​     Nobody likes pain, but pain is a universal reality of our world. If you live long enough, you will live to suffer- to experience pain. There is a false gospel floating around that goes something like this; ‘Jesus suffered so that I don’t have to. Jesus wants me to be comfortable.’ Let me assure you, friend, as popular as that gospel is, it will disappoint you. If you stick around planet Earth for more than a few years, you will find that pain is the universal human condition. Just try growing old!
     Pain enters into our lives in many forms. It often arrives as a physical injury. Our hospitals are filled with suffering people. Surgeries and broken bodies always bring some level of suffering. But the varieties of pain abound. A cancer diagnosis. A personal failure. A painful divorce. Financial collapse. The loss of a close friend. Rejection. The onset of a mental illness. The death of a family member. The loss of a job. Pain comes in all shapes and forms, often when you least expect it. Seasons of suffering sweep over us like a blustery spring storm advancing across the plains. You and I can no more hold back a season of suffering than we could reverse the weather. And while we delight in the gospel of convenience, all too many of us find ourselves abruptly locked in the dark room of suffering.
     Your average Joe typically obsesses over two things when he finds himself in this dark room. Thing number one: how do I get out of the room? How do I ease this pain? How do I end my suffering? Where is the exit? I would just as soon be at home with the sun shining, eating a ham sandwich. I’m not greedy. It is not as if I want to trade my pain for obscene wealth or grandiose success. I’m not shooting for the stars here- I will happily settle for that ham sandwich. I would rather be anywhere, doing anything, than have to sit in the dark room of suffering.
     When we find ourselves trapped in these dark seasons for any length of time, I find that there is a second question that rises to the surface. Why did this happen? Why me? The spiritually inclined person may have the common sense to ask the One who perhaps has the answers. God, why did You allow this? Why is this been permitted in my life?
     We see this illustrated in a story that John relates in the ninth chapter of his Gospel. There we meet a man born blind, with no hope for cure. There is no escape for him from his literal ‘dark room.’ And so everyone around him is going about the business of unpacking the second question. Why did this happen? Who deserves this curse, the child or his parents? What is the cause of his suffering? Such considerations sweep us into a never-ending theological debate, and we get lost in the question.
     It is exactly this obsession with the two questions of suffering that make it impossible for us to see the truth. Lately, I have been trying to unpack a startling revelation. Jesus himself is in the dark room. Stop. Take a breath and read that again. While I frantically search for the door, He waits in the darkness. I beg and plead for answers, and still He waits. I am desperate to get back to ‘normal.’ Jesus, why can’t I return to my ham sandwich? But Jesus frequently waits for those who are wise enough to settle down and ask a simple question.
     “Jesus, are you here?”
     You see, our theology of suffering leaves much to be desired. We are more than happy to find God in the victories. God is in the blessing, He is in the abundance, He is in the overflow of my life! God is in the success, the financial windfalls, and the sunny days. But is God in the dark room of suffering? Surely God is not there! I may never sit still long enough to ask.

     The writer of Hebrews addressed this issue in a passage that has challenged me in so many ways. The very suggestion that Jesus had to learn anything, or that He was ‘made perfect;’ these ideas deconstruct so many of the fairy tale notions that I cling to. What is the thing that the book of Hebrews suggests made Jesus perfect? The answer is clearly suffering. What’s more, scripture shows us how Jesus asked to escape the pain of the cross as He wrestled in prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane. There in the garden, the Father chose not to give Jesus an easy exit from His dark room of suffering. 
     This was true for Jesus, as it is true for us. There is something going on in your dark room. There is something important happening in those painful spaces. The kingdom of God is shaking and rumbling in the dark room, but most of the time I don’t have the common sense to see it. I am too busy looking for the door, too busy demanding an answer why. What would happen if I silenced my cries and began groping about in the dark? What would happen if I tried to find Jesus in the dark room?
      I assure you my friend, the crucified Christ is there!  It is revelation enough to stumble across Jesus in my seasons of suffering. It is sufficient just that He is present. But there is so much more. Did you know that God is speaking to us in those painful places? Jesus is more than present, He often has something to tell you. Did you know that if we would simply settle down we would hear something from the very heart of God?
     And this is the great mystery of suffering. There are pieces of the kingdom of God that you will never find on a normal day. There are revelations that simply do not come through a ham sandwich. It is often in the dark room that He tells you who you are. Greater still, He shows you who He is. There are great treasures to be found in the  painful spaces.
