To Be Seen

Many are asking, “Who can show us any good?” Let the light of your face shine upon us, O LORD.

Psalm 4.6

A Prayer for Our Time

I’m suffering right now from bad-news fatigue. The moment something good happens, here come the doubters and defamers to throw sand in our eyes and make us feel like fools for thinking anything can get better. When society comes under the grips of bad news boors, though, it starts to break down in crucial ways, because a society without hope is one without drive. And nothing gets me more tired than pundits whose warped worldview is based entirely on what’s good for them rather than what’s best for all.

In America, nearly 50 million people have no access to health coverage; either it’s not offered to them or its cost prohibitive. (Yesterday I spoke with a bright young woman—a mother of teenagers—who told me because she can’t afford healthcare on what she makes, she’s taken a second mortgage on her home.) Listening to some overpaid, under-challenged, cable-news nabob argue about the “inconveniences” and “inefficiencies” of a nationalized healthcare plan depresses me no end. People worrying about their stock portfolios above showing concern for their fellow humans exhaust patience and understanding. (And, by the way, protecting people and profits is not mutually exclusive. It’s just not easy.) Now that we’re in the thick of trying to rebuild so many areas of life that went neglected, fatigue is starting to take its toll. The work is hard, the tired ideas more tiresome than ever, and the will to do good wanes. When I read Psalm 4.6, I hear a prayer for our time: “People are asking, ‘Who can show us any good?’ Let the light of your face shine upon us, O LORD.”

Basking and Beaming

“Let your light shine before men,” Jesus says in the Sermon on the Mount, “so they’ll see your good works and glorify your Father in Heaven.” The world needs our light, and our light is not our own. It’s God’s light shining on us, reflecting through us to the world. We should bask in God’s light. In the midst of this dreary and cold world, we should wrap ourselves in warmth of hope and luminescence. (It’s much, much brighter and inspiring than the dim bulbs of TV, by the way.) But we can never absorb all of God’s light. It’s more than any one individual can contain. So as we’re basking, we’re naturally beaming—showing the goodness of God to those around us, radiating kindness, energy, love, forgiveness… all the goodness that shines on us should shine out of us, too.

Each Other and Everyone Else

In 1 Thessalonians 5.15, Paul writes, “Make sure that nobody pays back wrong for wrong, but always try to be kind to each other and to everyone else.” Each other and everyone else—it’s not an inside brand of kindness, it flows out of our hearts to everyone around us, Christian and non-Christian, friend and enemy, supporter or detractor. We’re kind to all for three reasons: First, kindness is a hallmark of Christ’s laws of love for our neighbors. Second, we have no right to judge anyone as unworthy of our kindness—indeed, some of the most difficult people we’ll ever know are the ones most seriously in need of kindness. But third, treating each other and everyone else kindly ensures our potential to be seen—for others to observe God’s love and light at work in us.

We can’t afford not to reflect what’s good in this life and this world. We can’t afford not to be kind. It’s good for us. It’s good for others. It’s good for all.

Being kind to all, randomly even, ensures others can find good they're hoping to find in the world.

(Tomorrow: If Only We Would)

The Good Stuff

Test everything. Hold on to the good.

                        1 Thessalonians 5.21

Not Everything That Glitters…

We all want the best for our families, our communities, and ourselves. As lofty as this sounds, the downside comes with always wanting better. The best we’ve got is seldom the best we can have. It’s good for us to desire improvement. Human progress and our personal development depend on it. Yet we can get swept up in seeking to better our circumstances and ourselves to the degree that we risk what losing what we’ve gained for ideas that prove more harmful than they appear. A playground analogy explains what I mean. Kids often become so fixated on winning the friendship of one playmate—the most popular or athletic, say—they’ll sacrifice friends they already have in the process. They don’t really know the kid they want to be with. Is he loyal? Is she kind? Is he/she anything like the person he/she projects? But immaturity spurs the ambitious child to leap before looking. And when the coveted friend turns out to be a selfish brat or a manipulative nightmare, the neglected friends look like lost treasures. It’s a lesson we learn again and again and again: not everything that glitters is gold.

