Spiritual Pain

Having spiritual vision when Gospel and tragedy collide.

It is difficult to hold things in tension that pull at one another. That both good and bad could sit within the same experience. That there could be such debris in the aftermath of something that embodied gospel and tragedy. What are we to think, to do, to be in light of such things? Pain stirs up many questions like these, and often without harmonious answers.

My church closed this year, after a long, complicated tenure. I wish I could say it ended well or mutual- it didn’t. Much pain surrounds the events, the people, and the church itself. There are many narratives, some competing, some aligning, surrounding the why of what happened. I cannot speak to the why, but I feel it’s time I write something on this matter of spiritual pain. For some who may read this, your spiritual pain has come by another way, and for others, you join me in the particulars of this pain and the hoped healing.

When I think about the fallout surrounding my church, not only in the last year, but the years before, I am reminded of a song by Christy Nockels. It reads,

“You repair all that we have torn apart and

You unveil a new beginning in our hearts and

We stand grateful for all that has been left behind and all that goes before us.

You’ve got all things suspended, all things connected

Nothing was forgotten ‘cause your love is perfect.

You are our healer and

You know what’s broken, and

We’re not a mystery to you.

We will dance ‘cause you restore the wasted years

And You will sing over all our coming fears and

We’ll stand grateful for all that has been left behind and all that goes before us.

Lord, you mend the breech and You break every fetter.

You give us your best, but what we thought was better.

And You are to be praised.

To You, Oh Lord, mender of the broken.”

When the melody touched my ears, my spirit breathed a heavy sigh. The realities held inside, gospel and tragedy, could breathe together through this song. The wounding and the healing both stand clear in these lyrics. I want to be able to stand grateful, to dance even, and there has been a massive breech--things have been torn apart and broken, spiritually and relationally. The temptation here is to retreat from the God who holds all things suspended and connected, and not for bad reasons. This is what makes spiritual pain so agonizing—the Lord’s character gets wrapped up in the sins of man. I don’t have a formula for you in getting through this, but what has been my north star, is deciding to not let man’s fallenness tell me who God is, but to let God, through his word, tell me who He is. And who He is, is a mender of the breech, restorer of the wasted years, and perfect love who sees our dried bones and speaks life over us. As He declares in Ezekiel over exiled Israel, this valley of dried bones,

“Dry bones, listen to the word of the Lord! This is what the Sovereign Lord says: Look! I am going to put breath into you and make you live again. I will put flesh and muscles on you and cover you…I will put breath into you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the Lord.” (Ezekiel 37:4-6 NLT)

Though there remains a field of debris, I am grateful for the promise of the Lord that we are not to be left in that valley. Redemption is at hand even if there is more to sift through. Perhaps, what is needed through this sifting is spiritual vision, to see what we normally cannot see because the dust has not quite settled. An author in my devotional gave an insightful illustration, stating that our eye can see up to 62 miles in daylight and 2.5 million lightyears in the night. I, and many others, are in midnight seasons, feeling disoriented and scattered. Though we are not afforded complete clarity, we are afforded latitude to see 2.5 million lightyears distance what cannot be seen in full light, and it may not be what we expect to see.

It’s normal to want a why answer, and I find I’m getting more of a with answer. God is with me as I walk through this valley of dried bones and debris. Moreover, He promises to breathe new restored life over it all. The rebuilding and reorienting process is laborious but not without redeeming purpose. This is the spiritual vision I need to traverse the territory called spiritual pain. And so, I press on, in prayer and in trust, knowing that my circumstances, and many others, stand in full view before the Lord--known and loved. This is where I am in my part of this story, and I hope it helps anyone else who finds themselves along a similar path.

Until next time, be blessed.

-Steph

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