Pain and Promise

"The pains of death surrounded me,
And the pangs of Sheol laid hold of me;
I found trouble and sorrow."

Psalm 116:3. Imagine Jesus singing these words just hours before His murder. This is a portion of the Hallel, a song of praise to to the Lord. A song Jesus and His friends would have sung at the Passover dinner He planned so carefully for them. Verse 4 continues, "Then I called upon the name of the Lord: 'O Lord, I implore You, deliver my soul!'” Is there any fear greater than the fear of death? Death finds us at the hands of another. We are powerless against its ravages and against the means it will use to ravage us. We were not created to die, and our flesh testifies to that by crying out against it. Even in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus pleaded with His Father again and again, "O My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me." Jesus had come to a place where He would give up His life in death, the most human of things this world requires of our bodies. But, He would lay it down, willingly, obediently. When He sang those words of the Hallel, describing the encroaching savagery of death, when He considered the impending abuse His body would suffer, what was going through His mind? When He sang of crying out to His Father, begging Him to deliver His soul, did the tears begin to well up? 

Months before we knew the children would be leaving us, God began sending me messages, messages of hope. Social media, sermons, songs. Hope was everywhere I turned. And I have learned, if He is talking to me about something, I'm going to need it. When everyone said, "There's no way those children will leave," when all the facts spoke out against them leaving, something inside me said, "You're going to need hope. It's going to be difficult, but don't lose hope." I prayed against what I was feeling; I prayed God's will and my wish had been forged in the same fire. But, I knew, His answer would be, "No." At the moment Jesus sang these words, He'd not yet prayed; He'd not yet lifted up His petition in Gethsemane, but I have to believe Jesus knew on some level, there would be no change to the solution for mankind's separation from God. I have to believe He knew He was going to have to go through with it. The answer the Father gave Jesus was "no". God had a plan, and it required His Son's complete obedience, no matter how difficult the circumstances. 

"Gracious is the Lord, and righteous; Yes, our God is merciful." The psalmist doesn't tell us, in verse 5, how God answered his plea. He sings of death, and crying out, and then... "Gracious is the Lord, and righteous; Yes, our God is merciful." Maybe God delivered him right then and there. Maybe God told him, just as He told His Son, "I can't do that right now. It will be for your good and My glory, but it's got to happen this way." I imagine Jesus singing these words, tears streaming down His face the same way they have mine. I imagine His voice cracking as mine has when I have, especially during great pain, raised a song to His inestimable goodness. It's the steadfast knowledge of the kindness of God as it collides with the excruciating pain of circumstances, of what will or probably will be. It's resolute, unwavering faith in the mercy and grace of God as it meets heartbreak, uncertainty, and a desire to escape bitter conditions. It is trusting in the hope we have, believing in the promise of deliverance and victory, but knowing that, at least for now, you are here. At this point. Not lost, but certainly not where your flesh desires to be; not faithless, but certainly not where your spirit longs to be. And the tears fall.

"Gracious is the Lord, and righteous; Yes, our God is merciful."