finally, a hallelujah

After this I heard what seemed to be the loud voice of a great multitude in heaven, crying out,

Hallelujah!
Revelation 19:1

“Hallelujah” appears twenty-four times in the Bible. Only four of those times is it found in the New Testament and Revelation 19 lays claim to those. Think of that for a moment. The first time the word “hallelujah“ shows up in the New Testament is at the very end.

One could imagine a hefty hallelujah following the huge buildup in the previous 256 chapters of gospel and epistle. Like the swelling of a musical piece to its finale, ‘hallelujah’ hits just the right note.

I spent a little time grousing to the Lord this morning about unanswered prayers. After finishing out my little pity party, I opened the Word and picked up where I left off yesterday. The first words I saw are what you just read in the quote-box above.

For the 247th time this year, I mentally threw my hands up and said, “Okay, God, I get it. You win.”

I’m sure you can’t relate to that at all.

Laura Story sang about such things in her single, “Blessings.”

What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy
And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise?
—Laura Story, Blessings © Capitol Christian Music Group, Capitol CMG Publishing

If you’re out here struggling against unanswered prayers, hard labors, injustices, and dark nights of the soul, don’t lose hope. We’ll all sing “hallelujah” when all is said and done. Few are fortunate to get vindication in this life; most have to wait till it gets nearer to the end of the book.

Let’s say it again — louder — for the people in the back:

Once more they cried out,

Hallelujah!
Revelation 19:3

Amen. Boy do I feel that.

This “hallelujah” is for all whose theology is outpacing their doxology. For everyone who lived righteously and didn’t receive their reward in life but were rather hated and jeered and despised, this hallelujah belongs to you.

It’s for all the smoldering wicks and bruised reeds. The ones Paul Simon called “the sat upon, spat upon, ratted on.” It’s for the publican at the door of the temple who can’t possibly know he’s been justified until the book comes out.

For every parent who trained up their children in the way they should go but whose child departed from it anyway, this is your hallelujah.

For the followers of Christ who were promised they could “reign in this life” but were crushed by it instead, you get this hallelujah too.

Those who prayed and believed for healing in this life but you still had to carry it like a thorn in your side anyway, your hallelujah is coming.

For every survivor of rape and physical and sexual abuse who was told to keep quiet about it ‘for the good of the church,’ or, worse, not believed, this hallelujah belongs to you.

To the saintly ones who’ve been silenced, canceled, vilified, and shown the door by the mob, here’s your hallelujah.

When you opted rather to bless than retaliate, God sees you and invites you to own this hallelujah. All who were crushed by oppression but held to Jesus anyway can take your place in the choir. To the one who seemed to have the devil on your back all the way to heaven, this hallelujah’s especially for you.

Spoiler alert for those still not sure about how it ends:

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.
🔸🔸🔸🔸
And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.”
Revelation 21:4,5

The page is turning; we’re getting closer to the end of the book. 2023 fidgets around the corner. For those who have made Jesus their Life in spite of every human reason not to, perhaps this is this year we finally get our hallelujah.

Even so, Come, Lord Jesus.

I’ll close out with the video to Laura Story’s song I referenced earlier. Hallelujah is not found in the lyrics, but it expresses a hallelujah heart better than anything I could say.

So for now I’ll be waiting to sing that Most Holy Hallelujah with you in that off-in-the-distance-yet-to-be Day when all the dots finally connect and all those unanswered prayers make perfect sense,

Pasture

Laura Story, Blessings

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God is in the groaning

Scripture: 2 Corinthians 4:15-5:4

Fellow pilgrim, follower of Christ, brother and sister in the faith, we are not built for this world. We are made for the next.

Paul invites us to GROAN over our situation. He puts us in a chapel with a soft organ playing “Abide With Me” and “I Come To The Garden Alone” in the background.

Candles flicker in the stifling air.

Grim-faced pallbearers line the front pew and fellow mourners flank us on every side.

He sets us in front of an open casket; we look inside and see…ourselves.

This life has taken its toll on us and we see the effect of it in our corpses. We mourn. Lament. Groan.

Reality hits us:

We are not made for this world.

C.S. Lewis wrote in ‘Mere Christianity’,

If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.

Paul tells us the most natural thing for us to do is GROAN.

We’re not alone, either. Romans informs us even creation feels deep pangs of anxiety and later in the same chapter, that the Holy Spirit himself groans wordless prayers in his intercessions for us.

“Jesus knows all about our struggles,
He will guide till the day is done,
There’s not a friend like the lowly Jesus,
No not one; no not one”

It might surprise us to turn around inside that funeral chapel and see who the mourners are. Trees and mountains, seas and forests, flowers and soil, stars and planets. Each weeping alongside the broken-hearted saints who long for release from the pain of this earth.

Nightbirde

A young 30-something singer/songwriter known to her fans as “Nightbirde” experienced career-ending cancer in her lungs, spine, and liver. The pain of her battle with cancer is found in these words she penned last March, nearly a year ago:

“After the doctor told me I was dying, and after the man I married said he didn’t love me anymore, I chased a miracle in California and sixteen weeks later, I got it. The cancer was gone. But when my brain caught up with it all, something broke. I later found out that all the tragedy at once had caused a physical head trauma, and my brain was sending false signals of excruciating pain and panic.

