Help for the Way

2 Corinthians 12:6-9; Luke 17:11-19; Psalm 116:1,2

No one wants to suffer. It is not something any of us seeks, yet inevitably we will suffer because that’s just the way it is—a college student flounders through a mid-term exam; a parent flounders through parenting; a child falls off the swing set; we get sick; we get hurt; we get stressed—no matter who we are, suffering comes. Our passages of scripture this morning offer help along the way as we meet our suffering. 

First, they assure us of suffering’s universality. From saints of God like the Psalmist or St. Paul to the truly down and out like the lepers alongside the road, homeless, destitute, and hopeless, suffering comes. Now, for some, this is reason enough to argue with God or even reject God altogether. The reality of suffering, for them, negates any proclamation of a God who is good and for whom grace abounds. If creation came from a beneficent God, then there would be no suffering. Eden would never fall vacant. But because suffering does exist, then either God wasn’t very good at this creating thing, or there isn’t a creator at all, and randomness is the reason why things go haywire. Scripture, though, has a different take on things. It never really seeks to explain suffering, but rather accepts it as part of being created. As the adage says, stuff happens. Instead, scripture turns us to God. 

So, second, what our passages do is reveal how God is present in suffering. That presence is always intentional. That presence is always effective. And that presence is always redeeming. 

God never turns away from those who suffer, no matter how much they complain or cry out declarations of divine abandonment. Nowhere is that made more powerfully plain than in St. Paul’s testimony. Paul, never one to suffer silently, held to form and whined, griped, and complained about an unspecified “thorn.” For three years, he suffered. Obviously, he wanted God to do something about it. Apparently, God chose a less direct means of intercession and intervention. All God tells Paul is, My grace is sufficient. In other words, Deal with it, you will keep suffering. Well now, what sort of answer is that? It is one that reminds us to look in the right place for redemption, for redemption does not always manifest in a  recognizable form. Once I sat with man who was in a deep, dark valley. He got fired. He got fired because he did not fit his boss’ idea of staffing. He had done his job well. He had brought his group some success. He had worked well with his cohorts. But he got fired. He was sure God was messing with him. He was sure that reclamation was a long way off, so he complained, hurt and abandoned. He was terrified about how he would make ends meet. However, after a period of time, he found new work. Catching up with him a few years later, he was able to say getting fired was actually one of the most efficacious experiences of grace he ever had. That forced transition led him to a new position where he truly found himself, his joy, and his promise. Redemption came in a pink slip. 

But this is not to say that there are not times when God’s intervention is clear, direct, and life-changing. 

One day, Jesus passed a group of lepers beside the road. They were desperate. Their disease slowly ate them away, both physically and spiritually. Exiled from the human community, they lived adrift, totally dependent on the charity of strangers. They lived as objects of derision and fear. They were the walking cursed. Jesus did not keep walking. He stopped. He listened. He sent them to the priest, but cured them as they walked. A miracle, clear and simple. Those happen. God will interrupt. God will change course. God will alter life as it is. I imagine passengers on a Delta flight landing in the snow last Thursday know all about miracles. They left Atlanta just to get on with their day, but hit New York City in a snowstorm. Like a great, big car on an icy street, the plane hit the runway, iced over, and spun toward Flushing Bay. A small wall of dirt held and the plane stopped a few feet from sub-zero water. Everyone was banged and bumped, but okay. Sometimes redemption comes in a flash.

It also comes in every possibility and path between these two examples. What is essential for us to keep in mind is that God is with us. Always and forever. With that presence comes an answer to suffering. Always and forever. There is always hope. There is always a new day.

Now—there is still one thing more to consider—saying, “Thank you.”

God is good and grace does abound, but do we readily and freely acknowledge it? I do not want to come across as a scold, rather I want us to hear the full message of scripture this morning. Gratitude plays a major piece in our texts today. Paul gives thanks that God is present. He gives thanks that grace really is the most powerful agent at work in his life. He gives thanks that he has humility enough to see it. He actually gives thanks that he suffered because it awakened him to that power of grace. Now, with the lepers, we see something else. Jesus healed ten lepers. Then what happens? Oh, they all rejoice, celebrate, and have the biggest party of their lives, but one—one—turns around to say, “Thank you.” The more things change, the more they stay the same. It is a truth of human existence that we take grace for granted. In a worse case scenario, we will take grace as deserved. Because we suffered, we were owed redemption. Because we suffered, God had to notice us. Rethink that attitude right now. Grace is grace because it is grace. God helps us not out of obligation, but because that is just how God is. 

Which brings us into the presence of the Psalmist. Here is all you need to know about how to exist in the presence of God—let thanks be the first word always and forever. Let thanks guide you into each day. Let thanks carry through the schedule. Let thanks be the last word before sleep. All things come from God—even the hard stuff. But God truly is good and grace really does abound, so thank God. Doing so, far from being burdensome obligation, is actually a means by which to open the window to see God.