Category: trials

If

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

I have been reading quite a bit of the writings of Isobel Kuhn, a protestant missionary to China right before Communism took over.  The excerpt below is from a book about a married couple and child who were trapped in China at the onset of Communism and not allowed to leave for quite awhile.  Isobel focuses in on the question that can tempt us all at various times in our lives: “If only . . .”  The woman she is writing about is the wife and mother in the family.

“If only that letter had not come, inviting us here.”  What about the “if”?  She got them [a tract she had on “If”] and read:

Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” [Jn 11.32b]”  And He could have been there; He was not far away.  He knew all about it, and He let him die.  I think it was very hard for that woman . . . It is something God could  have made different, if He had chosen, because He has all power; and He has allowed that “if” to be there.

I do not discount the “if” in your life.  No matter what it is . . . Come to the Lord with your “if” and let Him say to you what He said to Martha.  He met her “if” with His “if”!  “Did I not tell you that IF you would believe you would see the glory of God” [Jn 11.40]” The glory of God is to come out of the “if” in your life. . .

Do not be thinking of your “if.”  Make a power out of your “if” for God. . .

Do you know that  light is to fall on your “if” some day?  Then take in the possibilities and say, “Nothing has ever come to me, nothing has ever gone from me, that I shall be better for God by it . . .”

Face the “if” in your life and say, For this I have Jesus.

But there is nothing to be ashamed of if you experience those “ifs” plaguing you, as Isobel Kuhn goes on to write:

[O]ur Lord never scolded Martha for her “if”; nor Mary (who accompanied the same “if” with mute worship, prostrating herself at His feet), but with her, He wept.  Wept at the sorrow which must accompany spiritual growth in our lives: for by suffering He also learned obedience.  (Green Leaf in Drought, p. 36)

One of those days

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I’m continuing to read and be inspired by the lives of protestant missionaries.  My current favorite is a book by Isobel Kuhn, a missionary to the Lisu people in China in the 1940’s.  The book is entitled In the Arena and basically recounts the challenges she faced in her daily life as a married woman and mother living in, in all reality, the outskirts of the world, high in the mountains.  Here is her account of  “one of those days.”  A little background: she was about to start a Bible School for some of the natives, her husband was out of town, the missionary, Charles, who came to help her came down with rheumatic fever, and it was the rainy season.

It was a Sunday, Eva [her helper] had gone to church.  I was going to go to bed early but had a feeling that I should go down to Charles’ cabin first and see if he needed any help.  He did.  The rheumatic fever was getting under way now, and he was in such pain that he needed a shot of morphine.  So back up the slippery path I went to sterilize the hypodermic needle.  Behold, the charcoal fire in the kitchen was almost out.  With much blowing and coaxing I got a few coals hot enough to boil it the ten minutes required.  Then down the mountainside I went again with the pot and needle.  But I had never given an injection before this as John [her husband] had always done it for me.  Charles was suffering yet I hated to experiment on him.  I felt I must confess my inexperience to him.

“Oh, it’s easy,” said Charles, picking up the needle and fitting it on the syringe.  “You just want to make sure there is no bubble,” and to show me how, he held the syringe up, pressed the plunger and shot my carefully sterilized needle through the open window into the wet mud of the dark mountainside!  I had no other needle so had to take a lantern and search for that one.  Then I trudged up the mountain to our kitchen only to find that the fire was out!  I forget what happened after that.  Probably church was dismissed and Eva came to my rescue, for lighting charcoal fires was never where I shone!  My first lesson in giving an injection!

She and Charles would joke later: “Oh, it’s easy.  All you do is–shoot it out the window!”

Isobel goes on to say:

Small harassments; they come to everyone.  What are we to do with them or in them?  Seek a promise from the Lord.  Nothing is too small but that He will respond to comfort or to guide . . . .

“When did I licht ma auld lantern?” asked a Scottish deacon.  “Was it no when I was comin’ frae the lict o’ ma ain hoose along the dark road tae the licht o’ yours?  That is where tae use the promises–in the dark places between the lichts.”  Stumbling down the mountainside in the rain with a tray for a sick fellow worker–from ma hoose tae your hoose–that is where to use your light.

