Take away the contests of the martyrs, [and] you take away their crowns. —Ambrose of Milan
In Genesis 32 Jacob wrestles with an angel. After wrestling through the night, the angel demands to be released. Jacob, already crippled by the angel’s touch, refuses to let go. "Not unless you bless me."
The Lord wounds him, then gives him a new name. In the wrestling, the Lord makes Jacob new. There is no blessing without struggle, no birth without pain, no crown without a contest.
For years I believed something false about the relationship between thanksgiving and adversity. When I observed others’ thanksgiving, casual praise-the-Lords seemed to leave life’s complications unacknowledged, which I knew in my heart to be wrong. I thought that these thanks and hallelujahs and praise-the-Lords cheapened life by glossing over tragedy and reality of sickness or some natural disaster and using praise as a shield to deflect the impact of painful events. But in truth I was rejecting a caricature of true thanksgiving.
It is true that casual thanksgiving can be used to ignore and avoid, but it is also true that we are sometimes asked to trust and praise the Lord even when all we see is pain. Life is embraced, not avoided. It is kissed. It is face-to-face conversation. Life is good, rich, and deep. It is also heartrending. But life, this river, is not to be bridged. It must be swam in.
A single “blessed be God,” in adversity, is worth more than a thousand acts of thanksgiving in prosperity. —John of Avila
Thanksgiving is hard-won. It is not flippant. It is not a knee-jerk reaction. It understands the tragedy, realizing the severity of the prognosis, and by the grace of God, in all sobriety, giving thanks. Job did not bless the Lord while doing cartwheels. He didn’t celebrate the death of his children. He accepted what he could not change with a “blessed be God.” He affirmed his faith and trust because he knew God, but he wasn’t blowing a party horn when he said it.
I would encourage you to give thanks behind closed doors for your adversity—for no one to see but God. Make it honest by making it private. Let thanksgiving be kindled in a quiet place, so that it can grow and be offered to God and others in a life that produces peace. Wrestle with God, and hold on until you understand the blessing. You may end up crippled, but you will finally be whole.
In Genesis 32 Jacob wrestles with an angel. After wrestling through the night, the angel demands to be released. Jacob, already crippled by the angel’s touch, refuses to let go. "Not unless you bless me."
The Lord wounds him, then gives him a new name. In the wrestling, the Lord makes Jacob new. There is no blessing without struggle, no birth without pain, no crown without a contest.
For years I believed something false about the relationship between thanksgiving and adversity. When I observed others’ thanksgiving, casual praise-the-Lords seemed to leave life’s complications unacknowledged, which I knew in my heart to be wrong. I thought that these thanks and hallelujahs and praise-the-Lords cheapened life by glossing over tragedy and reality of sickness or some natural disaster and using praise as a shield to deflect the impact of painful events. But in truth I was rejecting a caricature of true thanksgiving.
It is true that casual thanksgiving can be used to ignore and avoid, but it is also true that we are sometimes asked to trust and praise the Lord even when all we see is pain. Life is embraced, not avoided. It is kissed. It is face-to-face conversation. Life is good, rich, and deep. It is also heartrending. But life, this river, is not to be bridged. It must be swam in.
A single “blessed be God,” in adversity, is worth more than a thousand acts of thanksgiving in prosperity. —John of Avila
Thanksgiving is hard-won. It is not flippant. It is not a knee-jerk reaction. It understands the tragedy, realizing the severity of the prognosis, and by the grace of God, in all sobriety, giving thanks. Job did not bless the Lord while doing cartwheels. He didn’t celebrate the death of his children. He accepted what he could not change with a “blessed be God.” He affirmed his faith and trust because he knew God, but he wasn’t blowing a party horn when he said it.
I would encourage you to give thanks behind closed doors for your adversity—for no one to see but God. Make it honest by making it private. Let thanksgiving be kindled in a quiet place, so that it can grow and be offered to God and others in a life that produces peace. Wrestle with God, and hold on until you understand the blessing. You may end up crippled, but you will finally be whole.
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