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Springtime in Ethan’s Garden

Ethan’s Mom: Happy Eastertide – here we are on the “other side” of the event that changes everything, Jesus’ death and resurrection. As expected, March was difficult, but again, I was surprised by the different manifestation it took this year. For some reason, I found myself really struggling to respond to the acknowledgements of friends and family when that hasn’t been an issue before. Sometimes the bereaved struggle to find words just as much as those who seek to comfort them. So if you are reading this, know that I read every text/email/card multiple times, and they each brought comfort to my heart. My precious sister-in-law expressed a desire to “take a little patch of the weeds and tear them down” in reference to the figurative language from my last post. Truly, knowing that people remembered Ethan, prayed for us, reached out to us, and said his name did keep the weeds from completely taking over. Thank you.

Yesterday, God lifted my gaze away from the weeds and onto the beauty of the garden. Our BSF study notes stated this week, “…if God takes away what we treasure, we can trust that His loving care and faithfulness will go with us into life with the loss…If something you once held dear is gone, how has God met your deepest needs?” I had to think about that one for a few days. One of our deepest needs as Ethan’s parents is to know that his life mattered. Another is reassurance of God’s love and design for us, which includes the consummation of His redemptive plan at Christ’s return. Both of these needs were met in a sweet experience at our kids’ preschool this week.

After Ethan died, family and friends who wanted to make a donation in his memory contributed to the preschool our children have attended, which is also a ministry of our church. In fact, many of the teachers have come to feel like extended family as they have cared for at least one of our children each year for the last decade. In 2017, our middle two children were in the crawler and 3K classrooms, and the school did so much in taking care of them (and us!) in special ways during that very difficult spring. Two years later, they welcomed Ethan’s twin brother to school and acknowledged our pain of not dropping off two boys to their first day of 2K.

It took a while to decide on something to do with the fund that would be both meaningful and useful. But eventually, both the preschool director and I came up with the same idea – a garden. The money was used to buy materials to rehab a small section of landscaping on the playground into Ethan’s Garden. Two master gardeners from our church (one of whom planted our backyard Ethan’s Garden) prepared the soil and planted a Japanese maple tree and a row of Lenten roses along the back. In the summer of 2019, Ethan’s Garden was dedicated in a small ceremony attended by preschool staff, church family, and other friends and family. Ethan’s dad made a beautiful speech, and I led everyone in “A Liturgy for the Planting of Flowers” from Every Moment Holy Volume I. We then planted flowers while a friend sang “Hymn of Promise.” It was a beautiful and bittersweet ceremony.

Yesterday we planted petunias with the 3K class that our boys should be in together. The children experienced God’s creation as they dug holes, scooped dirt, and watered the new plants. As we smelled the fresh leaves, felt the moist soil, and observed the delicate roots, we talked with the children about how God satisfies the needs of each flower with sun, rain, and nutrients from the soil. Some asked about the caboose bird feeder in the center, and we told them it was a reminder of our son. I think it was a special experience for the children; it certainly was for me.

After the children went back inside, Ethan’s dad and I read the same liturgy from the garden’s dedication. These words brought tears to my eyes:

“[These flowers] are a warrant and a witness, each blossom shouting from the earth that death is a lie, that beauty and immortality are what we were made for. They are heralds of a restoration that will forever mend all sorrow and comfort all grief.”

After the darkness and doubts of the past several weeks, I needed the testimony of these delicate witnesses. Through them, God met my need for a reminder of his faithfulness.

The liturgy then moves on to a request for God’s blessings on the newly planted flowers and closes with this benediction:

“Let these flowers, O Lord, bear witness in their deepest natures to eternal things. Let our lives also, O Lord, do the same. Amen.”

As Ethan’s dad said at the garden’s dedication, “it is our hope and prayer that a tiny mental seed will be planted of God speaking to [the children] about life and growth and how death is not the end of the story: that God gives new life to all who believe in Jesus.” These flowering witnesses were planted in a garden created because of Ethan. His short life bears witness in its deepest nature to eternal things — on the playground, in our home, and in my heart. God used this small garden to show me that Ethan’s life mattered and matters still as God uses him to bear witness to His love, just like the flowers in a springtime garden.

Springtime by Chris Renzema

You’re the resurrection
That we’ve waited for
You buried the night
And came with the morning
You’re the King of Heaven
The praise is Yours
The longer the quiet
The louder the chorus

We will sing a new song
‘Cause death is dead and gone with the winter
We will sing a new song
Let “Hallelujah’s” flow like a river
We’re coming back to life
Reaching toward the light
Your love is like springtime

You’re the living water
God, we thirst for You
The dry and the barren
Will flower and bloom
You’re the sun that’s shining
You restore my soul
The deeper You call us
Oh, the deeper we’ll go

We will sing a new song
‘Cause death is dead and gone with the winter
We will sing a new song
Let “Hallelujah’s” flow like a river
We’re coming back to life
Reaching toward the light
Your love is like springtime

Come tend the soil
Come tend the soil of my soul
And like a garden
And like a garden I will grow
I will grow

We will sing a new song
‘Cause death is dead and gone with the winter
We will sing a new song
Let “Hallelujah’s” flow like a river
We’re coming back to life
Reaching toward the light
Your love is like springtime

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The Struggle

Ethan’s Dad: It has been four years, but I continue to wrestle with it as I did right after it happened. The main differences are that the struggle is not there all the time and the questions are quieter and more subtle. I function fairly normally most of the time now. The fight sits in a pit deep within and emerges at various times — sometimes predictably, like in the week of all weeks in March, and sometimes unexpectedly, like when Ethan’s twin brother randomly does or says something that makes me wonder what Ethan would have said or done right next to him. It no longer pervasively cripples, but it does loom.

One recent example is when I (again) heard death generically described as a natural part of life. Mentally I understand why people say this: because people die every day, and everyone will experience loss in their lives. Certainly, with the pandemic that reality has hit home in a lot of places this past year. In a way, I suppose the statement is meant to be a comfort, so that you know everyone has a sense of what you have experienced. But there is a part of me that cannot help but take it as a gross trivialization of a genuine wrong. The fact is that not every parent loses a child, and not every parent only has two months with a child. My point is not to rank our pain above someone else’s, but to make people stop and think about what they are saying. All death is loss. All death is tragic. All death is wrong in the sense that it was not God’s original intent for His special creation called humanity. We know this and we feel it because the part of us that is not physical — our spirits — tell us so. The fact that Ethan was eventually going to die does not make his premature death any less tragic. We hold “celebrations of life” for people who live long and make lasting impressions on those around them. Ethan never had that chance. We can be thankful we got the opportunity to hold him — absolutely that was infinitely better than if he had not survived the first ambulance ride — but there is nothing wrong with mourning the fact that we did not get to see him (and Ethan did not get to experience) crawling, or walking, or talking, or laughing, or jumping on the trampoline, or reading a book, or giving us a hug, or . . . . the list is as long as a regular life. Death in this present world is a natural part of life, but a child’s death is not in the natural order of things. And, in any event, just because something is “natural” does not make it right. That is the very reason Christ calls us to be new creations and why He is coming back to bring a new Heaven and a new earth where there will be no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain. The old will pass away and He will make all things new. (Revelation 21:4-5). Until that day, I will struggle with this loss.

Some might say that struggle is wrong. That I am failing to find peace in Christ. That I am arrogantly challenging God and His ways, which are perfect and irreproachable. But I don’t think God really sees it that way. Recently in BSF we studied the story where Jacob wrestles a “Man” from night until daybreak. The Bible records it this way:

“Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When the man saw that he could not defeat him, he struck Jacob’s hip socket as they wrestled and dislocated his hip. Then he said to Jacob, ‘Let me go, for it is daybreak.’ But Jacob said, ‘I will not let you go unless you bless me.’ ‘What is your name?’ the man asked.

