Giving Solace

I wonder, sometimes, at the limits of my capacity to give comfort.

I know, I know, there are folks who say the task of the prophet is to afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted, but mostly what I see in the world is suffering.  Hurt and loss, fear and trembling, those things are everywhere and a near universal.  I ache at the inescapable ubiquity of the world's pain. 

The pastor's task is primarily to give solace, but there's a boundary to that calling.

That boundary lies in the unique needs of every soul I encounter.  What gives comfort to one person will be of no use to another, and words that are bright with grace to one ear might be gibberish to another.  

Almost all of my own resilience in the face of loss and sorrow lies in my trust in the reality of God.  I know, from my faith, that nothing that has occurred in our time and space is ever forgotten.  It's all there in the mind of God, and that includes the reality and personhood of everyone I've lost.  I am blessed with the knowledge that they are completed, and that their completeness is a blessing.

I also trust, in my understanding of the infinite creative power of God, that everything that could possibly be is as real to my Creator as that which is.  All of the universe as we can see it is not the limit of God's work.  So the loved one who was taken from us too soon, where we feel the loss of all that they could have been?  Where we lament that we never reconciled, and there are parts of us we never shared with them?  All of those lost moments may be beyond us, but they are not beyond our Maker.  In God, nothing of what they could have been is gone.  In that, I find comfort.

I also know, from the heart of my faith, that our seasons of suffering aren't something God inflicts upon us, as if the Lord were some distant, demanding and monstrous tyrant.  God participates in the fullness of our struggles, knows them round about and within.  Everything we experience is known and felt by our Creator.  Being Itself bears the weight of our sorrow, and I am comforted by that.

But if Jesus is not shared between you and I, how can I share that comfort?  

If you believe the universe is a blind trampling machine, a churning murderous thrum of quantum cogs and mindless algorithms, I will struggle to reach you with my words of grace.  You will hear my words as delusion, as foolishness, as the prattle of a fanciful, willful child.

I could, in that knowledge, simply withdraw.  Coil back into my own bedrock certainty, leaving you infidel and alone.

What an ugly and selfish act that would be.

If you suffer, now, and do not find purpose and solace in Jesus as I do, then my task is to walk with you.  

To hear you.  To celebrate with you.  To weep with you.  To offer you food and warmth and encouragement.

To be your friend, even in our difference.

Predestination

Predestination is a challenging doctrine, made even worse by the fact that most of it's adherents use it as an excuse to become insufferably smug about their own salvation. Then again, holding to that doctrine doesn't inherently make you a Nazi...at least, I hope not.

As a Presbyterian, predestination is part of what I believe--so I'll offer up my overly long two cents on the subject.

First, "predestination" cannot be understood temporally. As mortal beings, part of the ebb and flow of time, we tend to think of it as God's foreknowledge of all of our actions. We've got this image of God planning things out in the back room before pressing that Big Bang Button, carefully charting our lives and deciding whether we gets ta be saved or not. But that's absurd, and antethetical to how God has revealed himself to us. The span and flow of time is meaningless to God. All of temporal existence rests before God as an eternal now. Predestination is a statement of God's limitlessness, of the God who stands above all of the temporal and spatial structures of creation. It is an inescapably necessary correlate of an omniscient, almighty God. If you want to worship a small and clueless godling who is unaware of what you've got planned for next Thursday, go right ahead. I wouldn't quite see the point, but...

Second, an orthodox understanding of this teaching does not allow for any smugness. You can't EVER say with complete certainty, "I am among the elect." You can trust that God loves you. You can trust that God is just, and that Christ is your Savior. You can delight in God, and serve God. But Calvin's clear on this: the number and identity of the elect are known only to God. Election rests in the mystery of God's glory. Those who are chosen are not to be confused with any church organization. Being convinced "in your heart" that you've been saved doesn't cut it. Being a staunch and dogmatic Calvinist doesn't either.

Oddly enough, that uncertainty is the point of predestination.

Predestination, for Calvin, means that you don’t have to fret over every little action, worrying over every little step. Predestination, for Calvin, means that you don’t have to lie awake at night with eyes wide open and mind churning, compulsively recounting every last thing you could have done better that day. God is almighty and graceful, and if God has claimed your life, then it is out of your hands. God is just and loving, and if God has called out your name from across eternity, then it is out of your hands.

And if it's out of your hands, then you don’t have to worry about it. The true end of your life, the true purpose of your life, the true meaning of this brief and fleeting flicker of existence, all rest behind the deep veil of eternity. Trusting God to be true, you can roll up your sleeves and be about God’s business.

Or, at least, that's my take on it...