May 5, 2004 “You Can Walk Boy!” John 16: 19-24 Key verse(s): 21 “‘A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world.’”
Why do Christians have to suffer? If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that questions, from others and from that whisper within my own heart, I’d be a rich man. So the adage goes. But, when you think of it, it is a logical question. Why do we have to suffer? Wouldn’t it be just as meaningful in terms of our faith if we had lived a life of contentment, devoid of suffering, so that there would be so much more room for joy? Think of all the wasted time spent in suffering. There was that financial problem we had last year. There were days and weeks on end when we did nothing but fill our lives with worry over where the money would come from and how the bills might be paid. This was time that could have been better spent reflecting on our financial good fortune and how we might better use it to help others. Instead we indulged ourselves in countless hours of self-concern and worry. Or, remember that time we were so sick? Both body and mind were thus wrapped up in ourselves. Can there be any more selfish way of living than that depicted in suffering? On the face of it it would seem that suffering is a very inefficient way of getting things done from a divine perspective anyway. What could possibly be on God’s mind to inflict us so? It would seem that there are far better ways of doing His will than effecting if by suffering. Suffering is so consuming, so inefficient and base.
“Arthur Gordon relates a story of a man who had been stricken with polio at age three, and his parents, probably Depression-poor and overwhelmed, had abandoned him at a New York City hospital. Taken in by a foster family, he was sent to stay with their relatives in Georgia when he was six, in hopes that the warmer climate would improve his condition. What improved his condition, though, was Maum Jean, an elderly, black woman who took that ‘frail, lost, lonely little boy’ into her heart. For six years, she daily massaged his weak legs; administering her own hydrotherapy in a nearby creek; and encouraged him spiritually with her stories, songs, and prayers. Gordon writes,
Night after night Maum Jean continued the messaging and praying. Then one morning, when I was about twelve, she told me she had a surprise for me.
She led me out into the yard, placed me with my back against an oak tree; I can feel the rough bark of it to this day. She took away my crutches and braces. She moved back a dozen paces and told me that the Lord had spoken to her in a dream. He had said that the time had come for me to walk. ‘So now,’ said Maum Jean, ‘I want you to walk over to me.’
My instant reaction was fear. I knew I couldn’t walk unaided; I had tried. I shrank back against the solid support of the tree. Maum Jean continued to urge me.
I burst into tears. I begged. I pleaded. Her voice rose suddenly, no longer gentle and coaxing but full of power and command. ‘You can walk, boy! The Lord has spoken! Now walk over here.’ She knelt down and held out her arms. And somehow, impelled by something stronger than fear, I took a faltering step, and another, and another, until I reached Maum Jean and fell into her arms, both of us weeping.
It was two
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