I spent three months propped against the wall. On nights that I could not sleep, I laid in the tub like an insect, staring at my reflection in the shower knob. I vomited until I was hollow. I rolled up under my robe on the tile. The bathroom floor became my place to hide, where I could scream and be ugly; where I could sob and spit and eventually doze off, happy to be asleep, even with my head on the toilet.”

Then she courageously added,

“Call me cursed, call me lost, call me scorned. But that’s not all. Call me chosen, blessed, sought-after. Call me the one who God whispers his secrets to. I am the one whose belly is filled with loaves of mercy that were hidden for me. Even on days when I’m not so sick, sometimes I go lay on the mat in the afternoon light to listen for Him. I know it sounds crazy, and I can’t really explain it, but God is in there—even now. I have heard it said that some people can’t see God because they won’t look low enough, and it’s true. If you can’t see him, look lower. God is on the bathroom floor.”

Nightbirde died last month.

Did you hear her groaning? This precious girl, blessed with singing talent and promised a future? Her candle snuffed out. Her song tragically morphed into her obituary.

Nightbirde groaned, but found in her groaning on the bathroom floor that God was there.

God groans when we hurt

Nightbirde included this paragraph in her brief ‘memoir’:

Call me bitter if you want to—that’s fair. Count me among the angry, the cynical, the offended, the hardened. But count me also among the friends of God. For I have seen Him in rare form. I have felt His exhale, laid in His shadow, squinted to read the message He wrote for me in the grout: “I’m sad too.”
—Nightbirde, ‘God is on the Bathroom Floor, March 9, 2021

Our Lord promised us in Isaiah 63:9 “when we suffer, He suffers.”

Mary and Martha groaned because their brother was gone. Jesus visited them in their sorrow… and what did he do?

He GROANED.

Before “Jesus wept,” he groaned. “He was deeply moved” (ESV) is, quite literally, “He was angered in spirit and troubled himself.” The word describes a warhorse snorting and stomping its hoof, itching to charge into the fray and face the enemy.

Sometimes our suffering, or seeing another suffer, makes us just plain mad.

Jesus knew that anger.

Our Savior doesn’t just “feel your pain.” He also hates it. He hates what it does to you. Yes he knows the long game, that every eye will be dried one day and there will be no more pain, but he also meets us in our moment with mercy and justice on the bathroom floor.

God is on your side in the groaning

The Lord is with you when your spouse leaves you for another; he’s with you in the doctor’s office when she tells you the bad news, the worst news. The Father’s with you at the bottom of a cliff. He’s with you when you’ve cried yourself to sleep over your prodigal child; and he is with you when your bleeding heart is inside a casket as it’s being lowered into the ground.

I’m spending my mornings reading from the book of Jeremiah.

Just this week I was reading where he felt “deceived” by God. He had just preached a sermon that got him slapped and put in chains and in a very raw and earnest moment he accused God of “deceiving him.”

This word is used throughout the prophecies of Jeremiah. The major “flaw in the system” in Judah was deception and lies and Jeremiah calls it out again and again.

Now, however, he applies it to God.

How could you, God?
Why?
This is unbecoming of you! How dare you! I am your prophet and you are treating me this way?

He threatens to retire. To quit. To just walk away.

But four verses later, he has a change of heart. God meets him in his anguish and gives him a vision. Jeremiah saw in the Spirit that God was with him…and not just as a friend!

Jeremiah saw God as a WARRIOR standing over him, protecting him, shielding him.

A eulogy of no regrets

Paul, the officiant, delivers a pitch-perfect eulogy. In our fog of beleaguered sorrow, he waxes pastoral as he answers each of our complaints with gospel hope.

“Yes, you’re wasting away…but that’s just your ‘tent’; the real you is glorious!”
“I know these troubles are all you can see; to you they seem impenetrably mountainous. I assure you, God’s love for you is an eternal mountain range and these trials are but dust in the wind.”
“Beloved child, you can see no end to your groaning, but your Father is wise, loving, and good; BUT YOUR FATHER SEES…AND HE KNOWS; he keeps his eye on the clock and his hand on the thermostat.”

We groan, but don’t give up.

Why?

Because we know a secret.

Paul stacks hyperboles, showing how small our worst trials and troubles are here on earth (as well as our happiest moments) compared to what is being prepared for us in glory.

The day after tomorrow Sandy and I will be venturing out west with friends to see the Grand Canyon. I’ve never seen it. I cannot tell you how excited I am.

Even so,

Pastor Paul tells me I can put that glorious event on one scale — standing on the precipice of the Grand Canyon — then pile on the other side of the scale, higher than the heavens, the Day of my uncovering as I stand in the presence of Jesus.

Now, that’s something for which I really, really, really can’t wait.

I only have one message. I’ve shared it forty years in life, word — and groaning — all across the country. It’s my soulsong, my life verse, my core theology, and my eulogy:

God is God,
God is good,
God is good at being God.

And (don’t forget this),

God is good at being God in all our groaning.

