Why Are You Cast Down?

By Wendy Wood

In Psalm 42 and 43, the sons of Korah repeatedly say the phrase, “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me?” These men are using a phrase familiar to shepherds.  A “cast down” sheep is one who has fallen over onto his back.  Sheep in this position are unable to right themselves.  They are completely helpless with their spindly legs and wide bodies to be able to turn over and get up.  This upside down position is extremely dangerous for sheep.  First of all, a sheep that is cast down is vulnerable to predators.  A wolf or coyote or bear could easily kill and eat a sheep that is upside down.  Secondly, the sheep’s four compartment stomach is in danger of building up gases that cut off circulation from the legs and result in death in a day or so.  A shepherd who has lost sight of one of his sheep will search carefully and diligently knowing that a missing sheep might be in trouble. A cast down sheep requires immediate action and the shepherd must restore the sheep’s blood flow and health to ensure the sheep will survive.

Phillip Keller from “A Shepherd’s Look at Psalm 23” writes, 

“Again and again I would spend hours searching for a single sheep that was missing.  Then more often than not I would see it at a distance, down on its back, lying helpless.  At once I would start to run toward it - hurrying as fast as I could - for every minute was critical.  Within me there was a mingled sense of fear and joy: fear it might be too late; joy that it was found at all”.

The bible uses the analogy of sheep to describe God’s chosen people, believers in Christ who are adopted into God’s family.  Isaiah 53:6 says, “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned—every one—to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all.”  We are like the helpless sheep who wander off and get turned upside down and are unable to right ourselves.  Psalm 79:13 says, “But we your people, the sheep of your pasture…”  and Psalm 119:176 says, “I have gone astray like a lost sheep; seek your servant, for I do not forget your commandments.”  When sheep are mentioned in scripture we should pay attention because these references tell us about our condition as humans.

The picture of sheep in the bible is to show us our true state of being.  We are dependent on God, our Shepherd for everything.  Sheep cannot find food for themselves, nor can they defend themselves against predators.  Left on their own, sheep will not survive.  Matthew 9:36 says sheep are harassed and helpless without a shepherd.  Without our Lord and Shepherd, we are doomed to eternal death.  We can do nothing to make ourselves “right” with God.

Sheep are foolish.  Sheep will leave a lush pasture of green grass to feed on brown dead grass for no reason.  Sheep cannot find their way back to their own sheep pen.  Sheep do not know or use wisdom to make decisions.  Psalm 73:22 tells us that we too were foolish and ignorant and “a beast” before we were called by God.  Without God and His wisdom, we are foolish and our lives are without purpose.

Sheep wander off and get lost.  Sheep may wander because they are scared and flee, but they cannot find their way home.  Sheep may wander because they are just following the other sheep, not aware of where they are going.  Sheep may wander because they are curious and want to inspect something interesting more closely.  All of these reasons take them away from their shepherd and lead them to danger.  Without a shepherd, sheep cannot survive.  Isaiah 53:6 says “we like sheep have gone astray” and Hosea 11:6 says that “My people are bent on backsliding from me”.  The picture of both sheep and God’s people is that we are prone to wander.  We are prone to chase after other gods and idols for happiness and satisfaction.  Just like sheep, we put ourselves in danger when we wander from God.

Sheep are also stubborn. In Psalm 23, David talks about the shepherd using a rod and staff to comfort the sheep.  A stubborn sheep who continues to wander off or pursue its own way, needs a rod of correction to keep it safe.  Shepherds must watch continually for sheep who insist on going away from the flock.  This is for the stubborn sheep’s protection and safety.

So in Psalm 42 and 43 where the sons of Korah talk about their own souls being “cast down”, they are making a reference to sheep.  They are saying they feel like sheep turned over on their backs and unable to get up or provide any help or hope to itself.  This Psalmist is stuck.  Most likely they have been “listening” to their own thoughts as they have been pursued by ungodly people and feel helpless to defend themselves.  Psalm 43 starts out with “Vindicate me, O God, and defend my cause against ungodly people, from the deceitful and unjust man deliver me.”  This Psalm is written by people who are overwhelmed in sadness and hurt from being falsely accused and tormented by people who are evil.  Our souls become “cast down” when we start listening to ourselves rather than going to God as our Shepherd.

In what ways do we listen to ourselves and become cast down?

Firstly, like sheep who are careless and stand in soft, uneven ground and then fall over, God’s sheep become careless in the disciplines of grace and instead rely on grace of the past to sustain them.  When a believer gets lazy about spending time with God, trusting in God’s daily mercies and grace, and tries to sustain themselves through past grace, the believer falls too.  John Piper, in his book “Future Grace”, argues that each day we must trust in God’s grace for that day.  The promises of God, that He is with us, that His grace is enough, that we will spend eternity with Him, all are true because God daily supplies the grace to be faithful to His promises.  It is not enough to look at the past and cling to past grace, we must actively trust that God continues to provide what is needed every moment of the day.  It is only through repentance, humility, and God’s grace that we are “righted” from being cast down in self sufficiency.

Secondly, sheep tip over when their wool becomes too heavy and cumbersome to withstand.  The wool may have clumps of dirt and the sheep simply can’t stay on its feet.  God’s sheep are often weighed down by sin and distractions.  Hebrews 12:1 tells us to lay aside every weight and sin which so easily entangles us”.  Often the weight of pride is too great to withstand.  When we convince ourselves that our way is best, that we should have been treated better than we were, that we deserve better than we have, we are upside down in God’s kingdom.  God opposes the proud (James 4:6).  We are “cast down” when we think in opposition to God because we are deluding ourselves into thinking we are something that we are not.  Our pride blinds us and leaves us helpless, hovering near death.  There is nothing more dangerous to our souls that having God oppose us.

Sheep may also be cast down due to obesity.  A sheep may overeat out of foolishness and become so heavy it cannot stay upright. God’s sheep may became cast down when the interests and distractions of the world become too great.  When a believer is drawn into social media, news, materialism, or sexual immorality promoted by the culture, he may become cast down.  The mind is fed by worldliness rather than the Word of God.  We need God’s Word to transform our minds so that we are not conformed to the world.  We get stuck in sinful patterns of thoughts and desires and become unable to rescue ourselves.

But God has provided the help and hope we need when we are cast down!  Psalm 23 tells us that “He restores my soul”.  The word restore means to “turn back” or “turn again”.  When we are cast down, we are in need of God who “turns us back” to a right position with Him.

