Every Wednesday for the past several months, a group of about four of us gather at our church in the afternoon to read through and then unpack a passage of Scripture together. The invitation every week is to come and be open to how the passage hits us each initially, and then to listen for what God might be speaking to us through it. It’s a time of sharing, asking questions, pointing out the obvious and the obscure.
But what I love most about our time together each week is the connection and community we’re fostering between the four of us as we all collectively and individually explore on deeper levels the living, breathing Word of God.
This week, we looked at Matthew 9:18-34. The passage introduced us to four different people — the bleeding woman, a dying little girl, two blind men, and one demon-possessed man — and how Jesus interacted with all of them. Some of the congruent themes we noticed throughout these stories were healing, miracles, intimacy and experience with God, and faith.
Out of all of these themes throughout the passage, the theme of faith stuck out the most to me. Each individual encounter with Jesus seemed to showcase some level of faith or lack thereof.
In verses 18-19, we find the father of the dead little girl coming to Jesus in faith, asking Him to come and raise her from the dead. Because of the man’s courage in approaching Jesus, believing He could, the little girl was brought back from death and given another chance at life.
In verses 20-22, we see a woman who had suffered from some kind of bleeding disorder, made out to be unclean in Jewish society, push through a crowd of people just to touch the hem of Jesus’ robe. Jesus Himself states in verse 22 that it was the woman’s faith that made her well.
In verses 27-29, two blind men cry out to Jesus to be healed — to have their sight restored. Again, Jesus heals them and then acknowledges that their faith, too, made them well.
In verses 32-34, we find a group of people approaching Jesus in faith with a demon-possessed man, hoping He can restore him. Their faith is met with a ‘yes’, and the demon is cast out of the man.
Back to back to back to back, we are introduced to ordinary people carrying wounds and levels of brokenness that can only be healed by the touch or word of Jesus, coming to Him in desperation and faith, hoping and praying that He will make them whole again.
And He does.
In this passage, each time He’s asked to heal and make whole, the answer is yes, and judging by the text, it’s due to the courage and level of faith that each of these people had in approaching Jesus and inviting Him into that place of their own brokenness.
But, as one member of our group voiced, what does it mean when the answer is no?
What does it mean when our asking and praying and pleading aren’t answered as immediately as these three people were?
Does it mean we lack faith?
Does it mean we’re doing something wrong?
Does it mean God isn’t as good as we thought?
The vulnerability and honesty of her questions hit something tender in me. Because she’s not alone in how she feels. I too, feel this frustration at times with a God Who heals and performs miracles throughout His Word but then sometimes seems to go silent when we approach Him with our own requests for healing, restoration, and wholeness. Her questions led to my own.
How do we cling to faith in a God Who allows the father of young children to die, despite hundreds of people praying in faith on his behalf to be healed? Or when the child we pray for who is struggling and suffering doesn’t turn toward Jesus, but away from Him and down a path of destruction? What are we supposed to do or think when people go hungry on the streets, wars break out over power and control, and people crafted in the very image of God are oppressed because of the color of their skin?
So much brokenness, so much pain. And despite all of that, there’s a God Whose goodness and faithfulness never wavers.
How do we reconcile with that?
There’s a name for this — a term given to this constant struggle of believing in the goodness of God while also acknowledging the evil and hurt in the world. I was introduced to the term in Tish Harrison Warren’s book, Prayer in the Night. That term is theodicy, and by definition means, the vindication of divine goodness and providence in view of the existence of evil.
It’s an acknowledgment — a holding of the tension — of the grief that plunges itself through our world every day, and the belief that even in the face of such suffering, God is good and present and still healing broken bodies and hearts.
It’s having faith that even when our hearts our broken on the ground that somehow, God is making all things new. That Jesus is the same Healer and Provider today that He was during His time on earth with that bleeding woman, dying little girl, two blind men, and demon-possessed man.
Even as I write this out though, I notice that the term — theodicy — doesn’t provide any answers to my questions. It gives me language to a reality that isn’t easy to face, and while I find a little bit of comfort in being able to name it, I’m still left with the tension and uncertainty of unanswered questions. I still find myself asking ‘Why?’ and ‘How could you let this happen?’ and ‘What’s the purpose of all this pain?’
