The Gospel According to Joseph: Hope, Even in Death

This Sunday's sermon will be the final sermon in our series: The Gospel According to Joseph. As we said in the beginning and have reiterated many times throughout this series, there is too much in this story to cover it all in nine sermons (or even nine sermons plus nine devotionals). In every passage, there is some Christ-centered content that we just do not have time to cover. So, in this short devotional, we are going to talk briefly about the hope that the final chapters of Genesis give us, which we will not have time to cover in a sermon.

Both Ge. 49 and Ge. 50 end with death--the deaths of Israel and Joseph. Death may seem like a bad way to end such a great story, but when we look at the faith of these two men, we can see that in their deaths we're given hope--the hope of the gospel. Back in Ge. 47-48 (cf. The Gospel and Finishing Faithfully), we saw in Israel preparing for his death that his true hope was not in the physical land of the promise but in the God of the promise who was preparing a "better city, that is a heavenly one" for him and his descendants. In Ge. 50:24-25, we see Joseph express the same hope (a hope that we saw he had back in Ge. 41 as well, cf. The Gospel and Perspective) as he tells his brothers and descendants to take his bones with them to the promised land when they return. This is the hope that the author of Hebrews highlights in He. 11:13, "These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth." And, this is the hope that we have as well--a hope beyond the sin, pain, and death of this world.

We too will die as "strangers and exiles on the earth," for this world is not our home. Our home--our true inheritance as sons and daughters of God--is life without sin, sadness, or death in the new heavens and new earth with God Himself. John describes it for us briefly in Re. 21:1-4 (one of my favorite passages in all of Scripture):

¹ Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. ² And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. ³ And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. ⁴ 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.” (Emphasis added)

That is our hope, brothers and sisters in Christ, and even in death it is an anchor that will not fail.

Death is not the way it's supposed to be. We were created for so much more, but sin has brought the pain of death into our lives, which is in fact is something that I have seen tragically and clearly in my own congregation recently. Yet, Christ has defeated death for us (cf. 1 Co. 15:55) and given us hope even in the midst of it. This is why Paul says in 1 Th. 4:13 that we do not grieve as those who have no hope. Now, that doesn't mean we don't grieve. We do, for death is not the way it's supposed to be and someone we love has had to endure it, and now we have to continue as "strangers and exiles" in this world without their comfort and companionship. Yet, we grieve as those who have the hope of the gospel, for we know that believers are redeemed in Christ (Ro. 3:24), live in Christ (Ga. 2:20), and even die in Christ (1 Th.4:13-14), and we know that we will see them again when we too go to our true home. We have the hope of knowing that even in death our Savior is with us and will bring us into a world so much better than our life as "strangers and exiles" here on earth--our true inheritance with Him in the new heavens and new earth for all eternity. We know that the death of a believer (even untimely, early ones) means they're finally home, receiving their true inheritance from Christ, which gives us hope. Death, as the Heidelberg Catechism says in the answer to question 42, puts an end to our disease of sin and begins our eternal life--our true inheritance. Christians have hope, even in death.

So, even though this great story ends in death, it's good ending. It's an ending that reminds us that this world isn't our home, that we have a glorious inheritance awaiting us in Christ, and that even in the midst of the pain of death in this life, the loved ones of believers can grieve with hope instead of grieving with fear and despondency. Rest in that hope that the story of Joseph, Jacob, and Judah gives to us here at the end.

By His Grace,

Taylor

A Tragic Option

"Make no mistake, the problem of evil is not just a problem for Christianity--it is a problem for all worldviews because evil is fundamental to our human experience. If any worldview is to be considered plausible it must provide us with the intellectual and existential resources to deal with this issue." ~ Brett Kunkle from Stand to Reason

Yesterday Americans saw another example of the problem of evil up-close and personal with the bombing of the Boston Marathon. When things like this happen, often people will ask, "Where was God?" or some equivalent question. I do not at all mind the question; in fact, it is a good question. I have briefly written about this myself in past posts, and of course many wiser men have addressed this question (here is a good, short example and for a fuller treatment check out The Problem of Pain for pastoral help or God, Freedom, and Evil for a philosophical treatment). I do not bring up the subject today, however, to address the "problem" itself but talk a little about something I read on Facebook yesterday. Obviously Facebook was full of comments about this tragedy. Like most major events that hit the Facebook newsfeed, comments were across the board, and I was encouraged by some, discouraged by one or two, impressed by several, and perplexed by a few. One in particular stood out, and I wanted to share it as well as a comment (a tragic option) that was added to my friend's post.