     Beyond that, there is profound brotherhood in suffering. Go and take a vacation with a good friend. Three years from now you will likely only be able to remember 10% of it. But spend one night in a fox hole with a total stranger, and the two of you have become lifelong brothers. Any veteran will tell you that the bonds of battle run deep. Think back over your own life, and you will see that this is true. In His goodness, God often sends us sisters and brothers to guard us in the foxholes of life. They come and join us in the dark room, but we often do not appreciate what they offer. Mutual suffering is one of the most powerful mediums for connection. Aside from the people that God sends to be with us in our suffering, Jesus is in the room! Isaiah called Him the despised and rejected one, the man of suffering, familiar with pain. You can discover a deep connection with the crucified Christ in your suffering, if you would only look for it.
    Friends, be sure that I do not wish pain on any of you- If I had my preference, each of you would walk a smooth and easy path. But I know that my wishful thinking is an   empty exercise. You and I will face difficult seasons in the days to come. Some of you are in that dark room even now, as you read this. Let me encourage you, whatever the storm, to courageously settle yourself and begin to look for the kingdom in your suffering. Stop asking Jesus why and start seeking His heart. 
​       You will be surprised at the riches waiting to be found.

     Working among wounded kids for all of these years has taught me that there are a lot of versions of ‘broken’ floating around on our planet; all kinds of abuse and harm that can befall a person. One of the things I’ve come to learn as I encounter this broad sea of brokenness is that isolation always comes hand-in-hand with sin. Aloneness is a hallmark of broken living, one of the ugly side-effects of a wrecked life.  The list seems overwhelming. There are various types of addiction, violence, abuse, and the many forms of mental illness; all of them are woven with a thread of isolation.
     I began to recognize this dynamic years ago. Early on in my career as a chaplain, I found myself becoming hopeless, unsure as to what I had to offer a small child who has suffered the ravages of an angry drunk father or mom’s molesting boyfriend. Day after day I would sit and listen as these kids poured out their broken stories of trauma, and I began to come to terms with the fact that I had no power to fix this. I could not erase brutal memories, I could not mend the broken families, I could not abate the relentless gravity of addictions, I was powerless to stop the night terrors. This was the moment where God began to reveal to me how isolation is the most painful piece of trauma. We see this in war, where soldiers in their final moments give voice to a deep desire not to be alone. Dying men crying for their mothers give testament to the fact that isolation is worse than a flesh wound. Supermax prisons reserve isolation as their most severe form of punishment, placing the worst of the worst in solitary confinement where even the guards are instructed not to talk to the prisoner.
     Jesus himself testified to the pain of isolation on the cross. None of the Gospels record any protest against the crown of thorns, or the scourging, or the nails in his hands and feet. But we are given a unique glimpse into the very few things that He did say while hanging on the cross. One of them stands out as a testament to the deep pain of aloneness.
     “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” (Mt. 27:46)
     More recently, I have been digging deep into what the Bible reveals about the Trinity. The first passages in Genesis paint a picture of the triune God, who reasons, ‘Let us make man in our image.’ (Gen 1:26) Here we see the Father speaking everything into existence and the Spirit of God ‘Hovering over the waters.’(v2) The initial phrases in John’s gospel reveal the third member of the Trinity present in Creation. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him   nothing was made that has been made.
     The doctrine of the Trinity is one of the most basic and central understandings to Christian orthodoxy, presenting the perfect union of Father, Spirit,  and Son. Jesus explained this seamless communion when he declared, ‘Very truly I tell you, the Son can do nothing by himself; he can do only what he sees his Father doing, because whatever the Father does the Son also does. For the Father loves the Son and shows him all he does.’ (John 1:19) Multiple other passages throughout the gospels record similar reflections of Jesus on this topic. Paul later expounds on the communion of the Spirit within the Trinity. ‘The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For who knows a person’s thoughts   except their own spirit within them? In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God.’ (1 Cor. 2:11) I will not attempt to unpack all of the passages that shed light on the mystery of the Trinity; suffice to say that in scripture we have been given a unique picture of total connection, deep communion, and       wholeness in the person of God.
     It is this God- this moving, interacting, relational God who declared everything He made ’good’- with one glaring exception.
     “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.” (Gen 2:18)
     It is in this context- a relational, connected Trinity creating man in His own image- that we come to see why isolation is so damaging. Aloneness runs counter to our own Divine imprint. An isolated person is a fish out of water. No wonder Jesus cried out from the cross! Isolation is a way of living that literally falls short of the glory that God intended for us. And deep communion is a righteousness all its own. Healthy relationships are a beautiful reflection of the One whose image we bear.
