Bends in the Road

I’d like to introduce you to some fine boys—four of them, in fact: Hananiah, Mishael, Azariah, and Daniel.  These boys were good-looking and smart, but they weren’t vain about it; they also honored and served God faithfully.  They were the golden boys, they were the Rat Pack of their time and place, with Daniel playing Sinatra, and the other three assuming their proper lesser roles.  Their potential was unlimited, their future bright.  It would be tempting to believe that these good times would never end, that if they just followed the road they were on, it would lead them to a lifetime of prosperity, honor, and respect.  It would be tempting to trust in the natural gifts the Lord had bestowed upon them, their good looks, their charm, their intelligence.

But then: a bend in the road.

It wasn't their fault, they had done nothing to deserve it, but suddenly the road they were traveling took an unexpected and unavoidable 90-degree turn to the left.  Jerusalem was besieged, overrun, and conquered by Nebuchadnezzar the king of Babylon. The boys were given over as prisoners, spoils of war, slaves to this terrible foreign king.  They would never see their beloved homeland again in their lifetime.  They were probably made eunuchs, which meant they would never have families of their own.  It would be tempting to despair, to doubt God, to doubt their position as God's chosen people.

And then: a bend in the road.

A Biblical Perspective on Suffering

Once upon a time there was a successful businessman named Joseph B. Saintly.  He was remarkably well respected by both his peers and his employees.  He offered the finest low-cost health plan to his workers, and when they came up short, he paid their bills himself.  He was the director of The Saintly Foundation to Aid Widows and Orphans, and his anonymous gifts to other charities were thought to be almost scandalously generous.  Joseph B. Saintly was a good man, in all the ways people mean that word.

He had a wife Mildred, who occasionally disapproved of his generosity, but to whom he was utterly faithful.  He had a son Bill, who enjoyed the comfort provided by his father's wealth, but was by no means a playboy.  He had a daughter Jill, who had married well and was expecting Joseph B.'s first grandchild.  Mr. Saintly was a happy man.

He was a deacon in his local Baptist church, head of the building committee, teacher of the teenage boys' Sunday School class, and he provided scholarships for kids to go away to summer camp.  His views on religion were both orthodox and correct, focusing rightly on the glory of God, but not neglecting a life of good works.  Joseph B. Saintly was a faithful man.

The Vision of Faith

This week at the Bible study I have just started attending, the pastor brought up the famous verse Romans 8:28 ("And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose").  This has long been one of my favorite verses of scripture, and while many pages could be written about the Reformed perspective of the second half of that verse (more later, Lord willing), there is treasure to be wrung out of the simplest understanding of the first half as well.

The reason I am posting now is that there actually seemed to be some doubt among the participants about the credibility of the scripture on that point; that God wasn't necessarily able to work all things together for our good.  This frankly surprised me a bit, though perhaps it shouldn't have.  Maybe there are lots of folks out there that are unsteady regarding the sovereign power of our omnipotent God, the all-encompassing purposes of our loving heavenly Father.  If you count yourselves among the vaguely skeptical here, maybe this little illustration will be of some value to you.

All of us have had situations in our lives where we have suffered most severely.  You know the roster here: death of a loved one, divorce, disease, etc.  We thought about our affliction that no possible good could come from it.  But ten years past the suffering, we all have looked back from our advanced perspective and confessed that the situation actually did provide some benefit for us.  We say things like, "Now I see that God was in it all the time; I never would have learned a particular lesson were it not for that time of hardship; I grew to depend upon the Lord so much during that time of trial."  And you can be sure that if we in our limited perception can discern some good result from our suffering, then God is His perfect wisdom has done much more for us than that which we can see.  He has actually worked all things together for our good, though we perceive it only fractionally.

The vision of faith is this: We take that perfect hindsight--that God has worked through our suffering for our good--we take that understanding, turn it around 180 degrees, and apply it to the future.  We say, "God has not only worked all things together for our good in the past, but He will continue to do so in the future."  And we step boldly into the unknown, trusting in God's care.  This is an act of worship: trusting God to do what He has said He would do.  "For we walk by faith, not by sight" (2 Corinthians 5:7).

Bella and the Prince of Spices

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Once upon a time, there was a slender young girl named Bella. She was very poor, and all she had to eat was a daily portion of watery, tasteless gruel. Day after day, she would sit at the table with her bowl before her, dreaming of nothing so much as a spoonful of sugar to sweeten the taste of her meal.

"Oh, for a bit of sweetness," she sighed. "If I only had a pinch of sugar, how happy I would be." She said this to herself every day, not remembering to be thankful for the gruel's nourishment, only resenting its blandness.

One day, there came a knock at her door: rap, rap, rap! Scurrying to answer it, she found a smiling, whiskered man there, clad in a beggar's rags.

"Yes?" Bella asked politely.

The man stepped into her small room with a grin and a bow. "I am the Prince of Spices! I have come in answer to your prayers!"

The Prince of Spices? Bella had never heard of such a thing! He certainly didn't look like a prince, and she said so.

"Ah, but appearances may deceive!" he winked. "Your Ladyship's wish?" And with that he reached into the folds of his rags, and produced a little paper packet filled with a brownish powder. "Where is your porridge?" he asked. She pointed to the table, and the Prince of Spices opened the packet, drew out just a pinch of the powder, and stirred it into the gruel.

"There!" he cried triumphantly. "Taste and see!"