I’ve decided this morning that life really doesn’t make sense. We could be spared endless heartache if we stopped thinking that it does, or that it should. Actually, let me rephrase that: Life makes sense, but not in a way that we can understand. In the grand scheme of things, the bigger picture, from God’s standpoint, every part of life makes sense – even cruel, horrible tragedies. I’m going to be honest. As I typed those last words, something in me rose up and screamed “NO!” I love the Lord, and nothing, NOTHING, will change that, but what happened yesterday is a very hard pill to swallow “submissively”. I put that in quotes because what happened can’t be God’s will, yet He allowed it to happen.
Let me tell you about Jonathan. He is a handsome, articulate, funny, kind guy. He’s married to a beautiful woman and has two gorgeous kids. I don’t know them all that well, but from what I can see, they are a shining example of a Christian marriage and family. They are very involved at the church I attend. Actually, Jonathan played a lead role in the Easter Cantata a couple of years ago. He was great.
Yesterday Jonathan died. He and his family were enjoying the last weekend of summer at a lake, and he drowned. I don’t know all the details, and I don’t need to. An emergency prayer alert went out to our church family as he was being airlifted to the hospital, his family taken there by police cruiser. Within a few hours he was gone.
Some of you might say, “well, we can rejoice that Jonathan is with the Lord.” Yes, that’s a reason to rejoice, but the timing isn’t. I can’t begin to imagine the horrible anguish and numb disbelief that his wife and children are feeling, and his extended family. How do they go forward? His wife suddenly a widow, his children instantly deprived of their father?
Please don’t give me a religious response, “the Lord will provide”. Of course He will. I think we say things like that because we’re trying to make sense of something senseless, or we’re trying to reassure ourselves. It’s really quite terrifying to realize how little control we have.
When tragedy strikes, we are often encouraged to speak only positive words, just believe that God will work all things for our good, etc. These things aren’t wrong, but I think the context is. Do we encourage people to avoid expressing negative feelings because it makes us uncomfortable? God can’t heal what we hold back from Him. Some would say that talking honestly about our doubts and anger plays straight into the devil’s hands. I think supressing these things gives him the upper hand and slowly drives a wedge between us and God. The Psalms are a perfect scriptural example of someone (David) expressing all his thoughts and feelings to God. The full spectrum of David’s emotions didn’t seem to trouble God.
We often say, “Christianity isn’t a religion, it’s a relationship”, which is absolutely true. In a healthy relationship, the lines of communication are open and there are no forbidden topics. God is strong enough to withstand our questions, doubts and rage. I think it’s part of the healing process to express these things to Him. When we suppress them or pretend they’re not there, God can’t comfort us. I have in mind the picture of a child who has been hurt, running arms outstretched towards Daddy. I feel certain that God is heartbroken for Jonathan’s family, and He wants to comfort them.
Mourning is a process, sometimes a lengthy one. The best gift we can give to Jonathan’s family is to allow them to feel and grieve in an open, honest environment, one that permits questions, doubts and feelings of anger – indeed, any feelings they may have.




I love the fact that Jesus wasn’t afraid to identify Himself with us. It’s the reason He came, of course – to identify so completely with us that He actually took the guilt of our sin upon Himself on the cross. He went way beyond what any of us would do for another person, even someone we really love. But think about His day-to-day existence 2000 years ago. He was all about identifying Himself with broken, lost, sinful ‘outcasts’. The Pharisees thought they were hurling insults when they accused Jesus of being “a friend of sinners”. Man, those words are sweet music to my ears!! Jesus, my friend! I worry sometimes that we, as the church, have forgotten who we were, or who we are, without Jesus. You know, when we talk about someone in that gossipy, condescending tone, a sort of thinly disguised self-righteousness that we convince ourselves is okay as long as we say, “we need to pray for them”. Them? We are them. Or at least, without Him, we are them.
I’ve been thinking about how the Lord turns our lives inside out for the benefit of others, if we let Him. The treasures of darkness, riches stored in secret places, are some of the most powerful ‘ministry tools’ we have. It’s not easy to do, of course, because we have our reputations to uphold.
Have you ever watched the PBS television show, Antiques Roadshow? The basic concept of the show is this: A team of experts and appraisers travel to a city, set up in a large venue such as a convention centre, and invite people to bring in their antiques, collectibles and family heirlooms to be appraised. Sometimes people bring an object that they think is valuable, and it ends up being worthless junk. At other times the item turns out to be extremely valuable, beyond the owner’s wildest dreams.
The journey we’re on in life isn’t meant to be walked alone. From the earliest chapters of the Bible we learn that God made us to be in relationships. After creating a multitude of animals and the first human being, He said, “It’s not good for the man to be alone; I’ll make him a helper, a companion.” (Genesis 2:18, The Message) He created Eve to meet the need in Adam’s heart and life for companionship – a need that no animal could meet.
Walking like Jesus walked means being open to interruptions. Not just open to them, but expecting them. Have you noticed that He was never too busy for people? Those burning questions we ask – “why am I here?” “what’s my purpose in life?” “what is God calling me to do?” – can be answered in one phrase: We’re here to go to seed.
I haven’t thought about three-legged races for ages. In fact, it’s been so long that I couldn’t even remember what they were called. I was talking to a friend about the different gifts we have in the Body of Christ, and how they fit together according to God’s plans and purposes. As we spoke, I suddenly saw this image in my head of two people running side by side, rather clumsily, with the left leg of one tied to the right leg of the other, adjacent arms draped over each other’s shoulders for support. If any picture is worth a thousand words, surely this one is.
Although my family didn’t attend church while I was growing up, we did have one tradition that echoed our protestant heritage. Every Sunday dinner, we said grace. It was a prayer that many of you will recognize: “For what we’re about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful”. In my young mind, I thought that somehow, reciting these words – hands folded, eyes closed – was a necessary accompaniment to roast beef and yorkshire pudding. It was a special meal, true enough, and we ate it at the dining room table instead of in the kitchen, using the good china and silverware. It never crossed my mind to consider why we didn’t ask God to make us truly thankful for dinner the rest of the week.