The Pastors' Blog https://www.treasurecoastpca.org Tue, 18 Aug 2026 06:59:59 -0400 https://www.churchplantmedia.com/ The Trouble with Vending Machines https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/the-trouble-with-vending-machines https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/the-trouble-with-vending-machines#comments Mon, 03 Aug 2026 13:03:37 -0400 https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/the-trouble-with-vending-machines      When we suffer, our hearts want nothing more than to control our circumstances.  We think that peace is only possible if we can personally control the outcomes.  So it's not easy to follow a God who asks us to surrender control and to replace it with trust. It's not easy because we're too used to vending machines.
     When it comes down to it, I'd rather get my food from a vending machine than from a garden. Maybe that's in large part due to my (admittedly toxic) eating habits. Maybe my history of frustration with gardening plays into that as well. I've put in the work, dirtied my hands, sweated out the sun, and invested in the seeds and the soil only to receive a few wrinkled peppers for my trouble. Regardless of how I got here, I find myself in much the same situation as most westernized Christians in the 20th and 21st centuries. Whether we recognize it or not, even Bible-believing Christians are shaped by a culture that conditions us to expect predictability and control.  Because of that, we deeply struggle to live in step with a God who does not conform to those expectations.  A God who resists our efforts to reduce his acticity to a formula or to in some way manipulate him.
     The Bible was originally written to peoples and societies that were much closer to the challenges (and rewards!) of working the land to produce food. Therefore, the way that God in Scripture describes his kingdom, his people, and his purposes quite often involves agrarian metaphors:
"The kingdom of heaven is like a field..." (Matthew 13:24-30)
"As the rain... water[s] the earth..." (Isaiah 55:10-11)
"My beloved had a vineyard on a very fertile hill..." (Isaiah 5:1-7)
"A sower went out to sow..." (Mark 4:3-8)
"I am the vine, you are the branches..." (John 15:1-6)
     Since most of us today find that our lives are separated from agriculture, these figures of speech don't land with the same impact. We are a society of instant gratification. Kids today don't need to wait until 4pm to watch their favorite show (4pm was my sacred hour growing up because Scooby-Doo was on TV); they can select their favorite shows and movies and games whenever they want with just a simple tap of the screen. I realized I had run out of a particular kitchen product the other day, and rather than add it to a shopping list and wait for our next trip to the store, I ordered it online so that it arrived at my door the next morning. If we want our dinner warm, there's a microwave. If we want to choose from an obscene selection of treats and beverages, there are vending machines. Vending machines are nice - you put your money in, press the right button, and you get exactly what you expected, exactly what you wanted.
     A garden is different. You plant seeds. You wait. You work more. You wait. Maybe something grows, maybe it doesn't. Maybe it begins to grow but then a hailstorm or early frost wipes out the whole crop. You don't always get what you want or what you expect. And that is partly why the Bible uses agrarian imagery to describe God and his ways. Our mechanistic, scientific, vending-machine worldview has a high expectation of control. If I understand the system, then with the right input I can produce predictable and desirable outcomes. Not so with the land. We have such limited control, it can be nerve-racking.
      So where is all this headed? Well, in our relationship with God, we want the same kind of control that we have over machines. But control is exactly what we don't have. We want a God who responds predictably to our tithe, our obedience, our prayers, our religious habits. So when life seems off the rails, we want to diagnose the problem. "Where did I go wrong?" "How can I fix this?" We grasp about for the right prayer, the right promise to claim, the right discipline to develop. We try to put our hands on whatever we believe is the right coin and button to get the divine vending machine spitting out the results we want. What must I do to make the cancer go away? What does God want from me so that my marriage gets back on track? What will it take to get the life I want to have?
     This mechanistic view of God and the world appeals to our desire for control. But the world in which we actually live is less mechanistic and more agrarian. We have to give up the illusion that with the right effort on our part, we can control the outcomes of our life. In place of control, we need to cultivate trust. In the agrarian model of how our lives work, we put in effort, and sometimes that effort produces what we expect and sometimes it does not. There is a certain scientific and moral order to the universe, but in the end, God works his will and we can't force or stop his hand.
     There is a real tension here, one that plays out in several of the Bible's Wisdom books. Proverbs describes a more mechanistic world - do what is right and you will prosper; do what is wrong, and you will suffer. Then Ecclesiastes meditates on how that system does not work consistently. Sometimes the righteous die in poverty and obscurity while the wicked prosper for a season. Then there's the book of Job, which plays out the drama of people trying to make sense of how a righteous man who seemingly did everything right is now suffering as if he did everything wrong.
     Our hearts want a Proverbs world, a world of predictability, consistency, and clear expectations. That's a world where we have more control. What we get is an Ecclesiastes world, one characterized by confusion, frustration, and disappointment. What we need is the truth in which Job rested after so many trials and wrestlings with God. “I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted" (Job 42:2). So rather than seek control over our days, we are enabled to trust the one who actually has that control, the one whose purposes cannot be thwarted (or predicted, or manipulated...). Because his control is united to his loving character, we can dig in the soil, plant the seeds, and water them well; and then we can rest, knowing that the one who controls all things is the one who loves us, and he does all things well. 

]]>      When we suffer, our hearts want nothing more than to control our circumstances.  We think that peace is only possible if we can personally control the outcomes.  So it's not easy to follow a God who asks us to surrender control and to replace it with trust. It's not easy because we're too used to vending machines.
     When it comes down to it, I'd rather get my food from a vending machine than from a garden. Maybe that's in large part due to my (admittedly toxic) eating habits. Maybe my history of frustration with gardening plays into that as well. I've put in the work, dirtied my hands, sweated out the sun, and invested in the seeds and the soil only to receive a few wrinkled peppers for my trouble. Regardless of how I got here, I find myself in much the same situation as most westernized Christians in the 20th and 21st centuries. Whether we recognize it or not, even Bible-believing Christians are shaped by a culture that conditions us to expect predictability and control.  Because of that, we deeply struggle to live in step with a God who does not conform to those expectations.  A God who resists our efforts to reduce his acticity to a formula or to in some way manipulate him.
     The Bible was originally written to peoples and societies that were much closer to the challenges (and rewards!) of working the land to produce food. Therefore, the way that God in Scripture describes his kingdom, his people, and his purposes quite often involves agrarian metaphors:
"The kingdom of heaven is like a field..." (Matthew 13:24-30)
"As the rain... water[s] the earth..." (Isaiah 55:10-11)
"My beloved had a vineyard on a very fertile hill..." (Isaiah 5:1-7)
"A sower went out to sow..." (Mark 4:3-8)
"I am the vine, you are the branches..." (John 15:1-6)
     Since most of us today find that our lives are separated from agriculture, these figures of speech don't land with the same impact. We are a society of instant gratification. Kids today don't need to wait until 4pm to watch their favorite show (4pm was my sacred hour growing up because Scooby-Doo was on TV); they can select their favorite shows and movies and games whenever they want with just a simple tap of the screen. I realized I had run out of a particular kitchen product the other day, and rather than add it to a shopping list and wait for our next trip to the store, I ordered it online so that it arrived at my door the next morning. If we want our dinner warm, there's a microwave. If we want to choose from an obscene selection of treats and beverages, there are vending machines. Vending machines are nice - you put your money in, press the right button, and you get exactly what you expected, exactly what you wanted.
     A garden is different. You plant seeds. You wait. You work more. You wait. Maybe something grows, maybe it doesn't. Maybe it begins to grow but then a hailstorm or early frost wipes out the whole crop. You don't always get what you want or what you expect. And that is partly why the Bible uses agrarian imagery to describe God and his ways. Our mechanistic, scientific, vending-machine worldview has a high expectation of control. If I understand the system, then with the right input I can produce predictable and desirable outcomes. Not so with the land. We have such limited control, it can be nerve-racking.
      So where is all this headed? Well, in our relationship with God, we want the same kind of control that we have over machines. But control is exactly what we don't have. We want a God who responds predictably to our tithe, our obedience, our prayers, our religious habits. So when life seems off the rails, we want to diagnose the problem. "Where did I go wrong?" "How can I fix this?" We grasp about for the right prayer, the right promise to claim, the right discipline to develop. We try to put our hands on whatever we believe is the right coin and button to get the divine vending machine spitting out the results we want. What must I do to make the cancer go away? What does God want from me so that my marriage gets back on track? What will it take to get the life I want to have?
     This mechanistic view of God and the world appeals to our desire for control. But the world in which we actually live is less mechanistic and more agrarian. We have to give up the illusion that with the right effort on our part, we can control the outcomes of our life. In place of control, we need to cultivate trust. In the agrarian model of how our lives work, we put in effort, and sometimes that effort produces what we expect and sometimes it does not. There is a certain scientific and moral order to the universe, but in the end, God works his will and we can't force or stop his hand.
     There is a real tension here, one that plays out in several of the Bible's Wisdom books. Proverbs describes a more mechanistic world - do what is right and you will prosper; do what is wrong, and you will suffer. Then Ecclesiastes meditates on how that system does not work consistently. Sometimes the righteous die in poverty and obscurity while the wicked prosper for a season. Then there's the book of Job, which plays out the drama of people trying to make sense of how a righteous man who seemingly did everything right is now suffering as if he did everything wrong.
     Our hearts want a Proverbs world, a world of predictability, consistency, and clear expectations. That's a world where we have more control. What we get is an Ecclesiastes world, one characterized by confusion, frustration, and disappointment. What we need is the truth in which Job rested after so many trials and wrestlings with God. “I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted" (Job 42:2). So rather than seek control over our days, we are enabled to trust the one who actually has that control, the one whose purposes cannot be thwarted (or predicted, or manipulated...). Because his control is united to his loving character, we can dig in the soil, plant the seeds, and water them well; and then we can rest, knowing that the one who controls all things is the one who loves us, and he does all things well. 

]]> The Shame of the Unhealed https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/the-shame-of-the-unhealed https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/the-shame-of-the-unhealed#comments Thu, 23 Jul 2026 14:46:18 -0400 https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/the-shame-of-the-unhealed      There can be a kind of shame in our Christian circles for those that remain unhealed.  I want to address that shame.
     From the moment I was diagnosed with a glioblastoma, we began to hear stories. Stories of people who had lived 5, 10, even 14 years with the same kind of tumor. The intention was to encourage us that, even though the doctors warn I have a short time left to live, there are people who have long outlived those expectations. And as a Christian, as one who sincerely believes that God can and does heal in miraculous ways, I know that the God who worked wonders in the past is still working wonders today. If he wills it, he can heal me (Matthew 8:1-3). Which leads to the question for those who do not get a miracle, "Why does God not will my healing?"
     This is where shame comes in - if God can heal, then there must be some reason he does not choose to heal me. That is true. However, it's the next assumption that gets us in trouble - if there is a reason God doesn't will my healing, it's because of something wrong with me - my faith is insufficient, my obedience is not consistent enough, my prayers have not been sincere/fervent/regular enough, etc. To escape this shame trap, we have to understand what the Bible teaches we can justifiably expect with regard to miracles from God.
     There's a slightly cynical, overly realistic, jaded side of me that knows that for every story of someone living 5+ years with a tumor like mine, there are hundreds or even thousands of stories you don't usually hear - stories of people who died in the first few months after their diagnosis. We don't hear much about those stories, even though they represent the norm of what to expect. Whenever I hear stories of the exceptional, I am forced to remember that only exceptional cases get made into stories.  By definition, the exceptional cases are not the norm.
     Does faith in a wonder-working God change any of that? I don't think that it does. Though we hear stories of God doing amazing things and though we are told (by some) to "expect miracles," our experience more often reflects that of the saints commended for their faith in Hebrews 11:13, "These all died in faith, not having received the things promised."
      So how does faith in a wonder-working God exist comfortably in a world where his wonders seem conspicuously absent? Should this argue against the God of the Bible? No, certainly not. Is the answer found in our own lack of faith?  That would neatly shift the responsibility for God's wonders away from God, who is still eager to perform miracles, and identify the problem as being in our unbelief. After all, in Matthew 13:58 we read of Jesus that, "He did not do many mighty works there, because of their unbelief."
     I think it's a false application of such verses to conclude that, if we want a miracle from God, we need to have sufficient faith. We elsewhere see Jesus healing those who don't even know they are being healed (to give just a few examples, the healings in John 5:5-9, Luke 7:11-15, and Luke 22:49-50 give no indication that anyone's faith played any part in the healings Jesus performed). So the Bible does not make a one-to-one connection between faith and miracles.  Miracles, like the sufferings they address, happen according to God's will for his own purposes.  We can't quantify this into a system.  
   The principle I stated earlier applies here as well - only exceptional cases get made into stories. The reason the Bible records so many miracles is not because miracles are or were common. In fact, it is the opposite. The Bible is filled with stories of miracles because those are the exceptional, amazing acts of God that were worth recording. When you consider the thousands of years covered in Biblical history and the many millions of lives that existed during those years, you begin to understand how rare miracles were. In fact, they are almost exclusively clustered around the times of Moses (as the law was introduced), Elijah/Elisha (the beginning of authoritative prophetic teaching), and Jesus and his disciples (the initiation of the new revelation in Christ).
     Jesus himself touches on the mystery of the scarcity of miracles in Luke 4:25-27. In response to those who expected him to perform miracles on command, he replied, "But in truth, I tell you, there were many widows in Israel in the days of Elijah, when the heavens were shut up three years and six months, and a great famine came over all the land, and Elijah was sent to none of them but only to Zarephath, in the land of Sidon, to a woman who was a widow. And there were many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed, but only Naaman the Syrian.” There were many in need of food, but only one received a miraculous provision. Many were in need of healing, but only one received it by a miracle from God.
     "Ah, but perhaps only Naaman and the widow of Zarephath had enough faith," someone may reply. But the Bible does not say that.  Neither of those characters are described as having exceptional faith that God rewarded. Instead, we know from 1 Kings 19:18 that the Lord had preserved a remnant of 7,000 faithful men and women in those days. There was faith in the land, but miracles were scarce. God alone knows why. And let's not forget Paul, who prayed earnestly for relief from God and yet did not receive healing (2 Corinthians 12:7-9). No, friends, it is not faith or boldness or anything on our part that has the power to move God's hand so that he works wonders on our behalf. Rather, as the old hymn confesses, "God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform."
     I'm not sharing these thoughts to discourage prayer for healing (see my thoughts on that in this post) or to say our faith is irrelevant to God's hand at work.  I'm sharing this to disrupt the shame cycle that traps too many of my brothers and sisters as they look to God to heal them or their loved ones. A sickness that goes unhealed is not a sign of God's displeasure! He is not disappointed in you. He is not holding back his hand of healing until you measure up to some unspecified standard. He loves you. He is with you. He has plans for you through your trial that you cannot right now comprehend. Pray for healing, yes. But don't make healing the yardstick by which you measure God's activity in your life. And don't let the absence or delay of healing hang over your head as a cruel judge, condemning your lack of faith.
     But there's more we need to understand about God's miracles than just that they are rare and that they come only from God's will and not our performance. God's healing miracles are incomplete. Lazarus dies again. The lepers Jesus healed would one day die.  In a sense, Jesus was just delaying the inevitable.  So why bother healing at all?  The answer is that it wasn't primarily about healing bodies.  When Jesus healed the sick and suffering, he was giving a sneak peak at the power of the kingdom that he would soon bring. That kingdom is where our true hope lies, and in showing his power to heal, Jesus was calling people to place their hope of full healing in him.  Only when these bodies are exchanged for incorruptible ones and only when death is no more will "healing" have truly taken place (1 Corinthians 15:53-55).
     When my dad was dying of pancreatic cancer in 2007, whenever anyone asked him if God was going to heal him, he would answer, "God is going to heal me. Either through the doctors, through a miracle, or by bringing me to be with him in heaven." I pray that each child of God would hold on to that truth. God WILL heal. It's not up to us to determine how and when he will do so. It's up to us to walk in faith and wait upon him. "Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the LORD!" (Psalm 27:15)