Sounds Good to Me

The Early Church’s inexperience and gullibility leave it no better off than children at play. Living on this side of history, with much of our faith already worked out, doctrinally sanctioned, codified, and ritualized, it’s impossible to imagine what first- and second-generation believers deal with. There’s next to no organization, no established liturgy, documented theology, or living precedents to emulate. They figure it out as they go—not just what all these new concepts mean, but how they work. A visitor could infiltrate their ranks and introduce a crazy idea (e.g., Gentiles must convert to Judaism before becoming Christians), and without written Scripture or prior teaching to refute it, the response could amount to something like “Sounds good to me.”

The apostles devote much time to firefighting—stamping out misguided, unbalanced embers before they spread out of control. They’re not shy about painting advocates of errant doctrine in the worst possible light. John calls them “false prophets” sent by “the spirit of the antichrist.” (1 John 2.1, 3) In Titus 1.10, Paul warns of “many rebellious people, mere talkers and deceivers.” Peter calls them “brute beasts, creatures of instinct, born only to be caught and destroyed, and like beasts they too will perish.” (2 Peter 2.12) Since dependency on their efforts can’t go on forever, though, they urge early Christians to assess fresh ideas based on what they know thus far. If it doesn’t match what they learned, they’re told to ignore it. “Test the spirits to see whether they are from God,” John writes. Peter says, “You must understand that no prophecy of Scripture came about by the prophet’s own interpretation.” And in 1 Thessalonians 5.21, Paul goes furthest of all, saying, “Test everything. Hold on to the good.” In other words, if it doesn’t sound right, leave it alone.

The Marketplace of Ideas

The mass-media explosion has created what communications gurus call “the marketplace of ideas”—an unregulated forum of opinions, theories, and beliefs. It’s a tantalizing place that encompasses every aspect of life, including faith. Straight-Friendly, like every other blog, discussion board, podcast, program, and publication centered on Christian belief, is part of it. Yet simply because so many untethered ideas float around, we should heed Paul’s advice to test everything, throw out implausible and reckless ideas, and keep the good stuff.

There’s plenty of good stuff, too. If you’re unconvinced, click through the blog roll here. While the writers and their responders don’t blanch at grappling with new ideas, their sites are first and foremost testing grounds. The good stuff rises to the top, more than a reader can digest in one sitting or day. What we must be wary of, though, is being seduced by far-fetched, extraneous opinions that gravely conflict with—or directly contradict—our knowledge of the truth. They may make sense on their own. They may actually cite Scripture to support their views. This is hardly new. In 2 Peter 3.10, we hear “[Paul’s] letters contain some things that are hard to understand, which ignorant and unstable people distort, as they do other Scriptures, to their own destruction.” Such distortions run the gamut from malignant doctrines of exclusion and punishment to dangerous skepticism about the lordship and reality of Christ. If it doesn’t sound right, it’s not for us. We hold on to the good stuff. The rest we let go. (And we let it go without argument.)

We test everything, hold on to the good stuff, and let the rest go.

(Tomorrow: To Be Seen)

Postscript: Online Bible Study

The next Straight-Friendly online Bible study will be held on Thursday evening, July 30, at 8 PM CDT, with a second opportunity on Saturday morning, August 1, at 11 AM CDT. The topic will be Thinking Like Christ—an exploration of what distinguishes the believer’s thought processes. A study guide will be published early next week, along with study site access codes, etc. If you’ve not yet participated in an online study and are curious about how it works, you can find out more here.

Stripes

He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement for our peace was upon Him, and by His stripes we are healed.

                        Isaiah 53.5 (NKJV)

The Back Story

When we look at Jesus on the cross, what do we see? The brow mockingly crowned with thorns. The beard that is every Jewish man’s glory savagely plucked and matted with blood. Dried saliva and parched lips evidence dire thirst. We see hands and feet affixed to this torturous altar by iron spikes. His arms and legs convulse with spasms caused by the strain of supporting all of His weight. His torso is swollen and bruised from sadistic pummeling with rods. His chest heaves beneath the suffocating pressure of mid-air suspension. Blood and viscera ooze from an open stab wound in His side meant to finish Him off. And, as the day wears on, the blistering sun scorches every inch of flesh on His body. It’s a heartbreaking, hideous sight.