God is our faithful Shepherd who seeks diligently to find His fallen sheep and right them.  John 10 tells us that God is our good Shepherd.  He leads his own sheep by name (verse 3).  God goes before His sheep and His sheep follow Him (verse 4).  Jesus calls Himself the door where all true sheep can find pasture (verse 9).  Jesus is the only way to be “right” with God.  We must be made upright by the atonement of His blood for our sins as we receive salvation by grace through faith in Christ alone.  Verse 11 tells us Jesus is the good Shepherd who lays His life down for His sheep.  As the faithful, perfect Shepherd, no one is able to snatch God’s sheep from His hand (verse 29).  

In a “Shepherd’s Look at Psalm 23”, Phillip Keller continues to describe a shepherd’s response:

“As soon as I reached the cast ewe my very first impulse was to pick it up.  Tenderly I would roll the sheep over on its side….  Then straddling the sheep with my legs I would hold her erect, rubbing her limbs to restore circulation to her legs.  This often took quite a little time.  When the sheep started to walk again she often just stumbled, staggered and collapsed in a heap once more.  All the time I worked on the cast sheep I would talk to it gently…. Always couched in language that combined tenderness and rebuke, compassion and correction.

Little by little the sheep would regain its equilibrium.  It would start to walk steadily and surely.  By and by it would dash away to rejoin the others, set free from its fears and frustrations, given another chance to live a little longer.”

As Keller was a careful, prudent shepherd, our Father and Shepherd is holy and perfect.  God through Christ has made a way for His sheep to be rescued and redeemed from their cast down position.  God offers His grace and mercy new every single day for us to trust and live by in whatever circumstances we face.  God gives us His word and perfect guidance for every situation.  2 Peter 1:3-4 says “ His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence, by which he has granted to us his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may become partakers of the divine nature, having escaped from the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire.”  We are foolish sheep who chase after worldliness or allow pride to distract from partaking in the divine nature.  We experience emotional sadness and despondency when we are choosing to be foolish, stubborn, wanderers from God’s word.

As the sons of Korah respond to their cast down souls, “Hope in God!” we need to do the same.  Don’t foolishly keep wandering or being stubborn about how you are living.  Speak truth to yourself.  “Hope in God!”. Remind yourself of God’s promises and choose to trust that He is faithful to keep them.  Rather than neglecting God’s word, fellowship with other believers, and prayer time alone with God, tell yourself “Hope in God” and then take steps to use the graces God has given you to grow in trusting Him more deeply.  

Footnotes and references used:

Joel Beeke, “The Lord Shepherding His Sheep” page 112.

Phillip Keller, “A Shepherd’s Look at Psalm 23”, page 62

Joel Beeke, “The Lord Shepherding His Sheep”, pages 21-22
 Joel Beeke, “The Lord Shepherding His Sheep, page 113-114.  This blog is using his 3 ideas for why sheep become cast.
Phillip Keller, “A Shepherd’s Look at Psalm 23”, page 63.

When Suffering is Long and Hard

By: Sue Nicewander Delaney

My husband’s stroke in 2013 initiated a three-year period of suffering and loss for us. After he died in 2016 and I embarked on an unsettling role as a widow, the following years brought more major hardships that led to despair. How can you help someone whose suffering intensifies, with no endpoint in sight?

General Principles for Counseling

Love well. She has come to you for help because her world is crumbling, but she won’t open up unless she believes you are compassionate and competent—that you won’t judge her for suffering, and that you will steadily point her to hope in Christ.

Listen before speaking. Hear her losses and how they are affecting her life. Recognize that long-term suffering has stages or segments, each of which bears a range of theological questions:

1. Crisis

2. Experiencing the extent and permanence of losses

3. Major adjustments (perhaps including worldview changes)

4. New or additional suffering and grief

      For each stage, evaluate:

• What physical and spiritual challenges does she face? What should you address, and what should you delegate?

• How is she handling the adjustments she must face? What is most difficult for her, and why? Is her major struggle as sinner or as sufferer?

• What does her honesty (or reluctance) to share her heart tell you about her faith? How might you guide her to build faith and endurance in God? This is your most important role.

• Observe negative emotional patterns of anger, fear, or despair. What do her emotions reveal about what she believes she needs most?

• How does she perceive God views her? Is she a believer? Where does she find her identity? How have her changing roles challenged her self-image?

• How does she relate to God in her suffering? To His people?

• What questions is she asking, especially about God?

  • God seldom provides explanations, but answers “Why?” with reasons to trust His character (e.g., Job 38-42). Does she accept this, or does she demand answers? Is she willing to submit to God’s plan if it differs from hers? If not, where does she seek meaning and peace?

  • Listen for foundational questions: Does God love me? and Is God able to help me? (A discussion of the depths and significance of this struggle must be left for another time.) Briefly, the gospel answers both questions:

    1. Christ’s death on the cross proves God’s love, which cannot be earned, but is His free gift (John 3:16; Rom. 5:8, 12; 8:37-39).

    2. The resurrection proves that God is powerful enough to help her (Eph. 1:18-21).

    3. How is she responding to these truths? What hinders her? Resist arguing with her answer; be grateful for her honesty.

    4. Measure your response simply, saturated with prayer, grace, and kindness.

Speak Carefully, Using Scripture

Hear her. Even if you have a similar experience, assume you don’t understand her suffering or her heart. Let her ask hard questions without scolding her. Listen and learn.

Express Christ-like sorrow, acknowledging her painful trial without condemning her human frailty (2 Cor. 12:8-10). Be gentle with her tears, avoid attempts to cheer her up (Prov. 25:20); respect her grief without indulging self-pity.

Avoid platitudes like, “It’s going to be okay.” Accept your inability to fix what is broken. You have a more eternal purpose. Instead, help her learn to walk with God in a fallen world where life is not okay. Point to God as a hearing, caring God, using examples from her story.

Let Scripture move her toward God. Look together at a short passage or biblical example that reveals God’s heart and perspective toward one of her pressing questions. Ask her how the Word lands on her today. Gradually compile those passages into a list of helpful statements tailored to her questions and struggles. Ask her to read the list every morning and every evening. For example, “God is with you. You are not alone.” Hebrews 13:5b: I will never leave you nor forsake you.

Exemplify gentle compassion and kindness. Recognize the overwhelming nature of intense suffering; respect her mental and emotional overload. Avoid declarations or much instruction. Talk about God’s faithfulness, and let Scripture speak to her. Ask questions that build hope, keep suggestions simple and practical, and find out what she thinks and does with the counsel you offer. When does she act, and what motivates her actions? Do you perceive faith or doubt? Discouragement or weariness? Memory difficulties or despair? Adjust accordingly.