]]>      There can be a kind of shame in our Christian circles for those that remain unhealed.  I want to address that shame.
     From the moment I was diagnosed with a glioblastoma, we began to hear stories. Stories of people who had lived 5, 10, even 14 years with the same kind of tumor. The intention was to encourage us that, even though the doctors warn I have a short time left to live, there are people who have long outlived those expectations. And as a Christian, as one who sincerely believes that God can and does heal in miraculous ways, I know that the God who worked wonders in the past is still working wonders today. If he wills it, he can heal me (Matthew 8:1-3). Which leads to the question for those who do not get a miracle, "Why does God not will my healing?"
     This is where shame comes in - if God can heal, then there must be some reason he does not choose to heal me. That is true. However, it's the next assumption that gets us in trouble - if there is a reason God doesn't will my healing, it's because of something wrong with me - my faith is insufficient, my obedience is not consistent enough, my prayers have not been sincere/fervent/regular enough, etc. To escape this shame trap, we have to understand what the Bible teaches we can justifiably expect with regard to miracles from God.
     There's a slightly cynical, overly realistic, jaded side of me that knows that for every story of someone living 5+ years with a tumor like mine, there are hundreds or even thousands of stories you don't usually hear - stories of people who died in the first few months after their diagnosis. We don't hear much about those stories, even though they represent the norm of what to expect. Whenever I hear stories of the exceptional, I am forced to remember that only exceptional cases get made into stories.  By definition, the exceptional cases are not the norm.
     Does faith in a wonder-working God change any of that? I don't think that it does. Though we hear stories of God doing amazing things and though we are told (by some) to "expect miracles," our experience more often reflects that of the saints commended for their faith in Hebrews 11:13, "These all died in faith, not having received the things promised."
      So how does faith in a wonder-working God exist comfortably in a world where his wonders seem conspicuously absent? Should this argue against the God of the Bible? No, certainly not. Is the answer found in our own lack of faith?  That would neatly shift the responsibility for God's wonders away from God, who is still eager to perform miracles, and identify the problem as being in our unbelief. After all, in Matthew 13:58 we read of Jesus that, "He did not do many mighty works there, because of their unbelief."
     I think it's a false application of such verses to conclude that, if we want a miracle from God, we need to have sufficient faith. We elsewhere see Jesus healing those who don't even know they are being healed (to give just a few examples, the healings in John 5:5-9, Luke 7:11-15, and Luke 22:49-50 give no indication that anyone's faith played any part in the healings Jesus performed). So the Bible does not make a one-to-one connection between faith and miracles.  Miracles, like the sufferings they address, happen according to God's will for his own purposes.  We can't quantify this into a system.  
   The principle I stated earlier applies here as well - only exceptional cases get made into stories. The reason the Bible records so many miracles is not because miracles are or were common. In fact, it is the opposite. The Bible is filled with stories of miracles because those are the exceptional, amazing acts of God that were worth recording. When you consider the thousands of years covered in Biblical history and the many millions of lives that existed during those years, you begin to understand how rare miracles were. In fact, they are almost exclusively clustered around the times of Moses (as the law was introduced), Elijah/Elisha (the beginning of authoritative prophetic teaching), and Jesus and his disciples (the initiation of the new revelation in Christ).
     Jesus himself touches on the mystery of the scarcity of miracles in Luke 4:25-27. In response to those who expected him to perform miracles on command, he replied, "But in truth, I tell you, there were many widows in Israel in the days of Elijah, when the heavens were shut up three years and six months, and a great famine came over all the land, and Elijah was sent to none of them but only to Zarephath, in the land of Sidon, to a woman who was a widow. And there were many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed, but only Naaman the Syrian.” There were many in need of food, but only one received a miraculous provision. Many were in need of healing, but only one received it by a miracle from God.
     "Ah, but perhaps only Naaman and the widow of Zarephath had enough faith," someone may reply. But the Bible does not say that.  Neither of those characters are described as having exceptional faith that God rewarded. Instead, we know from 1 Kings 19:18 that the Lord had preserved a remnant of 7,000 faithful men and women in those days. There was faith in the land, but miracles were scarce. God alone knows why. And let's not forget Paul, who prayed earnestly for relief from God and yet did not receive healing (2 Corinthians 12:7-9). No, friends, it is not faith or boldness or anything on our part that has the power to move God's hand so that he works wonders on our behalf. Rather, as the old hymn confesses, "God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform."
     I'm not sharing these thoughts to discourage prayer for healing (see my thoughts on that in this post) or to say our faith is irrelevant to God's hand at work.  I'm sharing this to disrupt the shame cycle that traps too many of my brothers and sisters as they look to God to heal them or their loved ones. A sickness that goes unhealed is not a sign of God's displeasure! He is not disappointed in you. He is not holding back his hand of healing until you measure up to some unspecified standard. He loves you. He is with you. He has plans for you through your trial that you cannot right now comprehend. Pray for healing, yes. But don't make healing the yardstick by which you measure God's activity in your life. And don't let the absence or delay of healing hang over your head as a cruel judge, condemning your lack of faith.
     But there's more we need to understand about God's miracles than just that they are rare and that they come only from God's will and not our performance. God's healing miracles are incomplete. Lazarus dies again. The lepers Jesus healed would one day die.  In a sense, Jesus was just delaying the inevitable.  So why bother healing at all?  The answer is that it wasn't primarily about healing bodies.  When Jesus healed the sick and suffering, he was giving a sneak peak at the power of the kingdom that he would soon bring. That kingdom is where our true hope lies, and in showing his power to heal, Jesus was calling people to place their hope of full healing in him.  Only when these bodies are exchanged for incorruptible ones and only when death is no more will "healing" have truly taken place (1 Corinthians 15:53-55).
     When my dad was dying of pancreatic cancer in 2007, whenever anyone asked him if God was going to heal him, he would answer, "God is going to heal me. Either through the doctors, through a miracle, or by bringing me to be with him in heaven." I pray that each child of God would hold on to that truth. God WILL heal. It's not up to us to determine how and when he will do so. It's up to us to walk in faith and wait upon him. "Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the LORD!" (Psalm 27:15)

]]> Can I NOT Like This? https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/can-i-not-like-this https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/can-i-not-like-this#comments Mon, 06 Jul 2026 14:27:26 -0400 https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/can-i-not-like-this      As I slipped into bed last night, in my exhaustion I prayed one quick sentence that started a longer conversation with God than I had planned. With my eyes trying to force themselves shut as my head made contact with the cool pillow, I whispered, "See you soon Jesus... but not too soon, OK?" It was partially in jest, but mostly in earnest. I know that when my body begins the sleep of death, I will immediately see my Savior face-to-face. But I'm in no hurry to get there.
     And as if in reply, the Holy Spirit kept me awake long enough to bring to my mind John 4:10. When speaking to the Samaritan woman at the well, Jesus asks her for a drink of water. When she points out the oddness of his request (given their cultural, ethnic, gender, and religious differences), Jesus says, "If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water." Jesus' answer to her was, in essence, "If you understood who I am and what I am able to offer you, then you would realize you're wanting the wrong thing."
     This reminded me of a question I've been pondering for a few months now - Is it OK to not want or not like what God has planned for me?  According to Bible verses like Romans 5:3 and James 1:3, I'm supposed to rejoice in my sufferings, right? If you read those verses in isolation from the rest of Scripture, you will get the idea that anything short of thankful praise during painful experiences is immature at best and downright sinful at worst.
     Did I want cancer? Of course not. Am I happy I got cancer? Again, no. Am I expected to wake up every morning smiling about my diagnosis, thanking God for the chance my kids may have to lose their father while they're young? Absolutely not. And I don't think that makes me less mature of a Christian. The problem with those expectations is they force a false dichotomy: Either I am sinfully rejecting God's plan for me, or I am joyfully accepting it. I propose instead that those two options exists on a spectrum, and maturity is a matter of seeking to move from the "sinful rejection" side to the "joyful acceptance" side.
     I would run out of space if I tried to list all the verses in Scripture that show God's people crying out in frustration, confusion, and even complaint as they suffer. If it's an issue of which position has the greatest number of verses to back it up, then "rejoice in suffering" loses big to "How long, O Lord?" Sometimes complainers are punished (like in Numbers 11:1), sometimes they are rebuked (Jonah 4:8-11). Sometimes they are answered in ways they don't expect (Job 38-42). Sometimes the Lord responds by explaining himself (Habakkuk 2:1ff). Sometimes he says nothing in response (Psalm 88:13-14). And sometimes the Lord very gently ministers to those who are hurting and complaining (1 Kings 19:4-8).
     But I can't escape the observation that God's people, when they suffer, are allowed to express their dissatisfaction with God's ways. And joining the chorus of protest is none other than Jesus himself, kneeling in the Garden of Gethsemane to pray, "My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will" (Matthew 26:39). That's a nice way of saying, "Father, give me anything else but this. Anything except disobedience to you." I think that answers the heart of my question. If Jesus expressed a desire for God to change his path, then it cannot be sin or immaturity for me to have the same prayer ("See you soon, Jesus... but not too soon, OK?").
     But then there's that response to the woman at the well. What do I do with that? Well, as the Spirit ensured I could not quickly fall asleep without reaching rest on this question, I pondered how that verse might connect to my simple prayer. What I think the Lord was teaching me was that, even if I don't like God's plan for me right now, if I really understood who he is and what he is planning for me through this, then my prayer of "Anything but this" would quickly change to "Your will be done!" The problem is not in God's plan, the problem is my own failure to grasp "the depths of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God" (Romans 11:33).
     The Lord allows us to pray honestly. We can bring to him our anxieties and complaints and frustrations, knowing we will be heard and treated with compassion because he knows how weak we are (Psalm 103:14). And as we pray our frustration and our desire to have a different path, "the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words" (Romans 8:26). We don't know how to pray for the right things. A lot of my prayers can become "Anything but this! Make it stop!" But the Spirit helps me, translating my prayers into what I would pray for if I knew who it was I was praying to and what he plans to do in my life.
     It was a chastised child of God that finally got to sleep that night. I am a child who needs to be reminded that God's ways are higher than mine, and his way is perfect. I don't have to like it all the time, but the better I know my Heavenly Father, the better equipped I am to endure, accept, and perhaps eventually rejoice in the hard things he sends my way.