“‘Jacob,’ he replied. ‘Your name will no longer be Jacob,’ he said. ‘It will be Israel because you have struggled with God and with men and have prevailed.’ Then Jacob asked him, ‘Please tell me your name.’ But he answered, ‘Why do you ask my name?’ And he blessed him there. Jacob then named the place Peniel, ‘For I have seen God face to face,” he said, ‘yet my life has been spared.’ The sun shone on him as he passed by Penuel — limping because of his hip.” (Genesis 32:24-31, CSB).

I have to confess that I have always found this story to be a strange one. It raises a lot of questions. Chief among them is: Who is this “man” that Jacob wrestled? There are several clues suggesting that the “man” is God in human form; indeed, it very well might be Jesus before the Incarnation. First, the “man” is able to dislocate Jacob’s hip just by touch. Second, Jacob seeks a blessing from the “man.” There would be no reason for Jacob to do that unless he believed the “man” was of divine origin. Third, the “man” renames Jacob. In ancient times, naming something indicated dominion over it.

You might wonder: “If it is God, who is all-knowing, how come He had to ask Jacob his name? But God does this all the time, that is, ask a question He already knows the answer to. He did the same in the Garden of Eden when He asked Adam and Eve where they were after they ate the fruit, and when He asked them what they had done. God did the same with Cain when He asked Cain where his brother Abel was after Cain had killed him. God does not ask such questions to gain information, but rather to test the respondent’s heart. Here, God wanted to see if Jacob would respond differently than he had when Isaac had asked who he was when Jacob and his mother were conspiring to trick Isaac into giving Jacob the blessing Isaac meant for Jacob’s brother, Esau. There Jacob had lied about who he was; but to the “man” he was honest about being Jacob, which means “the deceiver.” In essence, he was confessing who he had been to God.

A fourth clue as to the identity of the “man” is that when Jacob asks for His name, the “man” responds with incredulity at the question. This reaction is either because the “man” believed Jacob should have already known who He was, or because no name is adequate to describe God. It is reminiscent of when Moses asked God at the burning bush who he should tell the Egyptians sent him to them. God responds: “I am who I am.” (Exodus 3:14). That response may seem tautological, but that is the point. There is nothing that describes God except God because He is incomparable.

Fifth, the “man” does bless Jacob. God is the only one who truly can shower people with blessings because everything good comes from Him. (James 1:17). The sixth clue would seem to be a giveaway: the “man’s” translation of Jacob’s new name, Israel, is that Jacob “struggled with God and with men and has prevailed.” This would seem to indicate that the “man” is simultaneously God and man. Finally, after the “man” leaves, Jacob names the place where this event occurred and says that he has “seen the face of God” and yet his life had been spared. This is a big statement because even Moses only saw God’s “backside” because God said no one could see Him in his glory and live. Of course, seeing this human representation of God was different than seeing God the Father, but it was still clearly awe-inspiring for Jacob.

Okay, so if the “man” was God, why in the world was Jacob wrestling Him? After all, that seems like a losing proposition — wrestling the most powerful being in existence. Yet, then we see another curveball because the text says “the man saw he could not defeat [Jacob],” and then that Jacob “prevailed.” How is it remotely possible that Jacob could prevail over God? And again, why are they wrestling at all, alone in the middle of nowhere?

This is where the reasons this story is in the Bible start to be revealed. The answer to the first question is, of course, that God let Jacob win, though not without providing him with a reminder of his own weakness (the hip which produced a limp). Why would God let Jacob win? Because it is only through God’s seeming defeat that the true blessing could come. For you see (this observation comes courtesy of St. Augustine), we have here a picture of the Cross: the place where man and evil seemingly prevailed over Jesus, bringing about His death, but only because He (and God the Father) willingly submitted to it. He did this because it was only through the death of the perfect, spotless, Lamb of God that sin’s penalty could be paid, and that we could be given the blessing of new (and eternal) life. The “man” lets Jacob win, and only after that does He give Jacob his new name, Israel, and give him the blessing. And what was that blessing? Seeing God and (in a sense) being granted new life. In the end, this is also our blessing when we trust in Jesus.

But what was essential for all of that was the struggle, the wrestling that lasts the night and then gives way with the dawn of morning. Jacob starts alone in the night, no doubt wondering whether God is really with him, whether God really loves him and will keep His promises to Him. This is the true beginning of the struggle. Then the “man” appears and the fight ensues. As the fight goes on, no doubt Jacob’s inner struggle intensified: needing to will himself to go on as he grew weaker, reproving himself for mistakes that may give the “man” an upper hand, coming to realize that he was not at all worthy to be engaging in a match with this “man” in the first place. Then comes Jacob’s “victory,” which solely comes by grace from the “man,” which is demonstrated by the injury inflicted solely by the “man’s” touch. The blessing follows only after Jacob realizes who the “man” really is: he sees God and lives. But Jacob does not (and perhaps could not) experience this revelation without the struggle and hurt, the effects of which he would bear for the rest of his earthly days.

Jacob had to come to a place where he understood that he could no longer be who he was: the deceiver relying on his own wits to thrive. Instead, he needed to rely on the Truth — God — in order to receive the blessing that would last for eternity. The only reason Jacob “wins” this struggle is because the Lord is involved in it. If Jacob had only been wrestling with himself, he would have lost from despair — as anyone who has experienced bouts of depression can attest. Thus, struggles of belief do not lead anywhere if they do not actively involve God. God does not despise being tested or challenged if the one posing the challenge is genuine and honest. When Satan tempted Jesus by telling Him to throw Himself off the Temple because God’s angels will rescue Him, and Jesus says, “It is written: Do not put the Lord your God to the test,” Jesus refers to frivolous testing, challenges that mock God, as Satan proposed, rather than genuine questioning that comes from a seeking heart.

So, when I struggle with Ethan’s death, with God allowing such an evil to transpire, I do not think God despises it, blames me for it, or turns His back on me because of it. I think He expects it, hopes for it, and engages with it. The last thing He would want me to do is ignore it or assume He could have done nothing about it (and in doing so deny that God exists). The question is whether I am getting somewhere in the struggle. If it is a perpetual stalemate, then nothing comes of it, the dark of night always remains with no ray of sunshine peeking through the gloom. But if I am “winning,” even ever so slowly, by His grace, then I am coming closer to seeing God for who He truly is. That “sight” might not be the benevolent uncle or Santa Claus that people often like to imagine God being, but something more complex, scary, and mysterious. But if it is closer to Him, then the expectation of who He is needs to be shattered to make the vision clearer.

This is why our understanding of God and the incarnation of Jesus changes (or should change) over time. As children, we are taught about the God who created, who promised with a rainbow, who parted the sea, and who protected in a Lion’s den. These stories reflect the timeless character of God, but as we grow we ponder the presence of the Tree of Knowledge, the children who died in the flood, the Christians in the Roman coliseums who were torn apart by lions. Likewise, early in our walk, we are taught about Jesus the teacher, the healer, the good shepherd who cares for His sheep. These ideas are not wrong: they absolutely need to be a foundation for what follows, and we must be reminded of them throughout our lives. But they are not the whole story. For there is also Jesus the turner of tables in the Temple, Jesus the stern rebuker of the Pharisees, Jesus the questioner of Peter and confronter of Saul, Jesus the washer of feet, Jesus the anguished in the Garden, Jesus the transfigured on the mountain, and more.

In its essence, “the struggle” means coming to a better understanding of Christ’s death and resurrection: “seeing God” for who He really is more clearly on this side of Heaven. To be honest, that is what this wondering about Ethan’s loss produces in me. Resolution does not fully come because on this side I cannot see it all — but I yearn to, and do, see more. I would be lying if I said that the view is entirely easy on the eyes of my heart, but if my heart is closer to His, then that is something. It does not replace Ethan, but He knows that, because He knows our sorrow:

“You keep track of all my sorrows.
You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book.”(Psalm 56:8, NLT).

