God is Better than You Think, Part Three: A Better Faith

In this series of articles, I’ve shared how God has shown me that he’s better. It’s become somewhat of a mantra in my life, especially when pain besets my heart or a tragedy or injustice stares me in the face, and I wrestle with the question, How can God possibly be good in this situation? Again and again, God has revealed through Jesus that he’s always better than how I had been taught him or understood him previously. This does not mean the theology I’ve learned or developed has been “wrong.” But as Paul says, “now we see dimly,” and his goodness and love are infinite. That means that my finite mind can’t ever fully perceive how good he is! But my finite mind can gradually grow in this area, just like in any other area. We can’t understand everything about our Creator. But through his mercy and Spirit, I believe he gradually reveals who he is, primarily through Jesus Christ, as we can comprehend and accept his revelation. What I’ve found to be true in my life is that God is always better than I currently perceive him.

In the first part of this article series, I discussed how God is always a better parent. In the second, I talked about the fact that God is a better king than any perception I could contrive of that metaphor. In this article, I want to share how God has expanded my definition of faith to be a better one in his economy.

I used to think faith was absolute trust in God’s plan, without doubt or negative feelings. Now I believe faith is a hope that includes plenty of wrestling, doubt, and questions.  This picture of faith helps release me from the guilt and shame I once wore when I doubted.

We all want to know and understand. We need to process and even bypass pain. I think it would be a little strange if we didn’t. So, when we come head-to-head with suffering (our own or that of those around us), what do we do with it?

Well, we wrestle. We wrestle with how we understand Scripture, hold on to him when bad things happen, and perceive his plan for our lives and the world. We wrestle with how in heaven’s name we can begin to process grief, loss, and trauma.

And thankfully, this wrestling is not condemned in the passages of Scripture, but instead it seems to be the pattern of how God’s children engage him in the face of suffering. The prophet Jeremiah wrestled fiercely with God in the book of Lamentations, an entire book of the Bible devoted to the whirlwind of the dark night of the soul.

Though much of Jeremiah’s horror returns to guilt that he and his people have brought this suffering upon themselves because of their disregard for God, there are instances where Jeremiah blames God. Have you ever found yourself wrestling like that? When information or an experience is almost too much to process at once, you go back and forth, from denial to anger to acceptance, only to wake one morning in the pit of depression. The stages of grief were displayed in the lines of Scripture long before they were detailed in our psychology books!

Do you like Hobby Lobby? Do you, like me, get a thrill when you see your favorite section with that big 50% off sign? For me, it’s the wall art. HobLob is Christian-owned, so some of their wall art beautifully displays lines of Scripture. Have you ever noticed that there’s a certain type of Bible verse that makes the cut for things like wall art? It’s the kind of verse that blooms with hope, promises, and good things. And from Lamentations, there is one (one!) passage that many of us know because it’s used in encouraging memes, calendars, t-shirts, and yes, HobLob wall art.  It’s Lamentations 3:22, which begins, The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases.

Before we sit in that promise, let’s consider some non-Hobby Lobby-worthy passages. To me, these passages are like a mountain of wrestling before arriving at the peak of God’s unceasing, steadfast love. How did Jeremiah wrestle up this mountainside?

Jeremiah 1 & 2 recount the destruction of Judah/captivity and the horrors of starvation, death, prisoners, and losing their home and religious center. Jeremiah spends much time in Chapter 1 lamenting the destruction around him. He blames the people’s sins and his own sins. In 1:18, he says, “The Lord is in the right.”

In Chapter 2, he describes the absolute trauma and terror around him. In 2:11, he says, “My eyes are spent with weeping.”

Lam. 2:17 is a good example of a verse I’ve never seen on a calendar or a mug. “The Lord has done what he purposed, he has carried out his threat; as he ordained long ago, he has demolished without pity; he has made the enemy rejoice over you and exalted the might of your foes.” If someone gave me a greeting card with that verse printed, I’m not sure we’d be friends anymore.

On the surface, it might appear that Jeremiah is just venting, complaining, or wailing in grief. And he is doing all those things. But Lamentations is written poetically, which I think is essential to know because it means the writer didn’t just scribble down his grief in a stream of consciousness. He thought about the precise placement of words and rhythm while lamenting. To me, this means he was painstakingly wrestling all along the way.