     Last Friday I was visiting cottages on campus, talking and praying with residents, enjoying some spring weather while many of the kids played outside. In one particular cottage I arrived as a little boy was finishing up a phone call with his mother. She was obviously trying to kindly end the conversation; he was desperately dragging it out. When the call finally concluded, he stormed from the office in a pitiful little tornado of rage, tears and curses flowing. It took two staff members to manage the little explosion he engaged in as he ran from that office. It is sadly ironic how his painful separation is made necessary by his own out of control  behavior. In spite of the best efforts of the staff, residential programs isolate kids away from families, and frequent phone calls are insufficient to meet their need for connection.
     But there was more than painful isolation going on Friday night. In cottage after cottage I watched as families arrived on campus to pick up their child for a weekend visit. These kids had completed enough of their treatment to stabilize and begin   preparing to return home. It was moving to see how each of these little ones reacted to the sight of mom emerging from her vehicle. Their tears were happy ones; the hugs had a hint of  desperation to them. More than one parent struggled to detach a clinging child in order to collect their things and load up the car.
     It is funny how a deep dive into theology tells us what these little ones already intuitively know. You and I were made for profound levels of communion with God and others. Let me take this chance to encourage you to intentionally press in to healthy relationships in your own life. Look around! God has graciously surrounded you with people who are there for this very purpose. Don’t waste your day attending only to task completion with your family. Don’t simply attend a church service and return home. Press into relationship for its own sake.
In so doing you will more truly reflect the image of the One who created you.
 

 

      “You need to work your program.”
     If I have heard that phrase once, I’ve heard it a thousand times. Over the past couple of decades, I have heard staff members from multiple facilities repeat this phrase as they admonish their charges. From tiny little seven-year-old girls who are spazzing out and bouncing off the walls to hulking eighteen year old young men, that phrase echoes across the years. You need to work your program. What does that mean? Context  is everything. In the halls of drug rehab programs, specific coursework, classes, activities, are required for program completion. Our partner facilities all have therapists who set up an individualized treatment plan for each child that lays out their specific goals. To one student, ‘work your program’ may have something to do with anger management and aggressive behavior. For another, ‘work your program’ may have something to do with manipulation and deception of staff. Many years ago I worked with a little boy whose treatment plan (among other things) required him to abstain from collecting child pornography. His experience with severe and repetitive molestation had left him craving images of small children. ‘Working his program’ meant that he would not steal pictures of toddlers from magazines and hoard them under his bed. So many of the young people I speak with in facilities today gauge their progress based on this concept. How much time do I have left until I get to leave here? Am I working my program? What have I accomplished here? There’s a lot of value in simplifying the process, creating a framework that allows the child to see specific goals and action steps that they can take to move towards healthy alternatives. But the truth is, none of us are really interested in seeing these kids compile a list of completed tasks. What we are looking for is real change- the kind of change that the prophet Isaiah spoke of.
     We want to see addicts freed from the chains of dependence. We want to see rage-o-holics transformed by deep and abiding peace. It is not enough that the suicidal attempts stop, or that the constant self-harm ceases. We want to see these little ones so filled up with a deep sense of self-worth and satisfaction that suicide becomes nonsensical. You see, real change is not found in a checklist of completing tasks. Real change is something deeper, something more elusive. These youth arrive in residential programs and they are given a checklist of specific goals- tasks that are supposed to collectively form a path towards change. These programs are not in and of themselves a bad thing. They are useful, especially if they help lead a child towards the soul change that they so desperately need. I can see that these little ones are not the only ones in need of deep change.
     I am beginning to discover that my own spiritual life has been a sad story of task completion. Like some holy checklist, I have spent much of my life obsessing over whether I have ‘worked the program.’ And while the specific tasks of spiritual formation are not in themselves wrong, my own strange obsession with the checklist has left me in many ways missing the point. Have you been saved? Have you been baptized? Are you sanctified? Are you volunteering? Have you learned this teaching? Have you heard that speaker? Have you read this book? Like rungs on the ladder I have spent my life climbing so many steps of the spiritual life. I attack them methodically, seeking to hang them on the wall as trophies of a mature believer. 
     This focus on task completion bleeds into every aspect of my spiritual life. Have I read my Bible today? Did I have my devotional time? Was it sufficiently long enough? Was the volume of scripture that I read significant enough? How does my attendance at various spiritual activities look over the past quarter? Have I repented of this sin? What about that sin? What about that other sin? (Yes, It’s true. For those of you counting, I have sinned three times!) The problem with a culture of spiritual task achievement is that it seems that we keep going back. We need to repeat the same tasks over and over again. After a lifetime of repetitive spiritual activity, I’m beginning to wonder when I can finally check certain things off of the list.
