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Monday, February 24, 2020

Philosophy doesn't cut it... Why isn't important anymore.

"A philosophy may explain difficult things that has no power to change them. The gospel, the story of Jesus' life, promises change." Philip Yancey

He goes on to imagine that if Jesus died in the modern era instead of ancient Israel, we'd all be wearing gold or silver electric chairs or guillotines or hypodermic needles. Instead, we wear a cross.

All my theology came up against an immovable force on June 25, 2018. I believed then and still do today, that God heals supernaturally. We prayed. We went to doctors. Nevertheless, she died. A simple blood clot took breath from both lungs and she died in front of me and the boys. 

Where is the Theologian in that moment?

Who cares what you thought should happen, theologically, when you are about to face your boys (10/13 at the time) in a cold waiting room and tell them their mom isn't coming home? When their screams and cries are shouting in your face and there's nothing you can do to help the pain? When the first words out of their mouths involve questions about God's reality, "There Bible must be a lie...", the oldest said.

Who am I to answer that? I was thinking it too.

All I could say in that moment, was that the Bible is true, God still loves us, and we don't know everything about why things happen. It sounded, still sounds, hollow.

But as I walked through those first months... The heart of my Father, Daddy, God was strong and with me. I spent intimate hours walking and praying in tongues. 

The healing was long, winding, involving the removal of countless layers of false doctrine, false identity, false securities, false images of myself and others, counterfeits for real intimacy and friendship, even rejection by someone I trusted who claimed to love God but treated me with contempt. 

But it also involved good things. People came into my life go mini seasons, showed me aspects of God's love. He showered is with gifts, affection, provision. A friend came over and say with us to watch a movie then left. She'll probably never know how much that still means to me. Just a presence in that moment was helpful to all three of us.

I'm just now waking out of that season into a new healed season. 

That doesn't mean the tears go away. In fact, a healed heart cries freely and often, it just doesn't stay there in that sadness indefinitely. I shed a few tears retelling that night above.

If anything mattered to me during these past 20 months, it's been that God did not spare his own Son from suffering. He came, suffered in every way we do, and have is hope of ultimate redemption. 

Everyone that Jesus healed... Still died. None of them are alive today telling us of his healing from 2,000 years ago.

Healing, as wonderful as it is, is a temporary fix, a patch job, until all things are made new.

There's coming a day when I get a new body that doesn't hurt, when I will see Flavia again, my Uncle Glenn, and probably my brother (not sure about that one too be honest, but I hope so, I think so). 

Ten thousand years from now, things from today will matter less. Just like things from when I was 21 (or 12) matter less today at 39. Flavia and I will sit and chat about our season together, laughing at our mistakes and our successes.

We three boys will see her again... For now, we will run the race set before us. We are entering a new season, we will see what new things are in store. 



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