A friend of mine posted this on Facebook yesterday:

Playing off what Steve Childers said:
Our Options When Tragedy Strikes:
Option One: A sovereign God who is not loving. He doesn't care about our suffering.
Option Two: A loving God who is not sovereign. He cares but he's not in control.
Option Three: The all-sovereign, all-loving God, whose ways are often beyond our ability to fully comprehend (Isaiah 55:8-9). The sinfulness of man is far worse than we could imagine. The only hope we have for what happened in Boston is Jesus Christ changing people.
Only He can bring us comfort in the face of tragedy.

I completely agree with my friend's post. In fact, I do not bring it up because I want to add or subtract anything to what he has said. I bring it up because a comment was made on the post that presents a truly tragic option. The individual commented: "Option #4 - There is no God." That is what I want to address briefly.

The simple statement came with no further explanation as to the motive or mindset of this individual, but I think we can assume that this individual added this option because they endorse it. Perhaps they think it deals with the problem of evil and pain (which we all experience) better than any theistic explanation. But, does it? In my option it does not because this tragic fourth option has an important corollary that most do not consider. Most who accept this option do not follow it to its natural, logical end. They exist in a state of inconsistency that attempts to hold that life still has meaning and purpose and yet there is no god. There are a few, however, who have been honest about it. Ablert Camus, for example, rejected the idea of God (following the "God is dead" movement of Nietzsche) and determined that because of this life is absurd:

So long as the mind keeps silent in the motionless world of its hopes, everything is reflected and arranged in the unity of nostalgia. But with its first move this world cracks and tumbles: an infinite number of shimmering fragments is offered to the understanding. We must despair of ever reconstructing the familiar, calm surface which would give us peace of heart.... If the only significant history of human thought were to be written, it would have to be the history of successive regrets and its impotences. (The Myth of Sisyphus, p. 18, emphasis added)

Without God bringing, giving meaning to the universe, we must despair of ever being able to find any meaning in anything ourselves. In fact, according to Camus' honest look at life without God, it is man's very search for meaning that creates the absurdity of this life:

This world in itself is not reasonable, that is all that can be said. But what is absurd is the confrontation of this irrational and the wild longing for clarity whose call echoes in the human heart. The absurd depends as much on man as on the world. For the moment it is all that links them together. It binds them one to the other as only hatred can weld two creatures together.... This is all I can discern clearly in this meaningless universe... (ibid, p. 21, emphasis added)

So, Camus, who cannot give any comfort to the "longing for clarity" that "echoes in the human heart," is forced to conclude:

Hence the intelligence, too, tells me in its way that this world is absurd. Its contrary, blind reason, may well claim that all is clear; I was waiting for proof and longing for it to be right. But despite so many pretentious centuries and over the heads of so many eloquent and persuasive men, I know that is false. (ibid. pp. 20-21)

Without God this world is absurd. The necessary corollary to "option #4" is life is absurd, the problem of evil is unsolvable, and man's search for meaning, unity, and clarity is utterly futile. So, what does Camus, in his honest look at life without God, believe should be our response to this? He tells us that there are really two intelligent options: suicide or "fate surmounted by scorn." (ibid. p. 121) Your only options are to kill yourself or live life with hatred of the absurdity, scorn of this universe, and enough pride and defiance so as never to let the futility beat you. According to Camus, only dogged hate and pride will get one through this life.

As my quote from Brett Kunkle (above) points out, atheists must deal with the problem of evil just as theists must, and for their philosophical world-view to be acceptable, it must give us the resources necessary to deal with this issue and others like it. Does it? With the tragic option #4, what are we going to say to the victims of the bombing of the Boston Marathon? Perhaps: "In the grand scheme of the universe your suffering is utterly meaningless--life and all that comes with it has no transcendent meaning or value," "Take heart, you will soon cease to exist forever and your suffering will be over," or, as Bertrand Russell said, "...all the labours of the ages, all the devotion, all the inspiration, all the noonday brightness of human genius, are destined to extinction in the vast death of the solar system..." so who cares, right? Option #4 cannot deal with the problem of evil, at least not in a way that man's soul will find acceptable. Option #4 cannot offer any hope to the victims of this tragedy or a world living in fear of similar things happening to their loved ones. Option #4 cannot give us any resources for handling the problem of evil other than Camus' two options. Option #4 can only say, "This tragedy is absurd. Life is absurd. The bombing of the Boston Marathon only reminds us that we must either kill ourselves and get it over with or buckle down, hate this universe, live with defiance, and never let the world win." Is that really palatable? Is that anything less than tragic?