Build hope and network help.

• Urge her to keep going, not to give up (2 Cor. 4:16).

• Provide or suggest places of quiet refuge when needed.

• Teach her to pray. Pray for her.

• Enlist her church for practical and spiritual help.

• Show her that she is not irrelevant, used up, or ruined, but that God loves her and has a purpose for her (Phil. 1:6).

• Point out that the sufferings of Christ, Peter, John, Job (and others) were evidence of God’s favor, not His disapproval. She is being deepened rather than damaged.

• Help her reach out to others as she grows, to avoid self-absorption and isolation (2 Cor. 1:3-6).

Questions for Reflection

1. How might you understand the evolving challenges in each segment of a lengthy trial?

2. How might your counsel better reflect God’s compassions with those in prolonged suffering?

3. When your counselee is overwhelmed, how might you simplify your use of Scripture and biblical examples to address her major questions?

Resources

Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy by Mark Vroegop (Crossway, 2019)
God’s Healing for Life’s Losses by Bob Kellemen (BMH Books, 2010)
God’s Grace in Your Suffering by David Powlison (Crossway, 2018)
Craving Grace by Ruthie Delk (Moody Publishing, 2013)
New Morning Mercies by Paul David Tripp (New Growth Press, 2014)
Did I Say the Right Thing? By Mitch Schultz (Exalt Publications, 2011)

FINDING YOUR WAY THROUGH GRIEF

Cynthia Mathai 

Disappointment, hurt, and confusion weren’t new for me. But in this season of grief, I had to face the fact that two people I had trusted and submitted to as authority figures had been living deceptively for years.

This reality created a cavern of pain so deep that at times I felt it might swallow me whole. In a new way, I found myself wondering how I would walk well through grief, acknowledging the hurt and pain, not stuffing my feelings or painting a thick coat of pretense with well-worn “Christianese” phrases.

Almost eighteen months ago, I experienced grief in this way, and it changed me. Now I’m quieter. I’m weaker in some ways and stronger in others. I’m more focused. I long for Christ’s return more acutely and feel more sober about the wiles of the enemy and the weakness of my human will.

I didn’t get everything right, but I did learn some lessons about navigating grief that might serve you in your journey.

SOME WAYS TO NAVIGATE GRIEF

Running. For several months, I went running after work on nearby mountain trails. Each stride was fueled by confusion, pain, deep anger, fear, and tiny slivers of hope that at last deception was uncovered and there was an opportunity for truth and redemption.

Reading. I kept my bible as close to my bed as possible so that as my eyes slowly opened to greet the day and grief sat heavy on my chest each morning, I could reach for God’s Word and ask him to speak to me. Over the course of my walk with Jesus, whenever I have felt the ache of relational brokenness, God has often reminded me that he alone remains unchanging and faithful. So, I reached often for the Psalms and for quite some time read them while feeling numb or crying.

“I kept my bible as close to my bed as possible so that as my eyes slowly opened to greet the day and grief sat heavy on my chest each morning, I could reach for God’s Word and ask him to speak to me.

Slowing. I asked God for wisdom, as James says believers are to do when facing trials on how to navigate the pain (Jas. 1: 5–8). I heard the Spirit say words I despised at first: “Slow down.” I knew instinctively what God meant by those words. My pace in life has always been a point of struggle for me. Fueled by both good desires and a false sense of identity, I have always done “extra.” It became clear to me that this would be a season of scaling back. I started setting aside blocks of times during my week to write, to do nothing, to sit in the proverbial ashes and pray, instead of filling my days and nights with activities to distract myself from the discomfort of betrayal. I hated doing this at first. But eighteen months later—still practicing some of those margin-setting activities—I see God’s profound goodness and infinite wisdom in slowing down (Nah. 1:7; Job 12:13).

Questioning. I spent a lot of time receiving counsel from wise friends, pastors, mentors, and my mom. I had questions like, How do you forgive without immediately trusting? How do you process without gossiping? How do you grasp the truth of God’s sovereignty and human will in the paradoxical way in which it presents in Scripture and is worked out in the world? How do you face the reality that you have been bamboozled and yet cannot punish every other person in your life for the sins of others? I brought all of these questions to those I’ve chosen to trust and who have invested in over the years. Some questions didn’t have clear-cut answers. Some were painful to swallow at the moment and required ongoing conversations.

Writing. I wrote and wrote and wrote some more. The pen is often the extension of my heart. When I don’t quite know how to articulate my feelings, I reach for a pen, and as pen touches paper, it’s as though the strings of my heart are loosened, and with great ferocity, my feelings come bursting forth. Writing gave me release.

Counseling. I went to counseling, or rather, I went back to counseling. Deception by a pastor and a friend can bring up a lot from past pain and create new fears about future relationships. I knew that on my own I didn’t have what it took to make heads or tails of the present circumstances. I needed help to face things head-on and to dig deeper into truth for the road ahead, all while rambling my way through the messiness of my thoughts and feelings.

THE BLESSINGS OF GRIEF

People say that they wouldn’t trade the pain for the gain of walking through tragedy or loss and coming out on the other side. I would say the same.

The moniker for my Savior, the “man of sorrows” (Isa. 53:3), has over time become one of the most comforting realities of being one of his disciples. The “man of sorrows” sits with me in the depth of my pain; the place where sobs communicate more clearly than words. He counsels me in the midst of grief of all forms, fills me with courage to keep taking one small step after another; he asks me to forgive those who have trespassed against me, and he empowers me to obey his commands because he has forgiven my trespasses against him (Matt. 6:12; 1 Jn. 5:2–3).

“I would not trade the assurance I have that I can ask God to help me with minuscule things and he cares, and he helps.

I would not trade how much better I know Jesus. I would not trade the friendships I gained because of weeping publicly and needing to be comforted by those in my church community. Throughout the process of reckoning with hard truths as a congregation, I continued to grapple what the apostle Paul meant when he stated that God will not be mocked, for we reap what we sow (Gal. 6:7–8).

I would not trade the times I found myself weeping at how much joy I had knowing God was caring for me in my grief. I would not trade the slowing down of my life in ways I could only have dreamt of before, and in so doing, learn that my value is not in the sum of my productivity. I would not trade the assurance I have that I can ask God to help me with minuscule things and he cares, and he helps.