    The further into this journey I go, the more I stumble over words that seem to have nothing to do with task completion. Words like abide. Remain. Rest. Dwell. Jesus’ teaching to the disciples in John chapter fifteen is a perfect example of the multitude of passages in the scripture that point to something deeper than spiritual checklists and task completion. Jesus declared to his followers, “I am the vine, you are the branches.” The invitation repeated over and over again in those moments was an invitation- ‘Abide in Me. . . .Remain in Me.’ The life that Christ was offering to that small gathering of men is the same life He offers to each of us. Not a checklist of tasks to be completed, not a membership to the club, but something deeper– something truly revolutionary.
     I don’t have the space to even begin here, but Incarnational Living is offered to all of us. Just as Jesus brought the Divine nature to a human form, we are invited to similarly live an incarnational reality; as Peter phrased it, ‘partaking in the Divine nature.’ Paul reflected this mystery in the phrase ‘Christ in you, the hope of glory.’
     This is not to say that the many checklists of my spiritual life are a bad thing. In fact, it seems that these disciplines carry in them the potential to lead me to deeper life in Christ. But when I focus on these spiritual tasks as the be-all and end-all of my spiritual life, I am getting the cart ahead of the horse. The gospel is summoning us into deeper life, real life; not an invitation into doing differently, but being differently. A moment by moment shift in who I am rather than a regimented prescription for what I must now do. The doing flows out of the being, not the other way around.
     But like so many kids who feel trapped in repetitive loops of residential treatment, I find myself attempting to accomplish change through a list of do’s and don’ts. My task-oriented self is a very busy guy, muddling through multiple overlapping checklists for God, family, work, church, friends, and stuff management. The lists never end! It is kind of funny. In the off chance that I ever do go on a vacation, I land somewhere out of state and immediately begin making a list of the things I need to do on my vacation. My task-oriented self is not remotely interested in ‘being’ over ‘doing.’ My task-oriented self has no use for quiet, solitude, or stillness. My task-oriented self is extremely self-satisfied when the checkmarks on the list multiply. My task-oriented self is occasionally willing to compromise and add ‘abide in Christ’ to the bottom of the checklist, but he has limited timeframes for ‘abiding.’
      But there is a deeper part of me that yearns for connection. I feel a soul level desperation for moments of connection with my wife and kids, or with a friend. I thirst for those elusive flashes of deep connection with God. And these moments of ‘being’ are something altogether different from my checklist oriented life.
      Jesus famously expressed his preference when visiting with His good friends Lazarus, Mary, and Martha. Mary was stealing moments simply basking in Jesus presence. I can only imagine the laughter, the stories, and the profound gems that were flowing in that room. But Martha was missing out- dealing with all of the necessities of hosting an important guest. So many of us resonate all too well with Martha’s heart. Jesus, look! See all the stuff I have done for you! I have toiled for hours, do you like what I have made? Dear friend, can you hear Jesus’ response? Drop the dishrag, abandon your broom, and quit worrying about whether dinner will be served promptly at six!  I have come for you, not your checklist.
     My task-oriented self reduces communion with Christ to a moment in my schedule at a specific place. Communion becomes a rigorous, carefully observed production instead of a minute by minute revolution in the way I experience life. Jesus intentionally chose the eating of a meal as the iconic rite of remembrance for his own death. It is sad and ironic how we have transformed the Lord’s Supper into something flat and non-relational. We endure communion in silence and piety, then we all go out for a relaxing lunch and enjoy one another’s company. I wonder if Jesus longs to join us for that second lunch?
     My task-oriented self reduces the fruit of the Spirit into a homework assignment that I never seem to be able to complete. In fact, I often experience most scripture as a demand, something to be added to the ever growing checklist of spiritual growth. But I fail to see that the Fruit of the Spirit is literally a product that emanates from God- it is not something that I produce apart from Him. My task-oriented self strives to achieve good fruit as its own end. Once again the cart is before the horse. Jesus made it clear that good fruit would flow out of our connection to Him, the source of life, as we navigate our days in Him.  Simply discovering what Eugene Peterson calls the ‘unforced rhythms of grace’ will naturally cause good things to cascade out of my life. Those who are in communion with Him live in an outflow of deep relational fruit. There I discover real love of God, others, and myself, true peace, and freedom.
     These days Jesus is inviting me to stop working my program and simply embrace His presence.
     And I am not putting that on my to-do list.