In Which I Do Not Mention Recent Pleasantnesses

Again, I've been feeling decidedly un-bloggy, but this time, it's not for lack of interesting things to blog about, some pleasant and some decidedly unpleasant.

By way of introduction to the unpleasant, I remember being struck by these words when I first heard them, but I felt particular need to look them up recently.

"I thank Thee first because I was never robbed before; second because although they took my purse they did not take my life; third, because although they took my all, it was not much; and fourth because it was I who was robbed, and not I who robbed."
~Matthew Henry

It has not been easy to be thankful that several hundred dollars was taken from my locked apartment several weeks ago, and I have felt alternately angry, frustrated, stupid, frightened, and cynical but rarely thankful. Yet in the manner of Matthew Henry, I am grateful that it was not my all, that it was probably taken by someone who needs it much more than I do, that it has been a part of my recent reflections on suffering, and that it has spurred me to greater prayer.

And the management of my apartment complex has taken it very seriously, particularly since it seems to be part of a pattern of thefts. They've interviewed all the employees, provided me with a safe, replaced my locks, interviewed me for more information, and replaced the bathroom stall quality sliding bolt on my door with a legitimate bolt and chain. They haven't done what I would really like, which is to say to me, "Don't worry about your bill for the next couple of months," but that would be too much to hope for.

I think it was one of God's little jokes that I discovered the theft the very same day that I gave a morning devotion on suffering. I told the teachers that morning (and I tell you) that I'm not sure that I can sum up my thoughts about suffering very well yet, but a combination of things--a Bible study on Philippians, the death from cancer of the toddler daughter of some acquaintances, reading (again) The Giver, and some Spirit-given urge to research and reflect on Scripture--got me thinking. Thinking not so much about why suffering happens but what it does.

First of all, I don't think suffering was ever intended for us, at least not in the way that we experience it now. But suffering entered the world as a consequence of sin, and with our hurts, confusions, angers, wars, depressions, deaths, harsh words, sicknesses, crimes, hatreds, secret pains, oppressions, griefs, injustices, weariness, aches, and wrongs, we have suffered. Lord, we have suffered.

But something changes with Christ. Christ was sinless and undeserving of suffering, and yet he chooses to enter into the grime of suffering. The image that came to mind recently was from the movie Slumdog Millionaire. In one scene, the protagonist as a little boy is locked by pranksters in an outhouse lifted on stilts over its pit of excrement. If that weren't bad enough, his hero--the Bollywood star whose picture he keeps with him at all times--has just arrived and is giving out autographs not far away. The boy has a choice, and for the sake of something supremely valuable to him, he plunges into the filth, races to his hero, and gets his autograph.

Christ, for the sake of something supremely valuable to him, has entered into the world and its pain. By some mysterious miracle, his Father has heaped honor on him precisely because he chose to suffer (Hebrews 2:9). By some mysterious miracle, we can embrace suffering as a calling to follow in his footsteps (1 Peter 2:20-21). By some mysterious miracle, we can call suffering a kind of grace (Philippians 1:29). By some mysterious miracle, suffering becomes an occasion for greater worship, faith, and service (1 Peter 4:15-16, 19).

Someone once pointed out to me that ugliness is not hard to achieve, but bringing beauty out of ugliness takes creativity and faith in ugly things. Thank goodness for a loving Artist.

My favorite insight came when I read Act 5:41. After the apostles have been publicly humiliated and flogged in the Sanhedrin, I read "The apostles left the Sanhedrin, rejoicing because they had been counted worthy of suffering for the Name." What a change from the cowardly men who fled the scene of Christ's suffering when he was betrayed in the garden. What a difference Easter makes.

I warned you that I don't have any great summative thoughts about suffering. I don't pretend that my life has been filled with suffering. That would sound pretentious anywhere but particularly so in Indonesia. I don't pretend to know why suffering happens, but I want to be looking for the ways that my God is turning suffering into glory and bringing beauty out of ugliness. I want to offer my meager sufferings as material for sacrifice and opportunities for praise.

My reflection on suffering isn't over. Just this morning, I listened to a sermon about Paul and Silas in the Philippian prison singing hymns of praise to Christ in the dark hours of the night after a day of injustice and pain.

So today I am thankful for one more thing.

I am thankful for a Lord who has also suffered.