Suffering: The Crisis. The Question. The Choice.

Are you suffering today?

It’s part of every human experience. It can take you by storm. One day, things are fine—and the next, you find yourself thrashing in the waves, trying to keep from drowning.

Hopefully, it’s short lived, but often it’s not. Day after month after year, it can seem without end. It can really wear a person down, when suffering becomes the new “normal.” Even to the point of forgetting the person you once were.

But in my experience, do you know what suffering I have found to be the absolute worst?

The suffering I’ve endured, after becoming a Christian. There’s just something about it that makes it so much more difficult.

There is a certain vulnerability of faith, and the act of placing our belief, hope and trust in the Lord Jesus Christ. It is joyous, and it is a relief. But it is also a bit scary.

Because love is always a risk.

And there is something about giving your heart to your loving, Heavenly Father—and coming to the realization that He has allowed pain in your life.

It is unsettling. It can be surprising, or even shocking. And it is always a letdown.

And it brings a whole new level of pain, because it brings with it a whole new set of questions. A level of depth. Deep pain. Deep questions.

Agonizing questions that you would have been spared from, had you not become a Christian. But you are.

“Why, God?”

“Was there something I did to displease you?”

“Are you still listening to me? Are you even there?”

“Do you still care?”

You prayed and stood on promises. Scriptural promises—the kind that seem to be a shoo-in, for those who trust in God. You waited and believed for that breakthrough—that miracle—that moment where you would build a monument to God. You planned to show it to everyone—that point in your life where you would be able to proclaim, “But then, God…”

But all you can point to is a pile of rubble. It’s a monument, alright. One of crisis. The worst kind of crisis a person can go through.

Crushing disappointment. Confusion. Doubt.

A crisis of faith.

Hello. Can you tell that I’ve been down this road before?

And it is an honor to meet you here, my friend.

I’m going to give this to you straight. There is nothing I can say that will make you stop hurting. Only God can do that.

But I can give you something to hold on to.

“And he went a little further, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.” (Matthew 26:39)

The Lord Jesus Christ, in the Garden of Gethsemane. Imagine the agony He felt, as He fell on His face. Hear His desperate cry to His Father. “Please, Father. If it’s possible, allow this cup of suffering to be taken away from me.”

“But I want your will for my life—not mine.”

The suffering before Him was unfathomable to us. And He knew what was coming.

Public humiliation as He was paraded through the streets. His flesh ripped apart with spiked whips. His beard forcefully pulled out. His face and body pummeled, to the point that He was unrecognizable. Nails pounded into his hands and feet. Hanging on a cross in nakedness, and shame.

But the worst part of suffering, for our precious Lord Jesus? The depth of questioning. The internal struggle.

“And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani? which is, being interpreted, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34)

There, on the cross, He shouted the question. Imagine what may have gone through His mind, before He finally spoke these words.

It appears that the struggle in His mind was just as torturous as what He was enduring with His body. Because what was going on with Him spiritually was at a level far beyond our understanding.

I am no theologian, and I can barely wrap my brain around this concept, so I won’t even attempt to explain it here. But here is what little I can say, in a way I hope you can understand.

On the cross, Christ Jesus continued to be God in human flesh—fully God, and fully man. But for just a little while, He did experience sort of a separation within Himself—His deity from his humanity. There was a painful break in the relationship—one we will never truly understand, because He was and is God.

Here are just a couple of my simple observations:

Through the entire book of Matthew, Jesus refers to His “Father.” But at this point on the cross, He no longer addresses His closest loved one that way. Now He calls Him, “God.” There is obviously some intimacy lost in the relationship. How agonizing that must have been!

And even more heartbreaking—here was the Creator of all existence, the second member of the union of the Godhead, crying out, “My God, why have you forsaken me?”

He felt abandoned. And He asked the question. Your question.

And so you see, Jesus had that same moment. Your moment. Somehow, God Himself experienced His very own crisis of faith.

And back in the Garden of Gethsemane, He had made His choice.

“He went away again the second time, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done.” (Matthew 26:42)

Not only did He accept the cup of suffering, but he drank it. He consumed—fully and completely accepted and received—the highest purposes of God for Himself. And He made His choice.

Your choice.

I can’t begin to explain why there is suffering in this world. There is so much I don’t understand—so many questions, only answerable by God Himself.

But what is clear in the word of God is this: God does, at times, allow suffering into the lives of those whom He wants to transform, and use for His glory.

“That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, being made conformable unto his death” (Philippians 3:10)

There is suffering, and then there is suffering—with Christ, in solidarity with Him. Being conformed—changed, to be made more like Him. And in the power of His resurrection.

If God is handing this cup to you, deep within you just know it.

Is that cup before you today?

Maybe you have been begging Him to take it away. But can you believe and trust that your Lord wants to share His cup with you, in friendship?

“Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.” (Isaiah 26:3)

The moment that you do, you will have peace. Peace in the midst of your suffering. Perfect peace.

It’s the kind of peace that only comes when your mind is fixated on—not the cup—but Christ.

When you have made the decision—the same decision that your Lord and Savior made, in the Garden of Gethsemane. When you are willing to receive—into yourself—His plans and purposes, even if it hurts. Even if you don’t understand it all right now.

Fellowship with Christ. Transformation into Christ-likeness. The purpose of Christ. The power of Christ. The peace of Christ.

It’s all there—mixed into a cup of suffering.

His cup.

Will you drink it?