Category: encouragement

Becoming a Steward of Your Pain

Some time ago I read a story that connected. A visiting speaker stood in front of a congregation and shared a painful incident from his childhood. He wanted to bring healing. After he spoke, an elder came up and spoke to him–

“You have learned how to become a proper steward of your pain.”

The visiting speaker was profoundly touched by this. Something came together in his heart and soul. Yes, he did learn how to deal with those ugly things from his past. And yes, he was starting to become a proper steward of his pain.

The word for steward in the original Greek is oikonomos. It literally means “a keeper of a home.” It describes a manager, or a superintendent to whom the head of the house or proprietor has entrusted the management of his affairs.

Managing these awful things for the Kingdom of God is now our ministry.

No question about it, we live in a world of darkness. Each of us has been touched by hard things. Scars are part of our lives. When we come to Christ they come with us. All of these grim things are a real piece of us; we have been hurt, or we’ve wounded others by our sinfulness.

Are you a good steward of who you are? Maybe it’s a trauma, a physical, sexual, or perhaps a mental illness. It’s a scar you carry from your past, and no one is immune from them it seems.

I believe that you’ll find freedom if you can use these things for Him and his Kingdom.

We must see and understand that Jesus has taken everything and fully redeems it all for His glory.

He understands us fully–our past, present, and future. He ‘knows’ us–the real and hidden us. The challenge is to take these sad events to the throne. He alone can heal and then use that which has devastated us. He uses our pain to touch others deeply.

Satan has afflicted you in his dark attempt to destroy you.

But Jesus intervenes to save. As we grow to accept this, the Holy Spirit comes as our comforter and guide. He starts to teach us true redemption, and the incredible healing that takes place inside us.

It really is his work, not ours. It’s then we finally understand. It’s then we become the broken healers that God can finally use.

And it’s then we can finally say: “The light has truly overcome the dark.“

Becoming a steward of our pain is His doing. We’re able to touch others with these things that cripple and destroy. He has made us “managers” of these things, and we are taught to teach others, declaring that God has completely saved us. He works miracles!

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has passed away, and see, the new has come!”

2 Corinthians 5:17

We’ll meet those who are waiting to hear our story. They’re walking through terrible pain and they don’t know what to do.

We’re being transformed into authentic witnesses. Yes, at times these awful things still hurt, and I suppose that’s to be expected. But we’re learning to manage them. We’ve become real-life stewards of our pain.

To every believer still struggling about the sin of the past or sickness of the present–keep turning it over to Him. He will make it into something quite wonderful.

“Darkness is My Only Companion”

“Lord Jesus Christ, you are for me medicine when I am sick; you are my strength when I need help; you are life itself when I fear death; you are the way when I long for heaven; you are light when all is dark; you are my food when I need nourishment.”

—Ambrose of Milan (340-397)

Our theology makes all the difference in fighting depression, writes Kathryn Greene-McCreight, Author of “Darkness, Is My Only Companion” and Episcopal priest.

Here is an excerpt where she introduces the depression of Christians:

In his Problem of Pain, C. S. Lewis says that suffering is uniquely difficult for the Christian, for the one who believes in a good God. If there were no good God to factor into the equation, suffering would still be painful, and  ultimately meaningless.

For the Christian, who believes in the crucified and risen Messiah, suffering is always meaningful. It is meaningful because of the one in whose suffering we participate, Jesus. This is neither to say, of course, that suffering will be pleasant, nor that it should be sought. Rather, in the personal suffering of the Christian, one finds a correlate in Christ’s suffering, which gathers up our tears and calms our sorrows and points us toward his resurrection.

In the midst of a major mental illness, we are often unable to sense the presence of God at all. Sometimes all we can feel is the complete absence of God, utter abandonment by God, the sheer ridiculousness of the very notion of a loving and merciful God. This cuts to the very heart of the Christian and challenges everything we believe about the world and ourselves.

I have a chronic mental illness, a brain disorder that used to be called manic depression, but now is less offensively called bipolar disorder. I have sought help from psychiatrists, social workers, and mental health professionals; one is a Christian, but most of my helpers are not. I have been in active therapy with a succession of therapists over many years, and have been prescribed many psychiatric medications, most of which brought quite unpleasant side effects, and only a few of which relieved my symptoms. I have been hospitalized during the worst times and given electroconvulsive therapy treatments.

