.  In 1810, Héricart de Thury took over the development of the ossuary and had the bones artistically placed and arranged according to medieval tradition.  Signs were placed throughout to indicate from which cemetery the bones had originally been buried.

In preparing for this trip, I did a lot of personal research on things I wanted to see and pictures I wanted to capture.  I did not research or prepare for this place because honestly, it didn’t really interest me.  I remember many of the kids being so excited for this tour because they wanted see all the bones.  While I would have traded time at the catacombs for more time in a museum like the Louvre, I understood that in a group, we needed to try and see things that would appeal to everyone’s interests.  I did not understand the history of this place and had no frame of reference for what I was about to experience. 

This sign was at the entrance to the tunnel.  It reads, “Stop, this is death’s empire!”  As I passed under it I remember the thought going through my mind that it sounded like a greeting you might hear on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland.  After about another 20 feet, I knew that this was definitely not Disneyland.  I simply was not prepared for what I saw.  Skulls and femur bones were stacked and lined up in artful arrangements to form walls that came up to my shoulders, and in some places higher than that, on either side of me.  Behind those “walls” were piles and piles of more bones.  The ossuary is nearly a mile long.  The longer I walked, the heavier the air felt to me.  My steps grew slower and slower and I quickly found myself at the back of the group quietly weeping. 

My daughter noticed the change in my mood and face and asked what was wrong. I told her that I just felt overwhelmed by the amount of bones and death that surrounded me.  As the group disappeared around the next corner, she just stood with me in silence.  All of those bones represented people with souls.  They had names, grew up, held jobs, laughed with friends, ate meals with loved ones, and celebrated holidays.  Some of them fell in love and raised families.  An excerpt from my journal entry that day reads, “I just couldn’t help but think…What were their lives like?  Did they know Jesus?  I thought about the fragility of humanity and how fleeting life is.  I thought about how all of those bodies were stacked there over decades’ worth of time, and Hitler killed the same amount of people in a few short years, and a fresh wave of grief rolled over me as I began to visually understand the sheer magnitude of what happened in World War 2.”

As I rounded a corner, I saw this sign which says, “The eyes of God are fixed on the just, and His ears are open to their prayers.”  I took comfort in that.  He is a relational God who sees His children and hears their cries.  As I was pondering this, I continued forward and found myself at a door.  I opened it and was immediately met with a brightly lit room with music and the hustle and bustle of a crowd.  I just stood there in the gift shop with my brain spinning, as I looked around at racks of garish post cards, skull pens, and scarves with bones printed on them.  Death was being peddled and people were excitedly shopping and scooping up their treasures.  I found the whole thing disorienting and distasteful, so I left and sat on a bench outside and waited for the group to regather.

 We live in interesting times.  2020 has been a year that we will not soon forget for a multitude of reasons.  2 Timothy 2:1-4 says, “First of all, then, I urge that entreaties and prayers, petitions and thanksgivings, be made on behalf of all men, for kings and all who are in authority, in order that we may lead a tranquil and quiet life in all godliness and dignity.  This is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all men to be saved, and to come to the knowledge of the truth.”  I share my experience in the Paris catacombs as a reminder that life is fragile.  We are called to be salt and light, and as the world becomes increasingly darker and more distasteful, may we remember that each life we encounter has a soul that is precious to the Lord. As children of God, we need to pray for our leaders as well as the people in our immediate circle of influence, regardless of their political viewpoint or opinion on how best to handle the virus, that they would come to the knowledge of the truth. 

“And this is the confidence which we have before Him, that, if we ask anything according to his will, He hears us.” (1 John 5:14)