Simultaneous Suffering and Security

    Doug Skinner has been preaching for Northway Christian Church in Dallas, Texas on the ten most searched for Bible verses in the Bible Gateway internet site. On Sunday, September 13, 2015 he came to #3: Romans 8:28. “We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.”

I thought Doug’s sermon was honest, insightful and gutsy. Romans 8:26-31 was read in worship, and as I listened the context, before and after verse 28, prompted fresh insights that culminated in the celebration of the Lord’s Supper after the sermon.

Doug’s premise was that this verse and the confidence it gives in a world of tragedy and violence and cruelty can only be understood in light of God’s incarnation in Jesus, by which he entered fully into all human suffering, culminating at the cross. It was an accessible and compact presentation of Jürgen Moltmann’s concept of Jesus as the suffering God. Doug did not mention Moltmann, and I’m not suggesting Doug embraces all of Moltmann’s theology, only that I made this connection.

People do not often quote Romans 8:26-27 when they invoke v. 28 as a shallow, superficial panacea for personal or global troubles.  Yet this introduction is essential to understanding God’s assurance for inexplicable crises. In verses 18-25 Paul had already been contrasting the present suffering with the glory to be revealed.  He was building a case for having hope when all seems hopeless and acknowledged we do not know how to pray as we ought.

I have long contended that a lot of prayer (public and private) suggests we think God is ignorant of what we want and need and must be informed and instructed to know what to do. By way of contrast, I have also contended that the reverse is more to the point of prayer. When we are baffled and overwhelmed, our praying becomes a pleading with God to see what God sees and how God sees and how God addresses the realities beyond our limited vision.

When we know that we do not know how to pray as we ought, we are promised that the Spirit intercedes with groans too deep for words. The Jesus Prayer is appropriate at such times. “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me (us) a sinner (us sinners).” In that prayer, based on Luke 18:13, we give up putting into words what we see and want and cry out for Christ mercy on us who are broken human beings.

The Spirit’s intercession in groans too deep for words is my understanding and interpretation of my own praying in tongues. I’m not suggesting that my utterances are a heavenly language or even the sounds of the Holy Spirit, but of my spirit groaning along with the Spirit who is doing the real interceding and praying. I will not attempt to explain prayers, intercessions, communication between the persons of the Trinity but simply accept this as also a mystery beyond human language and logic, as Paul seemed to.

Setting this up against what Doug (and others) said about the incarnation being God’s full participation in all human suffering, I think the “groans too deep for words” may be understood as God’s grief and pain at human suffering, especially the violence and cruelty people inflict on each other. So as the Sprit intercedes, not just for my personal concerns but for all the pain of all humanity, it is according to the will of God, knowing God’s heart. With our limited human logic and language we see a contradiction between God’s will for good for all people and God’s grief over human suffering.

However, I see this passage as suggesting that in the Trinitarian mystery of the Godhead – the Spirit interceding for suffering people and the Father willing good for all people – converge in Jesus, the incarnate Son of God who expresses and embodies both the infinite love, compassion and mercy of God as well as experiencing the fullness and totality of human suffering.

As I reflect on “sighs too deep for words,” I am drawn to Psalm 130:1 which says, “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Lord hear my voice! Let you ear be attentive to my supplications!” This is an appeal too deep for words. The Psalmist is not instructing or informing God, but crying from somewhere so deep that it cannot be framed in words.

The appeal is not for a specific remedy for a crisis but for God to release mercy into the Psalmist’s unspeakable anguish. The appeal is not based on the Psalmist’s need but on the expansiveness of God’s mercy (v. 4). In fact, the Psalmist relinquishes any claim on deserving God’s mercy, for without it no one could stand (v. 3). No point in saying I don’t deserve this suffering, but only throwing one’s self, indeed all suffering humanity, on God’s mercy. Only then can the Psalmist wait on the redeeming love of the Lord (vv. 5-8).

As we celebrated the Lord’s Supper after the sermon, I thought about the variety of moods and directions the Lord’s Supper can take: joy, unity, fellowship, gratitude and also penitence, redemption, mortality and hope of resurrection. Sunday, as I looked at the torn shred of bread and cup in my hand, I realized these elements of broken body and shed blood were the signs conveying all human suffering, especially the suffering people inflict on each other. By eating and drinking, I was personally participating as both victim and perpetrator. But also by eating and drinking, I was receiving both Jesus’ (and thus God’s) full identification with human suffering and it redemptive remedy.