 

 

]]>      As I slipped into bed last night, in my exhaustion I prayed one quick sentence that started a longer conversation with God than I had planned. With my eyes trying to force themselves shut as my head made contact with the cool pillow, I whispered, "See you soon Jesus... but not too soon, OK?" It was partially in jest, but mostly in earnest. I know that when my body begins the sleep of death, I will immediately see my Savior face-to-face. But I'm in no hurry to get there.
     And as if in reply, the Holy Spirit kept me awake long enough to bring to my mind John 4:10. When speaking to the Samaritan woman at the well, Jesus asks her for a drink of water. When she points out the oddness of his request (given their cultural, ethnic, gender, and religious differences), Jesus says, "If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water." Jesus' answer to her was, in essence, "If you understood who I am and what I am able to offer you, then you would realize you're wanting the wrong thing."
     This reminded me of a question I've been pondering for a few months now - Is it OK to not want or not like what God has planned for me?  According to Bible verses like Romans 5:3 and James 1:3, I'm supposed to rejoice in my sufferings, right? If you read those verses in isolation from the rest of Scripture, you will get the idea that anything short of thankful praise during painful experiences is immature at best and downright sinful at worst.
     Did I want cancer? Of course not. Am I happy I got cancer? Again, no. Am I expected to wake up every morning smiling about my diagnosis, thanking God for the chance my kids may have to lose their father while they're young? Absolutely not. And I don't think that makes me less mature of a Christian. The problem with those expectations is they force a false dichotomy: Either I am sinfully rejecting God's plan for me, or I am joyfully accepting it. I propose instead that those two options exists on a spectrum, and maturity is a matter of seeking to move from the "sinful rejection" side to the "joyful acceptance" side.
     I would run out of space if I tried to list all the verses in Scripture that show God's people crying out in frustration, confusion, and even complaint as they suffer. If it's an issue of which position has the greatest number of verses to back it up, then "rejoice in suffering" loses big to "How long, O Lord?" Sometimes complainers are punished (like in Numbers 11:1), sometimes they are rebuked (Jonah 4:8-11). Sometimes they are answered in ways they don't expect (Job 38-42). Sometimes the Lord responds by explaining himself (Habakkuk 2:1ff). Sometimes he says nothing in response (Psalm 88:13-14). And sometimes the Lord very gently ministers to those who are hurting and complaining (1 Kings 19:4-8).
     But I can't escape the observation that God's people, when they suffer, are allowed to express their dissatisfaction with God's ways. And joining the chorus of protest is none other than Jesus himself, kneeling in the Garden of Gethsemane to pray, "My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will" (Matthew 26:39). That's a nice way of saying, "Father, give me anything else but this. Anything except disobedience to you." I think that answers the heart of my question. If Jesus expressed a desire for God to change his path, then it cannot be sin or immaturity for me to have the same prayer ("See you soon, Jesus... but not too soon, OK?").
     But then there's that response to the woman at the well. What do I do with that? Well, as the Spirit ensured I could not quickly fall asleep without reaching rest on this question, I pondered how that verse might connect to my simple prayer. What I think the Lord was teaching me was that, even if I don't like God's plan for me right now, if I really understood who he is and what he is planning for me through this, then my prayer of "Anything but this" would quickly change to "Your will be done!" The problem is not in God's plan, the problem is my own failure to grasp "the depths of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God" (Romans 11:33).
     The Lord allows us to pray honestly. We can bring to him our anxieties and complaints and frustrations, knowing we will be heard and treated with compassion because he knows how weak we are (Psalm 103:14). And as we pray our frustration and our desire to have a different path, "the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words" (Romans 8:26). We don't know how to pray for the right things. A lot of my prayers can become "Anything but this! Make it stop!" But the Spirit helps me, translating my prayers into what I would pray for if I knew who it was I was praying to and what he plans to do in my life.
     It was a chastised child of God that finally got to sleep that night. I am a child who needs to be reminded that God's ways are higher than mine, and his way is perfect. I don't have to like it all the time, but the better I know my Heavenly Father, the better equipped I am to endure, accept, and perhaps eventually rejoice in the hard things he sends my way.

 

 

]]> This May Be the Last Time https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/this-may-be-the-last-time https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/this-may-be-the-last-time#comments Thu, 25 Jun 2026 21:30:31 -0400 https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/this-may-be-the-last-time      I'd recommend taking three minutes to listen to this song before you read this post.  The song is "The Last Time," sung by the Blind Boys of Alabama.  (I'd highly recommend the whole album - "Spirit of the Century".)

     I loved that song from the moment I heard it.  The serious theme of the lyrics, the simplicity of the melody, the gravel in their voices - it all comes together so well. And for the past six months, the refrain of that song has haunted me and my family. It hit particularly hard on Mother's Day and Father's Day this year. We found ourselves wondering, "Is this the last time we celebrate these kinds of moments together?"

     Holidays, birthdays, special events - these can be very hard after the loss of a loved one. When you celebrate special moments after someone's death - the first Christmas, the first wedding anniversary, the first birthday, the first family wedding - the joy of the occasion feels bittersweet. There is the joy of the event itself coupled with the reminder that not everyone is there that you want to have there. That kind of grief fades, but it never fully goes away.

     When living with a terminal illness, there's a different kind of grief. I've taken to calling it "anticipatory grief." It's a grief that anticipates the pain that seems to be coming. It's a grief that mourns a loss that hasn't happened yet, encroaching on happy moments and trying to steal the joy right out of them. It's a grief that haunts us with the observation that "this may be the last time we fellowship together." It's a grief that looks at the future and sees a shadow, then finds that shadow creeping back into the present.

     How do we deal with anticipatory grief? We can't just stop those thoughts from ever occurring to us. But we can put them in their proper context. I would even suggest that there is something we should learn from this grief. But once we take that lesson, let's move away from it and not let it have the power to steal the joy of the time we have been given.

     In the New Testament, we read this warning: "Come now, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit'— yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, 'If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.' As it is, you boast in your arrogance. All such boasting is evil" (James 4:13–16).

     What James is saying is precisely what the Blind Boys of Alabama are singing about - "This may be the last time... I don't know." Is it wrong to live with that sense of foreboding in mind? No. In fact, James tells us that to ignore it is to be arrogant. Arrogant like the rich landowner that Jesus warns against in Luke 21:16-21. He had reached a point of financial comfort, so he expected to dwell in peace the rest of his days. He took for granted that he would enjoy life tomorrow and for many more tomorrows after that. The Lord calls him a fool because for all his wealth and success, his life would end that night.

     Here's what anticipatory grief teaches us: we are utterly contingent beings; that's a fancy way of saying that our continued existence depends on things we can't control. Neither worry nor joy nor ignorance can extend our days. Any moment could be our last. That's the message I missed the first 100 times I listened to the Blind Boys of Alabama sing that song. I heard them as a group of old men reckoning with their own imminent mortality because they were old. I should have heard them as mortal men reminding us all that our lives are brief and that tomorrow is not promised to us.

     If we have eyes to see, Scripture is painfully repetitive on this point:
Psalm 103:15-16 "As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more."
Isaiah 40:7-8 "The grass withers, the flower fades when the breath of the LORD blows on it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever."
Job 14:1-2 "Man who is born of a woman is few of days and full of trouble. He comes out like a flower and withers; he flees like a shadow and continues not."

     So yes, remember - this may be the last time. The last time you sit down to a meal; the last time you talk to a friend; the last time you see a sunrise; the last time you hear the voice of a loved one. I don't say that to depress you, I say that to (believe it or not) inspire you. The anticipatory grief that encroaches on our brief and fleeting days and which seeks to overshadow our joy can only be forced into retreat when joy is reaffirmed. Yes, this may be the last time, and because it may be the last time, I will cling to the joy of the moment while I have it. When something (such as the time we have together) is rare, it becomes precious.

     The fewness of our days should not make those days sad. It should make them valuable. Each moment we do have is gifted to us by God, and there is a time for everything. There is "a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance" (Ecclesiastes 3:4). Now is not yet the time for weeping. The only thing I've lost is a future that was never promised me in the first place. Anticipatory grief is a response to the painful reality that our future on earth is not a given. That is true for all of us, every day, for our entire lives. It's not something we easily remember. It's not something we feel to be true until a big interruption threatens all those tomorrows we've taken for granted. But once we see how contingent we are, once we realize that we only see tomorrow "If the Lord wills," then today can be a moment of tremendous gratitude and delight. A gift that wasn't guaranteed or owed, but which we have anyway.

     It's hard living in the ambiguity of that. As the Blind Boys of Alabama sing, "May the last time... I don't know." I don't know if I've celebrated my last Christmas, my last birthday, my last Father's Day. But I pray for the wisdom and strength and faith to walk with peace and gladness, even if it is the last time. I don't know if it is. But even if it is, every moment before was a precious gift, not something I had a right to demand. And now I have been awakened to receive that gift of time, rather than grieve the times I might not get.  

     The song ends on a more hopeful note than you may notice at first: "May be the last time we ever mourn together. May be the last time, I don't know." I'd always paid more attention to the "together" part of that phrase: We may not be together again, even to mourn. But now I see there's a great hope in there. Mourning will end. Worldly grief looks to the days ahead and sees them as darkened by loss and despair.  The Christian's grief (as 1 Thessalonians 4:13 reminds us) looks to the days ahead and has hope. Grief - anticipatory and otherwise - will have no power when Christ returns. And that is something worth anticipating.

]]>      I'd recommend taking three minutes to listen to this song before you read this post.  The song is "The Last Time," sung by the Blind Boys of Alabama.  (I'd highly recommend the whole album - "Spirit of the Century".)

     I loved that song from the moment I heard it.  The serious theme of the lyrics, the simplicity of the melody, the gravel in their voices - it all comes together so well. And for the past six months, the refrain of that song has haunted me and my family. It hit particularly hard on Mother's Day and Father's Day this year. We found ourselves wondering, "Is this the last time we celebrate these kinds of moments together?"

     Holidays, birthdays, special events - these can be very hard after the loss of a loved one. When you celebrate special moments after someone's death - the first Christmas, the first wedding anniversary, the first birthday, the first family wedding - the joy of the occasion feels bittersweet. There is the joy of the event itself coupled with the reminder that not everyone is there that you want to have there. That kind of grief fades, but it never fully goes away.

     When living with a terminal illness, there's a different kind of grief. I've taken to calling it "anticipatory grief." It's a grief that anticipates the pain that seems to be coming. It's a grief that mourns a loss that hasn't happened yet, encroaching on happy moments and trying to steal the joy right out of them. It's a grief that haunts us with the observation that "this may be the last time we fellowship together." It's a grief that looks at the future and sees a shadow, then finds that shadow creeping back into the present.

     How do we deal with anticipatory grief? We can't just stop those thoughts from ever occurring to us. But we can put them in their proper context. I would even suggest that there is something we should learn from this grief. But once we take that lesson, let's move away from it and not let it have the power to steal the joy of the time we have been given.

     In the New Testament, we read this warning: "Come now, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit'— yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, 'If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.' As it is, you boast in your arrogance. All such boasting is evil" (James 4:13–16).

     What James is saying is precisely what the Blind Boys of Alabama are singing about - "This may be the last time... I don't know." Is it wrong to live with that sense of foreboding in mind? No. In fact, James tells us that to ignore it is to be arrogant. Arrogant like the rich landowner that Jesus warns against in Luke 21:16-21. He had reached a point of financial comfort, so he expected to dwell in peace the rest of his days. He took for granted that he would enjoy life tomorrow and for many more tomorrows after that. The Lord calls him a fool because for all his wealth and success, his life would end that night.

     Here's what anticipatory grief teaches us: we are utterly contingent beings; that's a fancy way of saying that our continued existence depends on things we can't control. Neither worry nor joy nor ignorance can extend our days. Any moment could be our last. That's the message I missed the first 100 times I listened to the Blind Boys of Alabama sing that song. I heard them as a group of old men reckoning with their own imminent mortality because they were old. I should have heard them as mortal men reminding us all that our lives are brief and that tomorrow is not promised to us.

     If we have eyes to see, Scripture is painfully repetitive on this point:
Psalm 103:15-16 "As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more."
Isaiah 40:7-8 "The grass withers, the flower fades when the breath of the LORD blows on it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever."
Job 14:1-2 "Man who is born of a woman is few of days and full of trouble. He comes out like a flower and withers; he flees like a shadow and continues not."

     So yes, remember - this may be the last time. The last time you sit down to a meal; the last time you talk to a friend; the last time you see a sunrise; the last time you hear the voice of a loved one. I don't say that to depress you, I say that to (believe it or not) inspire you. The anticipatory grief that encroaches on our brief and fleeting days and which seeks to overshadow our joy can only be forced into retreat when joy is reaffirmed. Yes, this may be the last time, and because it may be the last time, I will cling to the joy of the moment while I have it. When something (such as the time we have together) is rare, it becomes precious.

     The fewness of our days should not make those days sad. It should make them valuable. Each moment we do have is gifted to us by God, and there is a time for everything. There is "a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance" (Ecclesiastes 3:4). Now is not yet the time for weeping. The only thing I've lost is a future that was never promised me in the first place. Anticipatory grief is a response to the painful reality that our future on earth is not a given. That is true for all of us, every day, for our entire lives. It's not something we easily remember. It's not something we feel to be true until a big interruption threatens all those tomorrows we've taken for granted. But once we see how contingent we are, once we realize that we only see tomorrow "If the Lord wills," then today can be a moment of tremendous gratitude and delight. A gift that wasn't guaranteed or owed, but which we have anyway.

     It's hard living in the ambiguity of that. As the Blind Boys of Alabama sing, "May the last time... I don't know." I don't know if I've celebrated my last Christmas, my last birthday, my last Father's Day. But I pray for the wisdom and strength and faith to walk with peace and gladness, even if it is the last time. I don't know if it is. But even if it is, every moment before was a precious gift, not something I had a right to demand. And now I have been awakened to receive that gift of time, rather than grieve the times I might not get.  