All of this has helped, I must say, despite my disinclination toward medicine and hospitals. They have helped me to rebuild some of “myself,” so that I can continue to be the kind of mother, priest, and writer I believe God wants me to be.

During these bouts of illness, I would often ask myself: How could I, as a faithful Christian, be undergoing such torture of the soul? And how could I say that such torture has nothing to do with God? This is, of course, the assumption of the psychiatric guild in general, where faith in God is often viewed at best as a crutch, and at worst as a symptom of disease.

How could I, as a Christian, indeed as a theologian of the church, understand anything in my life as though it were separate from God? This is clearly impossible. And yet how could I confess my faith in that God who was “an ever-present help in trouble” (Ps. 46:1) when I felt entirely abandoned by that God? And if this torture did have something to do with God, was it punishment, wrath, or chastisement? Was I, to use a phrase of Jonathan Edwards’s, simply a “sinner in the hands of an angry God”?

I started my journey into the world of mental illness with a postpartum depression after the birth of our second child. News outlets are rife with stories of women who destroy their own children soon after giving birth. It is absolutely tragic. Usually every instinct in the mother pushes toward preserving the life of the infant. Most mothers would give their own lives to protect their babies. But in postpartum depression, reality is so bent that that instinct is blocked. Women who would otherwise be loving mothers have their confidence shaken by painful thoughts and feelings.

Depression is not just sadness or sorrow.

When I am depressed, every thought, every breath, every conscious moment hurts.

And often the opposite is the case when I am hypomanic: I am scintillating both to myself, and, in my imagination, to the whole world. But mania is more than speeding mentally, more than euphoria, more than creative genius at work. Sometimes, when it tips into full-blown psychosis, it can be terrifying. The sick individual cannot simply shrug it off or pull out of it: there is no pulling oneself “up by the bootstraps.”

And yet the Christian faith has a word of real hope, especially for those who suffer mentally. Hope is found in the risen Christ. Suffering is not eliminated by his resurrection, but transformed by it. Christ’s resurrection kills even the power of death, and promises that God will wipe away every tear on that final day.

But we still have tears in the present.

We still die. In God’s future, however, death itself will die. The tree from which Adam and Eve took the fruit of their sin and death becomes the cross that gives us life.

The hope of the Resurrection is not just optimism, but keeps the Christian facing ever toward the future, not merely dwelling in the present. But the Christian hope is not only for the individual Christian, nor for the church itself, but for all of Creation, bound in decay by that first sin: “Cursed is the ground because of you … It will produce thorns and thistles for you …” (Gen. 3:17-18).

This curse of the very ground and its increase will be turned around at the Resurrection. All Creation will be redeemed from pain and woe. In my bouts with mental illness, this understanding of Christian hope gives comfort and encouragement, even if no relief from symptoms. Sorrowing and sighing will be no more. Tears will be wiped away. Even fractious [unruly, irritable] brains will be restored.

“Darkness: My Only Companion”

Kathryn Greene-McCreight is assistant priest at St. John’s Episcopal Church in New Haven, Connecticut, and author of Darkness Is My Only Copanion: A Christian Response to Mental Illness (Brazos Press, 2006).

Click to read Psalm 88

Assurance of Salvation for Desperate People

 ”For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. 15 For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!”

Romans 8:14-15

Abba! Father!

That’s a title of intimacy. You belong in His family. You’re His son, His daughter. But as broken believers we can struggle a lot. Many in the Church don’t understand us, and we hardly understand ourselves. But we know we’re His own. We’re the shaky ones it seems.

We’re often aware that there’s a mixture of good and bad things regarding our faith. Because of this, we often see what others can’t.

  • The Good: we don’t have to be convinced of our sin.  We live in a broken world, and we’re pretty sure that we have formidable issues. We’re needy. We’ve tried lots of things, and we just might be a little wary (but that can be good too).
  • The Bad: our consistency fluctuates from day-to-day. We never know what our state of mind will be. Some of us have problems socially that hinders us. Attendance at our local church can be hard. We struggle in our relationships with others. We seem to make excuses for everything.

From day to day many of us struggle terribly.

The existence of this ‘flightiness’ is painfully evident. And as strugglers it’s hard to maintain anything, much less a spiritual life. But experience has taught me that the Holy Spirit not only makes an allowance, but even pours out extra grace on the troubled believer. The Lord loves His misfits.

