Lenten Rhythms: Sorrow Mingled with Joy
If you are familiar with Lent, then you might know that some traditions view this as a time to “give up” something as a way to remind us, maybe, that Christ gave up his life for us—as though the giving up of sleep, chocolate, coffee, sports, or social media is somehow comparable to his sacrifice.
But what matters, I think, is that we attempt in some small way to comprehend the incomprehensible gift of his sacrifice.
One November night, now a very long time ago, Bob and I were living in Austin TX and we received a call from my parents who lived in Salt Lake City Utah. Back in those days, to receive a call from Salt Lake City in Austin was considered a “long distance call,” and an unplanned long-distance call usually meant either good or bad news. In this case the news was shocking. My mom, who had just turned fifty-one, had a brain tumor.
Within a few short weeks, I flew to Utah to be with my mom and the rest of our family for her surgery. We learned, on that very day, that her tumor was malignant and had metastasized to her brain from her lungs. She passed away within five months. I had just begun to study 1 Peter back then and little did I know how much God would use this turn of events and this particular epistle over the course of my life.
Peter writes this letter to the first century church, to ordinary people who had been forcibly scattered across the Roman Empire; aliens and strangers who, according to the foreknowledge of God, had been chosen to endure hardship and suffering.
To those who are elect exiles of the Dispersion in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia, according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, in the sanctification of the Spirit, for obedience to Jesus Christ and for sprinkling with his blood: May grace and peace be multiplied to you.
This greeting is followed by a burst of theologically rich worship. He reminds them, and us, that above and beyond everything else, our true identity is secure in Jesus.
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead (1 Peter 1:3–5)
Try and let this sink in and hang on tight. God in his mercy caused us to be born again, transformed, and mysteriously made new through the resurrection of Jesus Christ who is himself, the first born of the new creation. This born-again identity sets us in a whole new direction that evokes praise and joy and will necessarily even bafflingly, include all manner of fiery trials.
My mom, back then, had become a follower of Jesus around the same time that I had, as had my younger sister and brother. But this, this was new territory for us. I vividly remember one afternoon in particular when my mom and I talked about death. It felt too soon to give her up and too painful to accept the possibility of death as we acknowledged the shared gift of hope.
In our sorrow we rejoiced.
Peter goes on to identify these trials and tests as necessary because they serve to assure us that this faith-in-God of ours is genuine. He truly is worthy of our faith. Notice, Peter does not say, “Rejoice in your ability to get through these difficulties and prove that your faith is genuine. Not at all. Peter explicitly says, “In this you greatly rejoice.”
What is this?
God chose us to be born again through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. His resurrection secures our hope, keeps our inheritance, and guards our faith (1 Peter 1:3–5).
Peter exhorts us: rejoice in this because time and again throughout our lives on earth, we will be grieved by fiery trials, but this will never change. So…
In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. (1 Peter 1:6–7)
The five months between my mom’s diagnosis and her final breath were agonizing. The cancer had spread to such a degree that chemotherapy was unnecessary and as time progressed, and because the cancer was in her lungs, she struggled to breathe. Yet, wondrously and despite everything, my mom, in those grueling weeks and months, generously loved and encouraged her family and friends—her supposed “caregivers.” Instead, she became our caregiver as we experienced in real-time the genuineness of her faith in and love for God.
Peter describes these fiery trials, as necessary and this testing as that which cultivates our love for God, even though we have not seen him. We learn that to love God by faith is a process that, as we have discovered, includes hardship.
Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls (1 Peter 1:8–9).
As we get to know God, as our faith is tested and his faithfulness shines through, we learn to love him. And over time, though we have yet to see him, we believe, and we, in our sorrow, can rejoice.
Lent is mingled with joy and sorrow, sorrow and joy, as we make our way with Jesus along the Via Dolorosa, the path of suffering.
