There is that old popular
story called Footsteps in the Sand, that has been immortalized on cards,
posters, plaques, blankets, and more. The story is about a man who has a dream
that he is taking a walk along the beach with God while scenes from his life
flash before him; at each of the most difficult periods of his life he sees
only one set of footprints, which he assumes were his alone. He asks God “Why
did you abandon me during my times of need, leaving me alone?” And God answers
him, “Those were the times I carried you.”
It can be a very comforting
story, although I wonder if for some people, in some circumstances, it does not
feel like enough. There are times in the lives of men, women, and even
children, when they feel nothing if not abandoned; that they could not feel
less like they are being carried in the arms of a loving God. The footsteps in
the sand story may be hard pressed to offer any consolation in some of those
moments.
There are passages of our
life’s journeys that might feel as though evil has taken the upper hand and God
has been defeated, or has simply chosen to turn away. Many thousands of
children in the Sudan must have felt that. They fled from their homes during
the long, brutal war between the north and the south. They were orphans; many
had escaped being killed because they were away from their village tending the
cattle when the armies arrived.
These children walked with
nothing but the clothes on their backs, thousands of miles to refugee camps. They
suffered severe malnutrition, violence, hunger, sickness, and exhaustion;
attacked by armies and turned into child soldiers. And when one of them later
tried to make some sense of all he had seen, all he had been through, he said that
maybe God just grew tired of us.
And it is not hard to
envision these children on their seemingly endless journey as we read Paul’s
words when he asks: Will hardship, or
distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword separate
us from the love of Christ? Will they?
It is a very serious
question in need of a serious response – for each one of us. Lives are broken
on a massive scale whenever nations tear themselves apart by war. But lives are
broken on a smaller scale every day in every place: when families go through
divorce or the loss of a loved one; when we suffer the wounds of poverty,
illness, or loneliness. When bankruptcy leaves us empty-handed. When bodies are
wracked by cancer, when souls are wounded by depression, when hearts are broken
by loss, we know the feeling, that sense that perhaps God has grown tired of us
and we are alone with our suffering. Romans speaks to all of us who have ever
walked through that valley of the shadow of death.
And it is the mistake, the
fault, in our faith to sometimes insist that as Christians we should be happy
all the time, living carefree blissful lives. It is a fault of the faith we
sometimes teach to assume that if only our faith were strong enough there would
be no broken bodies or wounded souls. It is in our nature, I think, to want all
the dark valleys to be well-lit and sanitized. Yet this is a mistake, because
the promise of our faith is not that our lives will be easy.
We would like to say God
will keep us safe. We are a safety-obsessed society, as we seek to control
nearly everything around us. And while car seats and bike helmets are very
good, it is absurd for us to think we can – or should – make this world safe.
There is a lot of talk
these days about safety. I wear a safety pin, as many others do, as a way of
saying I will do my best to give shelter, give safety, to anyone who is being
harassed or threatened by another. But at the same time, I know that I am not
capable of making anyone safe. God does not make the world safe for us. God is
not safe.
One of the children asks,
in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,
if Aslan, the lion, is safe; the answer is no, of course not. He is not a tame
lion. Aslan is not safe, but he is good. And there is a distinction and a
difference between safety and goodness. We must understand this difference as
we navigate the world in which we live.
When my firstborn was two
years old we would take walks – and if you have ever taken a walk with a
two-year-old, you know that the progress is painfully slow. For much of the
time you are standing still while the two-year-old is examining a blade of
grass or a dandelion. One day she was out in front of me a few steps and
suddenly we both saw a dog in the yard ahead of us. I saw that the dog was
bigger than the child, and that the dog was not on a leash. Then I saw the dog
begin to run down the sidewalk toward her and I immediately closed the gap
between us; I scooped her up from behind just before the dog reached her, and I
carried her in my arms until we were out of harm’s way.
This was one of many times
I carried my child to keep her safe. But there were also many times when I knew
I could not keep my child safe. I cannot keep my child from experiencing pain
and suffering.
When we become adults, the
moments of pain become more painful, the suffering can grow more intense. One
day she called me with her suffering and I couldn’t take it away from her; I
couldn’t pick her up and carry her through it to the other side. I said she
needed to pray, and her response was, “I already tried that.” And I realized I
had failed to teach her as well as I should have done. But perhaps that was
because I didn’t have the tools myself.
For we do not know how to
pray as we ought, Paul writes to the Romans. And the Spirit needs to intercede
for us. We pray for God to take away the pain, and God says in response that
all these things – the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly – all things
work together for good. That for those of us who are being conformed to the
image of Christ there is no hardship that can separate us from the love of God.
And although we do not
revel in the sufferings – our own or anyone else’s suffering – we know that
with God’s help we will overcome. Although we do not sanction evil in any of
its forms, we proclaim that we have God as our companion even through the
darkest valleys. Although we are being shaped by the cross of Christ every day,
we remember that the cross revealed his glory, his victory over death. In
Christ we are more than conquerors.
We will not find safety in
this world. We cannot remove pain from our lives. But know that, through it all,
we and God’s love are inseparable. This love makes it possible for us to find
space for healing in a world marked by brokenness. The strength we gain from
Christ makes it possible for us to accompany others through their sufferings. Together
with them we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus and the transformation he makes
possible.
Christ will not leave us
alone – this is the strength of Paul’s message to the Romans. Pain and
suffering will exist, as we are still living in a broken and sinful world, but
Christ will be our companion through it. God will not keep us safe from harm –
but Christ will be with us through it.
Brokenness is a part of our
world. It is a part of human life. But God sustains us in our brokenness and
makes it possible for us to find healing, wholeness, and unity no matter what
we are facing. For nothing in this world can separate us from God’s love.
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