Doug mentioned in his sermon how reluctance to teach and meditate on Jesus’ return – particularly among mainline churches – deprives us of a full picture of the redemption in which God does set all to rights again and the loving good intentions of God will be fully realized. This is not “pie-in-the-sky-by-and-by” but the tension of the already and not yet of the Reign of God that fully engages human suffering in the here and now with a confidence that this is not all there is.

Though this paragraph is a tangent, I do suspect (speaking only for myself and my perceptions) that some of this reluctance to embrace the return of Jesus is due to the distortion, misuse and manipulation of the eschatological teaching of Scripture to monger fear, suspicion and even hate for specific political and social agendas, rather than the faith, hope and love it should engender.

Yet, as I looked at the bread and cup in my hand on Sunday, and saw Christ’s full participation in human suffering, I saw how much the cross is the touchstone and fulcrum point of the Gospel. For a long time (many years) I have frequently crossed myself after eating and drinking when receiving the Lord’s Supper. This is not at all a hollow or holy habit, but is a tangible way of identifying myself with Jesus in his death (Philippians 3:10).

For some reason (could it have been the prompting of the Holy Spirit?), I thought about the voice Constantine said he heard from heaven, “In this sign conquer!” Traditions vary on whether he saw a cross or a chi-rho () in the sky. I rather prefer to think in terms of a cross for the way it captures the culmination of Jesus’ receiving the fullness of human suffering, but I don’t know if chi-rho is any less significant in that regard. The chi (X) is usually understood to be a cross.

But in light of my reflections on Romans 8:26-30, I had an insight into Constantine’s experience, or at least it historic or legendary account. I have usually dismissed the claim of Constantine’s voice and vision as quite likely a fraudulent invention to co-opt a Christianity he didn’t understand, which he feared threatened his power. His remedy was to distort it and deploy it for his own military and political ambitions, which came at great cost to the true Gospel.

However, as a meditated during worship on Sunday, I had an insight into a possible alternate interpretation and explanation of Constantine’s voice and vision that he used to establish his own distorted and diminished version of Christianity as the official religion of the Roman Empire. From that rose the Holy Roman Empire (unholy though it certainly was), and Christendom, and the illusions of Christian civilization and Christian nations, which persists in our time.

If I accept the premise that Constantine did see a sign in the sky (cross or chi-rho) and hear a voice from heaven say, “In this sign conquer,” and accept that these indeed came from God (which I had previously considered preposterous based on what Constantine did with them), I am exploring the possibility for consideration that Constantine misunderstood and misapplied the message God was sending him.

Constantine had been conquering with the Roman sword and the power symbolized by the Roman eagle. Now God says, “conquer in the sign of the cross.” I would suggest that if this came from God, God was saying to Constantine, “Give up conquering with power, force and violence. Instead, take a whole new approach, the approach I (God) took with Jesus on the cross. Don’t put the cross on you battle banners, but put yourself on the cross, as it were, identifying with suffering people. Deploy all of your resources for the benefit of people in pain. Reverse your whole idea of conquest. Conquer by relinquishing, by letting go, by becoming like Jesus – sacrificing yourself for others.

As I reflected on this, my contemplations were to Romans 8:29-30, which are often avoided to keep from trying to explain predestination. Once again, I’m going to leave those theological conundrums to others, for I think they miss the point when seen in the full context of this passage, which is being conformed to the image of God’s Son, Jesus. This same principle is in Philippians 3:10 where Paul wrote of his intention to be like Christ in his death and suffering as the necessary path to resurrection.

Understanding Jesus as God incarnate entering fully into all human suffering, culminating on the cross, then for us to be conformed to the image of God Son, means we also must identify with human suffering and the cross so that our prayers harmonize with the Holy Spirit’s groans too deep for words. This is the path to which we as disciple of Jesus are called and predestined, for which we have been justified, which alone leads to glory!

These reflections prompted me to ponder my present place on my pilgrimage. I am waiting for one more interim pastorate and feeling some anxiety about scheduling an interview and getting a call and a starting time while managing our finances and some of our practical matters about the house and our cars. I ponder my craving for moving into a more relaxed pace on this transitional stage of our journey and a jubilee experience of freedom from debt and living in simplicity. Then I hold this up to what God says so clearly, that Jesus lived so fully into identification with suffering people. This can’t just be an abstraction but necessitates being with and present to people in their pain.

For all my anxiety about this transition in my journey, we have been remarkably comfortable: we have not missed any meals, all our bills are paid, out debts are almost eliminated, our health is pretty good (especially at our age), our children are going well (even Erik is doing better). So how dare I talk about human suffering? How dare I be anxious?