“He was despised and rejected—
a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief.
We turned our backs on him and looked the other way.
He was despised, and we did not care.” (Isaiah 53:3, NLT).

And one day there will be a restoration:

“It will happen in a moment, in the blink of an eye, when the last trumpet is blown. For when the trumpet sounds, those who have died will be raised to live forever. And we who are living will also be transformed.

“For our dying bodies must be transformed into bodies that will never die; our mortal bodies must be transformed into immortal bodies. Then, when our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled:

“Death is swallowed up in victory.
“‘O death, where is your victory?
“‘O death, where is your sting?’” (1 Corinthians 15:52-55, NLT)

On that day, the struggle will cease because I will see Jesus clearly, I will see Ethan again, and there will be rest for my soul.

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Reflecting on Keller’s Catharsis

Ethan’s Dad: It surely is not a coincidence that on this day of days, I came across this article from pastor and author Timothy Keller. Even though I disagree with his Calvinism, I have always appreciated Keller’s work, which seamlessly conjoins spiritual insight with intellectual rigor. This article is no exception, offering deeply personal reflections on his diagnosis of pancreatic cancer interspersed with quotes and theories from a range of thinkers. Keller’s honesty on the subject of his seeming impending demise is refreshing and — as Walking in the Shadowlands shows — the thought process he shares and the realizations he has gained are very similar to those we have experienced in the days and years since that March 10th on which we lost Ethan. Keller’s ruminations boil down to the fact that there comes a time when you are so profoundly shaken by something that continuing to live requires more than just intellect or just emotion or just material things: it requires raw transparency, wallowing in the moment, resonating with Scripture, and aching for the reality we cannot see. When Ethan’s mother and I sit beside his grave on this day, we do not do it just to mark an event or to be morbid or to be pitied or to prevent a festering wound from healing. We do it because Ethan’s life and the loss of him matters to us in a way that shapes everything else, because his loss personally intertwines finality and eternity in a way that nothing short of Keller’s experience could. In short, we do it because of the one thing that outlasts everything else: love. The way we truly know that Jesus loves us is precisely because He died for us; therefore, death and love are forever linked, but we know that love is stronger than death because love endures after death, and Jesus’ resurrection is exclamation point of that truth. We love Ethan and we believe that God loves him even more (though it is difficult to imagine that “more”), which is why we believe we are going to see him again. That belief does not change the reality of Ethan’s present loss, of this awful pain, or of the abject darkness that accompanies our memories of this horrid day four years ago. But it does provide genuine hope because it is based on what remains when all else is torn away. We love you with all our hearts Ethan — catch you on the flip side!

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Four Years Ago This Day

Ethan’s Mom: I have been getting a lot of those “Remember this day __ years ago” notifications from my photo service in the last few weeks. I always hold my breath when I open those between January and March, both hoping and fearing that the memory will include pictures from 2017. What we didn’t know as February turned into March that year was that we didn’t have much longer to take pictures of Ethan. Four years ago in March, we were in the final days with our son.

Four years ago last week, I received the images from the twins’ newborn photo shoot. Those portraits popped up on my phone and brought me right back to that photography studio. The heat was turned up to keep the half-naked babies comfortable, and I was sweating through my clothes. Ethan was so fussy that day, but between me and my mom, we bounced and fed and burped enough to get some good pictures of him awake by himself and sleeping sweetly with his arm wrapped around his brother’s. I treasure those photos but mourn the fact that there will be no more portraits.

Four years ago this week, we attended an award ceremony for the local fire department at which the crew that delivered all four of us safely to a hospital in an ice storm were named “Firefighters of the Year”. The pictures of the ceremony and the decorated cookies I ordered as a small gift for each of them popped up yesterday. I remember the very parking spot we used at the library on that day. I remember the Fire Chief’s thick southern accent asking which one was Jefferson and which one was Shelby, referring to the fact that the boys were born in two different counties en route to the hospital.

Four years ago today, we were at the cardiologist’s office for a follow up visit. I remember holding his arms still during the EKG and then learning that our son may have an additional heart condition in addition to the ventral septal defect which would require open heart surgery. That was the day the cardiologist attempted to reassure us about the implications of this additional problem by saying that it was OK to let him sleep in his crib, he wasn’t going to die in the middle of the night.

But then there we were, in the emergency room exactly one week later when Ethan did, in fact, die in his sleep. Four years ago next Wednesday – March 10, 2017. I remember what pajamas he was wearing. I remember where I collapsed in the yard watching the ambulance drive away, another kind firefighter taking Ethan’s twin brother before I dropped him. I remember almost running into the sliding glass doors at the ER because they didn’t open fast enough. I remember splashing water on my face before we left and looking up at a person I did not recognize in the mirror.

Four years ago on March 15th, our family gathered around us as we laid Ethan’s body in the ground. I remember the extremely cold but sunny day, the fuzzy blue blankets provided by the funeral home, the train whistle at the perfect time during the eulogy, confirming that Ethan will forever be known as our little caboose. I remember going back to the church and eating mashed potatoes before taking my place in the receiving line, and I remember the faces of those who cried with us that day.

Our friend and minister once used the phrase “deep in the weeds” to describe my state of being that first year. It was true – at that time I could not see anything around me but sadness and confusion. Many of the paths I walk along now have weeds along the way, interspersed with the beautiful landscapes of life, but some days (holidays, birthday, anniversary of loss) those weeds shoot up and block my entire view again. I can think of little else, and there seems to be no means of escape. As one of my children’s favorite books says, “We can’t go over it, we can’t go under it, we have to go through it.” And here I am at the beginning of March, going through it again. I know in my head that it will pass – Easter is coming and that helps shift my mindset from 2017 back to the present and even to the future – but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like crazy in the meantime. So if you think of us in the next two weeks, pray for us and let us know you are thinking about us down here in the weeds. I’ll see you on the other side.

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Happy Fourth Birthday, Ethan!

Ethan’s Dad: It is late, but I cannot let the day pass without marking what should be our Little Caboose’s fourth birthday. His twin brother Noah had a good birthday, I think, filled with most of the things such a day should have for a child: special meals, an adventure with Mom, some cool presents, and visits from grandparents (both virtual and in person). Of course, those also are all things Ethan does not get to experience, and we, his family left in the Shadowlands, are so much the poorer for it. The joy we get to see from Noah is matched by the void left by Ethan’s absence.

And once again with these events that mark time we remain astonished in opposing ways that we have arrived at the twins’ fourth birthday because time both flies and crawls in this situation. It flies as we watch Noah, in the same way so many other parents do, grow like a weed throughout his precious childhood. It crawls as we miss Ethan, always yearning for that time when we will see him again. Time is indeed relative when you live with having twins but only one of them is still living with you on this earth.

I am ever thankful that we continue to get to see Noah’s joy. It is impossible to exaggerate the enormity of that blessing, one which I am painfully aware I would not recognize quite so well if it was not for Ethan’s absence. Yet, I am always heartbroken that we do not simultaneously get to see the same joy from Ethan, or the unique joy the boys certainly would have given to each other. Noah is now old enough to express to us — and often does— that he wishes Ethan would come back to us, and the sweetness of that unknowing longing evokes an inner ache that defies description.

My consolation — my hope — is that one day we are going to be able to sit down with Ethan and have a bunch of birthday parties in a row, or one party so stupendous that it somehow dwarfs these lost milestones. What will be his favorite party game, his choice of cake, his big present? I wonder as I wait for that jubilee which exceeds all earthly celebrations.

For now, we mark the time, we cherish Noah, and we cling to the promise that God is able to keep our Ethan, who we have entrusted to Him, until the day Christ returns. (2 Timothy 2:12). Our four-year-old who never reached four or three or two or one was celebrated and mourned this day. And so he will be until Kingdom Come.