Circling behind the cross to observe the back story, what we see is equally gruesome. Lashes from leather whips strung with shards of metal and bone have flayed Jesus’s back into a shredded curtain, exposing His muscles, sinew, shoulders, and ribs to the fetid air, heat, and scores of flies nesting the wounds with freshly laid eggs. If we’re able to stomach looking at such horror at length, we can count the stripes hashed across His back—39 in all, one short of 40 prescribed for whipping executions. We’re stunned to realize before the cross was thrust on His shoulders, before the hammer struck the first nail, before the spear pierced His side, Jesus was beaten within inches of His life. Then, remembering Isaiah’s prophecies, we realize He endured each aspect of His suffering for a specific purpose, including His stripes.

Passion’s Elements

Isaiah 53.5 breaks down the Passion’s elements like this: He was wounded for our transgressions. When we transgress, we expose wrongful motives and desires by actively pursuing habits and pleasures that cause piercing pain and leave scars. “The soul who sins is the one who will die,” Ezekiel 18.4 says. Sin is lethal. It leeches the life out of us, just as Jesus bled to death through His open wounds.

He was bruised for our iniquities. Harmful attitudes and emotions buried beneath the surface discolor our appearance when we’re buffeted by hostility. Resisting these impulses doesn’t mitigate the internal injuries they bring. Clotted hatred and resentment interrupt the flow of God’s love and forgiveness. They mar His reflection. This is why passive iniquity and active transgression equally displease God, why seeing Jesus covered in bruises causes Him to look away, and why the psalmist writes, “If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me.” (Psalm 66.18)

The chastisement for our peace was upon Him. The burden of humanity’s sin falls on Christ’s shoulder to restore our relationship with God. His punishment ends the war between our will and God’s purpose. It frees us from what we think to trust His mercy and grace. Romans 5.1 says this: “Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

We’re Healed

And by His stripes we are healed. The lashes driving Jesus to death’s precipice represent the most extreme physical, mental, and emotional pain a human can survive. In a few hours, Jesus suffers more affliction and abuse than the vast majority of us experience in a lifetime. The blinding agony—the undeserved brutality—of the first stripe isn’t absorbed before the next lash tears into Him. Wave after wave thrashes Him, emptying Him of strength, crushing Him with confusion. Yet He endures, because dying beneath the whip will defeat the promise of healing. And here’s something very telling about Jesus’s stripes. After His resurrection, Jesus authenticates His identity by brandishing the nail-prints in His hands and hole in His side. Yet not once in any account does He point to the whip-scars across His back. Were they there? Scripture doesn’t say. But it’s not illogical to believe they were gone—that Christ Himself was the first to experience the healing they deliver.

Because the stripes were real, healing is real. Because Jesus suffered and recovered, we can also recover. Throughout Christ’s ministry, He performed healing miracles at the touch of His hand. Still, not every sick person who sought healing was fortunate enough to feel His touch. His stripes now make healing available to all. Unlike miracles, healing is a process, a gradual restoration of health and resurgence of strength. And, as in Jesus’s case, it often reverses suffering by way of the tomb, plunging us into darkness to rise again in new life and health, whether physical, emotional, mental, or spiritual. Yet throughout our tomb experience, we believe life’s power works in us. We believe the prophet. By His stripes, we’re healed.

Healing is available through the whipping Christ survived for our recovery. (Troy David: The Whipping of Christ)

(Tomorrow: The Good Stuff)

Personal Postscript: Happy Anniversary!

Today my parents celebrate 51 years of married life shared in commitment to others and dedicated to Christ. I live in awe of their example and love them more with each passing day. Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad!

Crisis at Cana

“Dear woman, why do you involve me?” Jesus replied, “My time has not yet come.”

                        John 2.4

Our Living Example

We’re more apt to see Jesus as God than one of us. But one of His main purposes in taking on human flesh was to become human. The marvel of His sacrifice is seen in God’s lowering Himself to bear the sins of humanity. The wonder of His life, however, comes from His willingness to be born, to mature, and live an ordinary existence like ours. Philippians 2.8 explains it thusly: “[Christ] made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.” As our living example, Jesus deals with situations we all deal with—family, friends, financial pressures, housing issues, social and religious obligations, prejudice, personal loss, emotional conflicts, etc. Indeed, Hebrews 4.15 tells us He was “tempted in every way, just as we are.”