THE WAY FORWARD

I still have nights when the losses feel acute. I weep at what has been lost. I weep at seeing people wrestle with trust as a result of the failure of those in spiritual authority. I get angry that anyone must suffer the consequences of another’s selfishness. Each of us is capable of great evil and only by God’s great mercy do we love and seek forgiveness when we have fallen short.

In all this grieving, the progress made along the way, and the new way of being, it has become clear that whether we verbalize it or not, all of us are crying out for salvation. We are all breathless for new patterns of thinking, of relating, of being; breathless for a new world order and a permanently good authority.

My way through the spikes of sorrow—which still arise—is knowing the living hope of Jesus. Where people have failed and will continue to fail, Jesus proves to be a constant. He is present with his people now as he will be for all eternity, and his character can be fully trusted. One day, in a world made new, with God’s kingdom fully consummated, there will be no more grief to navigate (Rev. 21:4).

Cynthia Mathai (M.A., Ministry & Leadership) is a disciple of Jesus who lives in Portland, Oregon. She is a Higher Educational professional who also teaches God’s Word at women’s retreats/ conferences and enjoys writing. She has served on staff with Verity Fellowship (now The Gospel Coalition’s Women’s Training Network). She worships with the saints at Trinity Church of Portland. Follow Cynthia on Twitter.

Posted at: https://gcdiscipleship.com/article-feed/2020/3/4/finding-your-way-through-grief

Making Church a Safe Place for Sorrow

Christine Chappell

Christine Chappell is the author of Clean Home, Messy Heart and Help! My Teen is Depressed (Shepherd Press, forthcoming March 2020). She hosts The Hope + Help Project podcast and blogs at faithfulsparrow.com. Her writing has been featured at Desiring God, The Gospel Coalition, Risen Motherhood, Thrive Moms, Servants of Grace, and Devotable. Christine lives in South Carolina with her husband and three children.

Sometimes worship comes by way of weeping in the pew. When the broken enter the sanctuary of God on Sunday mornings, they do so, perhaps, with every fiber of their being tempting them to withdrawal. They drag their grief, depression, and sorrow behind them like a ball and chain, plodding along to their seats with the hope of going unnoticed in the crowd; that they manage to make it to church after peeling themselves out of bed is a grace manifested through gutsy volition.

There in the pew, they collide with the unspoken notion that a painted smile with stoic countenance acts as a prerequisite for respectable attendance. We subconsciously oblige the sorrowing among us to swallow their grief, pipe up, and praise the Lord. Disconnected from the celebratory riffs and confident proclamations, the crushed in spirit become sorely neglected by the exclusion of their spiritual pain in corporate worship.

In short, we stigmatize the sorrowing by fostering an emotional prosperity culture.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer wasn’t fooled. He warned that community built upon “rapturous experiences and lofty moods” would stymie true Christian fellowship and prove itself disingenuous over time. The result being communities of believers who build programs and religious activities on human ideals instead of divine realities (Colossians 2:8). While Revelation 21 specifically lists death, mourning, crying, and pain as fundamental grievances believers will face, there is a shocking lack of corporate preparation to meet with such sorrows. Removing the stigma of deeply painful sadness requires the local church’s unhurried commitment to making room for it on Sunday mornings and a desire to equip leaders in one-another care.

WHEN THE SORROWING ARE SILENCED

There are times when carrying a burden requires we also carry a tune of lament to weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15). In his book, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy, Pastor Mark Vroegop addresses the concerning absence of biblical lament in the music of our churches, noting that while, “at least a third of the Psalms are in a minor key, it seems that the American church avoids lament.” He continues, “More people than we probably know are weeping in our Sunday celebrations.”

In this challenging yet honest observation, Vroegop sheds light on the disconnect between our encounters with real-life pain and the traditional atmosphere of Sunday morning worship. Though the Scriptures are rich with language and comforts for those who are walking through devastating heartbreak, a robust theology of human sorrow seems to be missing from the modern-day songbook. As a result, people who limp to the house of God for spiritual refuge become ostracized, believing that their experiences of sorrow must be indicators of defective faith.

PREPARING THE PEOPLE FOR SORROW

Daniel Darling, the Vice President for Communications at the ERLC, has shared about his own personal experience with sorrow on Sunday mornings. “There are times,” he reflects, “when I’ve walked into the church and wondered just where to go with my distress. There are many faces to God, and the one I needed to see on those mornings wasn’t the triumphant Warrior but the gentle Shepherd. In those moments, I’ve wondered, Are there spaces for solitude, for lament, for grieving here?”

Of all places, the pulpit is where God’s people should be guided to a thorough biblical understanding of sorrow, grief, and suffering. Charles Spurgeon saw it as a pastoral responsibility to feed Psalms of lament to his congregation regularly for the purposes of ministering to those presently despondent, as well as to help others prepare for future suffering. He wanted his church to know that while King David experienced great victories and occasions to rejoice, he also had times when he “was very sad, and then he touched the mournful string.”

The Scriptures make room for the entire range of human emotions and experiences—particularly the ones we wish we could avoid through piety. It is of precious wisdom and value to understand that when the tribulations do arrive (John 16:33, 1 Peter 4:12), we have a living God who has promised to be with us, to sustain us, and to ultimately deliver us. The Lord does not view our sorrows as something strange or repulsive, nor is he surprised by them. He long-suffers our sadnesses so we may learn the secret to being content in all circumstances (Philippians 4:11-13) In this way, faithful Christian living is not found in the avoidance of sadness, but in the engagement of it through faith in the Man of Sorrows himself. If the Scriptures offer such consolations, the pulpit must be the vehicle by which such blessed manna be spooned to the weary and worn.

CREATING MODERN-DAY LEPERS

When the Apostle Paul teaches we’re to bear one another’s burdens, he encourages us to focus especially on those in the household of faith (Galatians 6:10). Unfortunately, the church reveals its impatience for the weak and weeping by outsourcing the soul care of its sheep to secular sources. In doing so, believers are given the impression that the Scriptures are not capable of walking them through seasons of excessive sorrow. Like spiritual lepers, they’re cast outside the house of God to find their convalescence and healing. As Dr. Dale Johnson, the Executive Director for the Association of Certified Biblical Counselors, rightly observes: “The church has demonstrated we ought to be a last resort to many human problems.”

Scriptural sufficiency (2 Timothy 3:16-17) is rarely propounded in the local church as a resource for helping people navigate their sadness. Thus, the intentional discipleship of melancholy Christians is often entirely neglected. In instances where sufferers do seek biblical soul care from their church, it’s not uncommon to be met with trite slogans, impatient rebukes, or outright rejection altogether—further perpetuating the stigma of sorrow. The notion that human experiences of hopelessness, depression, and grief are problems only “professionals” can address is a gross disregard of what it means to belong to and be cared for by the body of Christ.