But no matter what, we can’t put any confidence in our flesh. We do bounce around, but salvation is not of our own doing. What stabilizes us is a serious dedication to the promises we have in the Word of God. He gives us His Words to strengthen.

faith-train

Obviously, the engine must pull the other cars. We must look to the promises of God to stay on track. And both faith and feelings must follow the engine. Some struggle a great deal because they are led by their feelings. Confusion will follow if we get the proper order mixed up.

  1. First facts, (the Bible, God’s word to you)
  2. then comes faith,
  3. and finally feelings, (these cannot come first!)

The Word of God is our only safety.

Our faith is to be connected to the promises of God. For those of us with a disability, we realize that we deal with issues that others seem to skate through. (But hey, aren’t used to that now?) And yet the Father makes some things easier for us too. 

Please, read the Word. The Psalms or the Gospels are always good for us.

Focus on God’s promises to you. If you collect up His words, in your mind and heart, the Holy Spirit will bring to your mind these verses when you really need them. (I draw much strength from the Psalms. These keep me on track.)

We’ve been adopted by the Holy Spirit as sons and daughters.

We are deeply loved by God Himself. He has gone and made us ‘heirs’ without any of our own effort (Romans 8:14-17). We are a people in need of stability. What God gives us is His own constancy. Read the Word, fresh just for you. The promises applied lavishly will enable you to be like Jesus.

 “And because of his glory and excellence, he has given us great and precious promises. These are the promises that enable you to share his divine nature and escape the world’s corruption caused by human desires.”

2 Peter 1:4, NLT

“In the darkest of nights cling to the assurance that God loves you, that He always has advice for you, a path that you can tread and a solution to your problem–and you will experience that which you believe.”

“God never disappoints anyone who places his trust in Him.”

— Basilea Schlink

Bryan Lowe

The Wonder of It All

My thoughts this fine morning:

There are some things that leave an indelible mark, deep down into our souls. For me, one instance I remember staying at Simpson College on Silver Ave. in San Francisco in June 1986. The dorms were empty and I had a whole floor to myself. The campus was gorgeous; the roses were in full bloom.

I found a little “mom and pop” corner market nearby which had an awesome deli. Here I could buy cold cuts, some excellent braunschweiger, and freshly baked sourdough bread. I returned to my room to build my sandwich.

I remember that the windows were open and there was a beautiful breeze. Food, warm sun, flowers in bloom and the Holy Spirit are just about ready to ‘intersect’ in my life. It would be a holy collision. I would come to Jesus in this bright new way.

It was simply a moment that I captured and savored. Everything seemed to coincide, it was magical in the best sense of the word. It was beautiful, that is all I can say. That time in that dorm room has become a crystalline moment that I will never forget. Right there, it seemed I fell in love, not with a girl, but with a moment in time and place.

That nostalgia lays thick on the shoulders of the writer of Psalm 84.

He remembers and savors those powerful memories of his visit to the temple. He was given something at that particular moment that would follow him for the rest of his life.

The beauty of that experience was inviolable and true and could never be duplicated. This treasure was his. As he aged he could tell his grandchildren, “I walked with God.” And he really meant it.

I personally believe God gives us these holy moments, wrapped in wonder and awe. When the Holy Spirit deeply touches in this way you will never, ever be the same.

The psalmist has the same hunger. These moments in the temple which are so blessed have also ‘ruined’ him. Often special times of God’s presence will result in a ‘sanctified’ dissatisfaction with the present status quo.

But when we finally make our way to Jesus (or He draws us), life takes on a special and curious wonder. When the rain finally comes to the barren desert, an explosion of life bursts out. In much the same way, our lives are ‘watered’ by Jesus. Things get very green and lush as we live in the Spirit. All of this is in contrast to our dry and desperate life without His presence.

I want to become hungry for His presence.

I so want to be in the center of wherever He is at. I admit that His grace and love has spoiled me. But the love of Jesus does this. Normal life seems to be nothing more than a boring journey into ‘black & white’, but somehow He turns it all into stunning color.

The psalmist practically begs to be returned to the temple. He wants to be there, more than anything else. It is now his true home. He will not be satisfied with anything less.

“I say to the Lord, “You are my Lord. Apart from you, I have nothing good.”