We remember the wedding at Cana most notably as the occasion of His first miracle, when He turns water into wine—in other words, as a “God” moment. Yet the circumstances leading up to His feat also reveal a very human moment in His life—a turning point, actually. While running out of wine at a party hardly can be viewed as a crisis (it might even be a good thing, if the guests have been over-served), there is a crisis at Cana we can learn from.

Unanticipated Need

You know the story. Jesus and His disciples escort His mother to a wedding. Over the course of the festivities the wine stops flowing. This concerns Mary, most likely out of embarrassment for the hosts, who’ll be criticized for not sufficiently providing for their guests. She turns to her Son, telling Him, “They’ve run out of wine.” Today, of course, we’d volunteer to dash to the local liquor store and pick up a few bottles. In Jesus’s time, though, wine is a commodity, much like gold or fuel. It’s part of each household’s financial reserve and not readily available for purchase. This fact exacerbates the situation, because the hosts’ inadequate supply also exposes their lack of wealth. Mary wants Jesus to do something not to keep the party going, but to spare the kind people who invited them any undue humiliation. Their crisis leads to a personal crisis for Him.

“What am I supposed to do?” Jesus asks Mary. “You know my time hasn’t come yet.” I love this, because it suggests the intimate relationship between Jesus and Mary continues into His adulthood. He’s confided God’s plan for Him. She’s tracking the moment for Him to reveal His miraculous gifts. She knows her request is premature. But here we also see parental maturity in action. Mary’s aware not stepping in to show compassion for His hosts will be something her Son will regret. Adhering to a timeline takes second place behind ministering to unanticipated need. Despite Jesus’s reluctance, she instructs the servants, “Do whatever He tells you.” She forces Jesus into a dilemma. Does He disrespect His mother in public—an added thing He’ll be ashamed of—or does He jump-start His ministry on His hosts’ behalf? He spies six 20-30 gallon jars ordinarily used for bathing and dishwashing. He orders the servants to fill them with water. When their contents are decanted, they’ve been transformed into fine wine. The guests are floored, the hosts proud, and both crises—theirs and Jesus’s—averted.

Ready or Not

So often we view Christian formation as a timetable akin to secular education. We regard spiritual development in gradual stages, thinking some expressions of faith are appropriate for us while others are too “advanced.” For example, we may be at a point where everyday kindness comes easily, but we’ve got much more growing to do before we can fully forgive deep-seated wrongs against us. This perspective is not wrong. In fact, it’s a wise approach to take, as some believers make the mistake of attempting too much, too soon. We’re counseled in 1 Peter 2.1, “Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation.” Like my own mother often reminds new Christians, “Learn to crawl before you walk, and walk before you run.”

During our growth, though, we also happen on unanticipated needs we feel inadequately mature to address. We find ourselves facing a crisis at Cana. Our initial response may echo Jesus’s. “What am I supposed to do? My time hasn’t come.” Yet not doing what we can risks regret for having done nothing at all. Ready or not, we respond by faith, knowing the impossible for us permits God to prove what’s possible for Him. Forget presentation. All Jesus had to work with were kitchen jars. The immediate need left no time to impress the guests with fancy packaging. The pivotal moment comes at the story’s end.: “He thus revealed his glory, and his disciples put their faith in him.” (John 2.11) Cana crises can be intimidating. But if we rise to the need, God honors our willingness to serve. His glory is revealed in us, encouraging others to trust our witness.

We may not feel ready for what we’re asked to do, but God honors our willingness and reveals His glory in us. (Giusto de’ Manaboui: Marriage at Cana: 1376-78)

(Tomorrow: Stripes)

They Think We're Strange

They think it strange that you do not plunge with them into the same flood of dissipation, and they heap abuse on you.