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The Futility of Going Back to the Future

Ethan’s Dad: Have you ever noticed how much people are obsessed with time? The common observation is that ours is a fast-food culture, which means we want/demand everything to happen as instantly as possible. But the obsession doesn’t stop there. Countless stories, television shows, and movies revel in imagining that we could manipulate time — whether that entails traveling backward to remedy tragedies and mistakes or jumping forward to discover what awaits us, and they posit questions about the consequences of moving either way on the timeline. We long for this power over time even though there is no realistic indication that we could obtain it.

But that does not stop people from thinking about the possibility of time-travel. In this vein, I recently read a news story about the paradox of time-travel. The paradox of time-travel is that if a person was to travel back in time in order to fix something that went wrong in history — like trying to prevent Adam and Eve from eating the fruit that caused the fall of humanity into sin — fixing that problem would mean that the problem would no longer exist when that person returned to his or her own time, so there would be no motivation to go back in time in the first place. Put another way, things happen the way they happen, and if they unfolded another way than was intended we could never know it because we are creatures of the time we are born in. However, a prolific young scientist in Australia claims to have demonstrated through mathematics that the paradox of time-travel does not exist. The young man says that if you were to go back in time and fix a problem, events would conspire in such a way that the problem would occur anyway. In the example I just referenced, if you stop Adam and Eve from eating the fruit, someone else would still disobey God, and we would still have sin. So, the motivation for going back to fix the problem would still exist for the time-traveler, and thus there is no paradox. Of course, if the Australian mathematician is correct, the lack of a paradox also means that even if humans could go back in time, they could only change a particular variable of time, not what ultimately happens in the timeline. In other words, there is an inevitability to the unfolding of events even though human agency makes deliberate choices about how to do things.

You might think this is a strange topic to explore in this blog. But to me this theory sounds an awful lot like God’s planning of time in this world. We know choice exists because without it love would not be real. However, we also know from the Bible that God has had a plan from before the beginning of time as to how humanity’s arc, and God’s salvation, would unfold. One of the verses I recite every time I visit Ethan’s grave is a paraphrase of Titus 1:1-2: “The faith of those chosen of God and the knowledge of truth are a faith and knowledge that rest in the hope of eternal life which God, who does not lie, promised before the beginning of time.” The prophet Isaiah proclaims: “O Lord, You are my God; I will exalt you and praise your name, for in perfect faithfulness You have done marvelous things, things planned long ago.” (Isaiah 25:1). Ecclesiastes 3:11 (my all-time favorite verse) informs: “[God] has made everything beautiful in its time; He has also set eternity in the hearts of men. Yet they cannot fathom what He has done from beginning to end.” These (and many other) Bible verses point to God setting up time as an unfolding story and yet planning for eternity even before He started the clock of history. People often wonder how these two things can be simultaneously true. But if time operates in such a way that we are able to make deliberate choices and yet the grand sweep of history unfolds only one way, i.e., we cannot manipulate the timeline (because we are not God), then it seems to me that we have at least a partial answer to the mystery. God has designed our timeline in such a way that our billions of variable choices impact us, but they do not affect the destination of history, which culminates with salvation through Christ for all who believe.

Pondering such a model of existence is both mind-boggling and awe-inspiring. The question that often arises from such pondering about time and eternity is: why would God set all of this in motion if He knew about all of the atrocities that would subsequently transpire? Or, as Fyodor Dostoevsky famously asked in “The Grand Inquisitor” chapter of The Brothers Karamazov: How can God say that all of this is worth the suffering of even one starving child? The consequences of the abhorrent evil Adam and Eve brought into this world are enormous, some would say, incalculable.

I think the answer to The Brothers K question lies in coming to appreciate that there is no reason that we should exist at all apart from God’s grace. God was here before all of the creation we see and that we are still discovering: Absolutely nothing required Him to make all of this and all of us in the first place. He never had to say “Let there be light.” He could have left Earth formless and void. Nothing mandated that He create creatures in His image. Yes, there is a whole lot about this world that is evil and dark and relentlessly unforgiving; viruses are part of that, as are the unexplained deaths of infant children, and seemingly a million other cruel things. But before all of that there was God. And by His own choice, first there was light, and then there was the gift of life. And all of that was immeasurably good. Moreover, beyond the irreplaceable gift of existence is the fact that God accounted from the beginning for humanity’s going astray, and His solution to that immense problem entailed sacrificing His own Son. If we stop and think about all of that first, before all else, it should produce a profound sense of gratitude and thankfulness. As the Psalmist said: “It is good to proclaim your unfailing love in the morning, and your faithfulness in the evening.” (Psalm 92:2). Such an attitude of thankfulness as a starting point can change our perspective of what we see before us. It does not erase evil, but it reminds us that the good, that life itself, is not a brutal fact of necessity, but is truly a gift from God.

I always lament (and forever will) that Ethan did not get to live more of this life, but I am thankful that He lived at all, and I should remember that the same is true for me and everyone else. As the Psalmist also reminds us, “For with You is the fountain of life; in Your light we see light.” (Psalm 36:9). The light of life is sparked by thankfulness to the God who gave us everything. Can we honestly say that never existing would have been better than the evil that plagues the world, especially given what God foreshadowed in the Garden of Eden and brought about through Jesus? The Lord declares: “I make known the end from the beginning, from ancient times, what is still to come. I say, ‘My purpose will stand, and I will do all that I please.'” (Isaiah 46:10). That end is this:

“The Lord God will swallow up death forever.
He will wipe away the tears from all faces;
He will remove the disgrace of His people from this whole earth.
For the Lord has spoken.

And in that day it will be said: ‘This is our God;
We have waited for Him and He has saved us.
This is our Lord;
Come let us be glad and rejoice in His salvation.'”

(Isaiah 25:8-9).

The inexpressible hope of this end to time-bound life is why God’s answer to Job in chapters 38-41 of that difficult work is not as heartless as it can seem from our perspective of sympathizing with Job’s immense suffering.

“Then the Lord spoke to Job out of the storm. He said:

“Who is this that obscures my plans
with words without knowledge?
Brace yourself like a man;
I will question you,
and you shall answer me.

“Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?
Tell me, if you understand.
Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!
Who stretched a measuring line across it?
On what were its footings set,
or who laid its cornerstone—
while the morning stars sang together
and all the angels shouted for joy?

“Who shut up the sea behind doors
when it burst forth from the womb,
when I made the clouds its garment
and wrapped it in thick darkness,
when I fixed limits for it
and set its doors and bars in place,
when I said, ‘This far you may come and no farther;
here is where your proud waves halt’?

“Have you ever given orders to the morning,
or shown the dawn its place,
that it might take the earth by the edges
and shake the wicked out of it?
The earth takes shape like clay under a seal;
its features stand out like those of a garment.
The wicked are denied their light,
and their upraised arm is broken.

“Have you journeyed to the springs of the sea
or walked in the recesses of the deep?
Have the gates of death been shown to you?
Have you seen the gates of the deepest darkness?
Have you comprehended the vast expanses of the earth?
Tell me, if you know all this.

“What is the way to the abode of light?
And where does darkness reside?
Can you take them to their places?
Do you know the paths to their dwellings?
Surely you know, for you were already born!
You have lived so many years!

“….

“Do you known the laws of the heavens?
Can you set up God’s dominion over the earth?

“….

“Who endowed the heart with wisdom
or gave understanding to the mind?

“….

“Would you discredit my justice?
Would you condemn me to justify yourself?

“….

“Then Job replied to the Lord:

“‘I know that you can do all things;
no purpose of yours can be thwarted.
You asked, “Who is this that obscures my plans without knowledge?”
Surely I spoke of things I did not understand,
things too wonderful for me to know.