     The song ends on a more hopeful note than you may notice at first: "May be the last time we ever mourn together. May be the last time, I don't know." I'd always paid more attention to the "together" part of that phrase: We may not be together again, even to mourn. But now I see there's a great hope in there. Mourning will end. Worldly grief looks to the days ahead and sees them as darkened by loss and despair.  The Christian's grief (as 1 Thessalonians 4:13 reminds us) looks to the days ahead and has hope. Grief - anticipatory and otherwise - will have no power when Christ returns. And that is something worth anticipating.

]]> FOMO addendum - The Soundtrack of Longing https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/fomo-addendum-the-soundtrack-of-longing https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/fomo-addendum-the-soundtrack-of-longing#comments Fri, 12 Jun 2026 12:01:11 -0400 https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/fomo-addendum-the-soundtrack-of-longing      I considered adding a paragraph to my previous post about the FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) and how it drives us to snatch up the crumbs of joyful earthly experiences. All those experiences, I concluded, are things we pursue because they give us a sense of the greater joy for which we are destined - the perfect joy of union with God in our eternal home. We need not fear running out of time and "missing out" on the good things of earth, because they will all be surpassed by the greater, truer joy of heaven. In death, we who are in Christ will feel no regret over missed joys from earth.
     Minutes after I posted that entry, I heard a song playing in a restaurant and realized it was speaking of that exact topic. Rather than add a paragraph to an already completed post, I've decided to explore that song in a post of its own.
     In U2's award winning song "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For," Bono sings of the things he has experienced - climbing mountains, running through fields, physical intimacy, etc - and all these experiences have one goal: "Only to be with you." Since this is a pop song, we might naturally expect that the "you" that Bono wants to be with is a romantic interest. But as the song plays out, we see that Bono has a different "you" in mind. "You broke the bonds and you loosed the chains. Carried the cross of my shame." From these words we see that when Bono says he does all this "only to be with you," he is desiring to experience and draw close to Jesus.
     What the song so beautifully describes is the same thing Scripture teaches us in Ecclesiastes 3:10-11, "I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end." The world is beautiful, and the world is made to be enjoyed, but the world is not made to give us our highest joy.  The joy we find here awakens in our hearts an eternal, unquenchable desire for the one who created that joy. But, as we all come to realize, nothing on earth can satisfy the heart's desire for God, and so the refrain of the song reminds us that no matter what we experience, "I still haven't found what I'm looking for."
     When we mistake the created pleasures and joys of earth for the true and lasting joy, we are like travelers heading for some great destination (let's say the Grand Canyon, in keeping with the theme from my previous post) who stop at the first billboard they see and gaze upon the words, "Grand Canyon, 100 miles ahead." Seeing the sign, they think they've reached their goal. Such foolish travelers will find it exciting at first, but then unsatisfying.   Our desire is for something much better, much more amazing than what we get.  This is the experience of all who gather crumbs outside the lobby of the feast. Without the hope or expectation of the greater joy, we might find ourselves singing a different song than Bono sings, a song more like one from the movie musical "The Greatest Showman."
"All the shine of a thousand spotlights.
All the stars we steal from the night sky
Will never be enough, Never be enough.
Towers of gold are still too little,
These hands could hold the world but it'll
Never be enough, Never be enough for me."

     And so, despite the fear of missing out, there is a greater disappointment we can experience: getting what we want. We can experience all the good on earth, have everything we want to have. And it will not satisfy. This also is taught to us in Ecclesiastes: "Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I kept my heart from no pleasure, for my heart found pleasure in all my toil, and this was my reward for all my toil. Then I considered all that my hands had done and the toil I had expended in doing it, and behold, all was vanity and a striving after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun" Ecclesiastes 2:10–11.
     In all my decades of studying, writing, listening to, and enjoying music, I've come to see that most of our songs speak either of our hearts desire for satisfaction or of the pain of being unsatisfied (the Rolling Stones have two hits overtly about being dissatisfied and not getting what you want).  Music speaks this way because it is the universal experience of humanity to be discontent and unfulfilled.  But for the one who trusts Christ, that frustration isn't the end of the story.  Bono writes from a perspective of Christian faith, and so his unfinished pursuit is carried out in hope: "I believe in the Kingdom Come, Then all the colors will bleed into one... But yes, I'm still running."
     Where does that leave me, then? Still running. Still living. But living with the assurance of satisfaction instead of the fear of missing out. Not because I know I will get to see and do and be all the things I want to in this life, but because I know that none of those things were ever really "what I'm looking for."  And what I'm looking for - and unimaginably more - is surely mine in Christ.

     I've taken us through a lot of songs in this little addendum. Allow me to wrap it up with one more set of lyrics:
"Fading is the worldling's pleasure,
All his boasted pomp and show;
Solid joys and lasting treasure
None but Zion's children know."

Solid joys.  Lasting treasure.  That is what we don't want to miss out on.  And that is what awaits us when the doors to the banquet hall open to all the hungry guests.

]]>      I considered adding a paragraph to my previous post about the FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) and how it drives us to snatch up the crumbs of joyful earthly experiences. All those experiences, I concluded, are things we pursue because they give us a sense of the greater joy for which we are destined - the perfect joy of union with God in our eternal home. We need not fear running out of time and "missing out" on the good things of earth, because they will all be surpassed by the greater, truer joy of heaven. In death, we who are in Christ will feel no regret over missed joys from earth.
     Minutes after I posted that entry, I heard a song playing in a restaurant and realized it was speaking of that exact topic. Rather than add a paragraph to an already completed post, I've decided to explore that song in a post of its own.
     In U2's award winning song "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For," Bono sings of the things he has experienced - climbing mountains, running through fields, physical intimacy, etc - and all these experiences have one goal: "Only to be with you." Since this is a pop song, we might naturally expect that the "you" that Bono wants to be with is a romantic interest. But as the song plays out, we see that Bono has a different "you" in mind. "You broke the bonds and you loosed the chains. Carried the cross of my shame." From these words we see that when Bono says he does all this "only to be with you," he is desiring to experience and draw close to Jesus.
     What the song so beautifully describes is the same thing Scripture teaches us in Ecclesiastes 3:10-11, "I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end." The world is beautiful, and the world is made to be enjoyed, but the world is not made to give us our highest joy.  The joy we find here awakens in our hearts an eternal, unquenchable desire for the one who created that joy. But, as we all come to realize, nothing on earth can satisfy the heart's desire for God, and so the refrain of the song reminds us that no matter what we experience, "I still haven't found what I'm looking for."
     When we mistake the created pleasures and joys of earth for the true and lasting joy, we are like travelers heading for some great destination (let's say the Grand Canyon, in keeping with the theme from my previous post) who stop at the first billboard they see and gaze upon the words, "Grand Canyon, 100 miles ahead." Seeing the sign, they think they've reached their goal. Such foolish travelers will find it exciting at first, but then unsatisfying.   Our desire is for something much better, much more amazing than what we get.  This is the experience of all who gather crumbs outside the lobby of the feast. Without the hope or expectation of the greater joy, we might find ourselves singing a different song than Bono sings, a song more like one from the movie musical "The Greatest Showman."
"All the shine of a thousand spotlights.
All the stars we steal from the night sky
Will never be enough, Never be enough.
Towers of gold are still too little,
These hands could hold the world but it'll
Never be enough, Never be enough for me."

     And so, despite the fear of missing out, there is a greater disappointment we can experience: getting what we want. We can experience all the good on earth, have everything we want to have. And it will not satisfy. This also is taught to us in Ecclesiastes: "Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I kept my heart from no pleasure, for my heart found pleasure in all my toil, and this was my reward for all my toil. Then I considered all that my hands had done and the toil I had expended in doing it, and behold, all was vanity and a striving after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun" Ecclesiastes 2:10–11.
     In all my decades of studying, writing, listening to, and enjoying music, I've come to see that most of our songs speak either of our hearts desire for satisfaction or of the pain of being unsatisfied (the Rolling Stones have two hits overtly about being dissatisfied and not getting what you want).  Music speaks this way because it is the universal experience of humanity to be discontent and unfulfilled.  But for the one who trusts Christ, that frustration isn't the end of the story.  Bono writes from a perspective of Christian faith, and so his unfinished pursuit is carried out in hope: "I believe in the Kingdom Come, Then all the colors will bleed into one... But yes, I'm still running."
     Where does that leave me, then? Still running. Still living. But living with the assurance of satisfaction instead of the fear of missing out. Not because I know I will get to see and do and be all the things I want to in this life, but because I know that none of those things were ever really "what I'm looking for."  And what I'm looking for - and unimaginably more - is surely mine in Christ.

     I've taken us through a lot of songs in this little addendum. Allow me to wrap it up with one more set of lyrics:
"Fading is the worldling's pleasure,
All his boasted pomp and show;
Solid joys and lasting treasure
None but Zion's children know."

Solid joys.  Lasting treasure.  That is what we don't want to miss out on.  And that is what awaits us when the doors to the banquet hall open to all the hungry guests.

]]> FOMO and Scrounging Up Crumbs https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/fomo-and-scrounging-up-crumbs https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/fomo-and-scrounging-up-crumbs#comments Sun, 07 Jun 2026 22:27:01 -0400 https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/fomo-and-scrounging-up-crumbs      For some people, once they receive a diagnosis that puts a shorter cap on their life expectancy, a sense of FOMO begins to settle in. FOMO stands for "Fear of Missing Out," and it's the sense that you aren't having the same enjoyable experiences as everyone else. The idea mostly grew out of the social media age, where you could see your friends posting pictures from a certain event that you weren't attending. Social media creates this sense of "everyone else is having a good time and I'm missing out on something special." Now, I could spend some time dissecting that delusional fear and exposing it as a manufactured problem, a product of the advertising industry and little more than peer pressure from an imaginary peer group. But that's not the post I have in mind today.

     What I'm thinking about is having a terminal diagnosis and realizing there are things I may never get to experience. Foods I've never tried, books I won't be able to read, movies that won't be released until after I die, places I've wanted to visit but won't be able to see. "I'll never get to ___________." "I'll never know what it's like to _________." "I'll never see _________." That's the kind of FOMO that sets in when the doctor tells you your clock is ticking and that there aren't many ticks left.  It's the mindset that inspires bucket lists.

     My dad had always wanted to visit the Grand Canyon. He loved nature, and he especially loved the US National Parks. For most of his life, however, we were never financially able to travel to many of those places. But after their kids were all out of the house, my parents began planning and taking some trips. The Grand Canyon was next on the agenda when my dad was diagnosed with cancer. They tried to plan a Grand Canyon trip early in his illness, but his body couldn't handle traveling. Treatment was rough. He was barely able to make the two hour drive to my wedding that year. In the last weeks of his life, I asked him if he regretted not going to the Grand Canyon sooner. He replied with a smile, "I'll fly by it on my way to heaven." There was never a hint of FOMO in his heart as he considered all the lost opportunities of his life.

     My dad's mindset left a deep impression on me. And now, as I face my own creeping FOMO, I'm doing a lot of reflecting on how a heart of faith needs to face that feeling. It is something we all need to address, not just those in my situation. Every believer who experiences FOMO needs to confront it with truth. This feeling is corruptive - it is rooted in fear and entitlement, and it produces bitterness and envy and grief. In the general sense, the corrective approach is to develop a heart of contentment, but that's outside the scope of this post.

     For the more terminal cases, there's another perspective we need to embrace. It's a perspective I gained when my family and I finally visited the Grand Canyon a few years ago. It was beautiful. It was awe-inspiring. It was... not enough. I loved the views, loved the experience. But it felt like I wanted more than the Canyon could ever give me. Because the desire to see the canyon was never about the canyon. The Psalmist wonders, "Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you" (Psalm 73:25). The Canyon is not capable of satisfying the desire we bring to it, because the root of all our desire is to be re-united with God.  That's what we desire.  That's what we're chasing, even here on Earth.

     We hunger for some experience that will satisfy. We pursue something that will give us deep joy, something that will fill our hearts. All the amazing experiences we have in life can only offer a taste, a tiny taste, of what we're craving. That's why we enjoy those things, and it's why we want to experience them. Through beauty and excitement and wonder, we connect with something our hearts are designed to enjoy on a much bigger scale. Through them, we experience some of the joy and wonder and peace that comes from God. And yet even the best, most transcendent experiences in this life will be brief and insufficient.  We are lifted up to the heavens for a moment and then must come back down to the mundane.  It does no good to keep chasing that feeling, because what we want can't be captured in this life.  All these things are crumbs on the floor outside the banquet hall.

     We are hungry people, hungry for a deep-soul satisfaction that nothing on earth can provide. Hungry for a deep-soul intimacy with God that no other relationship can offer. Hungry for a deep-soul rest that can't be experienced with a broken body in a broken world. We are, if you will let me paint a picture, hungry people standing in a lobby outside a banquet hall. We can smell the feast inside, but the doors are locked. Suddenly, we notice that as the feast was being prepared, some of the crumbs fell on the floor of the lobby where we wait. We are so hungry that we drop to our hands and knees and snatch up as many crumbs as we can find. None of them fill our bellies, but still we search. What we don't realize, perhaps, is that the banquet behind the doors has been prepared for us. We are the guests. Soon, the doors will swing open and we will feast forever.

     When I picture it that way, this problem of FOMO strikes me as being worried that when the doors open, I will regret not having picked up more crumbs. Do you think it would be possible to feel that way? I don't think so. The problem of FOMO is a "this world" problem. It's a fear that will dissolve as soon as the doors to the banquet hall are opened. I am convinced that our hearts will be so fully satisfied in the presence of Christ that there will be no thought for what earthly joys we missed on the way in. Those earthly joys were just the crumbs, just the hints of what was being prepared for us. They could never do justice to the fullness of joy we were seeking when we chased them down. Paul says "the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us" (Romans 8:18). I think we can go even further and say that the joys of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.