I think a lot of us, at least those of us who grew up in evangelical circles, were fed only half the truth of these Bible stories. I know I was taught to believe in my little hometown church that faith is asking, believing, and then receiving. That if I could just pray hard enough, and believe hard enough, I’ll get what I’m asking for. And only then, when the outcome matches my expectations, has my faith been rewarded and God proven to be good.
But I think that having the courage to ask and pray and believe is only a part of what makes faith, faith.
The other part, the less pretty and more uncomfortable part of faith that isn’t preached on much, is having the courage to ask the hard questions and sit with the painful reality that the answers may never come on this side of heaven.
Wreslting and asking and throwing hands up in frustration and sorrow is a huge part of having faith. The bravery alone to believe that God holds space for our own discomfort and pain — our own broken questions and let-down expectations — is an expression of faith just as strong and real as praying and asking and believing and receiving.
I once heard a woman declare boldly, “You can’t question God!” This was years ago, and even then when my belief on this topic wasn’t fully fleshed out, it rubbed me the wrong way. Because if we can’t ask the tough questions, if we can’t believe that God holds space for our grief and helps us hold the tension of things unanswered, then how could we ever know and experience Him fully?
So, I read these Scripture passages now through a new lens. I celebrate the faith of each of these people who received their healing and acknowledge that God fully invites us to come to Him and ask and receive. But I also name and hold space for the tension, the questions, and the things unanswered, and recognize that this, too, is a powerful act of faith.
I’m learning that faith doesn’t require us to have all the answers. Faith’s invitation is to trust in what we can’t yet see or understand while acknowledging how difficult it is to do just that.
And so I settle into the uncomfortable truth that I hold more questions than answers most days and that maybe — for some unknown, mysterious reason — this is right where God wants me to be.
With you on the journey,
Celia
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Life Lately
A Breath Prayer for Your Weekend
Inhale: When I am afraid.
Exhale: I will trust in You.
(adapted from Psalm 56:3 CSB)
*If you’d like to learn more about the practice of breath prayer, download this complete digital guide to practicing breath prayer.
Resources & Good Things to Pick Up
My Lectio Divina bookmarks are officially back in stock on my Etsy shop! If you’d like to grab one, you can do so here: The Beholding Co.
I really enjoyed this podcast episode this week from spiritual director, Kari Bartkus, on her Love Does That podcast: Spiritual Practices to Help You Learn to Hear God’s Voice
My mom is an ovarian cancer survivor who decided to create an encouraging planner for those walking through their cancer journey. It would also be a life-giving tool for caregivers and loved ones walking beside their cancer warrior. The ‘For Such a Time as This’ planner is officially available for purchase now here: Quiet Hope Co.
My Etsy shop, The Beholding Co., offers contemplative resources to help you slow down, seek still moments, and behold God’s presence with you in the everyday. Purchase some breath prayer cards, a Lectio Divina bookmark, and more.
Grab a copy of my Bible study, You Are Beloved: a 21-day study on how to root your identity in the love of God, over on Amazon. If you’d like a free 3-day sample of the study, reply to this email and I’ll send it right over!
My friend and licensed spiritual director, Kari Bartkus, offers an 8-week journaling program for those who want to process their grief and trauma with God within the safety of blank journal pages. I’ve completed the program myself and can say confidently that it was incredibly impactful and healing: Journal Gently
An Invitation to Pause & Reflect
A regular practice of reflection helps us recognize what’s going on beneath the surface of our souls so we can name it in the Lord’s presence. Because as we learn to name what we feel, what we need, and what we long for, we’re also learning to discern the Spirit’s sweet, gentle voice within our hearts and lives.
Take a few moments today or this weekend to journal or contemplate with the Holy Spirit the following question(s) or prompt(s):
How do you feel about holding more questions than answers? Why do you feel that way?
What might God be inviting you into in the midst of something that feels uncertain and unknown?
I've been missing you for a few weeks. I've been in a crazy couple of weeks. It's so good to be back.
Hope and pray you're doing well.