Believing God’s goodness

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

I have been thinking a bit these past couple of weeks about a number of things.  First: about living selflessly, living for others, living for the Other, Christ, who lived His entire life only for others, and praying for that grace to be released more and more in my own life.  Along with that, I have been pondering the lives of those who, like all those mentioned in Hebrews, did not obtain in this life what was promised.  (Cf. Heb 11)  The priest who said Mass for us this past Saturday–whose homily I hope to soon post–spoke about the European cathedral dwellers who labored on churches whose completion they would never see, cathedrals which would not be finished for hundreds of years.  Their lives were certainly lived in hope, in living for others–the others who would contemplate and be moved by the beauty of the buildings they themselves would never see.

There come times in all our lives where we can’t even see the beginnings of the building, but only see its ruins.  What then?  My friend, Debbie Herbeck, has just written a book called Safely Through the Storm (Servant) in which she collected 120 quotes on hope.  Being a quote “collector” myself, I did not hesitate to get a copy.  The following quote from Fr. Benedict Groeschel (#8 in her book) brings together, I think, all my little threads of reflection:

When things fall apart and all seems to be ruined and when the terrible question “What do you do when nothing makes sense?” comes right home, the answer is that it is the time to believe.  It is the time for faith . . . . One must grab onto God . . . . One must be able to say, “I believe that God’s goodness is going to bring about some greater good by this horror.  It may not be a great good for me in this world, but it will be a great good someplace, somewhere, perhaps for those I love in the next world.” (Arise from Darkness, When Life Doesn’t Make Sense, p. 132)

But if not

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Facing another day of high heat today made me think of the three young men in the fiery furnace.  Now that you’re smiling, I actually did meditate on that passage from Daniel today.  The attitude of those men in the midst of a life-threatening situation–much more serious than this heat crisis :-)– is amazing.  I just want to share a few thoughts:

  1. When Nebuchadnezzar announces that he will throw them into the fiery furnace if they do not worship his gods, they respond: “If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace; and he will deliver us out of your hand, O king.  But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the golden image which you have set up.” (Daniel 3.17-18 emphasis added)  Amy Carmichael did a little meditation on these verses, highlighting the “but if not.”  If things do not turn out the way we prefer, will we keep abandoning ourselves to Him, trusting wholeheartedly in His love?
  2. This verse really struck home: And they walked about in the midst of the flames, singing hymns to God and blessing the Lord. This verse always makes me think of Isaiah 43.2b: When you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. No grumbling allowed for me when it’s hot, hot, hot.  Only singing hymns and blessing the Lord.  (If you’re like me, it’s easier to handle the big “heats” in life than the small ones. . .)
  3. And most importantly, a fourth man was seen walking in the midst of the fire with the three.  Jesus is always with us in the midst of our own fires.

So bless the Lord, O my soul . . .  He saves us from the eternal fire, which is the most important.

The Red Sea Rules

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

I just finished a book I wanted to recommend to you all: The Red Sea Rules by Robert J. Morgan.  It’s a short book (just over 100 pages) based on Exodus 14–when God leads the Israelites to the Red Sea and they are chased by Pharaoh’s army.  Pastor Morgan draws out 10 “rules” based on this episode in the life of God’s chosen people.  He illustrates each rule with real-life stories.  And, lest you wonder if this is an easy, fix-it-quick book, in his preface he writes: “These aren’t ten quick-and-easy steps to instant solutions, In my case, it took quite a while to work through the anguish and achieve a positive result.”

The subtitle of the book is: The Same God who Led You In Will Lead You Out. Rule #1 is “Realise that God means for you to be where you are.”  An excerpt from that chapter:

Some circumstances are beyond our control, and something as simple as the ringing of a phone, a card in the mail, or a knock on the door can push us off the wire.  We fall into a world of worry.  Someone defined worry as a small trickle of fear that meanders through the mind, cutting a channel into which all other thoughts flow.