     Those things I always wanted and hoped to see and experience? I only wanted them because of what they point me to: the joy of family points me to my heavenly father. The grandeur of creation points me to the beauty of the new heavens and earth. Seeing my children grow in the Lord points me to the knowledge that God is at work in their lives. When I enter the banquet hall, I won't need to be shown those things in earthly hints and images, I will see and experience those joys directly in the presence of God. One of the promise of the New Covenant is that "no longer shall each one teach his neighbor and each his brother, saying, ‘Know the LORD,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, declares the LORD" (Jeremiah 31:34). This finds the beginnings of fulfillment as the Holy Spirit is given to each believer through Jesus Christ; and it finds completion when we "see... face to face" and "know fully" (1 Corinthians 13:12). We won't need go-betweens to awaken joy and worship and peace in our hearts. We will have a direct experience of the reality of joy. The Grand Canyon was only a shadow of the awe I will someday feel in the presence of God.

     In the meantime, I'll still enjoy as many things in this life as I can. Perhaps I can enjoy them even more - the fear of missing out often denies us the joy that is available to us today.  Every moment of pleasure is a gift of God and is intended to be enjoyed (Ecclesiastes 3:12-13, 5:18-20). With FOMO exposed and rejected, I can stop worrying that I will reach the end of my earthly life (whether it's 2 months from now or 20 years from now) with any regret over experiences I've missed. Sure, there will still be some crumbs on the floor when I'm done, but I'll be too happy with the feast to be bothered by them.

 

]]>      For some people, once they receive a diagnosis that puts a shorter cap on their life expectancy, a sense of FOMO begins to settle in. FOMO stands for "Fear of Missing Out," and it's the sense that you aren't having the same enjoyable experiences as everyone else. The idea mostly grew out of the social media age, where you could see your friends posting pictures from a certain event that you weren't attending. Social media creates this sense of "everyone else is having a good time and I'm missing out on something special." Now, I could spend some time dissecting that delusional fear and exposing it as a manufactured problem, a product of the advertising industry and little more than peer pressure from an imaginary peer group. But that's not the post I have in mind today.

     What I'm thinking about is having a terminal diagnosis and realizing there are things I may never get to experience. Foods I've never tried, books I won't be able to read, movies that won't be released until after I die, places I've wanted to visit but won't be able to see. "I'll never get to ___________." "I'll never know what it's like to _________." "I'll never see _________." That's the kind of FOMO that sets in when the doctor tells you your clock is ticking and that there aren't many ticks left.  It's the mindset that inspires bucket lists.

     My dad had always wanted to visit the Grand Canyon. He loved nature, and he especially loved the US National Parks. For most of his life, however, we were never financially able to travel to many of those places. But after their kids were all out of the house, my parents began planning and taking some trips. The Grand Canyon was next on the agenda when my dad was diagnosed with cancer. They tried to plan a Grand Canyon trip early in his illness, but his body couldn't handle traveling. Treatment was rough. He was barely able to make the two hour drive to my wedding that year. In the last weeks of his life, I asked him if he regretted not going to the Grand Canyon sooner. He replied with a smile, "I'll fly by it on my way to heaven." There was never a hint of FOMO in his heart as he considered all the lost opportunities of his life.

     My dad's mindset left a deep impression on me. And now, as I face my own creeping FOMO, I'm doing a lot of reflecting on how a heart of faith needs to face that feeling. It is something we all need to address, not just those in my situation. Every believer who experiences FOMO needs to confront it with truth. This feeling is corruptive - it is rooted in fear and entitlement, and it produces bitterness and envy and grief. In the general sense, the corrective approach is to develop a heart of contentment, but that's outside the scope of this post.

     For the more terminal cases, there's another perspective we need to embrace. It's a perspective I gained when my family and I finally visited the Grand Canyon a few years ago. It was beautiful. It was awe-inspiring. It was... not enough. I loved the views, loved the experience. But it felt like I wanted more than the Canyon could ever give me. Because the desire to see the canyon was never about the canyon. The Psalmist wonders, "Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you" (Psalm 73:25). The Canyon is not capable of satisfying the desire we bring to it, because the root of all our desire is to be re-united with God.  That's what we desire.  That's what we're chasing, even here on Earth.

     We hunger for some experience that will satisfy. We pursue something that will give us deep joy, something that will fill our hearts. All the amazing experiences we have in life can only offer a taste, a tiny taste, of what we're craving. That's why we enjoy those things, and it's why we want to experience them. Through beauty and excitement and wonder, we connect with something our hearts are designed to enjoy on a much bigger scale. Through them, we experience some of the joy and wonder and peace that comes from God. And yet even the best, most transcendent experiences in this life will be brief and insufficient.  We are lifted up to the heavens for a moment and then must come back down to the mundane.  It does no good to keep chasing that feeling, because what we want can't be captured in this life.  All these things are crumbs on the floor outside the banquet hall.

     We are hungry people, hungry for a deep-soul satisfaction that nothing on earth can provide. Hungry for a deep-soul intimacy with God that no other relationship can offer. Hungry for a deep-soul rest that can't be experienced with a broken body in a broken world. We are, if you will let me paint a picture, hungry people standing in a lobby outside a banquet hall. We can smell the feast inside, but the doors are locked. Suddenly, we notice that as the feast was being prepared, some of the crumbs fell on the floor of the lobby where we wait. We are so hungry that we drop to our hands and knees and snatch up as many crumbs as we can find. None of them fill our bellies, but still we search. What we don't realize, perhaps, is that the banquet behind the doors has been prepared for us. We are the guests. Soon, the doors will swing open and we will feast forever.

     When I picture it that way, this problem of FOMO strikes me as being worried that when the doors open, I will regret not having picked up more crumbs. Do you think it would be possible to feel that way? I don't think so. The problem of FOMO is a "this world" problem. It's a fear that will dissolve as soon as the doors to the banquet hall are opened. I am convinced that our hearts will be so fully satisfied in the presence of Christ that there will be no thought for what earthly joys we missed on the way in. Those earthly joys were just the crumbs, just the hints of what was being prepared for us. They could never do justice to the fullness of joy we were seeking when we chased them down. Paul says "the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us" (Romans 8:18). I think we can go even further and say that the joys of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.

     Those things I always wanted and hoped to see and experience? I only wanted them because of what they point me to: the joy of family points me to my heavenly father. The grandeur of creation points me to the beauty of the new heavens and earth. Seeing my children grow in the Lord points me to the knowledge that God is at work in their lives. When I enter the banquet hall, I won't need to be shown those things in earthly hints and images, I will see and experience those joys directly in the presence of God. One of the promise of the New Covenant is that "no longer shall each one teach his neighbor and each his brother, saying, ‘Know the LORD,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, declares the LORD" (Jeremiah 31:34). This finds the beginnings of fulfillment as the Holy Spirit is given to each believer through Jesus Christ; and it finds completion when we "see... face to face" and "know fully" (1 Corinthians 13:12). We won't need go-betweens to awaken joy and worship and peace in our hearts. We will have a direct experience of the reality of joy. The Grand Canyon was only a shadow of the awe I will someday feel in the presence of God.

     In the meantime, I'll still enjoy as many things in this life as I can. Perhaps I can enjoy them even more - the fear of missing out often denies us the joy that is available to us today.  Every moment of pleasure is a gift of God and is intended to be enjoyed (Ecclesiastes 3:12-13, 5:18-20). With FOMO exposed and rejected, I can stop worrying that I will reach the end of my earthly life (whether it's 2 months from now or 20 years from now) with any regret over experiences I've missed. Sure, there will still be some crumbs on the floor when I'm done, but I'll be too happy with the feast to be bothered by them.

 

]]> Getting Angry With God https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/getting-angry-with-god https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/getting-angry-with-god#comments Tue, 26 May 2026 12:28:39 -0400 https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/getting-angry-with-god      In an earlier post, I wrote in defense of sorrow. My point was that not only is it OK for a Christian to be sad, but it is actually a sign of spiritual maturity in the right circumstances. We could ask the same thing of anger. Sorrow should not be compounded with guilt, but it too often is. We are told that if we had real faith, we wouldn't be sad; but we do feel sad, and so we feel guilty at our lack of faith. Anger plays the same game. If anger is wrong, then it is a mark of immaturity and we should repent of it. If there is room for anger in our walk with God, then we should not add guilt to the burdens we already carry. Full honesty here: I've spent some time dealing with my anger towards God due to my diagnosis. What follows is not scholarly meditation. It's the real-life struggle that many of us face, but which few of us feel comfortable speaking aloud.
     Is it OK to be angry with God? The question assumes some big truths about God's involvement in our lives. Facing the tragic death of his young son, Rabbi Harold Kushner wrote his famous book, When Bad Things Happen to Good People. Kushner argues that God is loving and wise but not all-powerful. He is not in control of everything that happens. If that's who God is, then it is of course wrong to be angry with him when we suffer. After all, he can't do anything about it. But the God of the Bible is (as I keep explaining in these writings) loving, wise, and all-powerful. He is completely in control. Whether you believe that means he ordains the suffering we experience (see Amos 3:6 and Isaiah 45:7) or whether he has the power to intervene but chooses not to (Psalm 10:1), the result is the same. When we suffer, God is in control. Naturally, that makes us wonder why he allows us to suffer. And it's not a big leap from those questions to anger when we don't get the answers we want.
     Is it OK to be angry with God? The answer to this question can't be a simple yes or no. But to find the answer, let's explore the yes and no answers and evaluate them in the light of Scripture.

First perspective: No, it's not OK to be angry with God
Reason: God is God. His thoughts are higher than ours and we should not question his ways (Isaiah 55:8-9). Though we associate Job with patience, Job's words are in fact filled with anger and frustration towards the God that was in control over his suffering. In the end, God rebuked Job for questioning him "without knowledge" (Job 38:1-2). We are reminded in Romans 9:20-21 that God is the potter and we are the clay. "Who are you, o man, to talk back to God?"
     Anger, in this view, is always wrong because anger comes from a lack of faith. We don't trust God and his ways, so we are upset with how he ordains our days. Another problem with anger is that it can come from our pride. We believe we know better than God. We think that if we had his power, we would run the world  (or at least our own lives) better. Anger also comes from a sense of entitlement. Rather than being content with the life God has given us, we believe we deserve better than what we have.
     And so it is understandable that Scripture reminds us again and again to put anger far away from us (Ephesians 4:31), "for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God" (James 1:20).

Second Perspective: Yes, it's OK to be angry with God
Reasoning: Anger itself is not sin. In fact, the grammar of Ephesians 4:26 is an imperative - a command: "Be angry." Of course it goes on to clarify that in our anger we should not give in to sin, but that clarification means a lot. It distinguishes the feeling of anger from the sinful actions it may produce. As we read through the Bible, especially the Psalms and prophets, we find men and women expressing anger with God and his ways. They are not rebuked for this. Instead, God has a pattern of dealing gently with them, often using their anger to teach them important lessons (see Habakkuk, Jeremiah, etc). Anger is a normal response to our suffering, and God allows it without condemning it.

     Both of these perspectives have Scriptural support, and both of them express truth that we must consider. But neither of them gives us the whole picture, and for that we need a more balanced perspective.

Balanced Perspective: How to Be Angry With God
     Most of the time that Scripture gives instruction about anger, it uses the word "slow." As in James 1:19, "let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger." In this, we are to model ourselves after God, who is also slow to anger (Psalm 103:8, Exodus 34:6). If anger is always sinful, then what do we do with a God who gets angry?
     But that's not really our question, is it? We're asking "Is it OK to be angry with God?" not "Is it OK to be angry?"
     Randy, my co-pastor, was preaching on the topic of grace recently and he used a great illustration that I'm going to apply in a different way. Randy said that the grace of God is not a parking lot, it's a merging lane. We're not meant to stop and idle and remain in our sin because of God's forgiveness. Instead, because God forgives us, we merge into the life of obedience that God has prepared for us (see Ephesians 2:8-10). I think the same image applies to anger as well. Anger towards God is a problem when it becomes a parking lot - when we stop there, refusing to move on and allowing our anger to consume us. Anger towards God should instead be a merging lane. It's temporary by nature, and it directs us towards the path that we're supposed to be on, a path of trusting God in all circumstances.
     So with that image in mind, how do we navigate the merging lane of anger towards God?
1. Analyze the source of your anger. What is it that upsets you? When Jonah was angry over the loss of shade and over God's grace towards sinners, God asked him, "Do you do well to be angry?" (Jonah 4:4, 9). In analyzing the reason for his anger, the Lord exposed Jonah's hard heart. Jonah was angry for the wrong reasons, and for that he needed to repent.
2. Acknowledge your limits. This is where the first perspective informs us well. Our anger is almost always the result of our finite perspective. What seem unjust to us is perfectly just from God's perspective. What may seem unloving to us may be a more loving thing than we'll ever understand in this earthly life. When Paul says "we see in a mirror dimly" (1 Corinthians 13:12), he puts his finger on the painful cause of much of our anger. We don't see or know or understand all things. When we base our judgment on knowledge and perception that are incomplete, we can easily get angry. Acknowledging our limits will help us be slower to anger.
3. Avoid sinful expressions. This is where the second perspective informs us well. The anger might not be sinful, but the anger we feel can still lead us to sin if we express it wrongly. Remember Job? Yes, he was angry.  Yes God pointed out his ignorance. But we are told that "Job did not sin or charge God with wrong" (Job 1:22).
4. Abide with trust. If I truly am limited and cannot yet understand why God does what he does and allows what he allows, then I have to fall back on trusting his character. Is he trustworthy? Because he has given Jesus to die in my place, I know that he loves me. Because he has raised Jesus from the grave, I know that he is mighty over all things, even death itself. Because he has created galaxies and creatures my eyes will never see, I know that he is wise. When my circumstances don't make sense, I have to fall back on what does make sense - God is good, wise, and in control. I'll let those truths interpret my circumstances and not let my suffering define what is true.

