Hope in Our Trials

Hope in Our Trials

by Michael S. Beates

From TABLETALK

Jewish tradition holds that the temple of Solomon was destroyed in 586 BC by the Babylonians on Tisha b’Av (the ninth day of the Jewish month of Av). Interestingly, the tradition also holds that the temple of Herod was destroyed on the same day in AD 70 by the Romans. In Judaism, it is considered the saddest day possible. It brought to an end the temple as a central Jewish institution. Thus, the book of Lamentations is read each year during the fast on Tisha b’Av. That book comprises five acrostic poems, with the twenty-two verses of each chapter beginning with the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet in order. The central third chapter triples this, with the same letter beginning every set of three verses. The content laments the fall of the temple.

Of course, these events were crushing blows to Judaism. But Christians find hope as a bookend on either side of the most famous verses in Lamentations. The writer, presumably Jeremiah the prophet, expresses hope in Lamentations 3:21–24 with verses 22–23 containing these familiar words:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
     his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
     great is your faithfulness.

After two and a half chapters of heartbreaking lament, Jeremiah, seeming to pause, says: “But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope” (v. 21). In the face of blinding and profound loss and grief, the prophet can find hope in the promises of God’s never-ending steadfast love and mercy. He remembered, perhaps, that just as the Israelites saw daily reminders of God’s faithfulness in the wilderness through manna, we can find daily hope in God’s promises. In our undeserving sinfulness, God still says, “I have called you by name, you are mine” (Isa. 43:1). So Jeremiah concludes, saying, “‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul, ‘therefore I will hope in him’” (Lam. 3:24).

“The Lord is my portion.” This means that in some real, meaningful sense, we have all that we need in Christ. And this sounds like foolishness to the unbelieving world. In my travels and experience, the most content people I have ever met seem, in the world’s eyes, to be the most desperately needy people you might imagine.

Western culture does all it can to avoid pain and suffering. Everything in recent years revolves around maintaining safety and maximum comfort.

Years ago, I traveled to Ghana, West Africa, with Joni and Friends’ mission outreach, Wheels for the World. We regularly saw disabled people, victims of polio, who walked with sandals on their hands, dragging withered limbs behind them. One night, our group was taken to visit a group of these homeless disabled people, living in cardboard boxes down a small, dark side street. As we approached, we realized that they were singing hymns of praise to God. Their simple testimony was “When Jesus is all you have, you know that Jesus is all you need.” The Lord was their portion, and they were expressing an exuberant, joyful, overflowing hope in Christ.

Christian faith has often been embraced by the poor and marginalized but rejected by the elite, powerful, and popular. Paul said:

Consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. (1 Cor. 1:26–29)

Christian hope is for those who know that their condition is desperate. Those with everything (in the world’s eyes) sense incorrectly that they need nothing from God­—or anyone else, for that matter. From these two poles of utter poverty and lavish luxury, we learn an important truism: We learn virtually nothing from comfort, plenty, security, and ease in this life—nothing of eternal or lasting value, at least. We understand this in certain realms, such as sport (“no pain, no gain”). Conversely, the most precious lessons in life seem to come through pain, suffering, deprivation, loss, and grief. Western culture does all it can to avoid pain and suffering. Everything in recent years revolves around maintaining safety and maximum comfort.

Now, I get it: I hate pain. I try to avoid pain; and no one says, “Please pick me for the suffering!” But we must admit that the storms of life create strength. The Vikings picked trees buffeted on the coastline for the masts of their ships. They had learned that trees taken from deep in the forest, regardless of how tall and straight, lacked the strength gleaned from punishing winds and storms. At the crucial time, weaker trees from mid-forest would fail.

Let’s consider the way that many have reasoned through the years when pain and suffering come crashing in. A classical dilemma was constructed that holds two options: either God is good but not sovereign (otherwise, He would intervene to rescue those who suffer), or God is sovereign but not good (since He could relieve suffering but does not seem to care). More than forty years ago, Rabbi Harold Kushner articulated this argument in his book When Bad Things Happen to Good People. He suffered deeply, watching his son live and die with the incurable condition of progeria. Those with this genetic condition age rapidly and usually die from “old age” in their teenage years.

Dr. Michael S. Beates is chaplain and Bible teacher at The Geneva School in Casselberry, Fla., and author of Disability and the Gospel.

Hope in Our Trials

Fairfield Church, PCA