The preacher John R. Rice said, “Worry is putting question marks where God has put periods.”

Bishop Fulton J. Sheen called worry “a form of atheism, for it betrays a lack of faith and trust in God.”

But for some of us, worry seems as inherent as breathing.

Sound familiar?  Morgan ends this section with this:

In the story of the Red Sea, the Israelites followed the pillar of cloud and fire as carefully as possible, thrilled with their new freedom, full of excitement about the future.  Yet as they followed Him, God deliberately led them into a cul-de-sac between hostile hills, to the edge of a sea too deep to be forded and too wide to be crossed.

The unmistakable implication of Exodus 14:1-2 is that the Lord took responsibility for leading them into peril.  He gave them specific, step-by-step instructions, leading them down a route to apparent ruin: Turn and camp.  Camp there. There, before the entrapping sea.  Yes, right there in that impossible place.

The Lord occasionally does the same with us, testing our faith, leading us into hardship, teaching us wisdom, showing us His ways.  Our first reaction may be a surge of panic and a sense of alarm, but we must learn to consult the Scriptures for guidance.

So, take a deep breath and recall this deeper secret of the Christian life: when you are in a difficult place, realize that the Lord either placed you there or allowed you to be there, for reasons perhaps known for now only to Himself.

The same God who led you in will lead you out.

The Hill Mizar

Sr. Dorcee, beloved3 Comments

Did you ever wonder about Mizar in Ps 42–where it was and what was its significance?  (Maybe you didn’t, but have I piqued your curiosity?)  Here’s Amy Carmichael’s take on it:

Ps 42.6  The Hill Mizar

Did you ever feel that you had nothing great enough to be called a trouble, and yet you very much needed help?  I have been finding much encouragement in the hill Mizar.  For Mizar means littleness–the little hill.  The land of Jordan was a place where great floods (the swelling of Jordan) might terrify the soul, and the land of the Hermonites was a place of lions and leopards [FYI: these are the places mentioned in this verse]; but Mizar was only a little hill: and yet the word is, I will “remember You from . . .  the hill Mizar”, from the little hill.

So just where we are, from the place of our little trial, little pain, little difficulty, little temptation (if temptation can ever be little), let us remember our God.  Relief will surely come, and victory and peace; for “the Lord will command His lovingkindness” (v. 8), even to us in our little hill.

Leaning upon your Beloved

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From Amy Carmichael:

I want to give you a word that helped me all yesterday and will help me today.  It is the “through” of Psalm 84.6 [“As they go through the bitter valley, they make it a place of springs”] and of Isaiah 43.2 [“When you pass through the waters I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you”], taken with Song of Songs 8.5 [“Who is that coming up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved?”].

We are never staying in the valley or the rough waters; we are always only passing through them, just as the bride in the Song of Songs is seen coming up from the wilderness leaning upon her Beloved.

So whatever the valley is, or however rough the waters are, we won’t fear.  Leaning upon our Beloved we shall come up from the wilderness and, as Psalm 84.6 says, even use the valley as a well, make it a well.  We shall find the living waters there and drink of them.

The silence of God

Sr. Dorcee, belovedLeave a comment

“The Silence of God.”  That’s the name of a song on Michael Card’s CD, The Hidden Face of God.  After my talk last Monday night, one woman mentioned to me that the part of my talk that gave her the most hope was when I talked about the “door” that I experienced at one point coming down between me and God.  She hoped that I would talk more about that sometime, and I promised her that I would.  I have recently been reading the book Michael Card wrote, of the same name as his album.  In one chapter, he writes about Jesus facing the silence of God–during His agony in the garden.  Christ calls out in anguish to His Father.

