C.S. Lewis begins his pivotal work The Problem of Pain with a quote from George MacDonald on suffering: “The Son of God suffered unto death, not that men might not suffer, but that their sufferings might be like his.” He continues:
The problem of reconciling human suffering with the existence of a God who loves, is only insoluble so long as we attach a trivial meaning to the word “love”, and look on things as if man were the center of them. Man is not the center. God does not exist for the sake of man … We were made not primarily that we may love God (thought we were made for that too) but that God may love us, that we may become objects in which the divine love may rest “well pleased”.
Historically, the Lenten season revolves around the 40 days preceding Good Friday, inviting disciples of Christ to examine Jesus’ own preparation for the crucifixion. It also historically involves a personal and communal fast to commemorate Jesus being sent for 40 days into the wilderness before beginning his Gospel ministry. It highlights for the people of God that life on this side of new creation involves interacting with suffering. The Church starts with Ash Wednesday, collectively being reminded “for dust you are and to dust you will return.” (Gen 3:19 NIV) and ends with often a solemn Good Friday service.
I wonder, though, how much the Lenten season in the church calendar isolates the concept of suffering, as if pain and hardship is meant to be compartmentalized for the follower of Jesus. There are two bookends to the Lenten season that better frame our intended interaction and expectation of brokenness in the world. Jesus’ baptism, anointing of the Holy Spirit, and affirmation of his identity precedes the 40 days of fasting and contending with the adversary. And death no longer holds its sting after his crucifixion, as his new identity is the resurrected one. Jesus begins with hearing from the Father, “You are my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased,” and with his resurrection tells his disciples, “Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you … Receive the Holy Spirit.” (Mark 1:11 NIV, John 20:21-22 NIV). As disciples of Christ, the Lenten season invites us to examine not only his death, but the purpose of Jesus’ living, his work.
The nineteenth Psalm helps us to reflect on the work or handiwork or the work of God’s hands; in fact, David writes this psalm as a portrait for Genesis 1 and 2. He writes:
The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they reveal knowledge.
They have no speech, they use no words;
no sound is heard from them.
Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
their words to the ends of the world.
In the heavens God has pitched a tent for the sun.
It is like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber,
like a champion rejoicing to run his course.
It rises at one end of the heavens
and makes its circuit to the other;
nothing is deprived of its warmth.
The law of the Lord is perfect,
refreshing the soul.
The statutes of the Lord are trustworthy,
making wise the simple.
The precepts of the Lord are right,
giving joy to the heart.
The commands of the Lord are radiant,
giving light to the eyes.
The fear of the Lord is pure,
enduring forever.
The decrees of the Lord are firm,
and all of them are righteous.
They are more precious than gold,
than much pure gold;
they are sweeter than honey,
than honey from the honeycomb.
By them your servant is warned;
in keeping them there is great reward.
But who can discern their own errors?
Forgive my hidden faults.
Keep your servant also from willful sins;
may they not rule over me.
Then I will be blameless,
innocent of great transgression.
May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart
be pleasing in your sight,
Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.
God’s work. It’s enough for the heavens to declare it and the skies to proclaim it – it’s enough for it to be intentionally, rhythmically, and naturally made visible. It begs us to consider what is it about God’s work that is worth it to make visible; for it to be proclaimed. The thing to consider about God’s own handiwork is not just the creation of the whole world, the splitting of skies and seas or making life of all shapes and sizes and species; no, it’s God’s creative and intended work of how all of his creation would be in partnership with God.
In fact, as Psalm 19 points us back to Genesis, the word “work” in Genesis 2:15 helps us to clarify the partnership-with-God kind of work that “work” was always meant to be. “The Lord God took the human and put him in the garden of Eden to work it and keep it.” (Gen 2:15 ESV) Work, handiwork, creative work, ordered work, is really about cultivation; work that is rooted and deep and patient and expectant. God’s intended “work”, the kind that holds expansive space for the heavens to declare and the skies to proclaim, is the kind of work that requires cultivation. Creatively establishing culture.
When disciples of Christ examine the life of Jesus, we can’t help but see him establishing culture wherever he goes. Culture-making work, is always about restoration: restoring dignity in others, and reconnecting them to not only God but also back into community. He actively enters into others’ suffering in order to restore and reconnect. The work of establishing culture has a lot to do with partnering with God to establish the flourishing of the kingdom of God; this kind of work often involves the real life presence of the Jesus-follower; it’s messy and full of interruptions and uncertainties and never linear.
The other thing about the word “work” in Genesis that Psalm 19 points to is that the Hebrew word for “work”, avodah ֲבעוֹ ָהד is interchangeable with the word “worship.” Cultivating work that deals with establishing cultures of rootedness, depth, patience, and expectation of partnering with God in the renewal of all things — that’s worship. Jesus’ own worship entailed a profoundly personal and active relationship with the Father and the Spirit, both deeply affirming his identity of beloved child and never-aloneness. His worship did not emphasize a weekly structured gathering; instead, his worship of God acutely involved community and relationship. The way he lived his life for the sake of those around him was his act of worship. His contending against empire, his sacrificial love for those far from God and far from the rest of society, and his severely interrupted life was his spiritual act of worship. That’s the work of proclaiming and declaring and pointing back to the God who cares deeply about us, our handiwork, and our participation with him.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer contributed that essentially, Christianity without discipleship is Christianity without Christ. In Centering Discipleship, I further that sentiment by stating that discipleship without mission is discipleship without Christ. Imitating Jesus requires both formation and mission, identity and praxis. The identity of Jesus is shaped by the “well pleased” of the Father and the ever-present, ever-sending nature of the Spirit. We as disciples of Jesus share in his identity of beloved child and bearing the indwelling presence of God in us. The praxis of Jesus is shaped by other-centeredness, and stepping into the suffering of others in a suffering world. We, therefore, as imitators of Christ, also share in his way of suffering; we too live a life of self-giving love for and with others in the hope that we will all get to participate in the flourishing of Jesus’ loving and merciful reign. May we reflect on the suffering of Christ in this Lenten season in order to imitate him in the ways that he entered into the suffering of those around us.