Selah, beloved.

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Call Me Ephraim

Genesis 41:51-52

Joseph named his older son Manasseh, for he said, “God has made me forget all my troubles and everyone in my father’s family.” Joseph named his second son Ephraim, for he said, “God has made me fruitful in this land of my grief.”

First off, let’s recognize the great white whale in the room.

Life is unfairly hard.

{Agreed.}

Yet God is deliberately good and kind.

There’s a well-known story in the Written Word that goes like this: a younger son is lost in a far country and father dutifully waits for his return. At long last when the day of reunion comes, father falls on his long-lost son’s neck and weeps for joy after which a grand family party ensues.

You know the tune.

Or at least you think you do.

This particular plot is found in the Old Testament not the New. It’s about Joseph, who, by character and demeanor, is a far cry from that other young son who actually chose the far country.

Let’s briefly recap Joseph’s story in the light of that famous chestnut ‘bad things happen to good people’ as it easily applies here.

Young Joseph has a quality his sibling brothers do not share and their father recognizes it and dresses him in a special robe. The Hebrew doesn’t have to mean multi-colored, it can mean long-sleeved. At any rate, it was fit for a prince among tribesmen, and the brothers hated him for it; that, and those self-serving made-up dreams.

They concoct a scheme to kill him off, but Judah steps in and, ostensibly out of some measure of mercy for the lad, edits the storyline to look like a killing when, in actuality, they sell off their brother to a migratory tribe. The final nail involved dipping the blasted coat in animal blood and – Oscar-worthily – presenting it most forlornly to their inconsolable father.

Meanwhile, Joseph, after being sold yet again, lands on his feet by the sheer grace of God. He gets a gig managing the household of the head-dude of Pharaoh’s security detail!

Now, if I’m writing the story, I’m going to exact poetic justice right away. I’m going to have Joseph quickly rising through the ranks and becoming da man in Egypt. His brothers would be sorry, especially when Emperor Joe sent an insertion team into Canaan-land to extract his siblings and throw them at the foot of his throne of justice.

But that’s just me.

We know that God holds the pen, however, and He’s got some things to redeem out of Joseph before He can move on with His ultimate plan.

God doesn’t want Joseph to even toy with the ideas of retribution and payback. He can’t have His man gloating or dismissive. He needs him to be His savior even to the very ones who despised him!

That’s how God writes it.

Joseph’s very cush world gets upended when the boss’s wife cries “rape!” after her repeated (re: daily) attempts to seduce the teenage boy go unrequited, and he suddenly becomes the target of the adage hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Hello hell-hole prison.

For thirteen long, dark, harrowing years.

Forsaken? Forgotten? For what?

▶️ The good son.

▶️ The trusted employee.

▶️ The innocent charge.

You’d think he’d emerge from prison poisoned by bitterness with bloodlustful payback on his mind. Or, at the very least, go to his grave with unyielding unforgiveness brewing his tempest in a teapot. And you’d guess wrong.

Case in point (and I’m skipping over a lot of really cool poetic justice here): Joseph, sentence miraculously commuted, settles into life, settles down with a beautiful bride, and starts a family. Life’s good.

He is given two sons, and the very naming of them speaks volumes of his understanding how life is supposed to work when trust trumps blame and compliance bests complaint.

Joseph insists his firstborn be called “folly forgotten” and his second, “fruitful hardship”. Imagine! James M. Boice points out the order had to be thus for

“no one can really be fruitful until the past is forgotten in the proper sense. If we are living in the past, whether that is the past of unconfessed sin, hurts, suffering, or even old blessings, we will never be completely fruitful in the present. We must let the past be the past, forgetting it, and go on with God.”

It’s the name of the second-born (Ephraim) I’d like to comment on because it’s so my own story.

In each decade since my early 20’s I’ve faced death in one way or another. Some decades brought me to the brink more than once.

Most recently I was spirited from my home in the middle of the night by EMT’s who couldn’t find vital signs. I was septic, dehydrated, losing vision, and barely responsive. Later I’d be told I got to the ER in barely enough time or we’d be looking at a far different outcome. I didn’t ask what that meant but I have a good idea.

I’m in my mid-fifties and this is the third time in this half-decade God’s miraculously preserved my life, I can only presume, for more ‘preservation of life.’¹There are still some assignments ahead for me.

As a 21-year old I prayed, “Lord, put me in a fire and don’t ever let up.” As such, suffering has been the mark of my life – AND I WOULDNT CHANGE A THING. Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I’ve found a depth of intimacy with Christ I wouldn’t have found otherwise.

Like Joseph, I want the product of my life to tell the story that I’m doubly blessed and fruitful from all my afflictions, and God has been doubly kind to allow me the privilege of suffering for His glory and name.

This is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all my life long:

Praise God for loss.
Praise God for the fire.
Praise God for heart-brokenness.
Praise God for weakness.
Praise God for humility.
Praise God for the tough times.
Praise God for the sweetness of the fruit that grows from the soil of hardship.

If any of this sounds weird, it’s only because I’m trying to live up to my name. You can call me Ephraim.

¹ Genesis 45:5,7