“‘You said, “Listen now, and I will speak;
I will question you,
and you shall answer me.”
My ears had heard of you
but now my eyes have seen you.
Therefore I despise myself
and repent in dust and ashes.'”

Job 38:1-20, 33, 36; 40:9; 42:1-6.

God was not saying to Job that He did not care about Job’s suffering; after all, He was very careful to curtail Satan’s desire to destroy Job. But God was saying that He has existed from before the beginning of time and that He created this world with His own rules and intentions. For some reason, God did not (fully) reveal the end of history to Job, and, as with Job, He does not reveal all of the reasons for the shattering events of our earthly lives. Yet, for us to question God’s ways without accounting for the entire picture is to approach sophistry. The Lord does not despise heartfelt questions: God did not stop Job from asking his questions over and over again, and the Psalms are full of questions to God for why He allows things to occur the way they do. But God desires that we not assume a position of authority as if we have the knowledge and power only He possesses.

Accepting that we cannot fully comprehend why events unfold as they do, and that we cannot actually alter God’s plan, can bring some peace in the turbulence of life. For one thing, from these truths it follows that just because we cannot fathom a reason for an occurrence does not mean that there is no reason for it (a mistake often made by atheists). For another, it means that no matter how terribly we screw up, we cannot throw God for a loop because events will inevitably culminate with Jesus’s return, God’s victory over sin and death, and eternal life in glory with Him for those who believe. We must always keep this end in mind as we traverse our story in time because there will be life events we desperately wish we could do over.

For instance, it is only natural that I wonder about that March night and morning in 2017: that maybe if I had done just one thing differently Ethan would still be alive. But I cannot go back because, for whatever reason, this is how the story unfolded, and I am a part of this time, not outside of it like God. Moreover, as his mother and I know by now (though a part of each of us will always struggle to admit it), nothing we did caused Ethan to die. For a combination of reasons, unknown to us and to the medical world, his little body could not hold on anymore. He spent one last night and early morning close to us, and then he left and was welcomed into the arms of Jesus. And as painful as Ethan’s absence always will be during the remainder of our time here on earth, we must always remember that this catastrophic event is not the end of story. God, at the end of time, will, in a sense, undo time’s scars.

From His Word, we can see that God’s love overcomes this wretched evil and that the evil ultimately will be wiped away. This means that there is something in this time-bound life that is vital to our lives in eternity. Part of the importance is obviously God’s demonstration of His love for us, which had to physically unfold in order to be truly appreciated.  I have been saying that God is outside of time, but perhaps even more wonderous than that is the fact that God actually chose to enter our time in order to ensure its glorious ending.  God not only set time in motion; He marked its defining moment with His own presence, and then sacrifice.

But I suspect that part of the importance of living this life is the idea Andrew Peterson suggests in his song Don’t You Want to Thank Someone for This

“And when the world is new again
And the children of the King
Are ancient in their youth again
Maybe it’s a better thing
A better thing

“To be more than merely innocent
But to be broken then redeemed by love
Maybe this old world is bent
But it’s waking up
And I’m waking up”

There is some way that experiencing this life, both in its immense joys and wrenching sorrows, heightens our lives in eternity in a way that would not have been true if all of this had not occurred. We cannot know exactly how that is; our charge is to trust that this is true because of what we do know: that God so loves us that He gave His only Son to die for us, that Jesus rose again, and that one day we will spend eternity with Him. Those are the timeless truths for our time-bound lives.

Posted on by walkingintheshadowlands · 1 Comment

A World Where There Are Octobers

Ethan’s Mom: The world has been so, so crazy this year. I haven’t posted anything since the pandemic erupted. The NBA cancelled the rest of their season on March 11th, the day after we marked three years since Ethan’s death. To me, that was the first time I really noticed something major was going on, possibly because for the first two weeks of March, my brain is in 2017 more than in the present time. Usually, it takes the rest of the month to work through the feelings and flashbacks before I start to feel normal again. However, this year instead of a period of recovery, I found myself in an impromptu homeschool situation with 4 kids, aged 3 through 9, with limited supplies of milk, bread, and toilet paper.

I told myself this was no big deal. After all, no one I loved had died. That’s what you think after you’ve lived through child loss; all other crises just pale in comparison. We were safe, my husband had a stable job that easily adapted to working from home, and I had more time with the kids. It was a huge blessing that our spring weather was perfect this year — we spent hours on the trampoline and on after-dinner family walks. Of course, I was worried for friends in the medical community, my “mature” family members and friends, and others whose world was shaken far worse than mine. But how long would this really last anyway? I thought surely this virus would be behind us by time to return to school, and until then, I would do my best to steward this unexpected season of cancellations and extra togetherness.

We all know that didn’t happen. As the pandemic dragged on, I began to really feel the weariness and feared there was no end in sight. Indeed with the summer came rising virus levels in our state, and vigorous debate about school re-opening was everywhere. Just like everyone else, I was distraught over making the “right choice” for our children. The constant internal debate was exhausting. After considering all options, we made a decision. Returning to school five days a week is definitely the best decision we can make right now for our individual children and family, we said. OK, let’s do this. We are all in.

Oh wait, make that 2 days a week, as the school system decided a week before the pushed-back starting date that we would be on a staggered schedule. On those days, everything about “back to school” looks different anyway. No visitors are allowed, so I definitely won’t be meeting my “eat lunch at school” every month goal. In fact, the kids aren’t even going to be eating in the cafeteria. No mystery readers or birthday treats. No playground for my little kindergartener to look forward to exploring. Masks hiding all the smiles from teachers and friends.

Most days, I feel like I am in a Google classroom twilight zone that will never end. This feeling of neverending-ness was reinforced when the week before our 2nd attempt to return to school 5 days a week was cancelled by the school system. They backpedaled to 4 days a week for elementary, no change in staggered schedules for middle and high school. So tomorrow (fingers crossed!) my kids will double their days at school and will be back full time by mid-October. Maybe. I hope.

We were also supposed to return to onsite worship at our church this week. We had one other false start earlier in the summer, so I was not really holding my breath. In fact, we received word late Saturday afternoon that all of the activities, including live and streamed worship services, were cancelled due to 2 staff members testing positive for coronavirus. There have been some major changes at our church this summer. One change was particularly painful for our immediate family: we are saying goodbye to a minister who ran into the darkness and sat with us in our grief when so many were scared to enter in. When I heard the news of this development, I felt the ground shift under my feet again. Nothing feels right, and the future is totally uncertain.

Other things we depend on to mark the seasons of our lives are missing or very different this year. Football is delayed and for a while, it looked like my husband’s beloved Cornhuskers wouldn’t even play a down this year. No pumpkin patches, and no school field trips to the farm. Everything else in our yearly, monthly, and daily routines have changed so much that, subconsciously, I was waiting for someone to cancel fall and leave us in the humid, hazy days of a never ending summer.

But today when I opened the door on my way to visit Ethan’s grave for the first time in a while, a cool breeze greeted me. I decided to swing by Starbucks to pick up a pumpkin spice latte on the way to visit my little boy. Starbucks is a rare treat as I just cannot bring myself to pay that much for coffee, as I am a relatively new and unsophisticated coffee drinker. But today, driving with the windows down and the sunshine pouring through the trees, it was money well spent. I just kept thinking to myself as I drove, “It actually feels like fall is coming, it seemed like it would never come.” My heart felt lighter than it has in days, just with the dropping of the temperature and humidity.

Like one of my literary heroines, Anne of Green Gables, I am so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. I praise the God who hung the sun and placed the earth in a specific orbit around it in order to provide us with changing seasons and fresh starts. There is so much symbolism in creation that speaks to eternal truths. Each season brings its own joys and challenges and revelation of God’s heart toward us. Fall brings images of the farmer bringing in his harvest. The light is sharper and more precious as the days shorten. Cozy clothing wraps us in warmth. Even jack-o-lanterns can be used as a metaphor for the gospel of Jesus Christ, an activity my first grade Sunday school kids enjoy every year.