I know what it is to secretly sorrow in the pew—to mourn over my inability to match the emotional jubilation of those around me. Not only did my soul seem distant from God on those mornings, but I felt like a filthy pebble among diamonds in the sanctuary. What are we to do when sad people cannot lift themselves to the emotional heights we enjoy? We follow our Lord’s example and step down into their world. Vroegop encourages, “There is a song of mercy to be sung under dark clouds. The church should lead the way. Through every injustice and every sorrow, followers of Jesus can help one another find their way through the pain.”

In our local churches, we’re to help the weak and fainthearted with all patience and brotherly affection (1 Thessalonians 5:14). By corporately acknowledging the broken-hearted through worship, preaching, and one-another care, we affirm that sorrows of any kind rightly belong in the house of God. Such attentiveness, compassion, and Christian community can become one of the most blessed manifestations of Jesus Christ’s presence we can experience on this side of heaven.

Posted at: https://servantsofgrace.org/making-church-a-safe-place-for-sorrow/

What I Misunderstood About Grief

By Cameron Cole

Eighteen months after my son died, I had a conversation with a pastor friend that enraged me.

His first child was going to college, and he expressed the sadness and difficulty accompanying the milestone. In describing his sorrow, he repeatedly used a certain word. “We’re grieving her leaving us. We’re grieving her being so far away. We’re grieving her absence in our house.”

With each enunciation of “grief,” I grew angrier. Having buried my son in the previous calendar year, I wanted to say, “No, no, no. Grief is reserved for really bad things. Grief is reserved for death. Grief is reserved for people like me, not your healthy, living child going to college!”

What Changed My Mind

Fast forward two years. I noticed the new strength required to lift my now-4-year-old daughter for a hug. Her increased self-sufficiency and growing vocabulary contrasted starkly with memories of that chubby baby girl who used to crawl around the house.

As I pulled up videos from the toddler and baby phases, a funny thing happened. My heart ached with sorrow, and tears filled my eyes. I realized I was experiencing what my pastor friend felt as his daughter went to college: grief.

A sense of loss lingered as I knew that a treasured season had passed, never to be recovered. Daddy’s sweet girl no longer got excited about watching Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. Good Night Moon was done. She was figuring out that an “r” belonged on the front of “remember;” she was correcting the cute mispronunciation—“amember”—that previously melted my heart. On the next trip to Disney, she would realize the real Cinderella doesn’t reside in the Magic Kingdom.

All grief involves loss. A joyful hope for the future dies, or a cherished aspect of the present slips into the past. And we grieve.

Grief and the Fall

All grief originates from the fall, when Adam and Eve tarnished a rich paradise of joy, squandering endless possibilities of pleasure, hope, and life. Regardless of what we grieve, there is a keen sense that life wasn’t meant to be this way. We taste moments of glory where we receive a glimpse of Eden—and we feel sadness and pain as those transcendent moments pass. Whether we’re lamenting the death of friends and family or sorrowing over dashed dreams, our hearts mourn that this life falls drastically short of God’s original intent.

We are born with an innate sense that life was meant to be so much more. The toddler who throws a tantrum when the playdate ends demonstrates (even if sinfully) that moments of joy, vitality, and friendship were never meant to cease. Along with the rest of our sin-marred creation, the child subconsciously grieves what was lost in the fall.

For people who have lost small children, so much of their grief involves losing the joys and journeys of the different phases of childhood. They grieve missed birthdays, a nonexistent first day of kindergarten, a graduation ceremony that never comes. They painfully wonder how their child’s personality and appearance may have evolved over time. The seasons of enjoying that child are lost.

Regardless of the severity, all sadness, frustration, and anger are expressions of grief. We all mourn the loss of Eden and the life for which we were meant.

Recovery Is Coming

Romans 8 points to the ultimate solace for humanity, trapped under this excruciating curse:

The whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. (Rom. 8:22–23)

This groaning carries connotations of grieving. There is a deep, guttural pain lurking within the fallen state of the world. There is a grinding frustration with how life falls miserably short of our desires and longings.

But Paul doesn’t leave us with hopeless grief. He points to Christ’s second coming, where believers receive and experience their full “adoption as sons” and “the redemption of [their] bodies” (Rom. 8:23).

Our son died at age 3, but I cling to this hope: The times and experiences lost with Cameron in this life will be regained and renewed a thousandfold in the world to come. As I wrote in Therefore I Have Hope:

Remembering that Cameron is still my son and that he is still alive in heaven reminds me that nothing truly will be lost and that everything will be recovered. I will see my little boy again. We will have a beautiful, fun, intimate, joyful life together for eternity in heaven. We will have adventures and lessons and laughter and meals and celebrations. We will hug and snuggle and kiss and laugh and play in heaven.

Wait with Joy

The real sense of loss that undergirds all the pain, disappointment, and grief in this life has been reversed through the gospel and will be enjoyed—fully and forever—in the age to come. Jesus will recover all of the fallout from Adam and Eve’s demise.

The gospel is a hope that God will never leave us empty-handed. Never. Knowing this hope, I, along with all other believers, can wait, endure, and persevere. And not just wait, but wait with joyful expectation.

Posted at: https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/misunderstood-grief/

We Can't Grieve However We Want

Article by Ryan Chase

During our first pregnancy, we were overjoyed to learn we were having twin boys. My dreams of fatherhood suddenly doubled as I imagined holding a baby in each arm, watching them learn to walk side by side, wrestling with them on the floor, and coaching their soccer teams.

Subsequent ultrasounds, however, showed that our boys had congenital birth defects. When they were born with crooked joints and extreme muscle weakness, they were immediately intubated. In an instant, a thousand dreams of fatherhood died.

“In an instant, a thousand dreams of fatherhood died.”

Instead of the life we hoped for, we were plunged into round-the-clock intensive care. Three years later we would plant the perishable seed of our son Isaac’s body in a twenty-square-foot plot of dirt at a cemetery called Woodlawn.

When I visit Isaac’s gravesite, waves of sadness often wash over me. I grieve the brevity of his life. I lament that he hasn’t been here to enjoy new experiences with his twin brother Caleb. Then I look at the empty plot we own next to Isaac’s and I dread the day when Caleb will join his brother.

No Wrong Way to Grieve?

“There’s no wrong way to grieve.”

That’s the counsel some popular psychology offers to those who mourn. The only problem is that it’s not true. First Thessalonians 4:13–14 says,

But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep.

