Tag Archives: kingdom of heaven

Pain and Suffering, Together

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Jesus said not to worry about what to eat or drink or wear because our heavenly Father knows what we need (Matthew 6:25, 32). He said to seek the kingdom of God first and all these things—what we eat, drink, and wear—will be “added” to us (Matthew 6:33). I’m not sure what that means, and it leaves me with a lot of questions when I look around. Every year millions of people die of starvation and exposure. In the time it takes you to read this post, 15-30 people will die of starvation or malnutrition. Is this because they’re worrying? Or because they’re not seeking first the kingdom? If God sees their need, is He holding out on them? That seems cruel at best and sadist at worst. Yet I cling to the image of a loving Father and the incarnation of a God willing to subject Himself to the worst human conditions.

Why is it that Christians like to tell stories about a single mom praying and finding a bag of groceries at her front door, and atheists like to talk about science? Nobody likes to talk about human suffering. With or without God, it doesn’t make sense, and it hurts.

Is it helpful to wonder what God is up to—to look around at all the people who are trusting God and “seeking first” and still dying? Why does it sound like Jesus is preaching prosperity gospel, when He just said we’ll be reviled and persecuted and lied about (Matthew 5:11)? I see His point that worrying is a waste of mental energy (“Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?” Matthew 6:27). But it sounds like He’s saying God “will supply all your needs” (Philippians 4:19). And I have to wonder who He’s talking to, and what He means by “needs.” If He means our need to be clothed and fed—which is what He said—how do I reconcile this with the world? I don’t know why, as a loving Father, He’s not stepping in. Perhaps suffering doesn’t bother Him in the same way it bothers me? I’m not suggesting it bothers me more—I have a feeling He suffers with every suffering person. I guess I’m wondering if it bothers Him different.

Gregory Boyle says we find God in the margins. Maybe if suffering truly bothered me I would show up in the margins—with the impoverished, incarcerated, mentally ill, homeless, illiterate. Perhaps God is richly present there, and if I find the courage to go there I will see Him. And maybe if I see Him there I will get a hint of why He’s not “saving” people in the ways I expect. Perhaps—and I know this idea is really “out there”—He meant for humans to care for each other.

Could it be that “do not worry” is a corporate message, a statement that comes into being as the “rich” and the “poor” press together? Maybe in seeking first the kingdom we do not read our Bibles and pray, we go to the margins; and maybe as we go to the margins we find ourselves—we feel centered for the first time—even as the hungry find food and the naked find clothing, the weak find courage and the homeless find shelter, and the incarcerated have a full schedule during visiting hours.

Perhaps the kingdom of heaven is here when we press together: the poverty of the rich and the poverty of the poor simultaneously relieved as we hold hands. Perhaps starvation is more real than a full pantry and I will only find salvation when I am willing to look depravation in the eye.

I don’t feel any closer to “answers” (whatever those are), but I do have a desire to go to the local penitentiary and ask an inmate to save my life, to change my narrative by telling me his story, and to bring me to the margin to find the kingdom of heaven. I wonder if freedom is behind bars, joy is in hardened hearts, hope is in blank faces, and we find it together.

Early Morning Poverty

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God blesses those who are poor and realize their need for him, for the Kingdom of Heaven is theirs.

Matthew 5:3, NLT

Soft patting from my six-year-old woke me up at 3am. “I want you,” was the reason she gave. I tried to fix things and send her back to bed, but she wasn’t having it. I gave up and made a blanket bed on the floor in my room. She settled in and slept. I felt resentful, trapped, overwhelmed… and angry that I can’t seem to make a parenting decision without feeling all those things. Such a simple decision, but just look at me make it complicated. I lay in bed anxious, dialed up to ten, and I prayed for God to provide. For help. And I slept.

The same little hands woke me a few hours later—too early, but not early enough to send her back to bed. She wanted help opening a door. We have an old house and most of the doors slipped out of alignment long ago. They require a firm hand to actually latch, and make a popping sound when opened. The early-up daughter opened four doors, and my irritation dialed right up again—first at her, and then at myself. Again I prayed for help, and I slept.

I have conflicting feelings about these moments of struggle. Sometimes God helps me and I feel so ashamed for needing help. I want the stories of God showing up in my life to be more glamorous and less highlighting my selfishness. I’ve been reading about a young woman who dedicated her life to the marginalized, and I feel so stupid for the smallness of my stressors. Her struggles seem saintly; mine feel embarrassing.

But my feelings have forgotten the truth, which I whisper to God: You show up in each of our moments without discrimination. The “saintly” young woman is loved. I am loved. I am here, feeling paralyzed by fear, tantalized by control, and tempted by selfishness and scarcity. And You, You show up with the embrace of a friend who feels the tiredness, gives me a knowing squeeze, and sits beside me.

Another morning: I woke up a little earlier than usual. I got up, drank a glass of water, relieved myself of the previous evening’s glass of water, and sat down to pray. I felt heavy and snappy, and was grateful for a few extra moments of quiet time. I opened the window a crack to smell the fresh morning air, then closed it again to keep out the cold. I opened my hands and closed my eyes.

Then I heard the girls, up early this morning. They came in my room to ask, “Can we get up now?” They left the door open and Phred (our cat) jumped on the bed where my husband was still sleeping. Sigh. Two minutes later Kyli came back because they had a fight (already?!). She climbed on my lap. Kayt came in repentant: “I’m ready to apologize.” I mediated, and finally they left me to the quiet.

I was losing. The quiet time I felt I desperately needed was being riddled with holes. I prayed, Help. I asked God if I could spend today finding contentment in watching Him provide. And in a sudden turn of thoughts, I imagined how stressful it would have been to wake up to the girls having a fight, not having had those first moments of quiet. Ah, the sweet relief of gratitude for provision already made.

The kingdom of heaven is mine. “Blessed are the poor in spirit—those who recognize their spiritual poverty—for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 5:3). The kingdom of heaven is mine because I am poor. If I were rich I wouldn’t need it, and if I thought I was rich I wouldn’t know I needed it. It is precisely when I know I am poor that the kingdom of heaven is mine. I may rejoice in the poverty that lands me exactly where I want to be—a place of receiving. Finding contentment in watching Him provide, and knowing that every moment of apparent poverty is an invitation to great wealth. Thank you, Jesus, that there is no shame in receiving Your help.