As these chapters continue, Jeremiah gets angry and graphic when talking to God. Chapter 2:20-21 says, “Look, LORD, and consider: Whom have you ever treated like this? Should women eat their offspring, the children they have cared for? Should priest and prophet be killed in the sanctuary of the Lord? The young and the old are lying on the ground in the streets; my young women and my young men have fallen by the sword; in the day of your anger, you have killed them, slaughtering without mercy.”

By the beginning of chapter 3, Jeremiah’s poem becomes heartache in words. His wrestling up the mountainside of trauma and loss crescendos to full-blown grief and anger with God as his target.

3:1-3: “driven and brought me into darkness without any light”

3:7-9: “heavy chains on me though I call for help”

3:17-20: “my soul is bereft of peace…my soul…is bowed down within me…My soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is; so I say, ‘Gone is my glory, and all that I had hoped for from the Lord.’”

God expects we will wrestle with him, with suffering, with our understanding of Scripture, of his presence in our lives, like the story of Jacob wrestling with God or Jonah running away from Nineveh. I think he wants us to wrestle when we come up against a brick wall of, I don’t understand, and this HURTS. Think about it- if one of the most profound experiences of the Christian life is growing closer to God, how close do you have to be with someone to wrestle with them?

I was briefly a cheerleader in high school. My least favorite sport to cheer for was wrestling. I did not care for it partly because I don’t think those poor teen boys wanted ours to be the only school that brought cheerleaders, and partly because body odor had no place to hide in those little singlets. But mostly I didn’t like it because sitting on a mat so close to an all-out wrestling match was awkward. I could appreciate the skill involved, but being next to two people so intensely close felt weird. It’s aggressive and intimate simultaneously, and it feels uncomfortable to be a spectator of such an interchange between two people.

Friends, in my life, there are times I have experienced intimacy with God through the joy of creation, the fellowship of my church family, and the love of relationships. But just as often, maybe more if I’m honest, my closest intimacy with God has been in brutal, painful wrestling. I think that’s why we get such an insider’s view throughout Scripture. To me, wrestling isn’t a symptom of something wrong in our relationship with God; it is a necessary component of a vibrant relationship with God.

But unfortunately, I’ve come across individuals and theologies that shame believers for wrestling, as if wrestling indicates a lack of faith or trust in God. But when did the definition of faith become certainty? Without question? Without a doubt? I mean, if everything is certain, do we need faith?

I wonder if the real crux of the issue is, just like I felt awkward being so close to sweaty wrestling teenage boys, so too people feel uncomfortable around you or me when we’re wrestling with God.

Let’s talk about Job for a minute. We know that Job’s friends begin their time with him in empathy and silence, but then they just couldn’t help but school Job on ‘reasons’ for his suffering. They were very comforted by their theological certainties. They may not have been so comfortable with the unknown or wrestling. They say, “You sinned; therefore, you’re being punished.” Job says, “No, actually, I’m pretty righteous. You’re wrong.” It’s not that Job is saying he’s perfect; in 9:2, he basically says, “I’m not worse, and probably better, than most.”

It’s interesting that just like Jeremiah’s tone shifts throughout Lamentations, so does Job’s. Job begins very piously. “The Lord gives, the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” This is a line from a well-known worship song I grew up singing. But like we don’t put verses on wall art about blaming God for destruction, we usually don’t put some of Job’s more unfiltered utterings in songs.

Because Job doesn’t stay there. His wife gets a bad rap for telling him to curse God and die. Which, granted, is not a helpful suggestion. However, as a bereaved mother, I don’t necessarily hold anyone’s words too much to heart who has just lost a child. She lost ALL of them.

And as Job progresses, he begins sounding a little less pious and a little more unfiltered, climbing a similar mountain of wrestling as Jeremiah does in Lamentations.

Job 10:1-2: “I loathe my life; I will give free utterance to my complaint; I will speak in the bitterness of my soul. I will say to God, ‘Do not condemn me; let me know why you contend against me.’” I’ve never heard this verse in a worship song.

Job 16:7, 9: “Surely now God has worn me out; he has made desolate all my company…He has torn me in his wrath and hated me.”