     For me, the turning point was a preposition. I've been very careful to say "angry with God" instead of "angry at God." In the end, let our anger be something we share with the God who is himself angered by injustice, suffering, evil, and all that sin has done to ruin his good creation. God is angry at these things, let us be angry with him. But if we are tempted to turn our anger towards God and to be angry at him, let's get back in the merging lane, abiding in trust until we see clearly, know fully, and faith becomes sight.

]]>      In an earlier post, I wrote in defense of sorrow. My point was that not only is it OK for a Christian to be sad, but it is actually a sign of spiritual maturity in the right circumstances. We could ask the same thing of anger. Sorrow should not be compounded with guilt, but it too often is. We are told that if we had real faith, we wouldn't be sad; but we do feel sad, and so we feel guilty at our lack of faith. Anger plays the same game. If anger is wrong, then it is a mark of immaturity and we should repent of it. If there is room for anger in our walk with God, then we should not add guilt to the burdens we already carry. Full honesty here: I've spent some time dealing with my anger towards God due to my diagnosis. What follows is not scholarly meditation. It's the real-life struggle that many of us face, but which few of us feel comfortable speaking aloud.
     Is it OK to be angry with God? The question assumes some big truths about God's involvement in our lives. Facing the tragic death of his young son, Rabbi Harold Kushner wrote his famous book, When Bad Things Happen to Good People. Kushner argues that God is loving and wise but not all-powerful. He is not in control of everything that happens. If that's who God is, then it is of course wrong to be angry with him when we suffer. After all, he can't do anything about it. But the God of the Bible is (as I keep explaining in these writings) loving, wise, and all-powerful. He is completely in control. Whether you believe that means he ordains the suffering we experience (see Amos 3:6 and Isaiah 45:7) or whether he has the power to intervene but chooses not to (Psalm 10:1), the result is the same. When we suffer, God is in control. Naturally, that makes us wonder why he allows us to suffer. And it's not a big leap from those questions to anger when we don't get the answers we want.
     Is it OK to be angry with God? The answer to this question can't be a simple yes or no. But to find the answer, let's explore the yes and no answers and evaluate them in the light of Scripture.

First perspective: No, it's not OK to be angry with God
Reason: God is God. His thoughts are higher than ours and we should not question his ways (Isaiah 55:8-9). Though we associate Job with patience, Job's words are in fact filled with anger and frustration towards the God that was in control over his suffering. In the end, God rebuked Job for questioning him "without knowledge" (Job 38:1-2). We are reminded in Romans 9:20-21 that God is the potter and we are the clay. "Who are you, o man, to talk back to God?"
     Anger, in this view, is always wrong because anger comes from a lack of faith. We don't trust God and his ways, so we are upset with how he ordains our days. Another problem with anger is that it can come from our pride. We believe we know better than God. We think that if we had his power, we would run the world  (or at least our own lives) better. Anger also comes from a sense of entitlement. Rather than being content with the life God has given us, we believe we deserve better than what we have.
     And so it is understandable that Scripture reminds us again and again to put anger far away from us (Ephesians 4:31), "for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God" (James 1:20).

Second Perspective: Yes, it's OK to be angry with God
Reasoning: Anger itself is not sin. In fact, the grammar of Ephesians 4:26 is an imperative - a command: "Be angry." Of course it goes on to clarify that in our anger we should not give in to sin, but that clarification means a lot. It distinguishes the feeling of anger from the sinful actions it may produce. As we read through the Bible, especially the Psalms and prophets, we find men and women expressing anger with God and his ways. They are not rebuked for this. Instead, God has a pattern of dealing gently with them, often using their anger to teach them important lessons (see Habakkuk, Jeremiah, etc). Anger is a normal response to our suffering, and God allows it without condemning it.

     Both of these perspectives have Scriptural support, and both of them express truth that we must consider. But neither of them gives us the whole picture, and for that we need a more balanced perspective.

Balanced Perspective: How to Be Angry With God
     Most of the time that Scripture gives instruction about anger, it uses the word "slow." As in James 1:19, "let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger." In this, we are to model ourselves after God, who is also slow to anger (Psalm 103:8, Exodus 34:6). If anger is always sinful, then what do we do with a God who gets angry?
     But that's not really our question, is it? We're asking "Is it OK to be angry with God?" not "Is it OK to be angry?"
     Randy, my co-pastor, was preaching on the topic of grace recently and he used a great illustration that I'm going to apply in a different way. Randy said that the grace of God is not a parking lot, it's a merging lane. We're not meant to stop and idle and remain in our sin because of God's forgiveness. Instead, because God forgives us, we merge into the life of obedience that God has prepared for us (see Ephesians 2:8-10). I think the same image applies to anger as well. Anger towards God is a problem when it becomes a parking lot - when we stop there, refusing to move on and allowing our anger to consume us. Anger towards God should instead be a merging lane. It's temporary by nature, and it directs us towards the path that we're supposed to be on, a path of trusting God in all circumstances.
     So with that image in mind, how do we navigate the merging lane of anger towards God?
1. Analyze the source of your anger. What is it that upsets you? When Jonah was angry over the loss of shade and over God's grace towards sinners, God asked him, "Do you do well to be angry?" (Jonah 4:4, 9). In analyzing the reason for his anger, the Lord exposed Jonah's hard heart. Jonah was angry for the wrong reasons, and for that he needed to repent.
2. Acknowledge your limits. This is where the first perspective informs us well. Our anger is almost always the result of our finite perspective. What seem unjust to us is perfectly just from God's perspective. What may seem unloving to us may be a more loving thing than we'll ever understand in this earthly life. When Paul says "we see in a mirror dimly" (1 Corinthians 13:12), he puts his finger on the painful cause of much of our anger. We don't see or know or understand all things. When we base our judgment on knowledge and perception that are incomplete, we can easily get angry. Acknowledging our limits will help us be slower to anger.
3. Avoid sinful expressions. This is where the second perspective informs us well. The anger might not be sinful, but the anger we feel can still lead us to sin if we express it wrongly. Remember Job? Yes, he was angry.  Yes God pointed out his ignorance. But we are told that "Job did not sin or charge God with wrong" (Job 1:22).
4. Abide with trust. If I truly am limited and cannot yet understand why God does what he does and allows what he allows, then I have to fall back on trusting his character. Is he trustworthy? Because he has given Jesus to die in my place, I know that he loves me. Because he has raised Jesus from the grave, I know that he is mighty over all things, even death itself. Because he has created galaxies and creatures my eyes will never see, I know that he is wise. When my circumstances don't make sense, I have to fall back on what does make sense - God is good, wise, and in control. I'll let those truths interpret my circumstances and not let my suffering define what is true.

     For me, the turning point was a preposition. I've been very careful to say "angry with God" instead of "angry at God." In the end, let our anger be something we share with the God who is himself angered by injustice, suffering, evil, and all that sin has done to ruin his good creation. God is angry at these things, let us be angry with him. But if we are tempted to turn our anger towards God and to be angry at him, let's get back in the merging lane, abiding in trust until we see clearly, know fully, and faith becomes sight.

]]> Suffering Well (An Incomplete Guide) https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/suffering-well-an-incomplete-guide https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/suffering-well-an-incomplete-guide#comments Tue, 19 May 2026 12:19:32 -0400 https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/suffering-well-an-incomplete-guide      I ended my previous post with this observation: Since suffering is the norm (for now), the proper perspective for the Christian need not be "How can I avoid suffering?" but instead, "How can I suffer well?" That's the question we turn to now. In such a medium, I can't hope to do full justice to what could be said on this topic, but we can at least hit the highlights:

Suffer for the right reasons
     This is a gut check that should happen right away. As we see in 1 Peter 4:15-16, we should not confuse the consequences of our sin with true suffering. If our suffering is the consequence of sinful choices, then we are undergoing justice, not testing of faith. So to suffer well, we should first ensure that we are not self-deceived about it. Are people rejecting us or are they rejecting a witness that lacks integrity, gentleness, and respect (1 Peter 3:15-17)?

Confess Sin
     As James 5:15-15 shows us, there are times when even physical suffering is intended to move us towards repentance of sin. Recall how God afflicted the church in Corinth for their sins while celebrating communion (see 1 Corinthians 11:27-31). Then Paul tells them in 1 Corinthians 11:32, "But when we are judged by the Lord, we are disciplined so that we may not be condemned along with the world." Suffering that is not a natural result of our sin, but which seems to be an extra judgment, may also be the discipline of God seeking to save us from a more severe judgment. Some pain now may be lovingly administered so that we do not remain in our sin and face condemnation. It is wise to pray, as we see in Psalm 139:23-24, "Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!"

     There's a fine line to walk here, because one can go too far. There are some of us who, when we suffer, obsess over what sin in our life is the cause of our pain. It's not always like that. The Bible is filled with examples of people who suffered with no connection to sin they had committed.  But before we conclude that to be the case, let us examine our conscience and allow the Spirit to convict us and move us towards repentance.


Seek to learn what God might be teaching
     This continues naturally from the previous one, but moves beyond just learning about what we've done wrong. Sometimes God uses suffering to slow us down and get our attention so that he can teach us. The thorn in Paul's flesh was intended to reinforce humility and to prevent pride (2 Corinthians 12:7-10). In my own suffering this year, I've learned so much. Most memorably, I've learned that I was missing out on the joy that comes through thankfulness. I had expected that joy would produce thankfulness, but I've learned that it works the other way around - when I am thankful, then I have joy.
     So when you suffer, write things down, talk with a close friend, somehow listen and process what God might be teaching you during this season. And of course, you will be much more likely to hear what God is teaching if you are intentionally and regularly drawing close to his Word.


Be Honest
     Be honest when speaking with others, be honest in prayer to God, and be honest with yourself. You must be honest about how you feel, without putting on a show of holiness and fake joy. Seek solace in the Psalms and other Scriptures where suffering is put into words without compromising faith. The wound that we continue to hide will never receive healing.  And in your honesty, ask your brothers and sisters in Christ to pray with you and for you.  Tell them what is happening, tell them how you feel, tell them what you are learning, tell them how to pray for you.


Trust God without demanding answers
     Though God will teach you, he will probably not tell you everything you want to know. The greatest temptation when suffering is to complain. For the Christian, we can usually hold off on complaining, as long as we feel like we have some idea why this is happening to us. If we feel like we deserve it, or if we can imagine some greater purpose or meaning to justify our pain, then we can "trust" God and not complain.
     But that's not what trust looks like. If trust is contingent, if trust insists on having answers before it rests, then it is not trust at all. To suffer well, recall that his ways are higher, better, than our ways (Isaiah 55:8-9). It is not the role of the clay to tell the potter what to do (Romans 9:20-21). Our trust is rooted in God's character. We trust him because he has shown himself to be trustworthy, not because he has sufficiently explained himself to us. That was Job's desire, and he never received an explanation, only a reminder that it's not our place to know all things (Job 42:1-6).

Don't Suffer Alone
We are saved into a community that weeps with those who are weeping (Romans 12:15). There are people in the body of Christ who are gifted to serve you (1 Corinthians 12:7). One of the purposes of our suffering is to make us able to give comfort to others who are suffering (2 Corinthians 1:4-7). Seek community. Find people who can suffer with you, and find people whose joy lifts you out of your suffering, if only for a short time. The body of Christ should be a place where those who suffer need not add isolation to their grief.


Seek examples to follow
     Another aid to suffering well is to remember that you are not the first one to go through this valley. Scripture and church history are filled with stories and memories of men and women who have suffered faithfully and who have left their thoughts behind to encourage us. Learn from them. "For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope" (Romans 15:4).


Keep your eyes on the big picture
     It won't always be this way. That's a promise that echoes all throughout Scripture. Jesus endured the cross because of the joy that was before him (Hebrews 12:2). The heroes of faith in Scripture lived with an eternal city and greater reward in mind (Hebrews 11:10, 13-16, 24-26).  Remember, our present sufferings can't even be compared to the glory that awaits us (Romans 8:18).

Rejoice
     Yes, Scripture tells us to rejoice in our sufferings (Romans 5:3; James 1:2). I don't consider this a starting point so much as a destination. Rejoicing in our suffering requires us to travel through the honest questioning and then settle in at trust. Trust grows as God reveals more of the big picture to us.  And as we recognize that we are always in the loving hands of our mighty and wise Father, we rejoice, knowing that, despite our inability to explain it, this is working for our good (Romans 8:28).

]]>      I ended my previous post with this observation: Since suffering is the norm (for now), the proper perspective for the Christian need not be "How can I avoid suffering?" but instead, "How can I suffer well?" That's the question we turn to now. In such a medium, I can't hope to do full justice to what could be said on this topic, but we can at least hit the highlights:

Suffer for the right reasons
     This is a gut check that should happen right away. As we see in 1 Peter 4:15-16, we should not confuse the consequences of our sin with true suffering. If our suffering is the consequence of sinful choices, then we are undergoing justice, not testing of faith. So to suffer well, we should first ensure that we are not self-deceived about it. Are people rejecting us or are they rejecting a witness that lacks integrity, gentleness, and respect (1 Peter 3:15-17)?