                        1 Peter 4.4 

Cognitive Dissonance

"Cognitive dissonance” describes uneasiness caused by simultaneously conflicting ideas. Sometimes, it’s easily dismissed as baseless, as in hearing a person smeared with icing claim he hates cake. But more often it occurs when trying to process contradictory stereotypes. Arenas of faith are sites where cognitive dissonance regularly occurs, chiefly because they’re breeding grounds for stereotypes. They nurture—sometimes demand—conformity of those who ascribe to their beliefs. The believer who embraces his/her faith yet doesn’t fully conform to its dogma or politics triggers cognitive dissonance. Try these on for size: “liberal Fundamentalist,” “pro-choice Catholic,” “Baptist Darwinian,” “right-wing Unitarian,” “gay Christian.” The welding of two presumably opposed identities throws everyone, those within the given faith community as well as onlookers who typecast its members as “all of a kind.”

Generally, people handle cognitively dissonant professions of faith politely. After being startled, they may ask a question or two and move on. The lion’s share of opposition comes from those who adhere to one of the two identifiers. They tend to protest the believer’s claim as though it were an affront to their personal faith or way of life. “How can you say that?” is the most typical response from devout Christians and devoutly non-religious gay people when I say I’m a gay Christian. Their reactions make sense. Since Adam and Eve first tasted the difference between right and wrong, we’ve had to choose between them. We define our lives as much by what we find wrong in others as what’s right for us. Yet our integrity depends on withstanding pressure to conform to another’s lifestyle or beliefs and pleasing God, regardless how strange the path He leads us down may seem.

Done

Integrity is top of mind in Peter’s first epistle. Written with unswerving pastoral authority, Peter’s letter, though rich in spiritual truth, is less a theological treatise than a “how-to” guide. It speaks frankly (if somewhat floridly) to situations all Christians face—practical holiness and domestic relationships, for instance. Throughout, it sounds one note: live with integrity. In chapter 4, it focuses on the believer’s challenge to forsake sin while remaining in the sinful environment he/she has always known. Peter starts by counseling us to identify wholly with Christ’s suffering to overcome sin, “because he who has suffered in the body is done with sin.” (1 Peter 4.1) 

Your past as non-believers taught you what they do, he says in verse 3, giving a few examples—“living in debauchery, lust, drunkenness, orgies, carousing and detestable idolatry.” Now that you’re done with all that, he says, those around you “think it strange that you do not plunge with them into the same flood of dissipation, and they heap abuse on you.” Don’t worry about what they say, he advises. Leave them for God to judge. Instead, in verse 7, he reminds us to live every day as if it were the last: “The end of all things is near. Therefore be clear minded and self-controlled so that you can pray.” He proceeds to encourage us to “love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins” (v8) and to “offer hospitality to one another without grumbling.” (v9) Maintaining integrity with clear thinking and discipline enables us to pray for those who criticize us. We continue to love them, overlooking their faults, and we open our doors to them without complaint.

Working It Out

“Continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and act according to his good purpose,” we’re told in Philippians 2.12-13. Our Christian walk is an intensely personal conversation between Jesus and us. He alone knows the precise path we should follow. As our faith grows, every day finds us working it out to better please Him. For many of us, this entails breaking with several crowds—groups that promote unhealthy, fear-based beliefs as well as those indulging in destructive attitudes and practices. We can’t expect them to agree with us or leave us to find our way without a concerted effort to pull us back to their ideas and behaviors. But we’re done with that. It’s understandable that they think we’re strange. Many will scorn us. Many will press us to be “normal.” Many will avoid us entirely. God will deal with them. We must remain clear-headed, self-controlled, prayerful, loving, and hospitable. This probably won’t make them happy, but it pleases God. 

When we don’t conform to stereotypes and expectations, people think we’re strange. But our integrity depends entirely on what God thinks.

(Tomorrow: Crisis at Cana)

Refreshment

Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord.

                        Acts 3.19

Better Balance

Guided by the best intentions—bringing others into the knowledge and grace of Christ—the fire-and-brimstone crowd has inadvertently created a dilemma. Its vitriolic attacks on wrongdoing and prophecies of doom have turned sin and judgment into taboo topics. This is particularly true for believers whose witness glories in God’s love and acceptance. Due to concerns about alienating those around us, our message and portrayal of Christ verge toward the Pollyanna: “Happy! Happy! Happy!” (My partner calls this “cheerleading for God.”) And, honestly, one approach can be just as tough to stomach as its alternative, because both are too much of a good thing.

