God in the Shadows

You can listen to the message on YouTube here: https://youtu.be/bpijNL22dVU 

Today’s text comes from the shortest verse in the Bible. Some of you have already guessed what it is. But first I need to remind us of what Jesus said in the first several verses of John 14:

“Philip said to [Jesus], “Lord, show us the Father, and it is sufficient for us.” Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you so long, and yet you have not known Me, Philip? He who has seen Me has seen the Father” (John 14:8,9)

That short text serves as an important backdrop to the actual text for today. It is also in John’s gospel, but the event surrounding today’s text is the death of Lazarus.

When the Lord learns of His friend’s illness, John tells us He and the disciples stayed a few more days where they were before taking off to visit Lazarus and his sisters, Mary and Martha. You might be familiar with the story. When Jesus and His disciples arrived in Bethany, Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days.

Now, when Jesus witnessed the grief of Mary, and Martha, and the other mourners, John tells us in two simple but profound words: “Jesus wept.”

We must never gloss over those two words. They pour over with the evidence of God’s passion and compassion for you and for me. “Jesus wept.”

There is not a person reading this who does not know life and suffering are nearly synonymous. Job – who certainly had his share of suffering – Job said it very well when he remarked: “Man is born for trouble as sparks fly upwards.” (5:7) A few chapters later he adds: “Man who is born of woman Is of few days and full of trouble.” (14:1)

And so, life being as it is, I think it’s fair to ask, “Where is God in all of it? Where is He in all the trouble and heartache and loneliness and sadness?”

I used to think He was always there, ready to come to us, ready to comfort us – but He was only there in the shadows. But over the years I have come to know Him differently – and more accurately.

Jesus told us when we see Him, we are seeing the Father. There is not an iota of difference in how Jesus or His Father acts or speaks or feels. So, where is God in the loss, the rejection, the suffering? He is NOT in the shadows. He is right alongside us. His arm is around our shoulder. If nothing else, John 11:35 demonstrates that He is not in the shadows as we mourn. He is embracing us. He is weeping with us.

God tells us through St. Paul’s pen: “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28)

Listen, please. Unless and until we REALLY believe that our omnipotent Father God causes all things that come into our lives to work together for good to those who love Him, we will never come to a place of peace and assurance in the face of our most desperate trials. Or even the simplest.

God is not in the shadows. He is so near to us, especially in our heartbreaks, that we can feel His body warmth if we pay close enough attention. The history of God’s affectionate interactions with His children fill the pages of Scripture. For the sake of time, let’s look only at the story of Leah. You will find it in the book of Genesis, beginning in chapter 29. I’ve referred to it before, but because the principle of this story is timeless, I share it once again.

Leah always lived in the shadow of her younger sister's beauty. When Jacob visited the family, Rachel's beauty captured him – so much so, he agreed to work her family's farm for seven years as payment to marry her. But on the eve of the seventh anniversary, Rachel's family pulled a classic bait and switch. When the new groom awakened the next morning, he found himself lying next to Leah. If Jacob still wanted Rachel, he'd have to work another seven years.

Without another choice, he worked seven more years for his beloved Rachel, but it's not difficult to imagine how Leah felt – unwanted, unloved, unattractive, knowing her family had to trick Jacob into her marriage bed.

The story grows yet more poignant. Scripture tells us: “When the Lord saw that Leah was not loved, he opened her womb . . . and [she] gave birth to a son. She named him Reuben, for she said, ‘It is because the Lord has seen my misery. Surely my husband will love me now’" (Genesis 29:31-32). I can almost hear the wistful yearning in her voice, "Now my husband will love me."

Have you ever been there, so desperate for the one you love to love you in return? Was it – or is it – a parent’s love? A Spouse’s? A child’s? Then you know some of Leah’s heartbreak. She hoped the birth of their son would change Jacob’s heart. But it did not.

Have you ever been there also? You thought to yourself if you only did this, or that, or whatever it might be, the one you wanted to love you would then love you. But it didn’t work. Real love doesn’t work that way, and that’s why their love for you remained as elusive as it had been before you did whatever it was you did to gain their love.

Yet, ever the optimist, Leah conceived again. And then, again. "Now at last my husband will become attached to me," she said, "because I have borne him three sons."

Yet even after six sons, it was Rachel who remained the light in Jacob's eyes. Leah hungered for her husband's embrace. She longed for his gentle touch, for a kind word, and to know in the core of her being that he loved her. Yet, Jacob was hardened to her heartache and insensitive to her sorrow.

I’ve read those chapters in Genesis dozens of times, but several years ago my eyes froze at the list of Leah's sons – Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Issachar, and Zebulun. Then my eyes fixated on two: Levi and Judah.

While Leah lived in Rachel's shadow, she couldn’t know eternity would measure life and death through her offspring – and not Rachel's.

Levi and Judah: ancestors of Moses, Aaron, David, Solomon, Ezra, Ezekiel, Zechariah . . . on and on the list would grow. All Israel's religious and political leaders would trace their ancestry through her womb.

Including Jesus, the Messiah.

God tells us through Jeremiah, by the way, another of Leah's descendants, "For I know the plans that I have for you, plans for welfare and not for calamity, to give you a future and a hope" (Jeremiah 29:11).

Hope.         

That's what Leah's story is all about – great, inexpressible hope. And confidence. And perseverance. It’s about God beside us, about God who loves us, and who knows our deepest hurts. It’s about God who turns all things to the good for those who love Him, who trust Him, who are called according to His incomprehensible purpose.

Please remember Jesus said, “He who has seen Me, has seen the Father” (John 14). When the Holy Spirit inspired St. John to include the story of how Jesus wept with those who wept at the grave of Lazarus, He did so to ever remind you and me that He is not unaware of our tears. And that He most surely weeps with us.

It is through the stories of Lazarus and Leah – and dozens like theirs – God asks us to trust Him in our loss and grief and heart break – to trust Him that He is not in the shadows, waiting for us to call Him to come close. He already IS close – as close as our breath. As close as our skin. He promised to never leave us alone in our loneliness or confusion or grief. And God never breaks His promises.

What trials and emotional upheavals trouble you today? I have my own as surely as you have yours. And I must ask myself again and again – as you must ask of yourself the same questions: Am I willing to let God work out His plan THROUGH my life – even if and when that plan causes me pain? Am I willing to be an instrument in God’s loving hands – even when those hands seem callous and hard?

The right answer to those questions holds the seeds of a life-changing fruit.

Let me close this message with the words of a centuries-old hymn by Catharina von Schlegel. I refer to this hymn because it dovetails so well with today’s message about trusting God in all of life’s circumstances – the heartaches and the joys, the loneliness and the companionships.  

Be still, my soul; the Lord is on thy side;
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In every change He faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul; thy best, thy heavenly, Friend
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.  

Be still, my soul; thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as He has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence, let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul; the waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them while He dwelt below.  

Be still, my soul, though dearest friends depart
And all is darkened in the vale of tears;
Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart,
Who comes to soothe thy sorrows and thy fears.
Be still, my soul; thy Jesus can repay
From His own fullness all He takes away.  

Be still, my soul; the hour is hastening on
When we shall be forever with the Lord,
When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored.
Be still, my soul; when change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.