Job sounds angry to me. Anger is a secondary emotion. Though none of us likes to be angry, we dislike the vulnerability of the emotions beneath anger even more. There is usually sadness, grief, or fear beneath the anger. When we read verses like this, they can seem so shocking, and yet if we’ve lived through our own inexplicable losses and unbearable pains, we get it. Anger feels in control at a time when everything is spinning out of control.

I know for me it was a coping mechanism after our infant son Elliot died. Before that moment, I could read accounts like these in Job and Jeremiah or the story of Jacob and imagine them. After Elliot died, I could identify with them. Ironically enough, that was what helped me. It helped me stay anchored to Jesus to wrestle alongside Jeremiah, Job, Jonah, and others.

But this tone shift in Jeremiah and Job’s wrestling begs the question: What changed? What changed from Job’s worship of chapter 1: “The Lord gave, and the Lord took away, blessed be the name of the Lord” to chapter 16:1: “He has worn me out with his wrath, and hated me”? What changed from Job’s rebuke to his wife: “You speak like any foolish woman! Shall we receive the good at the hands of God and not receive the bad?” to his accusation of God 16:11-17: “He set me up as his target, his archers surround me. He slashes open my kidneys and shows no mercy.”?

There seems to be a tipping point, maybe for all people who want to draw near to God, maybe just for some, I don’t know. And maybe there are many tipping points in life, when what we see in front of us cannot be reconciled with how we have previously perceived God. This “cognitive dissonance” becomes intolerable. Where does it lead?

Let’s go back to where we left Jeremiah dangling from that mountain top. Right after he says, “Gone is my glory and all that I had hoped from the Lord,” he goes on to say in verses 19-21: “The thought of my affliction and my homelessness is wormwood and gall! My soul continually thinks of it and is bowed down within me.” I have been there many times, like my soul is bowed down, and there is no way to lift it.

But Jeremiah finds the one way to lift up a bowed down soul, the one way to reach resolution in the wrestling match, the one way to summit the peak of that mountain. He says,

                ‘But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope.’

What, after all he’s just said about his glory being gone and all he had hoped for from the Lord, could he pull out to give him hope suddenly?

I dangled from the ledge of this mountain top for a long time. I was caged off from having hope again after my baby boy died in my arms. Hope builds the potential for disappointment, but that’s not a strong enough word, like “Oh, I’m disappointed my team didn’t go to the Super Bowl.” Hope in God’s plan, work, or direction creates the potential for spiritual disillusionment, traumatic loss, and what might feel like a loss of faith.

And, at the same time, what God showed me here, and what I think he showed Job and Jeremiah and Jacob, and other accounts he left us in Scripture, is that faith is a free fall when there are no answers, when everything we thought was a sure thing is stripped away.

But a free fall into what?

Now, after all this time, we get to the verse I sang in the church camp song, the one that makes its way onto Hobby Lobby wall art, mugs, and t-shirts. I hope that, with me, you appreciate all it took for Jeremiah to arrive here.

22 The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;

    his mercies never come to an end;

23 they are new every morning;

    great is your faithfulness.

24 “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,

    “therefore I will hope in him.”

“Great love”, “faithful love”, “lovingkindness” are what this version terms “steadfast love.”

All of these translations of the Hebrew word are hesed. In part one of this series, I shared how hesed’s incredible picture of the attachment God has for us is beyond circumstances, our failings, and our understanding. Hesed carries the idea of a covenant bond with us that nothing can undo.

When Jeremiah right before this says, “Gone is my glory and all that I had hoped for from the Lord,” where does this wellspring of hope come from then?

Commentators have given their insights for centuries on this. But it became personal, not just a commentary, when I identified with Jeremiah’s “gone is everything I hoped for.”

I was bereft of everything in my soul towards God, towards understanding how I could trust him to protect me and my loved ones in the years to come. I was either numb toward him or lashing out with all the fear and disappointment deep under the surface.

Once I tried stepping off that ledge with Jeremiah, I found something—it’s the simplest something.

Because of HIS attached, steadfast, lovingkindness toward ME, HE IS ALL THAT I TRULY EVER HAD OR WILL HAVE.