Those who believe in the resurrection of Jesus are decidedly not to grieve in whatever way feels right to us, nor are we to grieve like those who have no hope. Rather, we are called to grieve in ways that make much of Jesus, our glorious Savior who died and rose and is coming again.

“Those who believe in the resurrection of Jesus are decidedly not to grieve in whatever way feels right to us.”

I’m sure those who say there’s no wrong way to grieve truly want to comfort the hurting, but the reality is that we who suffer innocently are not immune to responding sinfully to our pain. We sin in our grief when we use it as an excuse not to love God or those around us, when we complain against God or neglect the people and responsibilities he has called us to.

Pain does not justify sin; only Christ can justify sinners. And in Christ, there is a greater comfort available to the heartbroken than handing us over as slaves to our own emotions.

Occasionally, Weep Deeply

John Piper once offered this counsel to those who mourn:

Occasionally, weep deeply over the life you hoped would be. Grieve the losses. Then wash your face. Trust God. And embrace the life you have.

That wisdom reminds me of the story of a barren woman named Hannah. Hannah was one of two women married to Elkanah. The other woman had children, but Hannah had none, because God himself had closed her womb (1 Samuel 1:5–6).

For years and years the other wife antagonized Hannah for her barrenness. Understandably, Hannah was deeply distressed and the state of her soul was outwardly visible. Her grief was so intense that she couldn’t eat. Her downcast face mirrored a soul burdened with sorrow.

But Hannah was not only “a woman troubled in spirit” (1 Samuel 1:15). She was also a woman of faith who directed her sorrow toward God: “She was deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord and wept bitterly” (1 Samuel 1:10). These two things can coexist: bitter weeping and prayer, deep distress and supplication, grief and hope.

Wash Your Face

When the soul of the believer is exasperated and woeful, it overflows with cries for help to the God of comfort. Hannah prayed with such angst that Eli the priest thought that she was drunk, but she told him, “I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord. . . . I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation” (1 Samuel 1:15–16). Then Eli blessed her and said, “Go in peace, and the God of Israel grant your petition that you have made to him” (1 Samuel 1:17).

“We sin in our grief when we use it as an excuse not to love God or those around us.”

After that, the text says that Hannah “went her way and ate, and her face was no longer sad” (1 Samuel 1:18). Just like that! Absolutely nothing had changed in Hannah’s circumstances, yet her countenance was visibly changed and she went on with life.

She wasn’t pregnant. She had no children. She still had a rival wife who would mercilessly goad her. But she had a word: “Go in peace, and the God of Israel grant your petition.” Hannah’s change wasn’t external or situational. It was internal, and it took place when she clung in faith to a word from God.

Trust God

If your life is not what you hoped, if you have suffered the loss of dreams or health or financial security or career ambitions or loved ones, I can’t guarantee circumstantial changes. We don’t know the secret things of God. But I can point you to the precious and very great promises in Scripture that offer you the same peace Hannah received:

• God promises to hear and answer us when we pray (1 John 5:14–15).

• God promises to satisfy our hearts with joy in him forever (Psalm 16:11).

• God promises to never leave us or forsake us (Hebrews 13:5).

• God promises to sovereignly rule over every detail of our lives to maximize our delight in Jesus (Romans 8:28; Philippians 4:19).

• God promises to keep us from stumbling so that we stand before him blameless and full of joy (Jude 1:24–25).

Grieve in Hope

I’ve learned that despair wallows in if-onlys and what-ifs; faith dwells in the blood-bought reality that God will wipe away every tear from our eyes (Revelation 21:4). Hopeless grief says, I have lost the only thing that makes life worth living. Hopeful grief magnifies the surpassing worth of God himself and says, Nothing in all the earth can separate me from Christ (Romans 8:38–39).

“We must never let the sound of our own weeping drown out the comfort of God’s word.”TweetShare on Facebook

Don’t misunderstand. Hopeful grief is still grief. It’s not stoic or robotic. When Jesus stood outside of Lazarus’s tomb and wept, he wasn’t faking his tears (John 11:33–36). God incarnate was about to raise Lazarus from the dead, and still he wept over death. The hope of resurrection doesn’t eliminate tears, but it does redeem them.

We weep and mourn and pour out our souls to the Lord in lamentation for all that is wrong in the world. But we must never let the sound of our own weeping drown out the comfort of God’s word. By faith we know that our affliction is momentary, while our glory is eternal (2 Corinthians 4:17–18). “Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning” (Psalm 30:5). We lament for now, but we will rejoice forever.

So, weep before the Lord. Then wash your face and keep walking by faith.

Ryan Chase is a pastor at Emmaus Road Church in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. He and his wife Barbara have three sons, two living and one buried in hope of resurrection.

Posted at: https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/we-cant-grieve-however-we-want?fbclid=IwAR0e9kD9C97-sJSGSTj4eXxuur58994TX67hXR_xpL3SpLZhN9XQDiAY6Sg

God of the Besieged

Article by Todd Stryd

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about “helplessness.” Or, you might say I’ve been pondering the different ways in which we find ourselves “helpless” in this life. For example, I am acutely aware of my helplessness as I watch my son learn the subtleties of playing defense in basketball. For myself, I notice how helpless I am to stop my hairline from receding. On a more global scale, I feel helpless as I watch all manner of ecological or political foolishness. But though I notice things like these from time to time, as a counselor, helplessness is something that I see and feel on a daily basis.

In a way, I’ve resigned myself to it. Helplessness is continually present in the counseling room because we are often powerless to determine the outcome of our problems. Whether it’s the loss of a job, a wayward child, the death of a loved one, chronic pain, being marginalized, receiving a diagnosis of schizophrenia, or attempting to reconcile with an estranged family member—our ability to accomplish our ends, alleviate our suffering, or change our situations can be extremely limited.

Scripture speaks to this. It validates our lack of control and even admonishes us to not assume the certainty of our plans or abilities (see Psalm 103:14, James 4:13-17, and Proverbs 19:21). In light of this, we could be tempted to adopt a posture of fatalism and hopelessness. But in the wisdom of God, helplessness does not lead to hopelessness, and powerlessness does not lead to fatalism. Though Scripture speaks of our limitations and utter dependence as creatures, it simultaneously proclaims God’s power and love. It is God’s power to act and his love for his people within their helplessness that mingles hope with helplessness.

Psalm 31:21 wonderfully captures this relationship:

Blessed be the Lord, for he has wondrously shown his steadfast love to me
when I was in a besieged city.

