I laid down to sleep tonight, knowing that I needed comforting words or I would not fall asleep. I turned on my favorite hymn, How Deep the Father’s Love for Us, and was surprised by the tears that fell from my eyes. Remorse filled my heart as I dwelt on the meaning that lies within the truth of the lyrics. The realization that time is costly because all of my time has been purchased by God’s grace rang true and left me stunned. I had just waisted the last hour and a half on a movie that sought to tell some far forgotten fairy-tale of a fictional person’s life. But the life of Christ our Savior was real and it was vastly more significant and exhilarating than any story Hollywood can conjure up out of the depths of their minds--which were, in fact, created in the image of God by God himself.
Over the past few weeks, I have spent time, though not time enough, meditating on the words of Mary’s hymn that is shared with us in Luke 1: 46-55. The wisdom that is exposed here, in this scripture, is profound. Years later, as Mary (or Elizabeth, for it sounds as if they were they only two witnesses to this conversation that Luke is reporting to us) looked back on the time in her life when she was called to suffer as a young, unwed, mother with child, what she remembers of her struggle is not the weight of being outcast by a people, the fear of raising a little boy alone, or even the sweet conversations shared with her cousin as they went through pregnancy together. What Mary tells Luke, and what God determines should be read in our Bible’s today, is that “[God] has looked on the humble estate of his servant;” when he gave her this particular path through suffering. And she continues, “For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for he who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name.” Surely she doesn’t mean that the confirmation of God’ promises came the first time she got morning sickness, though that must have been an odd testimony to the truthfulness of the angel’s words. In sickness, in tiredness, in weariness, in hunger, in discomfort, in pain, she receives over and over again the verification that God is at work, literally, within her. Then, to again prove his life to her, the baby not merely kicks against the side of her stomach, he leaps for joy! He is alive, he is real, he is Emmanuel, God with us. As Mary takes on these circumstances to bring Jesus into the world so that he could save us, Mary chooses not to dwell on the pain of it all, nor even the pride that could have been brewed, or the oddities she faced. She reflects and says, that God looked at her humble estate and chose to bless her with the privilege of carrying his Son. "And blessed is she who believe that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord." Mary knew that the fulfillment of the angel's words would not come, merely, in the reality of her pregnancy, but in the life of her son and in the announcement of his identity as savior. She treasured all these things in her heart, pondered them, and waited on the Lord to reveal his plan.
How often I do not do as Mary did. I do not look at life and wonder in amazement that God has “looked on the humble estate of his servant” and chosen to bless me with opportunities to share his gospel. I can easily see the pain or discomfort, but how often can I see that God allows me to be part of all he does because he has blessed me. Not that God is using me; it’s much easier to believe that God is using me because I’m good at what I do. God does not bless because I deserve to be blessed-- I do not. God blesses “in remembrance of his mercy.”
Jared and I had a discussion recently about what it looks like to biblically pursue healing from his cancer. Is there a time when enough is enough and you let yourself “go home?” This was a tough question to discuss with a brother who I would do anything to keep here with me; but, I know if the situation were reversed, I’d be thinking about the same thing. The answer sits right here in this text: do not dwell on the suffering, think only on the profundity of gospel wherein pain finds its recourse and divine peace.
Amy Carmichael, who sat on her death bed for dozens of years, once wrote,
Amy Carmichael, who sat on her death bed for dozens of years, once wrote,
“If I make much of anything appointed, magnify it secretly to myself or insidiously to others; if I let them think it ‘hard,’ if I look back longingly upon what used to be, and linger among the byways of memory, so that my power to help is weakened, then I know nothing of Calvary love.”
What does it look like to take in all my family is facing in light of these wise words? I don’t know the practicalities of that just yet. How do you not make cancer ‘hard?’ How do you not make much of this battle that has been appointed so that making much of Christ and his Calvary love has not been robbed from him? I’ll have to get back to you on how God makes this possible in our lives, for I know we will not pursue it well on our own.