The world is a beautiful place. And the world is a sad, broken place. Life is bursting with joy, blessings, and rich relationships. And life is marred by pain and loss and broken relationships. Both sides of our existence in this side of heaven are true, right? So, when Job wrestled, Jeremiah wrestled, when I screamed in my van and wrestled and STILL wrestle with God, getting out all the anger masking my fear and sadness, when it was all cried out and yelled out…

There is God—his hesed, attached steadfast love, still holding you and me strong.

This is faith, though, because in the wake of death or divorce or separation or depression or addiction, it is sometimes hard to feel his steadfast love.

I think the most beautiful thing about hesed is that it originates with him, not with us. It is there despite how I feel or don’t feel it. That, for me, is also faith, stepping off that ledge into the freefall of his hesed love when I don’t feel anything.

When God finally answered Job, he gave him no explanation. The Lord appealed to his own might and power in creation, as if to say, “You cannot understand.” While this is unsatisfying on many levels, it’s also the only satisfying response. If God could give me some “reason” that children are trafficked, starvation persists, addiction claims so many people, and why my son died in my arms—I don’t think any explanation would satisfy me. Leaping into the free fall of his love when I don’t understand IS FAITH. And his mercy is sustaining me with his hesed, steadfast love, each new morning for one more day.

Leaping from this mountaintop, arrived at by wrestling with God, IS HARD. Usually, the waiting means what I’m hoping for is waiting while STILL IN THE MIDST of the pain, the ache, the unknowing. It’s not like I mustered up enough faith to trust God’s hesed. I call it a freefall because it’s more like the force of gravity- I can’t control, can’t know, can’t predict—faith is the only option left to me. It’s a word we use as a virtue, and it is, but sometimes my leap into faith is after I’ve exhausted every other avenue through wrestling.

But because HE is my portion, and HE is the one person, thing that cannot be taken from me no matter what else is, it’s a freefall into that hope and waiting. You and I don’t know how long we’ll be falling. Maybe like me, waiting to be reunited with my son, for the rest of our earthly lives.

But it is IN THE WRESTLING that we over and over again climb the mountain of why, of pain, of doubt-to arrive, again and again, to the hesed love of God, our portion, which we wait for in bittersweet hope.

My sharing this does not indicate I wrestled once and had the epiphany with Jeremiah of God’s hesed being all I need. I don’t know how many times I’ve wrestled the same thing, but for different reasons and intensities.

And you’ll notice that this famous and encouraging passage does not come at the end of the book of Lamentations. It would be so tidy if it did! Like a happily ever after. But the rest of chapter 3 presses on into chapters 4 and 5, where we find statements like:

3:43: “You have wrapped yourself with anger and pursued us, killing without pity.”

5:15: “The joy of our hearts has ceased; our dancing has been turned to mourning.”

I have my own book of lament, a memoir I self-published a couple of years ago. I don’t generally recommend it to people. It’s sad. It’s a chronicle of my dark night of the soul. I don’t claim it to be inspirational or even very spiritual. But, like Jeremiah, I guess I needed a way to wrestle with the reality in front of me. And like Lamentations, my lament doesn’t tie up neatly with a bow or a happy ending.

But what wrestling throughout life has done has convinced me there’s no place where God resides more than alongside us in our pain. I don’t believe he causes death, sin, loss, and the host of pain and trials we endure. But HE IS GOD AND LOVE—He is the essence of hesed attachment to us. He’s already close to me through his goodness. He redeems the fallenness in this world by using wrestling to draw me closer to him, if I let him.

It hurts to wrestle. I dig my heels in and avoid it, if I’m honest. We might get bruised or broken or bloody. But I want to encourage you not to hesitate to bring your aches, worries, and venting of injustice to God. I know we want to have a healthy appreciation for God’s holiness, to approach him with the reverence due him. However, the stories of Jacob, Job, and Jeremiah seem to indicate that he does not condemn our whys, wrestling, anger, and questions. In the story of Jacob, the Bible indicates that God wrestles back. That our closeness to him through wrestling is his very heart and is our blessing.

And when you’ve wrestled through the prayers, petitions, pain, and blame, you can jump off that mountain with Jeremiah into God’s steadfast love. This is faith. The free fall of faith, as our last resort after a bruised and aching wrestling match with God, may just be the first awakening on our way to eternity’s forever free fall.