But most of all, autumn reminds me that God keeps His promises even when it seems like this life is a never ending stretch of loss and heartache. If not for autumn and winter, how would we know the joy of springtime, as the earth wakes from its sleep into newness of life? We can lean into this season because it doesn’t last forever, because spring is indeed coming. No matter if all the man-made ways we mark the calendar do not come to pass, God will bring the change of seasons and, one day, the redemption of His entire creation. Just as fall finally arrived when I had almost given up, spring will come again, too. In the same way, at the exact right time, Jesus will come. He keeps His promises — all of them.

You Keep Your Promises by JJ Heller

Sandals in the closet
Jackets by the door
Orange, red, life and death
Scattered ’round the feet of the sycamore
The waiting hands of winter
Catch us when we fall
Is it just me? I can’t believe
The green of spring was ever here at all

You keep Your promises
You keep Your promises
I might not see it yet
You keep Your promises

Everyone I care for
Just like every perfect dream
Withers, fades, and drifts away
Feels like we’re all falling with the leaves

You keep Your promises
You keep Your promises
I might not see it yet
You keep Your promises

There is hope within the breaking of the heart of every seed
And I know You feel the aching at the end of all good things
I believe in restoration, I believe that You redeem
Because I know somehow the sycamore will bloom again in spring

You keep Your promises
You keep Your promises
I might not see it yet
There will be life again
You keep Your promises

Posted on by walkingintheshadowlands · 1 Comment

Acknowledging the Paradox of God’s Control

Ethan’s Dad: Those who read the last post know that I now want to embark on a deeper exploration of what we Christians really mean when we say “God is in control.” I have had much of what follows written for a while, but I have hesitated in committing it to this space because, frankly, this whole area just isn’t easy, and the last thing I want to do is make any Christian feel stupid for holding to a different understanding of it. But Andrew Peterson says in his book Adorning the Dark that in the creative process intention matters more than execution, by which I think he means you should not let the fear of expressing your thoughts imperfectly keep you from expressing them at all. With that in mind, I am going to press forward, in the full knowledge that the waters into which I am about to wade are much more vast than my mind is capable of navigating with any degree of precision. I do so anyway because, for me, what happened to Ethan demands that I confront it.

I mentioned in the last post that the callousness of the statement “God is in control” is one reason you should not repeat it to a person who has just suffered a tragic loss. Another reason is that it isn’t true — at least not in the sense that many Christians mean it when they say it. Rather than be pejorative, I will illustrate the viewpoint to which I am referring by quoting from a book I read called You Can Trust God to Write Your Story by Nancy DeMoss Wolgemuth and Robert Wolgemuth. I use this book not because it is unique in its view; on the contrary, there are many works that express the same notion. This just happens to be the latest I read which espouses this view.

The authors begin one chapter in which they discuss their view of what “God’s providence,” i.e., control, means by quoting with approval from someone else:

“‘How unspeakably precious and sweet it is when we can believe that God our Father in heaven is absolutely directing the most minute circumstances of our short sojourn in this wilderness world. That nothing, however trivial, takes place, whether it relates to the body or the soul, but is under His control, that is ordered by Himself.'” Mary Winslow

Later, they pick up this theme with the following explanation:

“The word [providence] also speaks to His wise, sovereign rule over every detail of His creation. Now, this is admittedly a subject that can stir up animated arguments. But there are basically two options. Either 1. God sovereignly causes, and or permits, everything to happen that happens in our lives and in this world, or 2. God stands by and watches passively and powerlessly unwilling or unable to do anything about what happens. … Where would we be without the certain knowledge that He’s got the whole world in His hands and that every detail of our lives and days is ordered by our all-wise, all-knowing, loving God? … To be helpless victims of chance, tossed about on the storms of life; that would be forever disconcerting and tragic. Thank God, it is not the case.”

As this excerpt shows, when some Christians say “God is in control,” they mean to be precisely that black-and-white about it: that literally EVERYTHING in our lives is absolutely controlled by God. To these people, when Jesus said, “There isn’t a sparrow that falls to the ground apart from God’s will” (Matthew 10:29), Jesus was actually saying that God caused the sparrow to fall.

What is entirely left out of that explanation (and essentially makes no express appearance in You Can Trust God to Write Your Story) is the existence of evil. “When the enemy comes like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord will lift up a standard against him.” (Isaiah 59:19). “Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the Devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.” (1 Peter 5:8). Evil is real; Satan has genuine power; the whole world has an unnatural aspect to it. To minimize, ignore or even deny this is to contradict a clear message from the Bible.

To me, you cannot have an honest discussion about God’s providence unless you frankly face the existence of evil in this world. Glossing over evil shortchanges God’s justice, Jesus’ sacrifice on the Cross, and people’s pain.

If what I have just said is true, then why would some Christians hold to what I would call the robotic view of God’s providence? I believe it is born from a good intention: to acknowledge God as all-powerful. But the view is driven by a false dichotomy. As the passage from the Wolgemuths’ book above indicates, such Christians think you must pick between a God who stages every minute of life like a marionette player controls puppets or a God who lacks the ability to do anything in the face of natural chaos. If that is really the choice, then it’s no wonder they pick the first option.

But the logical conclusion of this view of providence, to put it in stark personal terms, is that God killed Ethan. I reject that notion as an outrageous and unnecessary slander of God. Ethan died because we live in a sinful world in which life is sometimes senselessly cut short. However, if God controls absolutely everything, then the presence of sin in this world cannot be explained.

By definition, sin is rebellion against God. It is the reason humanity is condemned by God and it is the reason Jesus had to come and be the perfect, sinless sacrifice to save us from eternal damnation. It is one thing to say that God planned Jesus’ redemption of our sin from the foundation of the world; it is entirely another thing to say that God wills us to sin. The former is true because God knows everything that will happen before it occurs and so He planned a way to rescue us from ourselves. The latter is not possible because God cannot desire or will us to do that which is against His will, i.e, to do evil. The reason we can be condemned for our sinful actions is because we bear responsibility for our own choices. But that is not possible if there is no real choice, if God actually plans and controls every minute detail of our lives. The only way Jesus’ sacrifice has eternal meaning is if there is real choice: choice for humanity to follow or reject God, and choice for Jesus to lay down His life or not. Otherwise, the Garden of Gesthemene is a joke: what kind of struggle is Jesus having in the Garden if He has no choice in the matter? Jesus prays: “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” (Luke 22:42). Luke goes on to obverse that “being in anguish, He prayed more earnestly, and His sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground.” (v. 44). Isn’t this what true obedience to the Lord involves: foregoing our own desires and submitting to His will? That type of obedience isn’t possible if the only will in existence is God’s.

I completely understand why people have a difficult time comprehending how it is possible for God to be all-powerful, but that He allows things to happen that are not what He desires, or to put it another way, God’s sovereignty and our liberty coexist. One verse that well-illustrates this paradox quotes Peter in his speech at Pentecost to a large crowd of Jews saying: “This man [Jesus] was handed over to you by God’s set purpose and foreknowledge; and you, with the help of wicked men [the Romans], put Him to death by nailing Him to a cross.” (Acts 2:23). There is no doubt that the crucifixion of Christ was a wicked act perpetuated by those who willingly succumbed to evil desires, and therefore deserved condemnation for for their deeds. But of course it had been God’s plan for forever that the Messiah must suffer and die. The one does not negate the other. This is why Jesus would say on the Cross: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:34). Those people were in need of forgiveness because what they had done was wrong, outside of God’s will for them, even though the crucifixion was part of His plan, and, in fact, was the very reason Christ could seek forgiveness for them.