Confess Sin
     As James 5:15-15 shows us, there are times when even physical suffering is intended to move us towards repentance of sin. Recall how God afflicted the church in Corinth for their sins while celebrating communion (see 1 Corinthians 11:27-31). Then Paul tells them in 1 Corinthians 11:32, "But when we are judged by the Lord, we are disciplined so that we may not be condemned along with the world." Suffering that is not a natural result of our sin, but which seems to be an extra judgment, may also be the discipline of God seeking to save us from a more severe judgment. Some pain now may be lovingly administered so that we do not remain in our sin and face condemnation. It is wise to pray, as we see in Psalm 139:23-24, "Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!"

     There's a fine line to walk here, because one can go too far. There are some of us who, when we suffer, obsess over what sin in our life is the cause of our pain. It's not always like that. The Bible is filled with examples of people who suffered with no connection to sin they had committed.  But before we conclude that to be the case, let us examine our conscience and allow the Spirit to convict us and move us towards repentance.


Seek to learn what God might be teaching
     This continues naturally from the previous one, but moves beyond just learning about what we've done wrong. Sometimes God uses suffering to slow us down and get our attention so that he can teach us. The thorn in Paul's flesh was intended to reinforce humility and to prevent pride (2 Corinthians 12:7-10). In my own suffering this year, I've learned so much. Most memorably, I've learned that I was missing out on the joy that comes through thankfulness. I had expected that joy would produce thankfulness, but I've learned that it works the other way around - when I am thankful, then I have joy.
     So when you suffer, write things down, talk with a close friend, somehow listen and process what God might be teaching you during this season. And of course, you will be much more likely to hear what God is teaching if you are intentionally and regularly drawing close to his Word.


Be Honest
     Be honest when speaking with others, be honest in prayer to God, and be honest with yourself. You must be honest about how you feel, without putting on a show of holiness and fake joy. Seek solace in the Psalms and other Scriptures where suffering is put into words without compromising faith. The wound that we continue to hide will never receive healing.  And in your honesty, ask your brothers and sisters in Christ to pray with you and for you.  Tell them what is happening, tell them how you feel, tell them what you are learning, tell them how to pray for you.


Trust God without demanding answers
     Though God will teach you, he will probably not tell you everything you want to know. The greatest temptation when suffering is to complain. For the Christian, we can usually hold off on complaining, as long as we feel like we have some idea why this is happening to us. If we feel like we deserve it, or if we can imagine some greater purpose or meaning to justify our pain, then we can "trust" God and not complain.
     But that's not what trust looks like. If trust is contingent, if trust insists on having answers before it rests, then it is not trust at all. To suffer well, recall that his ways are higher, better, than our ways (Isaiah 55:8-9). It is not the role of the clay to tell the potter what to do (Romans 9:20-21). Our trust is rooted in God's character. We trust him because he has shown himself to be trustworthy, not because he has sufficiently explained himself to us. That was Job's desire, and he never received an explanation, only a reminder that it's not our place to know all things (Job 42:1-6).

Don't Suffer Alone
We are saved into a community that weeps with those who are weeping (Romans 12:15). There are people in the body of Christ who are gifted to serve you (1 Corinthians 12:7). One of the purposes of our suffering is to make us able to give comfort to others who are suffering (2 Corinthians 1:4-7). Seek community. Find people who can suffer with you, and find people whose joy lifts you out of your suffering, if only for a short time. The body of Christ should be a place where those who suffer need not add isolation to their grief.


Seek examples to follow
     Another aid to suffering well is to remember that you are not the first one to go through this valley. Scripture and church history are filled with stories and memories of men and women who have suffered faithfully and who have left their thoughts behind to encourage us. Learn from them. "For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope" (Romans 15:4).


Keep your eyes on the big picture
     It won't always be this way. That's a promise that echoes all throughout Scripture. Jesus endured the cross because of the joy that was before him (Hebrews 12:2). The heroes of faith in Scripture lived with an eternal city and greater reward in mind (Hebrews 11:10, 13-16, 24-26).  Remember, our present sufferings can't even be compared to the glory that awaits us (Romans 8:18).

Rejoice
     Yes, Scripture tells us to rejoice in our sufferings (Romans 5:3; James 1:2). I don't consider this a starting point so much as a destination. Rejoicing in our suffering requires us to travel through the honest questioning and then settle in at trust. Trust grows as God reveals more of the big picture to us.  And as we recognize that we are always in the loving hands of our mighty and wise Father, we rejoice, knowing that, despite our inability to explain it, this is working for our good (Romans 8:28).

]]> Suffering is the Norm https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/suffering-is-the-norm https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/suffering-is-the-norm#comments Tue, 12 May 2026 11:37:07 -0400 https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/suffering-is-the-norm      As I was sharing the story of my cancer experience with some dear brothers in Christ recently, I began with the statement, "I'm realizing that suffering is the norm." It was a thought that occurred to me in the moment, but it's an idea I've expressed before. Now that I am in the midst of unavoidable suffering, it's not just an abstract theological idea. It's a truth I need to help me hold on.

     Believe me, I don't like saying that suffering is the norm, but I don't see any other way to understand it. The fact that we don't usually see it that way only means that we have existed in a cultural and historical bubble where we are mostly safe from violence, plague, famine, persecution, and war. Very few civilizations in history have experienced that.  Because we have grown accustomed to it, suffering confuses us.

     Every worldview has to explain suffering in some way.  Buddhist-influenced worldviews teach that suffering is an illusion and that the goal is to "disillusion" yourself through enlightenment. Many worldviews teach that suffering is something we experience because we deserve it. If we are in pain, we are being punished by God or "fate." Our modern materialist worldview teaches that suffering is a glitch in the system, an aberration that we need to overcome through science or social engineering. Because we (most of us who would be reading this, I mean) are the product of the latter two worldviews, when we experience suffering, we want to know why it is happening. What did I do to deserve this? Why is God allowing this to happen to me? What mistakes or failures in my life led to this?  

     I've asked my fair share of questions like that. Did my dad's job in nuclear systems doom me to cancer decades ago? Did my poor diet contribute to it? If I had visited the doctor more regularly would we have caught this sooner and had a more positive outcome? Is there some sin in my life that God is trying to either punish or bring to light? Those lines of questioning have their time and place, especially when our suffering is the consequence of sinful or unwise choices. However, they can often carry an assumption that suffering shouldn't be happening to us and therefore needs an explanation. Here's the hard truth: Suffering does not need to be explained. Suffering is the norm.

     Writing to Christians under Roman persecution in the first decades after Jesus' resurrection, Peter cautions them: "Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you" (1 Peter 4:12). In this passage, Peter is referring specifically to suffering that is a consequence of following Jesus (read verses 13-16), which he calls "trials" that test our faith, but Scripture elsewhere reminds us that we should expect to experience the unpleasant discipline of the Lord (Hebrews 12:5-11). "Discipline" in this sense is not punishment, but training. It is the stripping away of what is holding us back from the better things God has in store for us. And what this passage shows us is that discipline is painful, not pleasant (verse 11). It also shows us that such painful experiences are a necessary part of being a child of God. So necessary, in fact, that we should be worried if we are NOT experiencing it (verse 8)!

     Another way in which suffering is the norm is the very experience of mortality. Paul illustrates this as living in a shabby tent while waiting for your real home to be ready. He says in 2 Corinthians 5:2, "in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling." These tents are flimsy, they don't feel comfortable, they don't have the ability to protect us from the elements. Outwardly, we waste away (2 Corinthians 4:16). Suffering is the norm.

     In addition to painful trials, unpleasant discipline, and mortality that causes suffering, there is the bigger context of suffering we experience by living in a world broken by sin. The book of Ecclesiastes describes life "under the sun," meaning life in this world before God renews all things, life in a world under the burden of sin. And the conclusion is that it is foolishness to expect that there will be justice, order, peace, fairness, or comfort in any consistent way. It's so bad that even being able to enjoy your family, your job, and a good meal is a gift of God (Ecclesiastes 3:12-13)! In Romans 8:18-25, Paul describes this world as "subjected to futility" and in "bondage to corruption" so that "creation itself groans." As we live in such a world, do we expect to be free of the suffering that causes creation itself to groan with frustration? We groan with creation each time our bodies suffer disease or injury, each time our heart suffers the pain of betrayal, loneliness, or fear. With every loss and every pain, we groan with a broken world. Suffering is the norm.

     Why did I say that this was a truth I need to help me hold on? Because without it, and for as long as I expect to be free of suffering, I will be crushed by the pain and frustration I experience. If I see my suffering as the result of personal failure, it will be unnecessarily compounded by guilt. If I see my suffering as a grave injustice where I've been unfairly singled out, it will be unnecessarily mixed with bitterness. As long as I see my suffering as an abnormality that just needs to be fixed, I will be focused only on "solutions" at the cost of learning to grow and mature the way God intends for me. It is a dangerous notion that we are owed and should expect an earthly life free of suffering. Suffering is the norm.

     Let me add two words to that last sentence that redeem it: "for now." Suffering is the norm... for now. Yes, creation groans, but it is the groans of childbirth (Romans 8:22) as something new is being created. Yes, we are clothed in frail mortality, but we'll one day trade in the tent for a glorious new body (2 Corinthians 5:1). Yes, the Lord disciplines, but that discipline ends when it accomplishes its purpose of making us holy (Hebrews 12:10-11). Yes, there are trials that test our faith, but they are just "for a little while" and will result in something much better (1 Peter 1:4-6). Yes, suffering is the norm under the sun, but we will soon be in a place where there is no need for the sun (Revelation 21:22), and in such a place, all suffering is gone forever.

     Since suffering is the norm (for now), the proper perspective for the Christian need not be "How can I avoid suffering?" but instead, "How can I suffer well?" That deserves a few pages of its own, so I'll address it in my next post.







]]>      As I was sharing the story of my cancer experience with some dear brothers in Christ recently, I began with the statement, "I'm realizing that suffering is the norm." It was a thought that occurred to me in the moment, but it's an idea I've expressed before. Now that I am in the midst of unavoidable suffering, it's not just an abstract theological idea. It's a truth I need to help me hold on.

     Believe me, I don't like saying that suffering is the norm, but I don't see any other way to understand it. The fact that we don't usually see it that way only means that we have existed in a cultural and historical bubble where we are mostly safe from violence, plague, famine, persecution, and war. Very few civilizations in history have experienced that.  Because we have grown accustomed to it, suffering confuses us.

     Every worldview has to explain suffering in some way.  Buddhist-influenced worldviews teach that suffering is an illusion and that the goal is to "disillusion" yourself through enlightenment. Many worldviews teach that suffering is something we experience because we deserve it. If we are in pain, we are being punished by God or "fate." Our modern materialist worldview teaches that suffering is a glitch in the system, an aberration that we need to overcome through science or social engineering. Because we (most of us who would be reading this, I mean) are the product of the latter two worldviews, when we experience suffering, we want to know why it is happening. What did I do to deserve this? Why is God allowing this to happen to me? What mistakes or failures in my life led to this?  

     I've asked my fair share of questions like that. Did my dad's job in nuclear systems doom me to cancer decades ago? Did my poor diet contribute to it? If I had visited the doctor more regularly would we have caught this sooner and had a more positive outcome? Is there some sin in my life that God is trying to either punish or bring to light? Those lines of questioning have their time and place, especially when our suffering is the consequence of sinful or unwise choices. However, they can often carry an assumption that suffering shouldn't be happening to us and therefore needs an explanation. Here's the hard truth: Suffering does not need to be explained. Suffering is the norm.

     Writing to Christians under Roman persecution in the first decades after Jesus' resurrection, Peter cautions them: "Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you" (1 Peter 4:12). In this passage, Peter is referring specifically to suffering that is a consequence of following Jesus (read verses 13-16), which he calls "trials" that test our faith, but Scripture elsewhere reminds us that we should expect to experience the unpleasant discipline of the Lord (Hebrews 12:5-11). "Discipline" in this sense is not punishment, but training. It is the stripping away of what is holding us back from the better things God has in store for us. And what this passage shows us is that discipline is painful, not pleasant (verse 11). It also shows us that such painful experiences are a necessary part of being a child of God. So necessary, in fact, that we should be worried if we are NOT experiencing it (verse 8)!

     Another way in which suffering is the norm is the very experience of mortality. Paul illustrates this as living in a shabby tent while waiting for your real home to be ready. He says in 2 Corinthians 5:2, "in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling." These tents are flimsy, they don't feel comfortable, they don't have the ability to protect us from the elements. Outwardly, we waste away (2 Corinthians 4:16). Suffering is the norm.

     In addition to painful trials, unpleasant discipline, and mortality that causes suffering, there is the bigger context of suffering we experience by living in a world broken by sin. The book of Ecclesiastes describes life "under the sun," meaning life in this world before God renews all things, life in a world under the burden of sin. And the conclusion is that it is foolishness to expect that there will be justice, order, peace, fairness, or comfort in any consistent way. It's so bad that even being able to enjoy your family, your job, and a good meal is a gift of God (Ecclesiastes 3:12-13)! In Romans 8:18-25, Paul describes this world as "subjected to futility" and in "bondage to corruption" so that "creation itself groans." As we live in such a world, do we expect to be free of the suffering that causes creation itself to groan with frustration? We groan with creation each time our bodies suffer disease or injury, each time our heart suffers the pain of betrayal, loneliness, or fear. With every loss and every pain, we groan with a broken world. Suffering is the norm.