The imagery used by the psalmist in this verse is that of an extremely dire circumstance: the besieging of a city. It is the perfect illustration of helplessness because a besieged city is surrounded by an attacking enemy and cut off from all resources. There is no escape and no control—the only thing to do is wait. But note that while the setting is ominous, the focal point of the verse is positive, even uplifting. It speaks of God as the one who wondrously shows his “steadfast love” to his people when they are in a place of utter helplessness. So though besieged and helpless, the psalmist was not hopeless. Paul proposes the same thing in 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 and then again in Romans 8:35-39: Because of the love of God we do not lose heart, for nothing can separate us from the love of Christ.

In counseling ministry, this reality plays out every day. Sometimes the helplessness that I feel is due to a situation that I know is impossible to fix or change. Other times, the helplessness I feel is due to the complexity of the problem in front of me and I’m not actually sure how to help. Or, I experience helplessness when I know exactly what needs to happen, but I am powerless to bring it about for the person.

While the helplessness I feel may be more or less pronounced, more or less devastating, more or less urgent, in all cases, my hope as a helper, and the hope of those I am helping rests in the God who shows his steadfast love while we are helpless. Psalm 31:21 teaches me to humbly accept my limitations in ministry to suffering, struggling people. In light of this I do not lose hope, for our God is the God of the besieged, the God who is a hope for the helpless.

Posted at: https://www.ccef.org/resources/blog/god-of-the-besieged?fbclid=IwAR33_u8T237McT8Da-OvwDb5sWjJWRquuxf3xCByn1NYUeiuZxA7v9NFOFc

How To Face the Death of Someone You Love

Excerpt from "Facing the Death of Someone You Love"

by Elisabeth Elliot

 

The Reality and Finality of Death

We’ve all experienced the desolation of being left in one way or another. And sooner or later, many of us experience the greatest desolation of all: he or she is gone. The one who made life what it was for us—who was, in fact, our life.

And we were not ready. Not really prepared at all. We felt, when the fact stared us in the face, “No. Not yet.” For however bravely we may have looked at the possibilities (if we had any warning at all), however calmly we may have talked about them with the one who was about to die, we are caught short. If we had another week, perhaps, to brace ourselves . . . a few more days to say what we wanted to say, to do or undo some things, wouldn’t it have been better, easier?

But silent, swift, and implacable the Scythe has swept by, and he is gone, and we are left. Yet, most strangely, that stunning snatching away has changed nothing very much. The mail comes, the phone rings, Wednesday gives way to Thursday and this week to next week, and you have to keep getting up in the morning (“Life must go on, I forget just why,” wrote Edna St. Vincent Millay) and combing your hair (for whom, now?), eating breakfast (remember to get out only one egg now, not three), and making the bed (who cares?). You have to meet people who most fervently wish they could pass by on the other side so as not to have to think of something to say. You resist the temptation, when they say he’s “passed away,” to say “No, he’s dead, you know.”

After a few months you’ve learned those initial lessons. You begin to say “I” instead of “we” and people have sent their cards and flowers and said the things they ought to say and their lives are going on and so, astonishingly, is yours and you’ve “adjusted” to some of the differences—as if that little mechanical word, a mere tinkering with your routines and emotions, covers the ascent from the pit.

From Death to Life, Every Time

I speak of the “ascent.” I am convinced that every death, of whatever kind, through which we are called to go must lead to a resurrection. This is the core of Christian faith. Death is the end of every life and leads to resurrection, the beginning of every new one. It is a progression, a proper progression, the way things were meant to be, the necessary means of ongoing life. But the death of the beloved means, in a different but perhaps equally fearsome way, a going through the valley of the shadow.

I can think of six simple things that have helped me through this valley and that help me now.

1. Be Still and Know

First, I try to be still and know that he is God. That advice comes from Psalm 46, which begins by describing the sort of trouble from which God is our refuge—the earth’s changing, or “giving way” as the Jerusalem Bible puts it, the mountains shaking, the waters roaring and foaming, nations raging, kingdoms tottering, the earth melting. None of these cataclysms seem an exaggeration of what happens when somebody dies. The things that seemed most dependable have given way altogether. The whole world has a different look and you find it hard to get your bearings. But in both psalms we are reminded of one rock-solid fact that nothing can change: Thou art with me. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. We feel that we are alone, yet we are not alone. Not for one moment has He left us alone. He makes wars cease, breaks bows, shatters spears, burns chariots (breaks hearts, shatters lives?), but in the midst of all this hullabaloo we are commanded, “Be still.” Be still and know.

2. Give Thanks

The second thing I try to do is to give thanks. I can thank him that he is still in charge, in the face of life’s worst terrors, and that “this slight momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen” (2 Cor. 4:17–18). The things unseen are standing solidly (yes, solidly, incredible as it seems) against things seen (the fact of death, my own loneliness, this empty room). And I am lifted up by the promise of that “weight” of glory, so far greater than the weight of sorrow that at times seems to grind me like a millstone. This promise enables me to give thanks.

And I am lifted up by the promise of that “weight” of glory, so far greater than the weight of sorrow that at times seems to grind me like a millstone.

3. Refuse Self-Pity

Then I try to refuse self-pity. I know of nothing more paralyzing, more deadly, than self-pity. It is a death that has no resurrection, a sinkhole from which no rescuing hand can drag you because you have chosen to sink. But it must be refused. In order to refuse it, of course, one must recognize it for what it is. It is one thing to call a spade a spade, to acknowledge that this thing is indeed suffering. It’s no use telling yourself it’s nothing. But it’s another thing to regard one’s own suffering as uncommon, or disproportionate, or undeserved. We are all under the God’s mercy, and Christ knows the precise weight and proportion of our sufferings—he bore them. He carried our sorrows. "He suffered," wrote George Macdonald, "not that we might not suffer, but that our sufferings might be like his."

4. Accept Loneliness

The next thing to do is to accept my loneliness. When God takes a loved person from my life it is in order to call me, in a new way, to himself. It is therefore a vocation. It is in this sphere, for now anyway, that I am to learn of him. Every stage on the pilgrimage is a chance to know him, to be brought to him. Loneliness is a stage (and, thank God, only a stage) when we are terribly aware of our own helplessness. It “opens the gates of my soul,” wrote Katherine Mansfield, “and lets the wild beasts stream howling through.” We may accept this, thankful that it brings us to the very present help.