As head-scratching as this paradox may be, if faith teaches us anything, it is that the truth is not limited by our understanding. Indeed, throughout the story of God’s redemption of humanity, simplicity and incomprehensibility co-exist. We know that humanity was given a choice, but we do not fully know why God offered one. We know that God came into our world as a human baby, but we don’t completely understand how God could be fully human. We know that Jesus came to save us, but we cannot fully comprehend why He would be willing to do such a thing given who we are in comparison to Him and our repeated rejections of God. We know that Jesus died on a cross, yet we cannot fully grasp how the eternal God could cease to live. We know that in His death Jesus was separated from God the Father, but given that Jesus is fully God we cannot conceive of what this separation could entail. We know that Jesus rose from the dead, but in our own experience we have never known or seen anyone come back from death. At a certain point, we have to accept these things on faith even though we cannot fully understand or explain them.

So, is it really asking too much to believe that it is possible for God to know all and to be able to orchestrate the grand design of His will without His controlling every single thing that occurs in this world? In other words, I am simply saying that God allows things to happen that are not within His immediate will. If this wasn’t the case, why would Jesus command us to pray “Your Kingdom come, Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven”? (Matthew 6:10).  When we pray this, we are asking that this present evil age would pass away and that all creation would come into conformance with His will (and that we would be His instruments for ushering this new creation into existence).

Those things outside of His will do not catch God off guard; they do not throw Him for a loop and force Him to drastically alter His ultimate plan for humanity. But those things do grieve Him. God certainly desires that people would not make the wrong choices He knows are coming. It hurts Him to watch us experience the tragedies that are inflicted by the cruelties that mar this fallen world. Such hurt and pain, and the desire to see us make better choices — to follow His will more closely — would not be possible for God if all of what occurred was controlled and purposed by Him.

To be a Christian is to believe that there is immense evil in this world and in us which requires a Savior beyond ourselves to rectify, and that Jesus is that Savior because He is is God in the flesh, who bore our sins on the Cross unto death, and then overcame death by rising again, thereby confirming that He is greater than the evil in this world. Thus, God is, indeed, sovereign over evil, but He is not a party to it.

There is no perfect way to explain how this could be, but one way to think of it is the idea of relinquishment of control. Jesus repeatedly called Satan the “prince of this world” (John 12:31, 14:30, 16:11). In one of those passages, Jesus says “the prince of this world is coming. He has no power over me.” (John 14:30). In Job 1:12, God tells Satan: “Everything [Job] has is in your power, but on the man himself do not lay a finger.” God didn’t tell Satan what to do, but only the limit of what he could not do. Thus, although God’s Power is clearly greater, and the power Satan has is dictated by what God allows, Satan has real power and control in this world. I believe that the same is true for people. God has granted us a certain amount of control over our own lives; it obviously is not ultimate control because we are subject to so many other forces: natural, satanic, and heavenly, but there is control.

As human beings we cannot help but ask: but why would God allow such horrendous evil? Why must some children die so young? Why are there viruses that wreak havoc without warning?

I cannot give a truly satisfying answer to that perpetual question. But one possibly helpful analogy, though not a perfect one by any means (no analogy related to God can be), is democratic government. In that theory of government, the people have ultimate political power to govern how they live their lives, but they cede some of that power to a central governing authority so that certain tasks, like security for society, can be better accomplished. Well, it just might be that the reason God relinquishes some of His authority to Satan and to human beings is because it is the best way to achieve some of what He seeks to accomplish with His creation. If we return to that passage in John that I quoted earlier, after Jesus observes that Satan has no power over Him, He continues: “But [Satan] comes so that the world may learn that I love the Father and do exactly what my Father has commanded me.” (John 14:31). So, Satan had a role in testing and torturing Christ, and those actions would illustrate Jesus’ love for God the Father and for us. What if God’s willingness to cede control, which allows for the existence of evil, helps manifest His love for us and our love for Him?

In fact, at least in this existence, there cannot be love without choice. God chose to create us; He did not need us to sustain His existence. He desired our existence: creating us was a labor of love. Love, by its nature must be freely given, and freely received. And if love is a choice, then there must be an alternative. So, there can be no choice if there is no evil.

Because God loves us, we must trust that there is a purpose behind this evil. I don’t mean a purpose to the evil thing itself, but a purpose to the experience of suffering. As in, there must be something we are meant to gain from this painful life that will make the next one more meaningful than it otherwise would be. After all, surely you have wondered why God doesn’t just skip this part and take us all to Glory so that we can avoid this whole mess. This chaos causes us immeasurable pain, and seeing us suffer grieves Him more than we can know, so that seems like an awful lot of trouble to go through given that He is all-powerful and could just hit the fast-forward button, if you will, and take us to our true home. But think about what else we would miss if He did that — if he removed any experience of evil from our lives. We would miss the full extent of His love demonstrated through Christ, and we would miss countless opportunities to display love to those who are suffering (I miss too many as it is) and so to experience love at a level that is otherwise not possible.

And I think there must be even more that we would miss without experiencing evil that we cannot comprehend on this side of Heaven. The Apostle Paul hints at this in 2 Corinthians 4:6-7 when he says:

“God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ made His light shine in my heart to give me the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. But I have this treasure in an earthen vessel to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from me.”

Would we truly understand that we need God, and how much we need Him, if there was no evil? God knows that our greatest joy comes in being with Him because we were made for Him and in His likeness. But in order for us to come to that understanding, perhaps it takes really strong medicine, a cure that from our perspective feels far worse than the disease. It is a little like a parent telling his or her child what the wise choice in a situation would be, but the parent knows he or she has to let the child make his or her own decision, so that he or she can truly learn why the wise choice was the best one — even if it means watching the child choose poorly. Maybe God has to allow evil to unfold so that we learn what life without God really means.

As I said at the beginning of this post, these reasons absolutely should not, dare not, cause us to minimize evil and suffering in our own lives and in the lives of others. But in the long term, we have to trust that even this pervasive evil and suffering is ultimately, eternally for our good because God is all good and all creation was first good before it was marred by evil.

So, is God in control? Yes, but at the same time He allows us to decide whether He should be in control of our lives. What we do, because of sin, is do things our own way. In His grace, hopefully at some point we notice that we are not really in control of a lot (hello coronavirus) and that even in the things we do control we tend to screw up. That way, it becomes painfully obvious that we are in need of a Savior. If we accept Him by understanding that He is able to accept us, even with all of our flaws, because of Jesus’ perfect sacrifice, and we truly desire to live for Him, then the rest of our time on this earth is about continually relinquishing control of our lives to His Spirit’s leading. For our goal is to be “crucified with Christ, so that we no longer live, but Christ lives in us.” (Galatians 2:20). In a very real sense, then, God relinquishes some control to us in order for us to learn that it is best to relinquish control to Him.

Relinquishing that control does not mean you will have no more trouble. Jesus makes no such promise; instead, His promise is that “in this world you will have trouble, but fear not because I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33). In other words, do not believe the lie that because bad things happen, He will not make it right in the end. He will because He has defeated sin and death. We have to have the faith to wait, to persevere, to see what He already knows.

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When Fortune Cookie Theology Isn’t Good Enough

Ethan’s Dad: So since we last made an entry here, everyone’s lives have been affected in some way or other by the COVID-19 virus, more commonly referred to as the coronavirus. Some parts of our lives have been put on hold, and for some their worlds have been completely turned upside down. If you are in that last category, please know that we are praying for you.

There is so much that has been, and could be, said about the virus and the chaos it has created. But one thing I certainly think the situation has starkly demonstrated is that there is a lot about our lives we do not control. You cannot really control whether you will get the virus or not (you can enhance or diminish probabilities, but that isn’t the same as control). You cannot control what effect the virus will have on you if you do contract it: will you be asymptotic, severely afflicted, or somewhere in between? You cannot control how the stock market will react to the measures that have been taken to mitigate the effects of the virus. And so on it goes.