Now, do not get me wrong. I do not believe God exists, the Bible is true, and Jesus is the only hope for the world because it is the most palatable option. I believe it because it is true. I believe it because the Hound of Heaven relentlessly pursued me through my rejection of Him and brought me to the point where I could not deny His truth and my desperate need of Him. However, it is also the most palatable option, and I believe that is precisely because it is true, because it is the only world-view that can make sense of everything in the universe. As C. S. Lewis states, "I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen. Not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else." (The Weight of Glory, p. 140) Only option #3 (i.e. orthodox Christianity) can shed light on pain, suffering, and the universe itself and allow us to understand their meaning.

By His Grace,
Taylor

Suffering, A Prayer

Thou art great, and we are small.
  Thou art sovereign, and we are weak.
Thou art infinite, and we are finite.
  Thou art eternal, and we tarry but just a little while.

But with all Thy greatness and with all Thy power,
  Thou dost bend down low,
And listen to the sound of our tears
  As they strike the ground. ~ An old rabbis' prayer

In some previous posts I have mentioned that I am taking a class on worship and our professor, Dr. Derek Thomas, has encouraged us to write out prayers on various subjects so that we can think about how we would lead a congregation in prayer before a sermon. This is not so that we would memorize prayers but so that we would engage in the practice of "studied prayers" and be prepared to pray well before a congregation.

Below is one I wrote about suffering. I hope you find it helpful, perhaps something you can pray through, and perhaps a blessing to your soul.

Father, there are some of us here today that have a hard time singing many of the words in these songs of praise. Some of us here are hurting and have a hard time praising You. Instead of thoughts of joy, our hearts cry out like David did, "O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest." Suffering seems to be our lot in life right now. Tears have been our food both day and night, and, while we know You are there, You feel further than the moon. It feels like steadfast love has ceased. Remind us, Father, of what You did for us in Jesus. Remind our hearts that You brought us out of bondage from sin by sacrificing Your only son. Remind us that You have given us the down payment of glory in the person of the Holy Spirit. Remind us that through the cross You turn suffering into glory. Remind us of Your everlasting, intense, electing love so that we can endure the pain. Remind us that in all Your greatness and in all Your power, You bend down low and listen to the sound of our tears as they strike the ground. 

Father, we confess, it is difficult to praise You during this time. We confess, it is difficult to trust You during this time. We confess that we want to be in control. We confess that we are happy to praise You when we feel like we are in control and everything is going fine, but when we lose control—when the wind blows, when the storm is about to sink the ship, when the darkness is closing in, and when the giants are looming over us—it is difficult to bring our hearts to praise and say, "Blessed be the name of the Lord." It is difficult to trust You. We want to trust Your heart, Father, especially when we cannot trace Your hand. Remind us, Father, of what You did for us in Jesus. Remind our hearts that You brought us out of bondage from sin by sacrificing Your only son. Remind us that You have given us the down payment of glory in the person of the Holy Spirit. Remind us that through the cross You turn suffering into glory. Remind us of Your everlasting, intense, electing love so that we can endure the pain. Remind us that in all Your greatness and in all Your power, You bend down low and listen to the sound of our tears as they strike the ground. 

Father, our minds fail us during times like these. We know that You are sovereign over everything in this world and we know how much You love us, yet we cannot understand how this suffering can be worked out for our good. How is it that hope can come from suffering? How is it that sharing in Christ’s suffering means also sharing in His comfort? When we try to wrap our mind around why this is happening, we simply cannot understand. Where shall wisdom be found? And, where is the place of understanding? We feel like Peter and the other apostles in John 6 who were temped leave but had to admit, "To whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life." Even though our minds fail us, Father, we know we have nowhere else to go. Remind us, Father, of what You did for us in Jesus. Remind our hearts that You brought us out of bondage from sin by sacrificing Your only son. Remind us that You have given us the down payment of glory in the person of the Holy Spirit. Remind us that through the cross You turn suffering into glory. Remind us of Your everlasting, intense, electing love so that we can endure the pain.

