“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds,”
James 1:2
“There is no circumstance, no trouble, no testing, that can ever touch me until, first of all, it has gone past God and past Christ, right through to me. If it has come that far, it has come with a great purpose.”
Alan Redpath
“All joy,” (verse 2) is a fantastic thought. It stresses a joy that becomes something very powerful and significant. “All joy,” surpasses “some joy” or even “occasional joy.” Instead it’s a joy that remains joy even when tired and weak. It will only shine brighter in the darkness.
Jewels, diamonds, and pearls are typically displayed on a black background.
The black only reveals their brilliance. In the same way darkness should only encourage us to be deliberately brighter than our surroundings. We must understand that we shine only because He makes us shine.
There is a divine incandescence that awaits every believer who feels the need or desire for more of God. When your difficulty is illuminated by grace, it will shine out and proclaim His glory. Perhaps this is what true holiness really is.
The signs surrounding God’s nearness are available to each believer. He is close to those who want Him, and there is nothing will stand in His way. The Lord cherishes and treasures the seeking heart. There is nothing that can detour the believer’s yearning after their Father.
Name your trial, and then tie it to God’s throne.
It’s not yours. Leave it alone and refuse to carry it any further. It’s now the Lord’s concern. Simply watch for the deliverance to come. When God sees your heart, He will lavish Himself out on you.
“Father,every family has a rascal someone who breaks the rulesa juvenile delinquent of untold frustrations and sleepless nights a repeated offender and bearer of sad woe the problem child who needs the most discipline.
Is this why you love me most persistently?When you correct me, is it becauseI’m the one most contrary?
Or is it that you love me so much?”
I wrote this thinking about Hebrews 12 and God’s purpose of chastening. I don’t pretend to understand this dynamic completely–all I can say is that my childhood was punctuated by much difficulty. But now, as a father (my two children are now grown), fatherhood has become far easier than my dad had with me.
7 “As you endure this divine discipline, remember that God is treating you as his own children. Who ever heard of a child who is never disciplined by its father? 10 For our earthly fathers disciplined us for a few years, doing the best they knew how.“
“But God’s discipline is always good for us, so that we might share in his holiness.11 No discipline is enjoyable while it is happening—it’s painful! But afterward there will be a peaceful harvest of right living for those who are trained in this way.”
Hebrews 12:7, 10-11
I really think we understand our Heavenly Father when we spend quality time with Hebrews 12. We are given insight into His care and into our own issues. It is a good thing He gives us— it enriches our spiritual lives.
It’s never nice to be corrected.
It’s not pleasant. Part of being corrected is being reminded that we’re not as righteous as we think we are. To be corrected strikes us to a reprimand, an admonition that something isn’t right inside of us.
The Father corrects His children–in many ways through a myriad of circumstances. He loves us far too much to allow us to continue in our sin. He’s making us into the image of Christ.
We should welcome His correction. He has a plan for you.
When He disciplines you, it only proves that He is your Father. It’s critical to remember: God’s correction is always for our good. It may be painful yes, but it comes with real hope. It’s not to harm or punish you.
“Father, I’m so sorry that I grieve you as often as I do. I promise to behave. Thank you for being a faithful Father who cares deeply for my soul. Amen.”
“Look upon your chastening as God’s chariots sent to carry your soul into the high places of spiritual achievement.”
This poem is written in the Triolet form. I really love this form because it has the perfect amount of repetition, with lines 1, 4, and 7 being the same, and then lines 2 and 8 being the same. I have found that the Triolet is well suited to Christian poetry.
Safe Haven
Thislife is hard and treacherous It’s no place to go it alone The only safe haven is Jesus This life is hard and treacherous
Our Emmanuel, God with us Will never forsake or leave us This life is hard and treacherous It’s no place to go it alone
I hope this poem serves as a reminder to the reader that you don’t have to navigate the treacherous waters of this life alone. Jesus wants to walk by your side, to carry you if need be, and bring you safely to the other side of Jordan.
Jesus said, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
“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.”
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-McCreightis 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).
Broken Believers 