Prayers for Friends

This morning my soul is troubled for two young friends who are struggling mightily with their health. The questions they and their parents ask of God, of their mortality, and of their worthiness to be 'normal' (elusive as that may be for all of us), are both legion and eternal. Personally, my heart aches for they and their parents in these days of such severe trials, and pastorally, my soul cries out to God to hear their cries, to make it better, to tend to their pain.


Sometimes the hardest part of hearing those first words of Psalm 22 cross Jesus' lips upon the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" is remembering to continue reading the Psalm after verse one. Much like it is when someone tells a familiar story and after the first couple of words you instantly know the whole of the story, so it is with Psalms among God's people: The first words spoken invite the listening audience to re-member the whole of the story. In the midst of great pain and undeserved suffering, in the stir of angry crowds and vitriolic language, and in the trial of both body and soul in such a public arena, Jesus' call to God in the speaking of these words is both petition and confession: 'This is a hard spot to be in, God, I don't deserve it', and yet, 'I trust You, God, with all that I was, all that I am, and all that I ever will be. My life is in Your hands for all eternity. Use me to your glory.' (Read Ps. 22:25-31)

There is a part of every one of us which wants to assign a reason for what is happening, to issue blame, to understand the rationale. There is language in our culture which shifts the outcome of our mortality to God with phrases like, 'God won't give you more than you can bear', or 'God is testing you', or 'You must have done something to offend God', or 'God must have really wanted them in heaven' . . . . all of which makes God the 'bad Guy' (not that God can't take such accusations) and takes away the power of the cross and an empty tomb. You just can't root that sort of language in Jesus or the Gospels, it isn't there.

What is found in Jesus, what is written in the Gospels, is the good news itself, especially for those who suffer in this world: God has heard your cries and is come to meet you where you are and walk with you in it all. You are not alone, which is the nearness of the Kingdom embodied. Were that not true, Jesus would not have endured the cross in faithfulness to God. Everyone there waited for Him to step down from those wooden beams and steel nails of pain and say, 'No more!' Yet, what Jesus did was even more profound: He took on our daily suffering, He took on our questions, He took on our deepest anger and confusion . . . and endures with us every moment of it all and, that we not lose faith in the midst of it all, He walked out of the tomb and emptied death of its oppressive power.

God is not giving you pain to bear, God is bearing the pain with you in Christ. God is not testing you, God is undergoing the frailty of mortality with you in Christ. God has not taken offense with you, God is expressing favor for you in Christ. God does not take you away from your life, your friends, your family, prematurely just for the sake of having you next to God in heaven, but when the world conspires against you, when your body doesn't heal they way we would hope that it does, or when accidents in this life occur, God in Christ claims your very life as God's own and holds you in God's arms of deepest compassion, much as a parent holds a child in their lap and presses them against their breast.

I pray for my friends this day, even as I pray for all those who endure life's challenges, that there be healing, peace and assurance from the very hand of God through the Holy Spirit in the love and nearness of Christ. And, I pray the faith, strength and love to be the best friend I can be as a disciple of Christ, whose Good News is Life itself. Always.