But where is the response of God?  None of the Gospels record a single word.  The answer to the most impassioned plea of the Son of God was the silence of God.
God spoke audibly at least three times int he life of Jesus: at the baptism (Matthew 3.16-17), at the “coming of the Greeks” (John 12.28), and at the Transfiguration (Matthew 17.5).  In both instances in Matthew God says, “This is my Son.”  The words are addressed to the witnesses, not directly to Jesus.  . . . In John, at the coming of the Greeks, in response to Jesus’ prayer “Father, glorify your name,” God says, “I have glorified it, and will glorify it again.”  But Jesus’ explanation of the Father’s words to the crowd hint that perhaps, even here, God was not talking to Him. “This voice was for you, not for my sake,” Jesus says.
These incidents hint at something that is extremely sad and also wonderfully encouraging at the same time.  Perhaps Jesus, even Jesus, lived His life, as we all do, within the context of the silence of God.
We usually imagine Jesus’ prayer sessions as “sweet communion.”  But perhaps more often they were like the time of bloody sweat in the Garden of Gethsemane.  Perhaps this garden prayer was more representative of His entire prayer life.  I must say that this thought brings a certain sadness, to think that still another part of Jesus’ suffering for me was that in His Incarnation, He chose to be silently cut off from God in the same way that you and I are cut off.  And yet at the same time, it fills me with a hope that is beyond words, that Jesus, even Jesus, in experiencing every part of humanity (except for sin) knew what it was like to call out to the Father and hear only the silence of God in response!  If this is true, you and I are not–and cannot be–alone in this frustrating experience ever again.  It means that every time we suffer the silence of God, it is an occasion to be brought closer to Jesus.  It means that He has chosen to join us in that silence and fill it with His understanding Presence.  (Michael Card, The Hidden Face of God, pp. 152-3)

Advent and seeds

Sr. Dorcee, beloved4 Comments

A reflection from Caryll Houselander:

A seed contains all the life and loveliness of the flower, but it contains it in a little hard black pip of  a thing which even the glorious sun will  not enliven unless it is buried under the earth.  There must be a period of gestation before anything can flower.

If only those who suffer would be patient with their earthly humiliations and realize that Advent is not only the time of growth but also of darkness and hiding and waiting, they would trust, and trust rightly, that Christ is growing in their sorrow, and in due season all the fret and strain and tension of it will give place to a splendor of peace.   (Caryll Houselander, The Reed of God, p. 36)

In time of need

Sr. Dorcee, beloved2 Comments

Yesterday was the funeral for my aunt and the reason for my not posting.  Today, of course, I am a bit weary.  The funeral went well, but now, in addition to what I call the “mother-wound” I carry in my heart because of the loss of my own mother, I now have an “aunt-wound” because of the loss of my “other mother”.   This morning when I prayed, I picked up a collection of Amy Carmichael’s writings called Thou Givest . . . They Gather and read this:

“I cannot get the way of Christ’s love.  Had I known what He was keeping for me, I should never have been so faint-hearted”, Samuel Rutherford wrote long ago.  Have we not often had cause to say so too?  But if for a season we are in heaviness, if the morning after a night of pain, or prayer, or fierce fight of temptation, or any other weariness, finds us arid as a burnt-up bit of land, there is a perfect word waiting to hearten us: Grace to help in time of need–in time of need–that is the word.  Often and often I have drunk of that living water very thirstily.  Blessed be God for this brook in the way.  “For we have not a high priest that cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but One that has been in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.  Let us therefore draw near with boldness to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy, and may find grace to help in time of need.” (Heb 4.15-16)

Now, I must honestly confess that I sometimes have mixed reactions to reading something like this.  This is what I begin to think: “But will I really feel refreshed after I pray?  Many a time I have continued on arid after coming to Him.”  (I call to mind that time I spoke of earlier when I cried out, “Lord, have you forgotten me?”)  But even as I thought that this morning, I felt the Holy Spirit prompting me: “But can you not trust that if that is the case, that the Father, in His love, has a greater purpose in allowing it?”  And, you know, I cannot but answer yes to that because I know “in my knower”–as they say–that all that the Father does, He does in love.  If I continue on in weariness and grief and aridity, He must have a greater purpose in it all.  And I thank Him for reminding me of that.