5. Offer It to God

The acceptance of loneliness can be followed immediately by the offering of it up to God. Something mysterious and miraculous transpires as soon as something is held up in our hands as a gift. He takes it from us, as Jesus took the little lunch when five thousand people were hungry. He gives thanks for it and then, breaking it, transforms it for the good of others. Loneliness looks pretty paltry as a gift to offer to God—but then, when you come to think of it, so does anything else we might offer. It needs transforming. Others looking at it would say exactly what the disciples said, “What’s the good of that with such a crowd?” But it was none of their business what use the Son of God would make of it. And it is none of ours—it’s ours only to give it.

6. Be a Help to Others

The last of the helps I have found is to do something for somebody else. There is nothing like definite, overt action to overcome the inertia of grief. That is what we need in a time of crisis. Most of us have someone who needs us. If we haven’t, we can find someone. Instead of praying only for the strength we ourselves need to survive, this day or this hour, how about praying for some to give away? How about trusting God to fulfill his own promise, “My power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9)? Where else is his power more perfectly manifested than in a human being who, well knowing his own weakness, lays hold by faith on the strong Son of God, Immortal Love?

It is here that a great spiritual principle goes into operation. Isaiah 58:10–12 says, “If you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail, and . . . you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to dwell in.”

The condition on which all these wonderful gifts (light, guidance, satisfaction, strength, refreshment to others) rests is an unexpected one—unexpected, that is, if we are accustomed to think in material instead of in spiritual terms. The condition is not that one solve his own problems first. He need not “get it together.” The condition is simply “if you pour yourself out.”

Perhaps it is peace, of all God’s earthly gifts, that in our extremity we long for most. A priest told me of a terminally ill woman who asked him each time he came to visit only to pray, “The peace of God which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 4:7).

The Hope of Everlasting Life

There they are—six things that, if done in faith, can be the way to resurrection: be still and know, give thanks, refuse self-pity, accept the loneliness, offer it to God, turn your energies toward the satisfaction, not of your own needs, but of others'. And there will be no calculating the extent to which:

From the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.

This article is adapted from the tract "Facing the Death of Someone You Love" by Elisabeth Elliot.

Who Defines Your Joy?

by James Coffield  Dr. James Coffield serves as an associate professor of counseling and the clinical director of the master’s degree program in counseling at Reformed Theological Seminary in Orlando, Fla.

It often seems as if God narrates the story of our lives with irony. Joy is often fleeting, and real joy is paradoxically birthed in the most challenging of times. As I am writing on this topic of joy, I have been dealing with significant sorrow. A few weeks ago, I was asked to speak at the funeral of a young friend. Is the buoyancy of joy possible when swimming in a sea of sorrow? Is real joy possible in a sin-stained, fallen world? As distant as it might seem at times, we know that joy is possible because Jesus prayed for us to have joy. Joy is included as one of the fruits of the Spirit. As I stood before hundreds of grieving friends and a young family left without a father, I asked God for His presence. The sense of aloneness was palpable. I asked the Creator to give me His perspective. The look of confusion was in the eyes of the congregation. I wanted to stand for His glorious purpose of declaring the truth, hope, and even joy of the gospel. God answered my prayer. Don’t misunderstand—it was a sad and sorrowful day. But sorrow and joy are not opposites, and sometimes they live precariously close to one another. I felt God’s presence. For a fleeting moment, I thought that I had a glimpse of His perspective, and I felt that I was given words of truth during a critical time. I experienced joy.

Joy flows from a particular way that one engages life. Joy is the product of praying for and entering into His presence, seeking His ultimate purpose, and stumbling toward His perspective.

I have set the Lord always before me; 
 because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.
Therefore my heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices;
 my flesh also dwells secure.
For you will not abandon my soul to Sheol,
 or let your holy one see corruption.
You make known to me the path of life;
 in your presence there is fullness of joy;
 at your right hand are pleasures forevermore. (Ps. 16:8–11)

These verses are quoted by Peter in his sermon in Acts 2. He tells us that this psalm refers to Christ and to His resurrection. We are invited to enter into His joy and His suffering, and these Scriptures present us with some instructions to do just that. First, notice that he speaks of the Lord’s presence: “I have set the Lord always before me” and “in your presence there is fullness of joy.” God’s great promise in the gospel is not the absence of struggle or an easy life path, but that He will be with us: “I will be with you always, to the end of the age” (Matt. 28:20). We experience joy when we are aware of and focused upon His presence. Joy is not the elimination of sorrow but the presence of God in sorrow. Diligently pray that you will be aware of His presence.

God’s great promise in the gospel is not the absence of struggle or an easy life path, but that He will be with us.

Joy also comes when you know His purpose. “You make known to me the path of life.” Humans can endure great suffering and struggle when they feel that there is a purpose. In the concentration camps of World War II, researchers noticed that the strong did not always live and the weak were not always the most likely to die. No, it was the individuals who had purpose and meaning in their lives who were the most likely to live. There is no greater purpose than God’s purpose of glory. We experience joy when we are caught up in His purpose. Diligently pray that you would be aware of His purpose.

Psalm 16 is a reference to Christ’s suffering and resurrection; it reminds us of the joy found in God’s perspective. He knows that the last chapter is not the cross of crucifixion or suffering but the joy that would be His on the other side of Calvary. Jesus “for the joy set before him endured the cross” (Heb. 12:2). Gaining His perspective will provide you with a new sense of gratitude for His faithfulness in your life and a keener awareness of those blessings. Fervently pray for gratitude and godly perspective. As John Calvin said, “There is not one blade of grass, there is no color in this world that is not intended to make us rejoice.” Gratitude leads to joy. God made all of creation, including us, to experience joy. Although the evil one is committed to destroying joy and glory, it is, in fact, what we were designed for. Diligently pray that you would be aware of His perspective, that you would be filled with the gratitude and joy for which God made you.

The church on the day of my friend’s funeral was full of sorrow, as it should have been. But to the extent that we sought God’s presence, trusted His purpose, and strained to see His perspective, there was joy. Echoing in the shadows of sorrow was the possibility of joy. Joy doesn’t come easily. We must fight the lies of futility, isolation, and loneliness, and we must fight the fleeting perspective that accompanies difficult circumstances. We must have the courage and the ears to hear the laughter and rich joy on the other side. For on the other side, we will fully enjoy His presence, understand His perspective, and be amazed by His purpose. We will spend eternity in joy.

Originally posted in TableTalk magazine:  https://tabletalkmagazine.com/posts/2018/02/who-defines-your-joy/?utm_content=bufferb41ec&utm_medium=social&utm_source=twitter.com&utm_campaign=buffer