Grownup Blankies

I think my mom still has my tattered old blankie (or what remains of it) from when I was a little boy–that silky softness that I snuggled with every night as a child, which somehow brought a measure of comfort and peace to my timid heart in the midst of the bad dreams and wild imaginations and lonely longings of childhood. Looking at those ragged strips of cloth now as an adult, it’s hard to believe that I once found such comfort in it, yet I know I did because blankies only reach that treasured status by being loved for a long time (like the Velveteen Rabbit in one of my favorite picture books).

I don’t sleep with that blankie anymore, but maybe it would be better if I did. My grownup heart still looks for comfort–not so much because of bad dreams or imaginary lions walking through the front door, but because of the ache of unfulfilled longings and the weariness of life that is often overwhelming. If only those burdens and sorrows could be relieved by simply stroking a soft blankie on my cheek!

Unfortunately, growing up doesn’t only bring different (and often heavier) fears and struggles, but growing up also brings the pursuit of less innocent comforts than blankies. Our hearts are idol factories, and we run after a whole assembly-line of solutions that promise comfort but cannot truly deliver it.

God’s word to the prophet Jeremiah (2:13) is just as relevant now as it was for the people to whom it was spoken:

My people have committed two sins:
They have forsaken me,
    the spring of living water,
and have dug their own cisterns,
    broken cisterns that cannot hold water.

Our God is the “Father of compassion and the God of all comfort” (2 Corinthians 1:3). Christians have been given the Spirit of God, who is the Helper and Comforter (John 14:16). Yet rather than turning to God for comfort in our places of pain and need, we try to arrange for our own comfort (or in Jeremiah’s words, we dig our own broken cisterns): we demand intimacy from marriage or family, we hungrily look for likes on our social media posts, we shop for the latest fashion or device, we pursue greater influence and purpose through our work, and we even seek to prove our godliness by serving in ministry or mission.

None of these “comforts” are inherently sinful, yet when they are sought in place of God, that is where sin enters in. So this is not a rant against marital intimacy or social media or shopping, but it is a call to not turn to those things for comfort rather than turning to God. In this season of Lent, may we who belong to Christ look to Him alone for the comfort we desperately long for, and may we repent of the grownup blankies with which we have been snuggling.

[Jessica Snell writes a similar call–to repent from “that comforting sin you turn to time and again”–in Biola’s Lent Project. Check it out…]

Comfort is Contagious

In 2 Corinthians 1:7, Paul connects hope with suffering: “Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort.” Because Paul believes that God comforts us not only for our own well-being but also so that we can pass that comfort on to others (2 Cor 1:4), then he does not fall apart when those he loves experience suffering. Instead, he rejoices in hope, knowing–from his own experience–that God’s comfort will come to his brothers and sisters in Christ who are suffering. And in fact, Paul knows that there is a depth of comfort that only comes to those who are suffering.

Those who are comfortable need no comfort. Thus to some extent, when we avoid suffering at all cost, we miss out on experiencing a particular depth of comfort that only comes to those who suffer. I don’t believe this means we are to seek out suffering in a reckless manner. But I do believe that the reality of God’s presence and comfort means that we can obey Him in faith, even in areas that will likely lead to some degree of suffering. We can obey, knowing that in our suffering we will surely experience the mercy and comfort of Christ, and through His comfort we will be enabled to offer greater comfort to others.

I’m not much of a poet, but I was reflecting on this passage at a recent time of solitude, and God brought the title of this post to mind and then prompted me to make this attempt at expressing what I’m learning:

When suffering comes my way, God’s comfort will surely abound;

Thus suffering can be a gift, for in it true comfort is found.

When mere comfortableness is my goal, God’s comfort will not astound;

But when God’s comfort meets my suffering, then that comfort is spread around.

So God, in my suffering,

        let Your comfort to me

                 spread contagiously

                           so that others may see        

                                    Your all-sufficiency.

Comfort through Humility

I had the opportunity to preach this past Sunday at the church of my good friend and fellow pastor, Jojo Ma. He has been taking his church, Crosslife Community Church, through the book of Job, and I got to preach from Job 39, which is part of God’s initial response to Job.

Whenever I preach or teach God’s Word, it feels like God ministers far more to me through the study and preparation than He does to the people who hear my message (though I’m trusting that He ministers to those who hear the Word too). So true-to-form, the text from Job was very meaningful to me in the place where I’m at right now.

At first glance, God’s response to Job seems a bit cold or insensitive, and not exactly what Job seems to need as he deals with deep suffering. But what became clear to me as I studied was that God’s response was exactly what Job most needed to hear at that point, and that it actually was a response that comforted him in his suffering. God humbled Job–He proclaimed His power and wisdom through all His questions–but there was comfort that came through that humbling process. Because in asking all those questions, God was not merely “putting Job in his place” but was proclaiming to him that God indeed was good and sovereign and purposeful in ALL that He does, even in Job’s suffering. Job found comfort in being reminded that there was a purpose in all that was happening to him (even if he didn’t understand it), that his suffering was not somehow outside of God’s control, and that death and suffering did not negate God’s goodness.

The suffering I face (in the seemingly unending struggle of parenting a special-needs child) pales in comparison to all that Job went through, but my response is often the same as Job’s–I begin to doubt God’s goodness and question His purposefulness. When I cry out to God for comfort, what I’m usually looking for is relief–a change in circumstances. What God often provides, as He did for Job, is not a change in circumstances but a change in perspective. He humbles me by reminding me how great He is and by helping me view my suffering through the lens of the Gospel and all that Christ suffered on my behalf. I don’t like to be humbled, and thus I often resist that humbling process, but what God made clear to me through this study in Job is that His comfort comes through that humbling. As long as I hold on to my pride and demand relief, I remain stuck in self-pity and despair, but when I submit to God’s humbling process I find, like Job, that He is sufficient even if circumstances don’t change.

*****

If you’d like to listen to the sermon, you can find it here.

In my sermon, I reference this excellent message from a CCEF Conference: “Death of a Dream: When Life Doesn’t Turn Out Like You Expected“. (Sorry, it’s not a free download, but it’s well worth the few bucks!)