     Why did I say that this was a truth I need to help me hold on? Because without it, and for as long as I expect to be free of suffering, I will be crushed by the pain and frustration I experience. If I see my suffering as the result of personal failure, it will be unnecessarily compounded by guilt. If I see my suffering as a grave injustice where I've been unfairly singled out, it will be unnecessarily mixed with bitterness. As long as I see my suffering as an abnormality that just needs to be fixed, I will be focused only on "solutions" at the cost of learning to grow and mature the way God intends for me. It is a dangerous notion that we are owed and should expect an earthly life free of suffering. Suffering is the norm.

     Let me add two words to that last sentence that redeem it: "for now." Suffering is the norm... for now. Yes, creation groans, but it is the groans of childbirth (Romans 8:22) as something new is being created. Yes, we are clothed in frail mortality, but we'll one day trade in the tent for a glorious new body (2 Corinthians 5:1). Yes, the Lord disciplines, but that discipline ends when it accomplishes its purpose of making us holy (Hebrews 12:10-11). Yes, there are trials that test our faith, but they are just "for a little while" and will result in something much better (1 Peter 1:4-6). Yes, suffering is the norm under the sun, but we will soon be in a place where there is no need for the sun (Revelation 21:22), and in such a place, all suffering is gone forever.

     Since suffering is the norm (for now), the proper perspective for the Christian need not be "How can I avoid suffering?" but instead, "How can I suffer well?" That deserves a few pages of its own, so I'll address it in my next post.







]]> The Search for Silver Linings https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/the-search-for-silver-linings https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/the-search-for-silver-linings#comments Wed, 06 May 2026 12:15:10 -0400 https://www.treasurecoastpca.org/blog/post/the-search-for-silver-linings      I've been thinking about silver linings lately. There are more than a few in my life right now. If it weren't for this tumor, I wouldn't have switched to a healthier diet. Because of this illness, I've reconnected with a lot of people from my past, which has been amazing. Thanks to cancer, I've had some deep conversations with my wife and children that otherwise might not have happened. Because of my suffering, I've had ministry opportunities that I otherwise would not have had.

     Silver linings are called that because of the light around the edges of the cloud that obscures the sun. The sun may be gone, we may be in the shadows for now, but there is still light around the edges, a little bit of sparkling beauty in spite of the darkness. It is natural to want silver linings - little things that help us make sense of our pain. Small blessings that help us feel like the suffering is perhaps worth it. Silver linings are distinct from observations about how things could have been worse (like telling Job after he lost all his belongings and all his children, "At least you still have your health!"). A silver lining is a positive thing that only exists because of the negative circumstances. If it wasn't for this pain in my life, I wouldn't have this blessing that I now enjoy.

     Before I critique our search for silver linings, I want to be clear that I think there's something very positive about them. The search for silver linings reveals a deep-rooted faith that our suffering has meaning. Or, at the very least, our belief that we can impose meaning on our suffering, as long as we can discern some benefit to it. But for the believer, searching for silver linings is the faith-instinct at work. We know God is in control of all things (Proverbs 19:21); we know he has promised that all things work for good (Romans 8:28); we trust that he has good plans for us (Jeremiah 29:11). So if we are suffering, there must be a greater purpose to it.

     That much is true. Where we stumble is moving from that truth ("there is purpose in our suffering") to the conclusion that we need to know and understand the purpose for our pain. When we move that direction, we expose ourselves to at least two dangers that I notice:

Danger #1: Mistaking the silver lining for the true purpose. We don't know what God is doing in a particular situation. Experience shows that he is capable of accomplishing things we can't even imagine. Picture the disciples the day after Jesus' crucifixion trying to find a silver lining to those events. "Well, at least we have some more free time now." "Well, we sure did learn a lot." "We've made some great friends in the process." We could surely look at things from every angle and come up with a few positive takes on Jesus being nailed to the cross in defeat. But none of those are the reason for the cross. In that dark moment, God was performing an unimaginable miracle, something no human mind could ever conceive (1 Corinthians 2:9).
     The search for silver linings can cause use to live with a forced optimism when we're hurting. Because we can't grasp what God is really doing, we cling to whatever explanation we can figure out and then try to convince ourselves and others that this is what God is doing and it is worth it. Or, if we're honest, we're forced to admit that the silver lining is not enough - if this is all God is doing in my life, then he's messed up. This leads to despair, loss of hope, and rejection of God.

     Remember, this is the God whose thoughts are higher than our thoughts and whose ways are higher than our ways (Isaiah 55:8-9). Sometimes, the purposes of God cannot and will not be discerned in this present darkness. Only in the undimmed light of eternity will all things be made clear. And on that day, his saints will rejoice: “Great and amazing are your deeds, O Lord God the Almighty!  Just and true are your ways, O King of the nations!" (Revelation 15:3).  Only then will we see and understand enough to declare that everything God did was right - including our suffering.

Danger #2: Putting our hope in what we can understand. Our hope is in God's character, in who he is. Not in what we understand about his ways. His ways are beyond our understanding. God knows every thought and intention of every human heart all at once. God knows and directs every motion of every molecule in the universe. God knows every possible outcome of every choice before the choice is made. To demand or expect that we would be able to understand all that he does is the pinnacle of pride. This was God's answer to Job. Some people find it wholly unsatisfying - I get that. God essentially tells Job (and spends several chapters doing so - Job 38-41) - "I am the creator. I work at a level that created beings can't understand." This leads Job to conclude, after all his chapters of self-defense and complaint, “I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted... Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know" (Job 42:2-3).
     Similarly, after spending a few chapters sorting through the mystery of how God works, Paul ends with this stanza of worship:  Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways! For who has known the mind of the Lord, or who has been his counselor? Or who has given a gift to him that he might be repaid? For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be glory forever. Amen. (Romans 11:33-36).

     I won't pretend this isn't hard. The proverb lies - not every cloud has a silver lining. Sometimes the storm stretches on for countless miles and all around us is dark and frightful. If silver linings are what we cling to, then we will be lost in such times. How do we trust God in the middle of circumstances that seems to obscure him, or, worse yet, circumstances that seem to portray him as cruel and unloving? How do we worship God and declare him good when our pain makes no sense?

     We hold tightly to what we do understand. We fix our feet firmly in what God has revealed, not about our circumstances, but about himself. We make sure our anchors are firmly fixed. I would love to know why I have cancer. I would be strengthened to know today how this will bless my family, strengthen my church, grow God's kingdom, and work all things for good. But the question I have to face every day is this: Will I thank God, rejoicing in my suffering, even if I never know the reason for it? Is my faithfulness dependent on God explaining himself to me? It cannot be. There is no hope down that path. My hope needs to be in the bright sun above the storm, not in the glimpses of his light I get around the clouds.

     One of my favorite songs is a little chorus I learned in China, Yun Shang Tai Yang. It seems quite appropriate to mention on this topic.

The lyrics of the song (my own translation) are:
Whether you are on the top of a beautiful mountain
Or lying in a dark valley
When you lift up your head, you will discover
God has already prepared for us.

The sun above the clouds, it will never change
Though rain drops may fall upon your face
The sun above the clouds, it will never change
Oh, it will never change.

     Silver linings can only be seen from beneath the clouds. They exists because the clouds obscure the sun. But they also remind us that the sun is still there, unchanging and undefeated, and we will feel its warmth again. When silver linings aren't enough, and when suffering seems meaningless and purposeless, cling instead to the promise of what guarantees purpose in your pain - the character and wisdom and power of God. He is the sun above the clouds, the hope that never changes.

]]>      I've been thinking about silver linings lately. There are more than a few in my life right now. If it weren't for this tumor, I wouldn't have switched to a healthier diet. Because of this illness, I've reconnected with a lot of people from my past, which has been amazing. Thanks to cancer, I've had some deep conversations with my wife and children that otherwise might not have happened. Because of my suffering, I've had ministry opportunities that I otherwise would not have had.

     Silver linings are called that because of the light around the edges of the cloud that obscures the sun. The sun may be gone, we may be in the shadows for now, but there is still light around the edges, a little bit of sparkling beauty in spite of the darkness. It is natural to want silver linings - little things that help us make sense of our pain. Small blessings that help us feel like the suffering is perhaps worth it. Silver linings are distinct from observations about how things could have been worse (like telling Job after he lost all his belongings and all his children, "At least you still have your health!"). A silver lining is a positive thing that only exists because of the negative circumstances. If it wasn't for this pain in my life, I wouldn't have this blessing that I now enjoy.

     Before I critique our search for silver linings, I want to be clear that I think there's something very positive about them. The search for silver linings reveals a deep-rooted faith that our suffering has meaning. Or, at the very least, our belief that we can impose meaning on our suffering, as long as we can discern some benefit to it. But for the believer, searching for silver linings is the faith-instinct at work. We know God is in control of all things (Proverbs 19:21); we know he has promised that all things work for good (Romans 8:28); we trust that he has good plans for us (Jeremiah 29:11). So if we are suffering, there must be a greater purpose to it.

     That much is true. Where we stumble is moving from that truth ("there is purpose in our suffering") to the conclusion that we need to know and understand the purpose for our pain. When we move that direction, we expose ourselves to at least two dangers that I notice:

Danger #1: Mistaking the silver lining for the true purpose. We don't know what God is doing in a particular situation. Experience shows that he is capable of accomplishing things we can't even imagine. Picture the disciples the day after Jesus' crucifixion trying to find a silver lining to those events. "Well, at least we have some more free time now." "Well, we sure did learn a lot." "We've made some great friends in the process." We could surely look at things from every angle and come up with a few positive takes on Jesus being nailed to the cross in defeat. But none of those are the reason for the cross. In that dark moment, God was performing an unimaginable miracle, something no human mind could ever conceive (1 Corinthians 2:9).
     The search for silver linings can cause use to live with a forced optimism when we're hurting. Because we can't grasp what God is really doing, we cling to whatever explanation we can figure out and then try to convince ourselves and others that this is what God is doing and it is worth it. Or, if we're honest, we're forced to admit that the silver lining is not enough - if this is all God is doing in my life, then he's messed up. This leads to despair, loss of hope, and rejection of God.

     Remember, this is the God whose thoughts are higher than our thoughts and whose ways are higher than our ways (Isaiah 55:8-9). Sometimes, the purposes of God cannot and will not be discerned in this present darkness. Only in the undimmed light of eternity will all things be made clear. And on that day, his saints will rejoice: “Great and amazing are your deeds, O Lord God the Almighty!  Just and true are your ways, O King of the nations!" (Revelation 15:3).  Only then will we see and understand enough to declare that everything God did was right - including our suffering.

Danger #2: Putting our hope in what we can understand. Our hope is in God's character, in who he is. Not in what we understand about his ways. His ways are beyond our understanding. God knows every thought and intention of every human heart all at once. God knows and directs every motion of every molecule in the universe. God knows every possible outcome of every choice before the choice is made. To demand or expect that we would be able to understand all that he does is the pinnacle of pride. This was God's answer to Job. Some people find it wholly unsatisfying - I get that. God essentially tells Job (and spends several chapters doing so - Job 38-41) - "I am the creator. I work at a level that created beings can't understand." This leads Job to conclude, after all his chapters of self-defense and complaint, “I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted... Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know" (Job 42:2-3).
     Similarly, after spending a few chapters sorting through the mystery of how God works, Paul ends with this stanza of worship:  Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways! For who has known the mind of the Lord, or who has been his counselor? Or who has given a gift to him that he might be repaid? For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be glory forever. Amen. (Romans 11:33-36).

     I won't pretend this isn't hard. The proverb lies - not every cloud has a silver lining. Sometimes the storm stretches on for countless miles and all around us is dark and frightful. If silver linings are what we cling to, then we will be lost in such times. How do we trust God in the middle of circumstances that seems to obscure him, or, worse yet, circumstances that seem to portray him as cruel and unloving? How do we worship God and declare him good when our pain makes no sense?

     We hold tightly to what we do understand. We fix our feet firmly in what God has revealed, not about our circumstances, but about himself. We make sure our anchors are firmly fixed. I would love to know why I have cancer. I would be strengthened to know today how this will bless my family, strengthen my church, grow God's kingdom, and work all things for good. But the question I have to face every day is this: Will I thank God, rejoicing in my suffering, even if I never know the reason for it? Is my faithfulness dependent on God explaining himself to me? It cannot be. There is no hope down that path. My hope needs to be in the bright sun above the storm, not in the glimpses of his light I get around the clouds.

     One of my favorite songs is a little chorus I learned in China, Yun Shang Tai Yang. It seems quite appropriate to mention on this topic.

The lyrics of the song (my own translation) are:
Whether you are on the top of a beautiful mountain
Or lying in a dark valley
When you lift up your head, you will discover
God has already prepared for us.

The sun above the clouds, it will never change
Though rain drops may fall upon your face
The sun above the clouds, it will never change
Oh, it will never change.

     Silver linings can only be seen from beneath the clouds. They exists because the clouds obscure the sun. But they also remind us that the sun is still there, unchanging and undefeated, and we will feel its warmth again. When silver linings aren't enough, and when suffering seems meaningless and purposeless, cling instead to the promise of what guarantees purpose in your pain - the character and wisdom and power of God. He is the sun above the clouds, the hope that never changes.

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