But I Don’t Want to Suffer

What is your greatest fear?

I think most of us can say our greatest fears have to do with some sort of suffering. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to suffer.

You may be surprised to know that I’m very much so a rule-follower. When there are rules I think are ridiculous I am the first to voice what I think about them. You’ll constantly hear me say, “No I’m not going to do that,” when I don’t agree with the rules or demands I’m given. But I’m really all talk and no action. If it’s in my control I’m always on time (or early), I never turn a project or assignment in late and I rarely go more than a few miles over the speed limit when I’m on the interstate. Breaking the rules has always been too risky for me.

So when it comes to risking something for God, I struggle. In my mind, if I follow the rules, it should keep me far from suffering. I don’t like being let down or disappointed and tend to follow the mentality: “expect less so you won’t get disappointed.” I fear suffering and hence do what I can to avoid it. But, Jesus didn’t come to remove our suffering on earth; He came to remove our fear of it.

Do I have enough faith in God to believe and follow Him even when it’s risky? Am I willing to hope even if I could be disappointed? Or do I let fear run my life for me?

Faith is putting action behind what we say we believe. Just like the blind man at the gate in John 9. Jesus steps into his suffering and puts mud on his eyes. Now, Jesus could’ve just spoken and he would have been able to see, but instead Jesus tells him to physically walk to the water to wash it off. He was already blind and now he has mud on his eyes. I imagine it was a wobbly, less than graceful walk to the stream to remove the mud. If I put myself in his position I imagine I’d be embarrassed, uncertain and doubting the whole way. But, with only the glimmer of hope I would make my way to the water, the water I cannot even see with my own eyes. I think I’d pause once I got there and really decide if I would risk being wrong before I hesitantly bring the cool water up to my face and washed away the mud in hopes I will be able to see.

I’ve witnessed some of the most unbearable suffering imaginable. I’ve stepped into the homes and lives of the poorest people on the planet to give them clean water filters and share the Gospel of the Living Water. I’ve watched it at least 100 times and it never gets old. Their faces as they watch dirty water flow out of the filter clear and shining in the sunlight—there’s no dirt, it seems too good to be true. The skeptical looks on their faces as the cup is handed to them. The pause as they look intently at the water before deciding if they are going to drink it. Their faces seem to say, “Am I going to risk drinking this? What if it’s not really clean?” 

That’s not my favorite part though, my favorite part is the face they make once they take the drink it. The looks of awe, amazement, surprise, and semi-disbelief. I tear up every single time. Most of the time we don’t speak the same language, but those looks say it all.

I see so much of my relationship with God in those moments. Every few houses, there is someone who doesn’t want to try the water. They look at the dirty water and then the clean water and shake their heads because they think I am lying (or performing some type of witchcraft). Even with it in front of their eyes, they don’t believe it. But if they never risk tasting the water, they will never experience the benefits of drinking it.

In those moments, I think of God offering me the same cup and saying, “Here it is Meghan, this is what you need, drink of my cup and you shall never be thirsty again. It’s here and it’s yours for the taking. I promise it will satisfy you more than anything else. Are you going to risk putting hope and faith in me?” But, I hesitate because everything in me is fighting to avoid suffering. Just like the act of the man removing the mud from his eyes, I have to decide if it’s worth it.

But I want to taste and I want to see the Lord’s goodness (Psalm 34:8).

At those same houses, there is always someone who is willing to be brave and drink it first. Their willingness to risk hope is often what gives the skeptic next to them to push they need to drink it as well.

A lot of times faith just feels like words, I say I believe them, but beyond that what do it really mean? In the midst of suffering, it becomes more than words. I’ve watched people all around me experience some of the deepest suffering, yet they continue to risk suffering more because they have hope.

To have hope is to risk. It’s choosing the risk of being hurt, disappointed, or rejected, so that we might experience the love, joy and hope that only comes through Jesus.

It’s watching a family friend fall in love again after losing his wife two years ago. With no guarantees, he is risking the pain it happening all over again. He doesn’t’ allow fear to win and with hope, he loves again.

It’s seeing one my best friends allow herself to love broken people after her boyfriend took his own life. She chooses to step into the lives of broken and hurting people and loves them radically. She hopes beyond hope light will shine in the darkness.

It’s crying with another friend as her dad walks away from a relationship with her. Even though he is her only parent, she makes the hard choice of being obedient to God over pleasing her dad. But she steps forward with faith that God will meet her in her surrender and hope that He will redeem and restore it all.

It’s those people who give me hope that risking it all for God is worth it.

But isn’t this exactly what Jesus did? He risked coming to earth to win our love, knowing that we could and would still reject Him. He risked it all for us. He had hope beyond hope that if He died, we might come to know and love Him. One day I hope He looks you and me in the eyes in heaven with his nail-pierced hands and says, “It was worth it.”

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance of what we cannot see.”

Hebrews 11:1

In John 11, Jesus’ friend Lazarus was dying and after He hears of his passing, He waits four days before going to see him. For four days, Jesus allows people He loves to suffer and then in verses 14-15 He says one of the hardest things I’ve read in scripture: So then he told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead, and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe.”

Jesus allowed suffering.

But, He did it so that we might believe. And more than that, read on to verse 35 its says Jesus wept with them. He may allow suffering, but He is present and weeping in us with it.

Jesus never leads us somewhere He can’t save us. Even in death, the ultimate suffering, Jesus saves us.

Recently I stumbled upon this question: “What if Jesus wept because He knew He was about to take Lazarus away from heaven?”

That’s really what suffering is: an ache for home in heaven. Jesus didn’t promise there wouldn’t be suffering, He promised hope until we are home.

A few chapters earlier in John 6 Jesus warns His followers that suffering will still come and many deserted Him. In the face of His reject He turns to His 12 and asks if they want to leave too (v. 67). Peter’s response is so real and relatable: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God.” (v.68).

Where else would be go? Who else can we put our hope in? What do we have to fear?

My prayer is that any of you on the other side of this screen who are unspeakable suffering would respond like Peter.

When we live in a way that stares death down in the face, we get risky, dangerous and free. It changes everything and we get to run fast after Jesus during our short time here.

So take the risk.

Faith over fear.

Calling over comfort.

Risk hope. Hope until we are home.

Always, Meghan XO