The darkness feels like it is closing in, Father, but help us not to doubt in the dark what we have known to be true about You in the light. Help us to remember Your deeds, Father, to remember Your wonders of old. Help us to ponder all Your work and meditate on Your mighty deeds. Help us to say to our souls what the psalmist once said thousands of years ago, "Why are you cast down, O my soul, and what are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him, my salvation and my God." Help us to remember that even when You seem further than the moon, You are not far off. In fact, You are closer than our skin.

Father, I pray those of us who are not suffering right now can be a comfort to those who are. Help us, Father, to not trivialize or "spiritualize" their grief. Help us to suffer with them, to grieve with them. Help us to be present with them in their suffering, even if we do not know how to help. Help us to be able to listen as they struggle and support them with prayer and love. Father, we want to help them mourn but not as those who have no hope. Help us to be able to mourn with them as those who have hope—hope in Jesus, in heaven, in the new heavens and earth, in Your steadfast love, in Your promises to work out all things for our good, in everlasting glory.

Father, we pray all these things in the name of Your Son, whom You put forward as a sacrifice so that we can have hope—Jesus. Amen. 

By His Grace,

Taylor

Trusting God: Even When Life Hurts

"Our lives are also cluttered with a lot of 'if onlys.' 'If only I had done this,' or 'if only that had not happened.' But again, God has no 'if onlys.' God never makes a mistake; God has no regrets. 'As for God, his way is perfect' (Psalm 18:30). We can trust God. He is trustworthy." ~ Jerry Bridges, Trusting God: Even When Life Hurts

This month's free audio book from ChristianAudio.com is Jerry Bridges' Trusting God: Even When Life Hurts. This is an excellent book that deals with relating to God midst the darkness and pain that we will at times encounter in life. Stand to Reason has given a helpful summary of the book just in case you want to learn more about it. But, if you jump on it now, you get it for free and can listen to it on your drive to work or something like that. So, even if you do not like it, you have not spent any money! Here is part of Stand to Reason's summary:

Bridges says there are three truths about God that we must keep in mind throughout our times of suffering:
In the arena of adversity, the Scriptures teach us three essential truths about God—truths we must believe if we are to trust Him in adversity. They are:

• God is completely sovereign.
• God is infinite in wisdom.
• God is perfect in love. 

Someone has expressed these three truths as they relate to us in this way: "God in His love always wills what is best for us. In His wisdom He always knows what is best, and in His sovereignty He has the power to bring it about."
The rest of the book follows that outline, looking to the Bible to expand on each of these points, exploring how they all fit together, and addressing objections and misconceptions. Here are some excerpts...

 Go read the rest of the summary for yourself and download the free audio book.

By His Grace,
Taylor

Book Review: "A Grief Observed"

Yesterday was C. S. Lewis' birthday (thanks Adam for reminding me). He was born November 29, in 1898. Recently I wrote a short review of one of his best works (in my opinion): A Grief Observed. If you get a chance, buy it and read it, even if you are not dealing with grief right now. It is short, honest, and will bless your soul. Enjoy the review...

Many books have been written on the subject of grief but none quite like this one. Most books on the subject of grief are written about how to deal with grief. This book, however, talks indirectly about dealing with grief by doing exactly what the title implies: observing a particular grief. This book is not about grief (in general) observed for such a book would have to be, as Douglas Gresham says in his introduction to this work, “so general and nonspecific as to be academic in its approach and thus of little use to anyone approaching or experiencing bereavement.”  This book observes C. S. Lewis’ grief after having lost his wife, Helen Joy Gresham (referred to simply as “H.” in the book). It was originally written simply as the journal of a man who was struggling with God and the loss of part of himself. Lewis had no intentions of publishing it until a friend of his read it and begged him to publish it because it would help so many people. It certainly has done that.

This book is especially near to my heart because I have grieved in a way similar to Lewis. I did not lose a wife but I lost my two closest friends in the span of a few months. I struggled mightily with God for a long time after that. There were many days where I shook my fist at God and said, “God, I would leave you if I had anywhere else to go.” Unfortunately, I did not know about A Grief Observed at the time. I know it would have helped me to know that “real” Christians actually do struggle with God when they grieve.