A natural reaction people often have to the realization that they do not control as much as they believed they did is to feel fear. It is the same for things we cannot fully understand: a natural fear accompanies a lack of knowledge or a lack of control. For Christians, this fear can be managed, mollified, or even defeated by the thought that God is in control and that He understands all that is going on.

We have already been through an event of horrifying chaos in which we were completely helpless, watching our son’s life expire without warning, no matter how much we screamed for it not to be so.  And in the immediate aftermath of that horror, we had our share of “armchair theologians” tell us that it was all okay because “God is in control” and “everything is part of His plan.”  In attempting to absorb those responses, I came to understand that in such a time, the proclamation that “God is in control” turns into a mantra, a crutch that is used to quickly move past difficult questions rather than to honor God’s truth.

When “God is in control” acts as an incantation in the face of all we don’t understand, as the full-stop answer when we have no answers, then it loses its value as a foundation for faith.  When someone is in the midst of overwhelming grief, there is no capacity to delve into what “control” really entails, and so, rather than the statement serving as a faith conversation starter, the “good Christian” — the hurt Christian — will immediately nod his or her head and say no more.

This is one of the reasons you should not blithely say “God is in control” (or a variation of it) to a fellow Christian who has just suffered a tragic loss. You may think it sounds comforting, but to someone who has just lost someone irreplaceable, it is belligerent and cold. The sheer finality of the statement does not allow the sufferer any space to grieve, to fume, to question. It says: “Don’t be sad. Don’t worry. Don’t wonder. Just accept that this is how God planned it.”

I can tell you from personal experience that the person who is suffering the loss will not appreciate what you are saying; he or she will resent it, loathe it, scream (at least inwardly) about it, and then feel guilty for those perfectly acceptable feelings. (It was only later that I learned to extend some grace toward those who would share this “bit of wisdom” with me, a grace born from the realization that it can be extremely difficult to find a “right way” to comfort someone suffering a profound loss). In the end, you are not ministering to that person with this trite expression; you are really just trying to make yourself feel better about what has happened because you don’t have a good explanation for it. But hey, at least you were able to say something Biblical about it, and that’s a lot better than saying nothing, right?

Actually, this might surprise you, but one of the best things you can do is to say very little, and instead just be there to listen — even if the person suffering isn’t saying anything. Mind you, I am not saying that you should just pretend the terrible thing didn’t happen for fear of upsetting the person more. Acknowledgment of a person’s loss is crucial. There has never been a moment in which my wife and l have wished that people would just act like Ethan did not die, because failing to acknowledge that is like saying he never existed, he never mattered. Just because you cannot specifically identify with a person’s loss because you haven’t suffered the same thing does not mean you cannot acknowledge it. By mentioning the one who was lost, you are not going to cause the sufferer to feel a deeper despair than he or she is already experiencing. You will be honoring the rightness of the grief because it shows you know the loss was real.

But beyond the acknowledgment, listen and give the one who is grieving room to express true feelings of anger, bewilderment, and even some despair. Allowing that honesty without sermonizing can be its own witness to that person. If you want to do something with the Bible, then go to the Psalms with them. Read Psalm 13 or 77 or 88 with them so that they can know it is okay to feel as they do. For why else would such expressions of despair and questioning be in God’s Word? Loving in this kind of a situation is not about spouting fortune-cookie theology to solve a problem, but about listening to the questions, the expressions of anger, and the sighs of anguish and despair.  It is about being present while giving space for real grief.

That is about all this post can handle.  Since I have fired a shot across the bow about what God’s control might really mean in relation to evils like a child’s death or an insidious virus, I will follow up with another, much lengthier entry. But for the moment, remember that when it comes to the throes of grief, listening is far more important that dispensing answers.

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Prayer of Examen (for March 10, 2020)

Ethan’s Mom: Last year during a church wide emphasis on spiritual formation, I learned about the Prayer of Examen.  I wanted to try and apply that spiritual discipline on the evening of the 3rd anniversary of my greatest loss.  After I started writing, I thought maybe posting this would help someone who is struggling to see how God is working in his/her life even on a dark and difficult day.  To clarify, this is not an exercise I could have done on the first or second anniversary.  My journal entries around those days are full of painful questions and lament.  But there was a shift this year, and although I don’t know exactly how I feel about it, it was easier in many ways.  So here is my prayer from last night:

Everyone slept last night, so I was given the rest I needed to face today.  A full uninterrupted night sleep is never a given at this house.

I experienced your grace through Ethan’s Dad, who got up and started the kids’ morning routine without pulling me out of bed.  He gave me the time I needed to gather up my courage before rolling out from under the covers.

You prompted me to go to BSF today.  I walked into the foyer and K greeted me with a hug and a heartfelt prayer for peace and for the ability to see the good you would work throughout the day.  I’m not sure anyone has ever hugged me and prayed at the same time.  I wish my memory would allow a full transcription of the prayer; it was beautiful.

On the elevator, you reminded me of the strength you provide.  It surprised me that you wanted me at BSF this morning.  P told me on the elevator that she remembered me coming back to BSF weeks after Ethan died, how she appreciated my bravery and honesty in admitting that it wasn’t the easiest choice.  Other leaders hugged and told me they prayed for me in the morning.

My group members prayed for me and left messages of encouragement on the GroupMe chat, even the ones who just had babies yesterday.  Everyone who attended class participated, and I was blessed by our discussion.

You gave me the idea to ask L and S if they could watch the little boys while we went to the cemetery when I couldn’t figure out the best plan.  You moved their heart to enthusiastically volunteer, and you were there in the “birthday cake” and “carwash” games, loving on two of my living children through their undivided attention, on a day it is hard for me to engage with the kids.

When we returned, I had an enchilada left over from when one of my group members brought us dinner last night.  Then I also received a text offering to have dinner delivered to us tonight.  After praying last year for someone to bring us dinner and giving up when it didn’t happen, I was shocked to get not one but two dinners provided for us.  Two dinners.

We received text messages from people I didn’t think would remember.  Your grace allowed me to accept that we didn’t hear from others I thought would remember.  Along with cards from our parents and a few others, we received a homemade card from our daughter.  “Smile! I love you guys!” with a picture of the twins swaddled up inside, along with a heart that has a hole in it and a caboose, her two preferred symbols for her youngest brother.

And oh goodness, your blessings don’t get sweeter than the 4 kids we get to hold here on earth.  Hugs, silliness, and giggles brought smiles I wasn’t expecting to smile today.  Were they perfect?  No, but we had less drama than has been the norm around here lately.  Soccer was cancelled because of the rain, so our oldest son and Ethan’s Dad were home and we all ate dinner together.  Chick-fil-a was followed by caboose cookies — I still can’t believe my mom found a caboose shaped cookie cutter.  “Baking therapy” was nice, the cookies looked and tasted great, and the kids enjoyed them.   The sweetness of the treats reminded me of my sweet Ethan as well as your goodness.

We heard several train whistles.  My mom saw the first cardinal of the year on her fence today, and cardinals always remind her of Ethan.  My mother-in-law sent pictures of a hyacinth that a friend brought to them, praying that she would pick the one with twin blooms.  Thank you for being present with them in their pain of losing a grandson and watching their kids grieve the loss of their own child.

Have I missed anything?  Well, maybe the most important thing.  A real sense of Your presence.   Your presence with me as I mourned at Ethan’s grave alone yesterday and with us as Ethan’s Dad and I reflected on our feelings — some familiar, some surprising.  At the graveside, I heard your Spirit whisper to my heart, “Love is eternal.  Pain is not.  And not just the final end to pain that will come at the end of time but the gradual lessening of pain as I heal your heart.  It’s OK to allow the hurt to dissipate because the love will remain.”

You were close, and for the first time, that didn’t seem like a consolation prize.