Both should calibrate their messages for better balance. A condemning gospel diminishes the love that compelled God to sacrifice Himself for our eternal life. On the other hand, an inclusive gospel shouldn’t be misrepresented as “anything goes;” its essence is “everyone can.” Sin and repentance are central to both, as are mercy and forgiveness. In Acts 3.19, Peter strikes a perfect balance, one all believers should embrace and express. “Repent and turn to God,” he says, “so your sins will be erased and refreshment [or renewal] will come from the Lord.” He beautifully weaves condemning and inclusive gospels into one thread by trimming their excess. There’s no threat of punishment, neither is there a blindly enthusiastic “join-the-club” sentiment. Potential judgment and unconditional pardon are subtly balanced to present a gospel of refreshment. That’s good news for all, because no one is immune to the weariness of life. More than ever, it's a gospel we need.

Lost in the Stacks

Marvels of technology quickly lose their luster, turning into liabilities by burdening our lives with inconvenient conveniences. Nearly every gizmo touted to improve efficiency bogs us down. Connectivity via speed-dial, mouse-click, and send-button steals private time for rest and contemplation—the two components of renewal. And in the rare moments we do find to shut everything down, it’s close to impossible to shut everything out. Clearing our hearts and replenishing our spirits have become major projects. We’ve crammed them with more freight than they can bear and have no time to sort through what we think and feel.

Our overstuffed lives have desensitized us to sinful tendencies lost in the stacks of what we’re doing, should be doing, haven’t finished, haven’t started, prefer doing, can’t avoid, and won't do. If only we could sacrifice some doing time to sifting time, we’d uncover a wide variety of faults that weigh us down: anxieties, resentments, compromises, prejudices, neglect, etc. It’s an ugly list that goes on for days. Repentance—forsaking sin to accept forgiveness—efficiently thins the piles. It gives us room to breathe and time to reflect. It refreshes us. 

The Urge to Purge

Although technology now piles on clutter at unprecedented rates, accumulation has always been a problem for us. Our troubles started in the Garden, trying to fill our heads with more knowledge than we could manage. It’s been that way ever since. Thankfully, along with our pack-rat traits, God also endowed us with the urge to purge. Sin and folderol can only pile so high before we say, “Enough! Something’s got to go.” We find David, a cluttered life if there ever was one, at this place in Psalm 51, where he prays, “Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me… Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing a spirit, to sustain me.” (v10, 12) How wise of him to ask for a willing spirit! Without willingness, the urge to purge passes swiftly, pushed aside by the delusion lugging around unnecessary guilt and distraction is easier than thinning the piles. Willingness to repent is the first step to restoration of joy.

Should it surprise us purging unhealthy ideas and harmful impulses retrieves lost time? No gadget we’ll ever own or invent will match efficiencies gained by wiping out sin. Hours wasted on futile activities and vain pursuits we now spend taking Jesus up on His offer: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11.28-30) This is Christ’s gospel of refreshment. He gives us rest. We trade our heavy burdens for the lightness of His. We extract ourselves from conveniences that complicate our lives and take on the easy yoke of His discipline. There’s more to the gospel than escaping wrath, more to it than accessing grace. The gospel restores. It renews. It refreshes.

More than ever, we need the gospel of refreshment.

(Tomorrow: They Think We’re Strange)

Enter Laughing

So Sarah laughed to herself as she thought, “After I am worn out and my master is old, will I now have this pleasure?”