What a “real” Christian thinks, feels, and says when they struggle with grief is possibly the greatest contribution of this book. Often in the Church we spiritualize grief in such a way as to make it seem trivial, which is very unfair to those who are experiencing it. Lewis expresses this frustration, “Talk to me about the truth of religion and I’ll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I’ll listen submissively. But don’t come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don’t understand.”  The truth of the gospel is foundational in all things, especially death, but many people who have not experienced such grief try to use it as a magic wand to make those who are grieving instantly “feel better.” They apply it with the hopes of making the grief go away. Yet, they do not understand that the gospel is not meant to keep us from mourning. It is meant to help us mourn as those who have its hope (1 Thess. 4:13). All of us who grieve must be allowed to grieve and struggle with God during these hard times. The struggle is normal and okay for God knows that we are dust (Ps. 103:14). In my estimation, the greatest contribution that this book makes is simply showing that “real” Christians struggle with God during grief. Lewis is one of the giants of the modern Church. His polemical works were ahead of their time and second to none, yet during the grief of death even the man who wrote The Problem of Pain and Mere Christianity asked the question, “[W]here is God?”  Even Lewis struggled with feeling that when “you go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain… [you find] a door slammed in your face, and a sound of a bolting and a double bolting on the inside.”  The Church needs this kind of honesty and permission to struggle with God in grief.

Probably the second greatest contribution that Lewis makes with this work is the fact that he does not let the struggle consume him. This work chronicles his move from feeling like the door to God was slammed and locked in his face to realizing, “It is not the locked door. It is more like a silent, certainly not uncompassionate, gaze. As though He shook His head not in refusal but waiving the question. Like, ‘Peace, child; you don’t understand.’” This may not seem like a large step to one who has not grieved, but those who have felt the cold pain of the closed door know that this is a long way down the path of recovery. If Lewis had left us with the pain of the initial struggle, it would not be helpful to any grieving Christian. However, Lewis honestly chronicled the struggle from deep pain to the point where he could say, “How wicked would it be, if we could, to call the dead back!... Poi si torno all’ eternal fontana.”  The last section translates, “Then back to the eternal fountain.” In this work he showed us that “real” Christians struggle with grief, but also that “real” Christians continue to struggle until they can say to God, “Praise in due order; of [You] as the giver, of her as the gift…. by praising I can still, in some degree, enjoy her, and already, in some degree, enjoy [You].”

The third and final contribution of this work that I would like to mention (there are many more outside of the scope of this short review) is the honest way he struggles with the way others treat him. Those who have a friend who is bereaved can learn a lot of how to treat that friend from this work. For example, he acknowledges that he wants to be around others but wants just to be able to be while around them—“I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.”  During grief, especially the initial stages, you do not want to be alone but you also fear being around others because they will try to get you to “talk about it” when you just need their presence. If only people could understand that you do not want them to make you happy; you just want to know that others still are. I think this is what Lewis is expressing here. Another example: “An odd byproduct of my loss is that I’m aware of being an embarrassment to everyone I meet…. I see people, as they approach me, trying to make up their minds whether they’ll ‘say something about it’ or not. I hate it if they do, and if they don’t.”  I hated this too. People simply do not know how to be around you. They do not want to treat you like “normal” because they feel that would be insensitive but they also do not know how to talk to you about it, so they end up making you feel like an invalid. Most of the time you do not want to talk; you just want to be treated like normal so that you can bring it up when you are ready to talk. For all those who have not experience such grief, A Grief Observed is very helpful in learning how your grieving friends want to be treated.

This book is one-of-a-kind. I am so thankful that Lewis’ friend convinced him to publish it for it has helped so many grieving Christians and will continue to help them for many years to come. I have described the three greatest contributions that I think this book makes but there are so many more that I simply could not fit into the scope of this review. Whether someone is grieving a great loss, knows someone who is grieving a great loss, or simply wants to understand Christian grief better, this book will be invaluable to them. As Douglas Gresham says in his introduction, “…at least this book will help us to face our grief, and to ‘misunderstand a little less completely.’”

By His Grace,
Taylor