                        Genesis 18.12 

Midlife Changes

The other morning I found myself transfixed by a little-known movie called Bigger Than Life (1956). James Mason plays a teacher diagnosed with arterial inflammation and given weeks to live. He consents to experimental treatment with cortisone, a new human steroid with miraculous powers. It helps his condition, but warps his mind. He becomes egomaniacal and scathingly abusive to his wife and young son. I couldn’t believe it—a 50’s film about ‘roid rage! As the picture went on, I detected Old Testament shades of Abraham I couldn’t pin down. Other than centering on husbands whose unexpected midlife changes turn their lives upside down, the stories had nothing in common. Then, at Bigger Than Life’s climax, the connection fixes itself. Without spoiling the end, it defines Mason’s character as an anti-Abraham, a modest man monstrously bent on destroying his family by a drug-induced God complex. While the film doesn’t exact retribution for this, it finishes on a tragic note. The ordeal changes his gentle wife into a suspicious, snappish mate. Afterward, my mind kept drifting to this woman, comparing her to Abraham’s wife, Sarah. While she faces realities of her husband’s protracted withdrawal and likelihood he’ll never return to himself, Sarah’s midlife change is so unrealistic, merely thinking about it makes her laugh.

Disappointments

Abraham’s faith and obedience afford him such towering presence it’s easy to forget Sarah’s an enthralling character in her own right. While his tale brims with adventure, disappointments riddle her story. She’s unable to bear children. Married into a family of restless men, she never settles in one place for very long. Early on, she joins Abraham as he, his father, and his nephew, Lot, leave home for Canaan, a rich and lovely land. Alas, that doesn’t work out. The father takes a liking to a community en route to Canaan and the couple ends up growing into middle-aged prosperity there. Then Abraham announces God’s sending them to Canaan, where he’ll father a nation to inherit the land. The wildest imagination can’t conceive Sarah greeting this with “That’s great, honey! When do we leave?”

Canaan amounts to one disappointment after another. With Lot tagging along, the couple futilely searches for a place to live. Famine drives them to Egypt, where Pharaoh, smitten with Sarah, kidnaps her and Abraham steals her back. Lot relocates near Sodom, gets in trouble with the king, risks his family’s safety, and loses his wife in a firestorm of wrath. One of Sarah’s maids bears Abraham’s son, humiliating her and creating problems in her marriage. Year after year, crisis after crisis, she must wonder, “How long can this drag on? Where’s this nation?” Yet despite the letdowns and dead ends, she stays true to Abraham, trusting him as he trusts God. So far, she’s not been asked to believe for herself. That changes when she overhears Abraham talking to three strangers in their garden. Unaware they’re divine messengers, she hears this: “I will surely return to you about this time next year, and Sarah your wife will have a son.” The notion is too nuts to entertain. She’s never been able to conceive and even if she had, she’s long past menopause. So Sarah laughs and puts it out of her mind—until she gets pregnant with Isaac.

Promises, Promises

We might chastise Sarah for giggling at God’s promise were it not for its whopping size and her integrity as a faithful wife. Having lived on promises for decades, it’s completely understandable another one—especially one so preposterously over-the-top about her—would trigger laughter. There are many colors in that laugh, though, a subtle mingling of incredulity, surprise, fatigue, absurdity, confusion, worry, and anxiety. Those last two aspects are particularly poignant, as they reflect Sarah’s care for Abraham. While she tries to dismiss the promise as beyond belief, she knows he accepts it full-bore. He’ll expect what she’s physically unable to do. After supporting him without pause, she’s been set up to let him down. Her laughter masks nervous questions she prefers not to ask: Why me? Why this? Why now? Why not sooner? She walks away before the messenger asks the one question worth considering: “Is anything too hard for the LORD?” (Genesis 18.14)

Can you feel Sarah? So often life feels strung out on promises, promises. What we most hope for falls beyond our grasp. Before we settle down to enjoy some stability, we’re swept up by unanticipated pursuits. We get captivated by new admirers and tugged away by old ones. People we take into our hearts repay us by falling into trouble or taunting our inadequacies. We’re faithful to a fault, yet the more we give, the more absurd expectations get. And when God shows up with a whopper, promising success where we’ve always failed, it sounds like more the same, tempting us to laugh and walk away. But we should hang around, because He has a question. Is there anything too hard for Me? Those are His promises we trust. His plan guides us. What’s inconceivable for us is laughable to Him. If God’s opening closed doors for us, why laugh and walk away, when we can enter laughing?

We can laugh at God’s promises because they're impossible for us or laugh because nothing's impossible for Him.

(Tomorrow: Refreshment)